Minong Ridge Trail

Minong Ridge Trail

Isle Royale National Park, Michigan

Length: 50.9mi (81.9km)
Days: 5-6
Hard (no facilities, isolation, rough terrain, and bugs)
Gear: Standard + GPS/PLB recommended
Completed: June 2022

In summary: At any given time there are likely more moose on Isle Royale than there are hikers, and that about sums up all you need to know about the Minong Ridge Trail, especially if you are an avid backpacker seeking solitude within an increasingly crowded parks system. Few places in America outside of Alaska or the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem are better for spotting wildlife (we enjoyed double-digit moose sightings), plus the surrounding island scenery isn’t too bad either. The Minong is regarded as the isle’s most rugged and challenging backpacking route, which only adds to the adventure. You might battle through long travel, bugs, unpredictable weather, and real elevation swings, but the opportunity to camp under the northern lights on a remote island largely unblemished by human activity is worth it a thousand times over.

Preparation / Know Before You Go

Book your travel to the island well in advance: There are only two methods for getting to the remote Isle Royale, one is expensive and the other is quite time consuming. Despite the cost, I am a huge promoter of the Isle Royale Seaplane as it is by far the most convenient way to access the isle. Unlike the ferries, the seaplanes run seven days a week and offer multiple departure times over the course of the day. Also, unless you have access to a private boat, the park can only be accessed from three mainland towns: Grand Portage MN (ferry & plane), Houghton, MI (ferry & plane), and Copper Harbor, MI (ferry only).

The park closes seasonally: Isle Royale is only open each year from April 16 – October 31, making it one of just a handful of national parks that close seasonally. The timeframe for visiting may be even shorter if you don’t have access to a boat though, as the ferry and seaplane have even more constrained operating seasons. These seasons are weather dependent, but generally run from around mid-May through the end of September.

Bring bug spray & bug nets: Hordes of mosquitoes and biting black flies are present on the island and their presence tends to correspond with the peak visitation season from June to July. Experienced visitors recommend treating clothes and gear with permethrin spray before arriving on the island, but we were able to survive with DEET-based bug spray. There exist some pretty dramatic accounts of the Isle Royale bugs, but with copious amounts of OFF! we found them to be a tolerable nuisance. Bug nets add an extra layer of protection and go a long way for providing peace of mind.

Do not rely on the weather report: I don’t believe there is a weather station on Isle Royale and my hypothesis is that when you search the park on a weather app it is pulling data from Houghton, MI over 70mi. away. We had planned for a week of dreary rain based on our 10-day forecast and instead found ourselves battling through 90F heat on exposed ridges. The reading from Grand Portage, MN might be your best bet for an accurate forecast, but in reality, you should be prepared for anything.

The northern lights: The opportunity to see the northern lights (or ‘aurora borealis’) with minimal light pollution is a huge draw to the island. The timing of the borealis, however, can be difficult to predict. Visibility depends on a number of factors including cloud cover and the current sun cycle. Though it is imperfect, the best predictive tool I have found for measuring your chances of seeing the lights is this dashboard from NOAA. Hopefully you have more luck than us.

Pronunciation: You will hear all sorts of pronunciations of the park’s name, even from local Michiganders, but the technically correct one is “eye-el royuhl” not “eye-el roy-al”.

Day One: Windigo to Huginnin Cove (4.6mi)

All adventures to Isle Royale begin well before the trailhead. For us, it began in the parking lot of Isle Royal Seaplanes, condensing our packs, weighing our gear, and steeling ourselves for what had the potential to be a bumpy plane ride through stormy conditions. In actuality, our journey had started 6 months earlier as we tried to figure the logistics of getting to the least visited national park in the lower forty-eight. For the purpose of the retelling however, I will skip over that part.

Promptly 15 minutes before we were scheduled to depart on the last flight of the day, we watched as our plane appeared over the nearby hills, narrowly cleared the nearby Portage Canal Bridge, and landed in the water right in front of us. A dirty, but happy, group of hikers clambered out, still reminiscing about their time on the island. Right after them came the pilot, who imparted to us the importance of packing up rapidly so that we could be wheels up before the looming storm reached Houghton. Not wanting to relive my experience in New Zealand, we acquiesced and were soon a few thousand feet above Lake Superior, watching distant lightning strikes through the plane’s window.

After approximately 25 minutes in the air, the Isle Royale started to come into view and pending another 15, we found ourselves rounding the mouth of Washington Harbor and preparing to land. As we descended, the pilot pointed out a nearby bald eagle’s nest, at which point an adult eagle flew the coop and passed directly under our plane. It felt like an omen, an auspicious start to an unforgettable trip.

Once docked at Windigo, we popped into the small general store to register our trip and purchase some fuel. With supplies procured we made a quick exit, hoping to get a few miles in and reach Huginnin Cove before it got too dark. Already it was approaching 5:30pm and the overcast made it feel even later. The long summer days of northern Michigan would ensure that daylight was never an issue on the Minong Ridge, but none the wiser we hustled to the trailhead. Almost immediately, we were swallowed by the island’s thick boreal forests. Shrouded under the dense canopy we wove our way around Washington Harbor and began to follow a narrow ravine to the island’s western coast. Along the way, we talked excitedly about what was ahead and our desire to spot a few members of the island’s famous moose population.

To our surprise, it didn’t take long at all. Only an hour or so in, we found ourselves standing face-to-face with a young cow no more than 20 meters away. We nearly missed her. As we talked and walked on by the moose had stood frozen, patiently waiting for us to pass. It wasn’t until she was almost behind us that we noticed a large figure watching us from just beside the trail. After a split-second of panic, we paused to watch the beautiful creature. Eventually, she became comfortable with our presence and began grazing, working her way over a grove of saplings until the prime leaves led her out of sight. It was an incredible moment, but its reign as the highlight of the day lasted only until we arrived at Huginnin Cove. There we enjoyed dinner and a magnificent island sunset from our beachfront campsite. To this day, the spot remains amongst the best sites I have had the privilege of staying in.

Day Two: Huginnin Cove to North Lake Desor (13.9mi)

There are few better ways to start a day than waking up at dawn to the meditative sound of gentle waves at your own private beach. Had I had a mattress and a real pillow, I may never have gotten up. The hard ground takes its toll however, and after a few minutes of relaxation, we unzipped our tent and stepped out into the pre-dawn light. A pot of coffee and pack of oatmeal later, we were on our way along Isle Royale’s western shore. Before reconnecting with the main route of the Minong, we enjoyed a few miles of scenic coastal walking, accentuated by natural arches, sea stacks, and uninterrupted views of the Minnesotan-Canadian coastline. The decision to weave the Huginnin Cove loop into our journey along the Minong was one we made at the last minute, but I would highly recommend it to anyone else looking to maximize their time on the island.

Just before we arrived at the trail’s junction and officially stepped foot on the Minong Ridge, our day really started. Abruptly, the trail pointed us away from the coastline and up a gnarly switchback. Again, we were making our way into the heart of the thick northern forests that seemed to blanket almost the entire island. For the next couple miles, we would track the thin dirt path through the woods until the trees gradually began to thin and we appeared atop a rocky clearing. A look down upon the forest canopy below signaled that we were now on the Minong.

Spoiled by the gentle grade and coastal breeze of our morning mileage, we were soon forced to adjust to “the ridge” portion of the trek. What had steadily led us up almost immediately sent us back down. Little did we know, this exhausting pattern of ascents and descents would come to define the remainder of the day.

At the bottom of our first “bump” along the ridge, we came across a beaver pond, and to our surprise, the trail led us right across the top of the dam. This dam wasn’t so much a pile of sticks as it was a line of logs reinforced by tufts of tall grass. Thus, a crossing was possible but exceptionally tedious. Our walking sticks offered little help as they simply plunged through the muck when leaned on for balance. Just when we thought we all would make it safely across, Jordan suddenly lost his footing and found himself knee deep in the swamp. A new pair of socks and a lot of laughs later, we regrouped and were on our way again.

Through the remainder of the day, we soldiered on, steadily chipping away at our mileage and hoping for an early arrival at Lake Desor. The sun was out, and the set of exposed ridges offered little respite from the building heat. When stopping for water or to empty gravel from our boots, we often were forced to make a difficult choice between baking on the ridge or facing a swarm of mosquitos in the buggy lowland shade. Nonetheless, it was another memorable day on the trail. We added to our moose tally (surprising one that was headed our way on the trail), enjoyed several panoramic viewpoints, honed our dam-crossing abilities, and best of all, experienced everything in near-total solitude.

By the time the heat and constant change in elevation really began to wear us down, a sliver of blue peeked through an aspen grove due east, giving us our first glimpse of Lake Desor. This proved to be the morale boost necessary to propel us over the last few bumps and down into camp. We rounded out the evening with a well-earned meal and rejuvenating soak in Lake Desor.

Day Three: North Lake Desor to Todd Harbor (10.7mi)

Sunrise at Lake Desor could not have come soon enough. The more I have hiked over the years, the more I have come to believe that there is a sort of supernatural force governing life on the trail, enforcing a sense of balance. Climbs are followed by descents, easy miles by hard, and in this case a great night’s sleep was followed up by a restless one. Despite being relatively close to the water, we lacked the cool coastal breeze that made Huginnin Cove so peaceful. That made for a muggy evening that I, in particular, suffered through. Still, it was nothing that a strong cup of black coffee couldn’t fix.

The hiking began almost exactly how it had ended the day prior. Doubling back out of camp, we climbed our way right back onto the bumpy Minong Ridge route. Whatever grogginess that lingered from my poor night’s sleep was soon shaken off as the early mileage tested our cardio. Fortunately, we were able to sneak a couple of the harder morning miles in while a thin fog cooled the isle.

After traversing a handful of steep bumps and passing by the largest beaver dam I had ever seen, the fog began to burn off and the temperatures steadily rose. On the bright side, this brought improved views of Lake Superior and the Canadian shoreline across the way. To pass the time during ridgetop snack breaks, I began using my Isle Royale map, Garmin InReach, and questionable sense of direction to make dubious claims about the landmasses we were looking at in the distance. By the end of the hike, plans to visit Thunder Bay and Sleeping Giant Park for our next backpacking trip were in motion.

Another memorable moment from one of our day three snack breaks occurred when we heard a peculiar noise echoing from a valley below. Curious, we scanned the swampland and thick forests a few hundred feet below before we saw the movement of a moose grazing on the edge of a shallow pond. Every so often she would stop and let out a deep bellow. On the second or third instance of these calls, we saw movement again, out of the tall grass came a small calf. Thrilled, we watched as the calf awkwardly wobbled through the swamp to rejoin mom before they both began a slow retreat in search of greener pastures. It was a wonderful sight and one that we had a chance to share with two southbound hikers 15 minutes later when they asked if we had encountered a moose yet. After they longingly told us they had yet to see one after three days along the Minong, the moment felt even more special.

The midpoint of our third day on trail came right as we stumbled upon a lush grassy clearing just beside a small waterfall and rushing spring. Nestled in between two steep sections of the Minong ridge, it appeared the perfect spot to refill our water bottles, wash the unmentionables, and soak our feet. The only downside was that there was no break from the afternoon sun, so we elected to postpone lunch until we were further downstream. Once the packs were back on and we were ready to get rolling again, we noticed one small issue – the trail had disappeared. From where we stood, we had two options, we could follow a series of faint game trails that abutted the stream’s edge, or we could cross on an unsecured log. Hoping to avoid the possibility of taking an unexpected swim, we decided to test the game trails. After each one eventually petered out, we agreed we would have to try the log. One by one, we made the precarious crossing and fortunately nobody took a dip. Across, we noticed where a clear section of the trail picked back up and climbed our way back onto the ridge.

The remainder of our afternoon mileage largely followed this long, continuous, and densely forested section of the Minong. We never did end up crossing the stream again, and after coming to terms with the likelihood that my Garmin had tricked us, we stopped for a buggy trailside lunch. Nevertheless, it was a pleasant afternoon. Detached from the incessant ups and downs of the Minong’s most difficult section, we cruised along the isle’s spine and into camp where two more thrills awaited us.

Firstly, perhaps a quarter mile away from Todd Harbor, we were startled by a crashing sound to our left, just off the trail. There, we spotted another moose a dozen yards away, this time fully grown. She stared curiously at us for a few seconds, likely assessing our intentions, then resumed her grazing. With beaver pond to our right preventing any detour, we eventually inched too close along the trail and she took off crashing through the woods. Our second thrill came when we finally arrived and saw the magnificent little lakeside beach that lined the Todd Harbor camp. It wasn’t quite as private as Huginnin Cove, but the sweeping views of Lake Superior were just as breathtaking. We grabbed the last available site in the campground (it wasn’t too crowded, but there were only 6 or 8 spots) and made a beeline for the water.

Day Four: Todd Harbor to East Chickenbone Lake (8.7mi)

Coming off our second difficult day on the trail and a poor night of sleep, we decided to take our sweet time leaving Todd Harbor. By the time we rose and fired up the stove for some pancakes, only our neighbors were left in camp. A friendly father-daughter duo, they were taking their journey slowly, a few miles at a time. I envied them as we tried to get our legs moving again, feeling the effects of the days prior on our legs and shoulders. Still, spirits were high as we departed knowing that we had a shorter hike in store.

The walking started leisurely enough as we plodded northward, immersed in the forest despite remaining within a thousand or so feet of shore. After about an hour, it picked up. The trail sent us right back up a tall ridge that got the quads burning again and brought flashbacks of days two and three. Fortunately, this time the stretch of rapid elevation change didn’t last long and after some scenic views of Otter and Beaver Lake, we descended towards McCargoe Cove.

As we rolled into McCargoe just after noon, two things immediately stood out. The first was how picturesque it was, sitting at the base of a long inlet of placid blue water. While our campsite at Todd Harbor left little to be desired, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy as we passed the handful of wood huts and tent sites that looked over the cove. The second observation was how crowded it was. Now, on Isle Royale it only takes twelve people to constitute a crowd, but it still struck us as odd. We hadn’t seen a soul on the trail since Todd Harbor and it was still early for making camp. Additionally, many in the group seemed to lack gear that would suggest they were prepared for a night in the backcountry. Approximately 30 minutes later, the distant hum of an engine broke the silence of the cove and our questions about the group were answered. I had forgotten McCargoe Cove was one of the few ferry stops that provided day hikers and campers alike access to the west side of the island. As the Voyageur II arrived, we watched the group pack up and chatted with some rangers while preparing lunch. We were hoping for tips on where to find the bizarre bleeding tooth fungus, but sadly learned our odds were low around this part of the island. Eventually the ferry departed the way she came, and we were alone on the dock until a moose appeared on the opposite side of the cove, wading into the water to graze on some aquatic plants.

The hours ticked by as we sat near the McCargoe dock with the quiet confidence of backpackers who have just a few miles to go and plenty of daylight. Eventually, Chickenbone Lake beckoned and we resumed our journey by following the general path of our friend, the aquatic moose, who had disappeared into a nearby swamp. In a short while, the trail turned muddy and we soon found that several of the logs or boardwalks but it place by the park service had been submerged. It seemed the beaver dams that dotted the area were changing the landscape faster than the rangers could keep up. Fortunately, we had acquired a level of surefootedness from all of our earlier dam crossings and the muddy intersections no longer posed such a severe obstacle.

During what was probably our third successive dam crossing, a movement in the nearby water caught my eye and forced me to do a double take. Swimming in the little pond he had created was a beaver! Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, I was very familiar with beaver dams and ponds, but in all my time hiking and exploring I had never seen one. I’d gradually reached the point that even though we had already passed probably 50 dams on the Minong, it never remotely occurred to me that we could be lucky enough to see one of the inhabitants. I was overjoyed and held up the group for at least 20 minutes watching until he disappeared below the surface for what appeared to be the last time. Perhaps a hundred yards beyond the dam, we spotted our second moose of the day, grazing in a nearby swamp, but if felt like such an insignificant sighting compared to the beaver.

Just before 4pm, we arrived at our campsite for the evening – East Chickenbone Lake. In spite of the name, the site was, to our dismay, pretty far from the actual lake. In need of water for the evening, we set up camp and then made the steep trek down to the lakeshore. There we filled all the containers we had with water and for the third consecutive night had a proper bath. The water access point itself was quite treacherous and involved stepping over a silty slime that coated the bottom of the lake. Ironically, I teased our friend Jordan, the last one in, about the biting fish and sea lampreys that would probably take a liking to our blistered feet only to find a leech between my toes as I stepped out.

This was not the last strange occurrence of the evening. As we returned to camp exhausted and ready for bed, we drifted into some sort of wildlife witching hour. Soon, our camp was overrun with turtles who appeared to have climbed up the hill from a nearby swamp. Though they generally feared us, they made their way around camp poking around our tents and examining all of our gear. Then later, just as we were brushing our teeth and preparing to turn in, a gorgeous red fox ran right through the middle of our camp coming within a few feet of Emma as she stood frozen. It was so bizarre, the fox clearly saw and heard us but seemed to pay no mind as he went about his way.

Day Five: East Chickenbone Lake to Three Mile (10.3mi)

Our final full day in the backcountry got off to an uneventful, yet ceremonious, start as we packed up and descended the small hill that we had camped on the night before. At the bottom, within a few hundred yards of camp, we came to a fork in the road. Though we continued straight on through, this marked the technical end of the Minong Ridge trail, a bittersweet landmark despite the fact we still had a dozen miles to go. From this point forward, were officially walking on ‘The Greenstone,’ Isle Royale’s other famous cross-island trek.

The day began with another climb onto a rolling ridge that, while still taxing on tired legs, paled in comparison to the steep grade and rough terrain that we had encountered on the Minong. Another thing we immediately found to be different as part of The Greenstone was the traffic. The route was by no means crowded, but within a mile or so of hiking we passed two other groups of backpackers who were undertaking a popular lollipop that loops around Moskey Basin and Lake Livermore. One of the parties consisted of a couple, coming in from West Chickenbone who we leapfrogged a couple times as our group would stop for water or to dig fruit snacks out the food bag. At a particularly scenic viewpoint not too far from Mount Ojibway, we crossed paths again and asked them to take our photo. Little did we know, that would be our last panoramic view from one of the Isle’s beloved ridges. Soon after, we reached another fork, took a right turn off the Greenstone, and descended towards the Daisy Farm campground, which was nestled right along the lakeshore.

There is always something so satisfying about finishing a long trek along a large body of water. It serves as the perfect finish line and as we pulled up to the Daisy Farm dock to look out over the lake, I could tell each of us was feeling that sense of catharsis. The thin crowd of people milling about the island’s largest campground only added to this effect. Though we still had miles ahead, we decided to soak it in and take a long break. We ate, read, slept, and poked around camp without the oppressive weight of our packs. By the time we moved on to make the short trip down the coast and past the lighthouse to Three Mile, we were feeling refreshed, ready for another fifty miles. When we rolled into camp and found no vacant sites, even that could not break our spirits. Eventually, we located a kind hiker who was only mildly annoyed to have to share his private beachside site with a group of backpackers. Later that evening someone in camp informed that a dead moose was decomposing near one of the other sites. The repugnant smell apparently resulting in a few closures and significantly reducing the capacity of the small camp.

Day Six: Three Mile to Rock Harbor (2.7mi)

Though only a couple miles stood between us and celebratory beers at the Rock Harbor Lodge, we decided to start our day at dawn in hopes of beating the rest of the Three Mile crowd to the premium sites. In spite of our best efforts, the plan was eventually foiled by a particularly slow-to-rise crowd around the Rock Harbor campground. Nonetheless, the rush out of camp proved well worth it as we had one of the busiest, most scenic stretches of the trail to ourselves.

Embracing the calm, sleepy aura of the isle at dawn, we hiked largely in silence, accompanied by the sound of gentle waves lapping against the protected harbor. We didn’t stop until about halfway through our journey, when we took a short break at a trailside landmark known as Suzy’s Cave. As we polished off our supply of CLIF Bars and Welch’s fruit snacks (a personal favorite when hiking) for breakfast, I took a few minutes to poke around and do some extremely elementary spelunking. After clambering uphill to the mouth of the cave, I decided to crawl through to the other side of the shallow passage. There, I came upon a series of footpaths that led up the back side of the large rockface that the inland sea arch had been carved into. When I reached the top, I was faced with a magnificent view of Rock Harbor that seemed a fitting finale for a tough, but memorable, week. Just as I had finished soaking in some of my last moments on the trail and was prepared to head back down, a fox emerged from behind some bushes a few feet away. Upon recognizing my presence, he paused, calmly sat, and stared curiously forward. After a brief moment, he gave a short nod, as if to congratulate me on the completion of our journey, and subsequently disappeared down the hillside towards the rest of the group. It seemed a symbolic ending to an wonderful trip.

When we rolled into Rock Harbor an hour or so later, it was hard not to feel the excitement in the air. The small island “town” was a busy mix of recent arrivals and soon-to-be departures. Everyone was enthused about what they had experienced or were to experience on the island. After snagging our first wooden shelter of the trip, we made our way down towards the lodge with the whole day ahead of us. Deciding it was still too early for a pile of food and flight of beers, we elected to take another hike out to Scoville Point. It was rejuvenating to be moving around without the deadening weight of our packs and the hike turned out to be wonderful. Surprisingly, the wildlife on this end of the isle was quite active as well. Before finishing our little side quest, we had spotted nesting bald eagles, a family of sandhill cranes, and a mating pair of common loons.

With our hiking finally complete, we passed the remainder of our time on the island eating, drinking, and playing board games borrowed from the lodge. We made friends with several other groups of visitors, mostly visitors to the lodge who were generally eager to hear about what life was like on the Minong. Though we settled down for an early night’s sleep, we made plans for one last adventure: a 2:00am walkabout in search of the Northern Lights. Though the aurora ultimately eluded us, we did get a final thrill when we encountered a bull moose, no more than 10 meters away, in the pitch black.

Alternate Itineraries

There are a handful of side treks that you can do from the Minong Ridge Traverse and route modifications are encouraged. We added a sojourn to Huginnin Cove and found it to be our favorite campsite of the trip. Perhaps the most important logistical decision you will have to make in planning the Minong is whether to hike eastbound (Windigo –> Rock Harbor) as we did, or westbound (Rock Harbor –> Windigo), as most others do. This choice will have quite an impact on your overall experience, so to help, I have done my best to layout the advantages of each:

  • Northbound:
    • Allows you to get the hardest section out of the way first
    • Grants opportunity to finish with a burger and brews at the Rock Harbor Lodge
    • Ends in a part of the park with more day hikes and activities in case you finish early or with unused buffer days. This also comes in handy if you have the misfortune of facing flight / ferry delays or cancellations due to bad weather. These cancellations are uncommon, but not rare
  • Southbound:
    • Offers a more gradual ascent into the steeper section of the trail, best for those who would prefer to acclimate themselves with the rigors of backpacking
    • Allows you to finish strong with the hardest sections (pack will be lighter)
    • You can enjoy a more social experience with hikers headed your direction
    • Can lead to arrival at more crowded campsites earlier in the day (Three Mile, Daisy Farm)

Additional Sources

The Boy Scout Trail

The Boy Scout Trail

Joshua Tree Natl. Park, California

Length: 16mi. (25.7km.), with extensions 23.5mi. (37.8km.)
Days: 2
Difficulty: Easy (trails clear and elevation gain reasonable, but beware of extreme temperatures)
Gear: Standard gear + extra water (no source along route)
Completed: April 2022

In summary: Due to its hot and rather unforgiving environment, Joshua Tree is not particularly known for backpacking. However, if you are determined and willing to take some extra precautions, most local experts would recommend fulfilling your sense of wanderlust on the Boy Scout Trail. An out-and-back trek that spans 8mi. each way, the Boy Scout Trail offers a look into the variety of landscapes that make up the Mojave portion of the park. Groves of the eponymous Joshua Tree dot the first portion of the hike, while the latter half serves up impressive mountain vistas and sunscapes. The possibility of spotting some elusive bighorn sheep or the rare desert tortoise only adds to the hike.

Preparation / Know Before You Go

Register before you hit the trail: Though permit availability does not limit the supply of backpackers in Joshua Tree, you are required to register for safety reasons. Your car is at risk of being searched / towed if you have not registered.

There is no water: There are no reliable water sources along the route, so it is critical that day hikers and backpackers alike bring extra water. To help us complete the journey without a cache, we packed food that did not need to be cooked or rehydrated.

Extreme heat is common: Keep an eye on the forecast and prepare for the extreme. There is practically no shade along the entire route and the park service recommends tourists avoid all long hikes when temps approach triple digits. For this reason, avoid the trail (and Joshua Tree altogether) in the summer months. Sunscreen and sunglasses are a must as the desert rock is reflective, only adding to the sun’s intensity.

Consider adding in some side hikes: The Boy Scout Trail itself is an 8 mile out-and-back, but a handful of side trails branch off from the main trail. Consider adding in some variety by including side routes like Willow Hole or the Big Pine trail.

Camp only in approved areas: Dispersed camping is allowed in Joshua Tree NP, but there are some areas that are off limits for conservation. Check before you go, but as of our trip, backpackers on the Boy Scout Trail were required to camp on the western side of the path.

Day One: Keys West Trailhead to Big Pine Trail via Indian Cove (16.5mi)

Sitting in the Keys West parking lot and arranging gear at 10:00am, the first thing we noticed was that it was already quite warm. By the time we finally ditched the car, lathered up with sunscreen, and hit the trail, the heat was even more intense. Despite planning a spring trip to Joshua Tree and being blessed with a cooler weekend, there was no escaping the Mojave sun. As a couple of Chicagoans on vacation however, we elected to embrace the warmth and spirits were high as desert sand replaced the parking lot beneath our feet.

Accustomed to steeper terrain, Emma and I felt as if we were flying over the gentle grades around Keys West. This, combined with fresh legs and a sense of wonder from walking amongst the Joshua Trees, yucca, and prickly pear propelled us to an early arrival at the Willow Hole junction. Impressed with how quickly we were covering ground, we disregarded our late start and decided to take the well-regarded detour towards Willow Hole. A hard right turn steered our course away from the endless flat path across the Mojave and toward the low ridges that dotted the horizon.

In no time, the trail brought us to a dried-up wash that steadily meandered its way through an opening in the rocky outcroppings. As the sand got finer beneath our feet, the ridges got higher on either side until we were surrounded by what would probably classify as a miniature mountain range. We’d later learn this area was called the “Wonderland of Rocks”. Just as we were discussing how it would be the perfect place to learn to boulder, a couple of dirty guys appeared with crash pads strapped to their backs and waved hello. About a half mile later, we came across a conspicuously green thicket of desert willows, indicating the trail’s terminus. Almost certain that the dense stand of trees was concealing an oasis, we charged ahead until we came out on the other side. Quiet and scenic, we chose this secluded spot to stop for a quick lunch break.

After lunch we did a little exploring, performing our best Bighorn Sheep impressions on the smooth rock. Once tired of climbing around, we retraced our steps all the way back to the junction. By this time, we were in the heat of the day and starting to sunburn despite the frequent re-application of sunscreen. As we walked, I realized my immense gratitude for both the flat terrain and my strategic decision a week prior to trade my man-bun in for a short fade. The flat path through the dispersed forest of Joshua Trees continued for a little over four miles, at which point, the outcroppings began to reappear.

Just like at Willow Hole, a wash emerged as we approached the rocks and gradually the outcroppings grew into mountains even larger than before. Soon we would find ourselves descending from the high plateau via a narrow canyon. The descent offered some impressive views of the distant Copper and Bullion mountains, and even more importantly it provided some occasional shade. After an hour of hiking and a few water breaks, we reached Indian Cove at the base of the mountain range. Here we were faced with a flat, barren valley dominated by dirt, prickly pear, and desert scrub. The remaining hike to the trailhead was unremarkable, especially since we knew we were turning right back around. Determined not to cheat the mileage however, we continued the whole way.

By the time we reached the trailhead, the sun was starting to get low. An anxious sense of urgency started to set in as we were still miles from where we intended to stop for the night. Quickly, we hopped back on the trail and into the mountains, following the Boy Scout all the way to its junction with the Big Pine Trail. At this point daylight was nearly gone, but the idea of covering some new ground beyond the Boy Scout was tempting. In the end, curiosity won the day and we took the detour, hiking another mile or so until it was too dark to continue. There was no shortage of flat, sandy ground, so after pitching the tent and devouring a dinner of packaged tuna, we settled into a comfortable sleep.

Day Two: Big Pine Trail to Keys West Trailhead (7.0mi)

At 2am, the jarring sound of a phone alarm signaled the beginning of our second day out on the Boy Scout Trail. Though we planned to get an early start, the purpose of the alarm was not to hike, but rather a reminder to check for stars. While alarms aren’t usually a necessity given the quality of sleep one gets on a thin camping mat, Joshua Tree was an International Dark Sky Park and after our experience in overnighting in Canyonlands we didn’t want to risk missing the display.

As the brain fog cleared and I was able to take stock of our surroundings, I was stunned. There were few stars, but the mountain range we were sleeping in was completely illuminated by an eerie glow. Without taking hardly any time for my eyes to adjust, I could see seemingly for miles from the threshold of my tent. Directly above, a new moon hung, casting a shadow-less radiance across the range. It felt as if I were looking through a telescope, the texture and impressions on the moon were clearly visible to the naked eye. Though it was far from what was expected, the alarm had proven to be well worth it, even if the concentrated moonlight made falling back asleep quite difficult.

Just a few hours after dozing off for the second time, we woke again. This time the sky was painted by a soft violet hue by the pre-dawn sun. Estimating that we were only a few tenths of a mile from the end of the Big Pine, we decided to hike the last bit without bringing packs or deconstructing camp. We figured the more arduous tasks could be saved until the sun was up and our blood was flowing. Sure enough, we reached the end of the trail within fifteen minutes. It was marked by a low, green pine that stood out against the brown and grey palettes of high desert rock. Just past the pine was a wide gulley that led to a view of the distant mountains and the valley of Twentynine Palms. At any other time of day, the vista would have resembled those we had seen the day prior. However, at the crack of dawn, it revealed a colorful sunrise that justified waking up for it. After enjoying the peaceful scene for a few minutes, we made our way back to camp, packed up our gear, and once again began following that narrow path across the wilderness.

Gradually, as if carried away by the cool morning breeze, our remaining mileage began to dwindle. Preoccupied by the sights and sound of a Mojave morning, we hardly spoke as made our way back towards the car. As advised, we kept a keen eye and ear out for the sign of a Bighorn Sheep or rare desert tortoise. We had been told they were most active during the mornings, but aside from the birds returning to the yucca and a lone black-tailed jackrabbit, the desert was still. No later than 24 hours after we had arrived the day prior, we found ourselves strolling back into the Keys West parking lot. After providing a quick trail report to those about to embark on their own adventure, we climbed back into the car and were off in search of a cold drink and much-needed shower.

Alternative Route

While we thoroughly enjoyed our experience on the Boy Scout Trail and were able to add in some variety with the Willow Hole and Big Pine extensions, I am a strong believer that loops or lollipop hikes are always preferable to an out-and-back. Unfortunately, it was not until after our adventure that I learned of an alternative route that can be created by stitching the Boy Scout Trail together with some of the other nearby trails.

If you only have one vehicle and want to avoid retracing your own steps, I would strongly consider testing out the following 14.2 mile route. It can be completed in either direction. The route does involve small sections of road walking and skips over the Indian Cove portion of the Boy Scout Trail, but in my opinion that was the least impressive section of our trek.

Sample itinerary:

  • Start: Keys West Parking Lot –> Big Pine Trail (still consider the Willow Hole extension)
  • Big Pine Trail –> Maze Loop Trailhead
  • Maze Loop Trailhead –> Bigfoot Trail
  • Bigfoot Trail –> Quail Springs Historical Trail
  • Quail Springs Historic Trail –> Quail Springs Recreation Area
  • End: Quail Springs Recreation –> Keys West Parking Lot (via road)

More details about the route can be found on its AllTrails page at this link.

Additional Sources

Druid Arch Loop


Canyonlands Natl. Park (Needles District), Utah

Length: 19mi (30.6km)
Days: 2-3
Difficulty: Medium (clear trails and manageable distance, but rough terrain involving ladders and some climbing)
Gear: Standard gear + WAG bags
Completed: September 2021

In summary: Druid Arch Loop stands amongst some of the best hiking that Utah has to offer and should be a bucket list trip for any weekend warrior or aspiring canyoneer. Wandering the exotic “needles” (most look more like mushrooms in my opinion), various arches, and desert landscapes makes for a unforgettable hike. The need to climb ladders, squeeze through tunnels and clamber over rocks on all fours only adds to the excitement. Exploring “The Needles” is undoubtedly a choose your own adventure type of trip, but no matter how you set your itinerary, do not skip the magnificent Druid Arch. The arch can be reached in a long day’s hike, but why not take some extra time to camp, soak in this beautiful place, and capitalize on its status as an international dark sky park?

Preparation / Know Before You Go

Permits are required: To minimize the environmental impact imposed by backpackers, Canyonlands runs a strict permitting process for all backcountry sites. Prospective hikers will need to obtain a Recreation.gov permit in advance of their trip to secure their desired itinerary.

Build your own route: That’s right, there is no clear overnight trail or established route that is recommended to backpackers in the Needles District of Canyonlands. Rather, you will have to chart your own course based on the messy web of trails available in the area.

WAG bags are required: WAG, or “waste alleviation and gelling”, bags are intended to reduce the damage caused on an environment by human waste and are required of overnighters in Canyonlands Natl. Park. This may seem like a hassle, and admittedly it provided me with more than enough incentive to “hold it”, but the policy does have its benefits. Surely many of you have come across ugly caches of toilet paper and waste when backpacking, and this requirement prevents this in a dry environment where waste could take years to decompose.

Stay on the trail: This should go without saying, but staying on trail is especially important in southern Utah’s desert landscapes due to the presence of fragile biological soil crusts. These crusts, made up of living microbes, are critical to a functioning ecosystem in this harsh climate and a single errant footstep can destroy over 50 years of growth.

Be flash flood aware: World class canyoneering comes with its risks, so it is best to be mindful of these and take appropriate precautions. Check with a ranger before departing and NEVER camp in the floodplains outside of established sites. Remember, flash floods can occur even when no rain is present.

Day One: Squaw Flat to Campsite EC1 via Squaw Canyon (6.6mi.)

Standing in the Squaw Flat parking lot, deep within “The Needles District” of Canyonlands National Park, one can’t help but take in the desert beauty all around. The land is relatively flat, and pristine landscapes stretch as far as the eye can see, leading all the way to a dramatic vista of the La Sal Mountains 30 miles east. Despite this beauty, it isn’t immediately clear from the trailhead how this famous national park earned its iconic name. Rather than the deep sandstone canyons that adorn postcards and travel websites, the defining topographical feature of the park appears to be towering, crumbling buttes. Nonetheless, we embarked on our journey across the desert, following a flat dirt path that stretched into the expanse. As we walked, we took note of the sharp, weathered texture of our surroundings, indicative of the harsh realities of life in the high desert. The trees were gnarled and dry, the cacti prickly, even the dirt was wrinkled and brittle, formed into microbial soil crusts that had coalesced over decades to cope with the severe climate.

Steadily, as we moved along the path, we observed as a small orange crest on the horizon grew into a colorful wall of layered sandstone. We posited that that we had finally reached the eponymous canyons, 2.5 miles in, though it was entirely unclear how we were going to enter them. The trail appeared to be leading us straight towards a never-ending wall. We put our trust in the map, however, and after a bit more walking we reached the base, where a small crease in the stone brought us gradually up the steep sides of the cliff. Just when we thought we couldn’t safely climb any further, we were redirected towards a small fissure in the rock wall, no more than a couple feet wide. To cram through seemed absurd, but a log jammed into the crevice, seemingly to prevent a 127 Hours situation, had footprints on it that suggested it was possible.

After my first attempt at squeezing through the crevice was rebuffed, I had to rearrange my pack and give it another shot. This time I slipped through and was able to enter a narrow tunnel in the rock. The other entrance glowed orange in the late afternoon sun, and when we emerged from the darkness it was as if we had entered a whole different world. There we were, in the heart of the vast Squaw Canyon, blown away by the vibrant mix of colors and intense scenery around us. The canyon was deep, with multiple levels and interesting rock formations in all directions. After scampering down a log positioned as a ladder, we found ourselves walking atop the canyons second level. Both gazing down into the dried up wash below and gazing up at the prominent peaks above.

Perhaps 30 minutes after the challenge of squeezing through the tunnel, we were faced with our second exciting obstacle of the day: a metal ladder that would permit us to jump between canyons. Emma was a little anxious to test the ladder with a loaded backpack as counterweight, but my past experience on the Drakensburg Grand Traverse had prepared me well. This ladder was much shorter, and undoubtedly more secure. After conquering the ladder without an issue, we found ourselves on a smooth sandstone saddle with panoramic views of the Squaw Canyon and Elephant Canyon juncture. I cannot say that I have ever been in a natural place with more detail geologically, so we took a quick pit stop to grab water and snap photos. By this time, we were not far from our intended campsite in Elephant Canyon.

Following our break, the remainder of our journey was quite straightforward, but equally enjoyable. A similar ladder on the opposite side of the saddle dropped us officially into Elephant Canyon, where we caught a short set of switchbacks that took us to the labyrinth’s floor. After about two and a half miles winding along the canyon’s sandy bottom, we reached our campsite. I couldn’t have dreamt of a better location for our one evening in the backcountry as the hilltop site epitomized Canyonlands. A perfect sitting boulder served as our kitchen and dining room while we admired the sunset and soaked in an all-encompassing view of the distinctive spires and hoodoos that give The Needles its name. We both agreed, however, that the blunter, more rotund spires that filled Elephant Canyon were more akin to ‘mushrooms’ than ‘needles’.

When it was finally time to turn in, we decided to capitalize on what was projected to be a warm night by leaving the rainfly off our tent. Park rangers had educated us about Canyonland’s status as an International Dark Sky Park, and we wanted to see what the hype was about. It did not disappoint. Though bone tired, I spent at least an hour of the evening basking in the soft blue glow of the Milky Way. When I woke up restlessly, halfway through the night, the display was even better.

Day Two: Campsite EC1 to Squaw Flat via Druid Arch (12.4mi.)

Determined to buck our trend of later than desired starts on backpacking trips, Emma and I woke up early to begin our long second day on the trail. Fortunately, the trail supported our efforts by immediately sending us on a warmup climb into a new section of the park where we were treated with wonderful views. In a flash, Elephant Canyon had disappeared, and we were walking atop a mesa with panoramic views of the vast Colorado Plateau.

Just as there are various layers to Canyonland’s famous sandstone formations, we found there to be multiple layers to the hiking in the Needles, and by traversing the Druid Arch Loop were experiencing them all. No more than a quarter mile from our campsite, which had been tucked deep within the maze of canyons, we were now thoroughly immersed in the second layer. Ahead, we were faced with a great wall of thin sandstone, while just behind, we marveled at the curved domes of what appeared to be a plethora of mammoth mushrooms. What had once towered above us, now formed a false floor, obscuring the deep canyons below us in layer one. Perspective had certainly changed.

After another half mile or so of walking, we came to a small divide in the large sandstone wall where we crossed the threshold into the well-known Chesler Park. Once again, the space changed, opening into a beautiful sage steppe that resembled a natural amphitheater. The stage was wide and flat save for a few low ripples, while towering hoodoos and textured walls formidably boxed in 90% of the park. The small bit that wasn’t enclosed stretched endlessly away from the loop trail and into the horizon.

In addition to being integral to the scenery, the gentle grades of Chesler Park served as a respite from the steep climbs and backcountry ladders that allowed us to shave off a mile and a half from the day in no time. We used a few of these extra minutes to check out the Chesler Park campsites, where we were told that there was an archeological site worth exploring. The detour was short and definitely worth it. Barbed wire, rusted cans, bullets and inert dynamite combined with hundred year old graffiti served as a reminder that early settlers and gold prospectors had also frequented this beautiful place in search of wealth and a fresh start. As a fair warning to those who may hike with children, some of the sandstone graffiti is quite explicit.

Had we been camping in Chesler Park, I would have loved to poke around the ghost settlement for longer, but we had a schedule to keep to, and thus our stop was short-lived. After putting our packs back on and completing a quick jaunt back across the park, we were led once again into the mushroom forest. This short section turned out to be one of the most challenging parts of the trek. Prior to arriving at the Druid Arch junction, we weaved our way around and through a series of nameless capillary canyons trying to navigate our way back to the main vein. It was narrow, steep, rocky, and hot, but we eventually emerged in Elephant Canyon triumphant.

Facing a 1.6mi. one-way trip to Druid Arch, we decided it would be shrewd to abandon our heavy backpacks, so we did, stashing them under the cover of a few dense bushes nearby. Water and lunch in hand, we began an arduous climb up the wash and towards the canyon’s terminus. The entire way, two reflections stood out to me. One, how blessed we were to be able to experience this wonderful, protected piece of public land on a balmy fall day. And two, how smart we were to have left our packs behind. After the second time scaling the face a dry waterfall on all fours, I began to crave lunch and a resting place at the end of the fork. Even upon arrival at what appeared to be the back of Elephant Canyon, there was no arch to be seen. Here, we also ran into another confused couple, who had arrived 10 minutes earlier and were almost certain they had gotten lost. Puzzled, we poked around for a few minutes before I noticed a small path that appeared to run straight up the rocky cliff of the canyon. With no better alternative, I tried following it. A couple switchbacks into my scamper, I located a rock cairn, indicating we were on the right path. I called out and our new hiking party followed. Ten minutes later, we reached the top of a massive ledge, invisible from the canyon floor, where we stood collectively transfixed.

Despite completing a three day trip to Arches National Park just two days prior to our Canyonlands trek, Druid Arch instantly became my favorite geologic formation in Utah. For starters, the sheer scale of the double arch is incredible. At 150ft. tall, it resembled to me the AT-AT walkers from Star Wars. To add to the magnificence, the arch stared down an incredible view of Elephant Canyon from the upper levels. It was the perfect spot for a break, so we took a long lunch, soaking up the sun and admiring the colorful sandstone strata the entire time.

Reluctantly, after a wonderful morning of trekking, it was time for us to begin our journey back to the trailhead. So, we gathered our things, left the arch, recovered our packs, and followed a new path out via Elephant Canyon. While the proceeding 6.7 miles felt much like 12.3 miles prior, it would be erroneous to describe anything in The Needles as ‘more of the same’. Each winding turn and laborious climb brought with it a new vantage point, interesting landscape, or incomparable sandstone feature. Without suffering a dull moment, we finally emerged back onto the high plateau from which we had started. A cool breeze and refreshed vista of the La Sal Mountains greeted us upon arrival as welcome gifts to commemorate our journey.

Additional Sources

Teton Crest Trail

Teton Crest Trail

Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming

Length: 40.3mi (64.9km)
Days: 3-4
Hard (no facilities, elevation change, rough terrain, and wildlife)
Gear: Standard + bear canisters (GPS/PLB recommended)
Completed: September 2021

In summary: Perhaps the best of the great American backpacking trips I have been on, the Teton Crest Trail is a route that all serious hikers should have at the very top of their travel bucket list. Make no mistake about it, the journey is difficult. Over the course of over 40 miles hikers must brave steep, rugged terrain, wildlife, and the potential for inclement weather. Still, the best things come to those who work for them, and the payoff of the Teton Crest is unparalleled. We turned every corner and topped every hill with a heightened sense of anticipation, never sure when we would be faced with a moose, bear, pristine alpine lake, or stunning mountain vista. There is no better way to explore the beautiful Grand Teton National Park than hiking the remote Teton Crest Trail.

Preparation / Know Before You Go

Grab your permit early: Backcountry campsites are in high demand within Grand Teton National Park (GTNP), so it is important to register for a permit early and build a little extra slack into your travel plans should your route need to be modified. This is especially important on the Teton Crest, as it is the park’s most renowned long-distance route. There are two methods for securing a GTNP backcountry permit:

  1. Book an “advance permit” during the online registration period which usually opens for the coming year in early January. This requires you to know your dates and place a non-refundable deposit. One-third of backcountry sites will be booked this way.
  2. Book a “first-come first-serve permit” either the day of, or day prior to, your intended reservation. This is how the remaining two-thirds of sites are filled. Be forewarned that the lines for these permits form early at the visitor centers, and one should arrive early to ensure first pick of the available sites. We arrived at 6am sharp and were already the second group in line. By the time are visitor center opened, there were roughly 10 parties waiting.

Plan for a wildlife encounter: The Teton Crest is one of the best trails in North America for spotting big game wildlife up close and personal. This can be a highlight of the trip, but only if one is prepared. Bear canisters are required and spray is highly, highly recommended for every member of your party. Wolves, mountain lions, bison, moose, and elk are all present in the park. Be sure to keep your distance from the herbivores as well as the carnivores; all can be quite ornery (especially during the rut) and have caused loads of problems for naïve photographers who get too close.

Rent, don’t buy, essential gear: Bear bins and bear spray are necessary when camping in the Tetons (see above), but visitors to the park can save a lot of money renting gear locally rather than buying themselves. Hard-sided food canisters are best obtained at visitor centers within the park, while spray can be rented from the nearby Jackson Hole Airport or a number of outdoor proprietors in town.

Prepare for inclement weather: While we were blessed with clear skies on our journey, snow or thunderstorms are quite common in the region and hikers should be prepared for the worst. Snow is most common towards the beginning or end of the peak season (July – September), while thunderstorms can occur all summer. High heat is another possibility that hikers should take precautions against.

Crampons may be required: Check with a ranger to see if crampons or an ice ax may be required. Some of the steep passes may be covered in snow, especially if walking during the spring season.

Marmot-proof your campsite: Marmots are everywhere along the Teton Crest, and while fun companions during the day, they turn into destructive bastards at night. Consider hanging or tenting gear to keep it safe. We ran into a fellow traveler who had his shirt eaten overnight, and on our last evening one tried to make off with my hiking pole. Fortunately, it gave up on the heavy object, but not before taking a few bites out of the rubber grips.

Day One: Phillip’s Bench Trailhead to Middle Fork Granite Canyon (8.8mi)

The magic of the Teton Crest is that there truly is never a dull moment in the trail. Over the course of four days and 40 tough miles we never found a bad view or lost the sense of wonder that comes with the ever-present possibility of an animal encounter. From the moment we stepped onto the trail at the inconspicuous roadside pullout, we felt lost in the vast Wyoming wilderness.

Though we planned to get an earlier start to our adventure, the logistics of securing a permit, renting bear spray, and commuting to the trailhead gradually compounded into an afternoon start. The sun was shining and skies were clear however, so nothing could dampen our spirits. The first few miles near Phillip’s Bench were a fantastic warmup. We were far from the throngs of summer tourists moving in and out of the visitor center, but nonetheless we found the trail quite social. We pet a few cute dogs and made conversation with day hikers and locals exploring the more accessible parts of the park. Everyone seemed excited for us, and the few who had experienced the Crest told us we had some great hiking in store. As we continued on, we gradually moved between clumps of high density forest and wide open mountain meadows. The wildflowers had come and gone without us, but the colorful brush left behind painted splotches of maroon, lavender, and white across the rolling hills.

After some gradual climbing, we reached Phillip’s Pass, at which point were ceremoniously left the civilized world behind and stepped onto the official Teton Crest Trail. We had reached the Teton backcountry and pushed into it, thrilled to be crossing a major milestone off the outdoor bucket list. No more than 200 yards from this milestone, our joy was transformed into a moment of pure terror. The ensuing trail had led us into a small thicket of trees, where a downed log posed as a bit of an obstacle. As I began to clamber over the old trunk, I saw a from the corner of my eye a massive movement. I knew it could only be one of two things, and either way, we were far too close. As I snapped to look, I found myself face to face with a fully-grown bull moose. It was in the trees roughly 10 yards away, and had stopped grazing just to size up the two bipeds that were obliviously encroaching on its personal space. “Emma, MOOSE!” I whispered as loudly as I could. We stood frozen for what felt like an eternity, until our hearts started beating again and we found the composure to slowly sidestep the log, giving the moose a much wider berth.

Once clear, an overwhelming sense of euphoria crowded out fear. We could not believe what we had just witnessed. Though we had begun our journey hoping for a moose sighting, this was a bona fide encounter. Better yet, we had had a story to tell that did not involve being curb-stomped. The remainder of the day was a relative blur. A heavy dose of adrenaline propelled us up and down some intense grades, along the edges of beautiful canyons, and around Rendezvous Mountain. Despite our intense focus on the potential presence of big game, we made a deliberate effort to soak in the magnificent scenery around us. Perhaps a few hours before dusk, we rolled into Middle Fork Canyon and made camp not far from a calm mountain stream where we ate dinner and quietly watched a set of grazing mule deer.

Day Two: Middle Fork Granite Canyon to Alaska Basin (9.8mi)

We woke early on day two of our adventure ready to get a move on. It had been a silent, warm night, and the relative heat combined with a discomforting sense of “bearanoia” made for light sleep. Nonetheless, the calm morning hinted of another beautiful day and after a quick oatmeal breakfast we were back on the trail. We began with a quick climb out of our protected canyon and over another saddle. At its core, the Teton Crest is navigating a series of remote canyons and the steep mountain passes that divide them. Upon reaching the terminus of Granite Canyon, we began a steep, scree-covered descent towards Marion Lake. As we worked around the rockfalls, we could were greeted by the shrill pips of nearby pika and marmots wary of our presence. Still, we never saw more than a flash of fur as they dove into crevices out of our sightline.

At Marion Lake, we paused for our first break of the day. It was early and our legs were still fresh, but we agreed the scenery at the crystal clear lake was too good not to enjoy. We fancied a swim, but fear of chafe and a desire to wait until the heat of the day convinced us otherwise. Had we started a little earlier the day prior (or secured the right permit), I would have loved to have camped there. Following the lake, we made yet another climb, this time to Fox Creek Pass along the border of the national park and the Jedediah Smith Wilderness. There we stood underneath the prominent Fossil Mountain, which we had mistaken as part of the Teton Range the day prior. Our map indicated that there were some caves not too far away, but sadly we didn’t have the extra time to explore.

Beyond Fox Creek Pass, we entered what would be our favorite section of the day: Death Canyon Shelf. Aptly named, the “Shelf” is a wide 3.5 mile long ledge sandwiched between a sheer cliff on the left and the deep Death Canyon on the right. The views were incredible. For lunch, we stopped along the cliff’s edge and enjoyed a full view of the canyon, stretching all the way through the Teton Range and out to Phelps Lake. We also saw a handful of wildlife, including a rare family of bighorn sheep that appeared to dive off the shelf as we approached. Our favorite encounter, however, was with a burly, enterprising marmot. Unlike the ones near Marion Lake, he was busy foraging for fresh leaves and could not be bothered to take cover. Rather, he allowed us to get closer, then struck some poses for the camera before going on his way.

An hour or so before dusk, we concluded our journey on the Shelf by traversing Mount Meek Pass and beginning a steep descent down the “Sheep Steps” to Alaska Basin, where we would make camp. It was an all-time great campsite, tucked in amongst a set of gorgeous alpine lakes. After setting up the tent, we found the perfect lakeside spot for dinner and reveled in a colorful sunset. We finished our evening chores by lamplight, and as we finally packed back into the tent, we were treated to an unforgettable celestial display.

Day Three: Alaska Basin to North Fork Cascade Canyon (10.2mi)

Our third day on the Teton Crest really captured the essence of the route, a surplus of breathtaking scenery and wild trekking mixed in with a dash of suffering. Emma found that a minor ankle roll she endured the day prior had worsened overnight, making her hiking boots uncomfortable. As the day started with a series of taxing climbs, it surely was not the ideal day for wearing Tevas, nevertheless she endured without complaint.

After saying goodbye to our beloved campsite in Alaska Basin, we began a winding climb up a nearby ridge to Sunset Lake. If the elevation gain and thin air wasn’t enough to shake off the morning fog, an army of pika made sure we were awake and ready for the potentially treacherous switchbacks. As the path out of the basin overlapped vast scree fields characteristic of old landslides, it was the perfect habitat for this social clan of hamster-like rodents. Upon reaching Sunset Lake, we overtook two groups of backpackers who were still in the middle of their morning coffee. We contemplated a break, as we hadn’t had any social interaction over the past 36 hours or so, but ultimately, we still felt good and elected to keep riding Emma’s bad ankle to Hurricane Pass while it felt warm. This turned out to be a savvy move. We had proved to be hardy hikers over the first two days on the trail, but the Hurricane Pass climb was a new beast. The climb was itself was long, but a surfeit of false peaks made it seem endless. Time and again we drove to what we believed to be the “finish line”, only to find it a mirage, stretching into a further vertical climb.

Triumph cannot be had without the struggle however, and the reward atop Hurricane Pass was well worth it. From the saddle, we were treated to spectacular, panoramic views of the Teton Range from “The Grand” to South Teton. As we moved closer, verdant Cascade Canyon and a series of glaciers came into view. Still recovering from our climb, we decided to cool off by laying down in a small glacier nearby. After soaking in the view and recharging with some fruit snacks, we saddled up and began a trek down into Cascade Canyon, our home for the rest of the day. Moving past the famous Schoolroom Glacier, which had receded beyond the trail completely, we ran into a group of backpackers headed uphill who alerted us that there were multiple moose in the canyon. Excited, we took off on at a quick clip, hoping for a safer, more reasonable encounter this time around.

As we hustled through the great canyon, re-immersed in the forest for the first time in a few days, we ran into a plethora of day hikers and weekenders who were exploring the canyon. Many regaled us with similar stories of a moose sighting “just back a mile or so”. After perhaps an hour of hiking we had given up hope entirely, and of course, that was when I finally spotted one. We had been coming down a moderately steep ridge, not too far from the end of the South Fork Camping zone, when I noticed a massive bull grazing in the open meadow below us. Silently, we dropped our packs, sat trailside, and watched as the moose went about his day. It was surreal. The moose must have stood at least 6ft. tall, and based on the breadth of his antlers, it was a marvel he could hold his head up at all. Eventually, our friend lumbered out of view to pull fresh branches from a tree, so we went on our way.

The sighting energized us for the rest of the afternoon, and aside from a long lunchbreak we took next to a trailside river, we made great time. As we were within a day’s hike of the Jenny Lake Lodge, this section of the trail turned out to be moderately populated. Despite hearing a few more stories of nearby moose and some black bear cubs, mule deer and marmots constituted the remainder of our day’s animal encounters. Approximately an hour before dusk, we reached a suitable campsite near the far end of the North Fork Cascade camping zone. A wash was long overdue, and the riverside spot was optimal for a pre-dinner sponge bath. The rest of the evening was spent enjoying dinner on top of an enormous boulder, which provided a picture perfect view of the Grand Teton framed by the steep canyon walls.

Day Four: North Fork Cascade Canyon to Jenny Lake Lodge (11.5mi)

By the end of our third day on the Teton Crest we felt like trail veterans, and our anxieties around grizzly activity faded, allowing for a better night’s sleep. This turned out to be to my detriment however, as I woke on day four to find one of my hiking poles had been knocked over and dragged across the campsite. Confused, I investigated further and found that there were small teeth marks and chunks that had been removed from the pole’s rubber handles, tell-tale signs of a mischievous marmot.

Our goal on day four was to get an early start, so boots met trail before the sun emerged above the canyon rim. Since we had come to the Teton’s alone and our car was at Phillip’s Bench, we knew we may have to try our hand at hitchhiking for the first time and felt an early end to the day would give us our best shot. Incidentally, the pre-dawn departure would also mean that when we arrived at the dazzling Lake Solitude, we had it to ourselves. As the sun broached the eastern wall and reflected off the glassy surface, it cast the entire canyon in an ethereal glow. Though our legs were fresh and water bottles near full, the moment felt sacrosanct, so we stopped for a good 45 minutes and took it in, finally moving on when the first set of backpackers emerged from the lower canyon.

Back on the road, we were quickly pulled from our reverie by a nasty climb right up the canyon wall. We knew it was coming and steeled ourselves. Having come to the terminus of Cascade Canyon there was nowhere to go but up; still, it was soul-crushing. The journey featured the longest single switchback I have seen in my entire life, and even as we toiled away, if never felt like we were making any progress towards the rim. Nearly a mile later, shouts and laughter from a group that had scaled the eastern wall signaled our arrival at Paintbrush Pass, the highest point on the Crest. After pausing for photos and socializing with some fellow Chicagoans, we began our final descent.

Aside from a tenuous downhill stretch immediately following the pass, the remainder of our day through Paintbrush Canyon and out to String Lake was pleasant. The grade was manageable, and the weather remained perfect. Though the Greater Yellowstone ecosystem is notorious for potentially harsh and unpredictable weather, it appeared we would make it through without seeing a single cloud. As we walked, we were reminded of signs in the visitor center that had warned of “increased bear activity in Paintbrush Canyon” by a number of passersby who reported sightings. Unfortunately, or fortunately (this question of our luck was debated much of the way down), we never saw any of the young black bears or grizzly and cub that had been reported “just down the way”.

When we reached String Lake and the rejoined society we were overjoyed, feeling a mixed sense of accomplishment and relief. A shower and proper meal were certainly in order and the only thing standing in our way was a lift back. Regrettably, our doubts towards a ranger’s assurances that we would be able to call a rideshare were confirmed, and we attempted hitchhiking. Just as we started to grow concerned, a group of friendly Ohioans that we had met on the trail offered to squeeze is into their sedan, thus concluding our unforgettable adventure in the Tetons.

Alternate Itineraries

If looking at an NPS map of the Grand Teton backcountry, you may notice that the actual Teton Crest has no trailhead. Rather the route is a thoroughfare that serves as the backbone of an expansive trail network on the west side of the mountain range. This means that there is no set path, and a number of modifications can be made based on campground availability, desired length, etc. I have listed out a handful of the popular itineraries below:

  1. Start at Phillips Bench (recommended): This is where we started and is perhaps the most popular route. It allows for a longer, more gradual approach to the Crest, and takes hikers across beautiful wildflower fields.
  2. Start at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort: A second popular route that allows hikers to leave from the popular ski area and then take a gondola up to the Rendezvous Mountain. This gondola ride makes this the shortest itinerary.
  3. Start at Granite Canyon / Rockefeller Visitor Center: A shorter, but much steeper, route that will connect to the Teton Crest via Granite Canyon Trail.
  4. Start at Taggart Lake (loop): This itinerary turns the route into a loop, which may be ideal for those with one vehicle that do not want to hitchhike. You may start at Taggart Lake, connect to the to the Crest via Granite Canyon, then use the Valley Trail to return to the trailhead.
  5. Start west of the park: While a vast majority of trekkers begin their journey from within the national park, the Teton Crest can also be accessed from the Jedediah Smith Wilderness via the Moose Greek, Game Creek, Fox Creek, or the Alaska Basin trails.

Additional Sources

Specimen Creek to High Lake Loop

Specimen Creek to High Lake Loop

Yellowstone National Park, Montana

Length: 22.5mi (36.2km)
Days: 2
Moderate (well maintained, no facilities, moderate elevation gains, wildlife)
Gear: Standard
Completed: June 2021

In summary: A pleasant two-day lollipop tucked away near the northwest boundary of Yellowstone National Park, the Specimen Creek to High Lake Loop offers an abbreviated alternative to popular nearby treks like the Sky Rim Trail. The route takes hikers over rivers, meadows, and alpine ridges with great views of the expansive Yellowstone valley. It also showcases a pair of remote alpine lakes, complete with primitive campsites along their shores. While not one of Yellowstone’s crown jewels, this loop is a very accessible and enjoyable option for those looking to get in some fast mileage on a less populated trail.

Preparation / Know Before You Go

Book a campsite in advance: This can be said of all trips within Yellowstone National Park and neighboring Grand Teton, but if you have your heart set on a night under the stars, you need to plan ahead. Park visitation is at an all-time high, and the supply of wilderness campsites has not increased as rapidly. Our signature last minute, go-with-the-flow approach to trip planning left us scrambling to pin down logistics and secure permits for an open backcountry site. To make a backcountry reservation, call: 307-344-2860

Be bear aware: Yellowstone Park is a wonderful place for viewing wildlife, but all trekkers in this region should come prepared given the increased odds of an animal encounter. Campsites in Yellowstone do not offer bear bins, but rather rely on hanging food from tall structures provided in camp, so be sure to bring rope and a sack to store odors in. Bear spray is also strongly recommended. Our campsite on the bank of High Lake showed clear signs of grizzly activity, so this is not advice that should be taken lightly.

Bring bug spray: While we had little issues with bugs during our early September visit, hikers in other months have found them to be quite bothersome in this region.

Day One: Specimen Creek Trailhead to High Lake Camp (12.3mi)

An abrupt right turn into a discrete gravel parking lot just off US Hwy 191 served as the beginning of Yellowstone backpacking adventure. The nature of this maneuver required a quick assessment of our tired rental car, but after the Kia passed inspection, we located the nearby Specimen Creek Trailhead and began an eastward journey into the Montana’s slim slice of Yellowstone National Park. It seemed the perfect day for backpacking; the sun was high and the clouds were thin, which was to be expected given that it was no earlier than 11:00am. We had planned to get an early start, but these ambitions faded upon realization that we would have to source some rope from a local outdoors store beforehand.

The initial out-and-back section of the lollipop-shaped trail ran alongside the small, but mighty, Specimen Creek. The impact of this winding little waterway on the environment was quite apparent in our surroundings, and it seemed fitting as the titular feature of the hike. Not only did the creek paint a vibrant green vein through the dry, late-summer landscape, but it had also determined the fate of large swaths of forest that were either burned or spared by a 2007 fire. As we walked on the greener side of the river, we admired the patchwork of colors on the opposite hills and enjoyed the sound of rushing water. Hiking only a handful of miles away from the Gallatin Bear Management Area, we were admittedly a bit jumpy at the prospect of a wildlife encounter. My heart skipped a beat when startled by a harmless pair of ruffed grouse moving in the brush nearby, so the ambient noise of the creek proved to be quite soothing.

About 2 miles in, we reached the Specimen’s fork, which happened to correspond with where the trail became a loop. Opting to knock the climb out on day one, we made a left turn and continued our journey clockwise. Shortly after the junction, a gradual change in scenery was compounded by a portentous darkening of the sky. Our beloved flat path turned upward and the forest around us thickened. We were starting to work our way out of the valley and up towards the trail’s secluded alpine lakes. Over the next hour or so, the elevation increased and our steady climb turned into a undesirable, but perfectly manageable, set of switchbacks. Eventually, we reached a small ridge and found ourselves standing near the shore of Crescent Lake at backcountry site WE6. This constituted a beautiful spot for a late lunch. However, some damp winds and a glimpse at fast moving clouds in distance cautioned us not to stay too long.

In spite of the encroaching weather system, the last half of our first half on the Specimen Creek Trail turned out to be quite enjoyable. We had approached our cruising altitude around Crescent Lake, and after a brief push to a scenic ridge that straddled the border of Yellowstone Park, the remainder of our day was characterized by a gentle traverse across the tops of various hills. The exposure atop many of these hills had left the hardy forests at the mercy of harsh winter weather, and as we worked our way around downed limbs we were treated to fantastic views of rolling forests and the expansive Gallatin Mountains in the distance.

As if the gnarled trees and great views had not provided us with enough excitement, we soon came across a huge pile of grizzly bear scat right in the middle of our trail. Ten minutes later we came across a second deposit, again right in the middle of the narrow dirt path as if marking the territory. Auspiciously, both were quite dry and made up almost entirely of pinecone flakes, so we confidently assured each other that equally hungry backpackers were probably not on the menu. From there on out, our quiet hike would be marred by a cacophony of whooping and intermittent shouts of ‘Hey Bear’.

With dusk and a rainstorm fast approaching, we finally made it to our destination of High Lake Camp. It was a great site, steps away from the glassy lake and protected by a stand of massive, old growth trees. We would have loved to dip our feet in and soak up the view, but the near certainty of rain infused a sense of brevity into our evening. Fortunately our luck from the day held, mother nature was courteous enough to let us pitch our tent and fire up the stove before treating us to a storm. Launching our sack of smelly supplies over the 25ft. tall crossbeam to protect it from bears turned out to be more effort than expected, but on the fourth try our site was secured and we were ready for bed. A reminder of our fecal findings from earlier in the day proved to be more than enough motivation for me to dig deep and perfect the throw.

Day Two: High Lake Camp to Specimen Creek Trailhead (12.2mi)

Following a peaceful night of listening to rain splash off our tent fly, we woke refreshed and ready for a downhill day. The first order of business of course was coffee and breakfast, which required us to lower the food bag from its rig on the bear pole. This was much easier than getting the bag up, but as I untied the rope I made an unsettling observation that I hadn’t the evening before. Each of the two tree trunks that served as support for the pole were covered in deep claw marks that stretched from the base of the tree to about 12ft. up. It appeared the primitive structure had thwarted a grizzly’s best efforts, though I couldn’t have imagined the fear that the nearby campers must have endured listening to a hungry bear trying to raid their food stash.

Once back on the trail, we reveled in a steady downhill grade that essentially carried us all the way back to the parking lot. The walking got even more enjoyable as the thing morning fog that had enveloped our lakeside camp started to burn off. Scenery-wise, most of the mileage alternated between thicker alpine forests and beautiful golden meadows. As it was late summer, most of the foliage outside of the pine trees had taken on brown hues that reflected a golden tone in the mid-morning sun. As pleasant as it was, we grew envious of those who must have experienced the trail during the colorful wildflower season.

The highlight of our homeward trek came about halfway through the day when we encountered a pair of massive Great Gray Owls, watching us inquisitively from their perch at the threshold of a large clearing. Had one not turned its head quickly to track our movements, we would have never noticed their presence. Unfortunately, the regal birds were quite camera-shy, gliding off into the forest as I crept in closer for a photo.

With roughly a mile to go until we reached the junction and the end of the lollipop loop, the forest canopy opened up and we found ourselves in the middle of the vast fire zone that we had been looking up at the day prior. It was quite a sight. Many of the resilient trees that had been around before the fire remained standing, like thousands of sentinels looking out over the valley below. They had been stripped of all their bark and limbs, then bleached from over a decade exposure to the sun. The myriad that hadn’t been so lucky and were felled by the fire lay shattered and stacked in piles below. Some remained charred, but a majority of the soot that you would expect to see after a wildfire had already been blanketed by an army of saplings and shrubs that had begun a race to replace the old forest.

Upon reaching the junction and turning back onto the trail we had trekked the day prior, we continued our record pace to the parking lot. Much remained the same, aside from the fact that we encountered two groups of eager backpackers heading out on the same adventure, doubling our total from the day before. It did give us some satisfaction to know however, that we had managed to get an faster start than some others on the first leg of our trip despite the delays. Fittingly, a cold beer and a quick soak in the frigid Specimen Creek concluded our short vacation in Yellowstone, though we made sure to stop by Old Faithful one last time on our way out.

Additional Sources

New River Gorge Traverse

New River Gorge Traverse

New River Gorge National Park, West Virginia

Length: 23.1-26.8mi (37.2-43.1km)
Days: 2
Easy to moderate (well maintained, basic facilities, moderate elevation change)
Gear: Standard
Completed: June 2021

In summary: Despite its status as one of America’s newest national parks, the New River Gorge (NRG) area offers scenery that rivals many of the system’s most iconic reserves. The Traverse in particular is a strikingly diverse trail that follows the eponymous New River through dense forests and overgrown mining ruins. Backpacking is still new to the park, and thus there are opportunities for trailblazing trekkers to be amongst the first to enjoy quiet, low traffic routes.

Preparation / Know Before You Go

This is not an official route. You will not find the New River Gorge Traverse anywhere on a map and park officials won’t know what you are talking about if you inquire, and that is because I made it up. To give credit where credit is due, I strung this route together based on an account given by 30+ year NRG veteran Eve West (link). Should more trekkers continue to take advantage of this great trail, I would propose that the park officially commemorate Eve by naming a trail or route after her.

Transportation options are limited. In the backwoods of West Virginia there are few 3rd party transportation options. Should you set out to complete this trail, you will need to pre-arrange travel between the trailheads. Since we hiked as a group, we opted to bring two cars and drop them at opposite ends of the route.

Water filtration products are necessary. Since the park is still growing into into its new, elevated status, even the official campsites are primitive. Water filtration devices will be necessary as potable water is not available on the trail.

Customize your route. The NRG Traverse offers a number of opportunities to add to or customize your route should you choose. For starters, you can opt to begin your journey at either the Thurmond or Minden trailheads. Additionally, the Long Point Trail and Kaymoor Miners Trail are popular side-treks that can add attractions to your experience.

Go whitewater rafting. While the purpose of this site is not to plug other excursions, we went rafting the day after our backpacking trip (Adventures on the Gorge) and had an incredible time. The New River Gorge and nearby Gauley River are world class rapids that offer chaotic fun for all ages. When in Rome…

Suggested Route

Since there is no official backpacking route in New River Gorge and the Traverse is an amalgamation of a couple popular trails, I wanted to lay out the whole route in one place for convenient trip planning:

  • Start: Rend Trail @ Thurmond Trailhead (Alternate option: start at the Minden Trailhead)
    • Hike ~1.8mi.
  • Connect: Arbuckle Connector Trail from the Rend Trail
    • Hike ~0.3mi.
  • Connect: Southside Trail from the Arbuckle Connector Trail
    • Hike ~7.0mi.
  • Stop: Camp and recharge at the Brooklyn Campground
  • Connect: From the Brooklyn Campground, connect to the Cunard River Access Rd.
    • Hike ~1.5mi.
  • Connect: Kaymoor Trail from the trailhead along Cunard River Access Rd.
    • Hike ~6.6mi.
  • Connect: Kaymoor Miner’s Trail from the Kaymoor Trail
    • (Alternate option: Hike to the bottom of the Kaymoor Miners trail for ~800 stairs and ~0.5 extra mi.)
    • Hike ~1.0mi
  • Connect: Fayetteville Trail from the Kaymoor Miner’s Trail
    • (Alternate option: Add the Long Point Overlook to your trip for an extra 3.2mi round-trip)
    • Hike ~3.9mi.
  • Connect: Bridge Trail from the Fayetteville Trail
    • Hike ~0.9mi.
  • Finish: End the New River Gorge Traverse from the Bridge Trail Trailhead

Day One: Thurmond Trailhead to Brooklynn Campsite (9.1mi)

The first full day of our much anticipated New River Gorge backpacking trip came with its fair share of misfortune, but we weathered the ups and downs and enjoyed the time outdoors nonetheless. Our morning started early, as we sought to get a fast but relaxed start to a relatively brief day on the trail. After dropping our cars at the separate trailheads, we set off on our journey from a non-descript parking lot in the town of Minden, WV. This stretch of trail was calm and beautiful. Birds sang and bright orange newts (called ‘red efts’) dotted the path. Things were going swimmingly, until approximately 1.5 miles into the Rend Trail we encountered an impassable fence. It indicated that a key bridge section was out and the trail would be closed until further notice.

Frustrated, we were forced to retreat and start shuttling our crew of 8 people to a new trailhead (the Thurmond one) 20 minutes away. By the time this was complete, it was already ~2pm. There was some apprehension about whether we had enough time to complete our mileage for the day, but we had come far enough and elected to continue onwards. As we descended into the Appalachian wilderness however, our worries waned. The early path was clean, well marked, and remarkably scenic. On the left we skirted sheer rock cliffs, some still lined with coal, while on the right we were smothered by dense forest.

Hustling throughout the afternoon, we reached the Arbuckle Connector in under an hour. The only interruption was a sudden wipeout on a slick bridge. No one was hurt, but we found all the bridges on the NRG Traverse to be quite treacherous, so trekkers beware. After a steep, narrow, but short descent we reached the Southside Trail, our home for the remainder of the day.

The Southside felt remote and at times it was a bit overgrown. The trail remained clear, but the only real signs that others had walked our path were the 100+ year old coke ovens and mining ruins that dotted the side of the trail every mile or so. It was hard to believe the same rugged, densely forested valley was once filled with bustling coal towns at the heart of the Industrial Revolution. We did appreciate the work the early industrialists had done to cut a flat path through the Gorge however, as the level ex-railroad tracks allowed us to knock out 7mi. in record time. With a half hour to spare before dusk, we arrived in the riverside Brooklynn campground. The site included five sections large enough for groups, so we spread out and enjoyed a well-earned meal just before some heavy rains rolled into camp.

Day Two: Brooklynn Campsite to Bridge Trail Trailhead (14.0mi)

After enduring a stormy night, we woke to a clear but foggy morning. This provided an excellent backdrop for our morning chores as the thick fog formed low and close to the still, glassy water. When filling up our filters at the river’s edge I was astounded to find that the water was actually warm. It was a significant departure from the glacial rivers I was used to out west, and we would later learn the temperature was over 70 degrees (21 celsius)!

By the time we finished packing up camp, the fog had burned off and we were treated to a bright, sunny morning. This turned out to be a little bit of a curse however, as we began with a tough stretch of windy, uphill road walking. It was a very unpleasant mile and a half, but we made it to the Kaymoor Miners Trailhead without being run over by one of the resort buses, shuttling whitewater rafters to the nearby Cunard Boat Ramp. In no time, we were back in the wilderness, traversing the rim of the winding gorge. As it had the day before, the trail surprised us with its diversity. While still being immersed in the dense forests, the environment seemed to shift constantly between temperate and tropical. Massive trees would emerge out of nowhere, many covered in layers of moss, gigantic fungi, and thick canopy vines that appeared to be straight out of Tarzan. A bold member of our group considered swinging on the vines, but an exploratory tug seeded enough doubt in their stability that he decided not to.

Over the course of our adventure on the Kaymoor Trail, we steadily climbed up the canyon and I constantly felt we were tantalizingly close to a memorable viewpoint. With just a mile or so left in the section, that viewpoint materialized. We suddenly emerged from the cover of the thick canopy and found ourselves standing atop an open hillside clearing, evidently created by a landslide years ago. The spot was surreal. Across the way we could see the magnitude of the deep and immensely green gorge before us. To our left, we gazed up at the threshold of the forest, entangled in a massive web of vines and ivy. It seemed a gorilla or creature from Jurassic Park might emerge at any moment.

Following a quick water break on our favorite ledge, we continued on and in no time arrived at the Kaymoor Miner’s Trailhead, which was surrounded by relics of the old coal mines. Tired and facing a long upward trek out of the gorge, we dropped our packs to rest and do some nearby exploring. As the Miner’s Trail is a favorite day hike of park visitors, this was the most populated section of our journey and we enjoyed the company of some locals, two of which had come to run the 821 steps down the ruins of the old mine processing plant. As a sucker for historical ruins, I was convinced to make the short but grueling trek down with them. The quantity of ruins and photos I was able to snap made the side trek worth it, but I was definitely questioning my decision on the way back up.

To compound the pain from ascending 821 steps, our post-break climb towards the Fayetteville Trail was agonizing. Though our trek through the gorge was largely devoid of dreaded switchbacks, the Traverse seemed to pack roughly a third of our trip elevation gain into this single stretch. A bout of heavy rain prior to us reaching the top kicked us while we were down. Still, all survived and at the top spirits were immediately lifted as we could sense the finish line approaching.

Our final five miles through the Fayetteville and Bridge Trails were enjoyable, yet largely uneventful. Since clouds had rolled in and hampered visibility, we elected to skip over the highly recommended side trek along the Long Point Trail. Everything we’d read suggested the 3.2mi. out-and-back offered the park’s best views of the bridge, but we doubted we would be able to see much given the weather. With just under a mile left to go in our journey however, we did get our own spectacular look at the engineering wonder. The aptly named Bridge Trail actually passes directly under the massive New River Gorge Bridge. To enhance the effect, the dense forest canopy made it so that we were unable to see the structure until we were almost directly underneath it. Pictures truly do not do the landmark any justice, the new River Gorge Bridge is huge. Even standing just below, it was difficult to fathom how the bridge was built, or how it spanned, unsupported, across the entire gorge.

Following our crossing beneath the bridge, were were less than a mile away from a hot shower and warm clothes. The traverse tested us one last time with a rocky climb back to the level of the road, but we were determined and powered through with steeled reserve. Soon we were standing at our car, celebrating our success, and recounting fresh memories of our trailblazing traverse as a group.

Additional Sources

Manistee River Loop

Manistee River Loop

Huron-Manistee National Forest, Michigan

Length: 23mi (37km)
Days: 2 to 3
Difficulty: Easy (well maintained, minimum elevation change)
Gear: Standard gear + insect repellent
Completed: July 2020

In summary: Relaxing riverside hike through vibrant forests with lots of water access points. Easy trip for children or newer backpackers who want well-maintained trails and open campsites in a relatively populated area. A short loop trip that is still regarded as one of the better backpacking routes in the Midwest.

Preparation / Know Before You Go

Permits may be required. Depending upon where you decide to park, you may be required to reserve a daily parking pass / permit before leaving a car. This can be done via cash or check at the campsites near either trailhead. The area is well managed and we did see a ticketed car upon our arrival so make sure you take this into account

Campsites near the trailheads fill fast. The Huron-Manistee forest is a popular area for hikers, campers, and fishermen, so if you plan to stay a night or two in either the Seaton Creek or Red Bridge campsite, I would recommend making a reservation. On the other hand, we had no problem with the backcountry sites. They are first-come-first-serve, but are plentiful and you should have no problem finding an open one as long as you are willing to be flexible.

The fishing in the area is great. If you enjoy fishing, this is a great little trek to bring a pole on. While I had no success personally, we saw a number of more experienced fisherman coming to shore with large trout, pike, and salmon from the river. Just make sure you purchase a Michigan fishing permit and adhere to catch limits.

The trail can get crowded. Despite being 25mi from Cadillac and over 100mi from Grand Rapids, the area is popular with all types of folks looking for some outdoor recreation. You can still grab a relatively secluded campsite if you would like more privacy, but this is not the ideal hike for those looking to be alone in nature. This holds especially true during the busy season from July – September.

Facilities are only available at each trailhead. While potable water and restrooms can be conveniently found at either end of the trail (Seaton Creek & Red River Bridge), backpackers should come with containers and plan accordingly for the 10+ miles in between.

Day One: Seaton Creek Campground to Campsite 10B (13mi)

The first of two days on the Manistee River Loop began with an important decision regarding which direction we wanted to hike. For context the Manistee River Loop is comprised of two different out-and-back trails that naturally connect to form a loop. The Manistee River Trail side (east) of the loop is known to be the more beautiful of the two sides as it hugs the winding river most of the way and offers a lot of diversity in terms of terrain. The North Country Trail side (west) joins part of the 4,600 mile long NCT, and is the longer of the two sides. Opting to get the tougher portion out of the way first, we made our way down to the suspension bridge near Hodenpyl Dam, crossed, and began moving counterclockwise on the trail.

After crossing the suspension bridge, we fumbled through a small mess of side trails and parking lots, until we were sure we had connected with the North Country Trail. This involved a few frustrating wrong turns, but it is hard to get too lost and before long we had it figured out (Pro-tip: Look for blue paint stripes on trees to indicate the proper NCT trail). Officially on the NCT, we began a slow climb towards a ridgeline sufficiently above the Manistee River basin. As a native Washingtonian used to spending time in the Cascades, it was hard to say whether we were atop hills or mountains, but nonetheless it was decent elevation gain for hiking in the Midwest. From the ridge, the trail wound through lush forests where we saw plenty of birds, chipmunks, and monarch butterflies. Around noon, we came across a sizeable garter snake that had just caught a frog in the middle of the trail. Mouth full, the snake tried to make a break for it, but soon gave up on the escape and was forced to take its meal with our cameras in its face.

The steady up and down hiking continued for most of the day, and we enjoyed the relative peace and quiet. Further from the river, we would discover the NCT side of the trail to be much less crowded than across the way. Overall, we found the hiking easy and enjoyable. It being mid-July, the skies were blue and the trees bright green. The forests offered noise protection from the canoers below and the trail was well-maintained. My only complaint was that we never came to a clearing or peak that presented a full view of the valley below us. We had made our way to decent altitude and through the trees could sample a view of rolling green hills, but a full panorama never came to fruition.

By early evening we had completed our stretch on the NCT and began a steady descent towards the Red River Bridge, a pseudo-halfway point on the journey. Since we had access to facilities and good fishing there, we paused for a couple hours and enjoyed the evening heat. After dinner, some swimming, and fishing, we continued along our way to the nearest wooded campsite. The sun set quickly and the mosquitos came out in force, but before long we came across campsite 10B, a great trailside location perched on a bluff above the river. We made camp with headlamps and bug nets on, then settled in for the night.

Day Two: Campsite 10B to Seaton Creek Campground (10mi)

After a breakfast of protein pancakes we packed up and set off on our return trip to Seaton Creek. Since the Manistee River Trail hugs the river more closely than the NCT, we had a moderately shorter day ahead of us. We couldn’t have asked for better weather and were in great spirits. The trail brought us some wonderful scenery right away. Much of the walking was along a steep cliff near to the water’s edge, this offered fantastic views of the river below as well as the rolling hills across the way which had been our home the day before. Unlike the day prior, there was no shortage of panoramic views.

The diversity of terrain and environment on the Manistee River side was surprising yet much appreciated. We started in hillside forests, dropped down into a mini swamp near the river, climbed back up into thin hardwood forests atop a cliff, and even skipped through a couple of open grass fields. Again, we saw lots of small fauna and were able to enjoy a number of monarch butterflies hanging around before their migration. As expected the trail was quite populated and every couple minutes or so, we would pass friendly hikers or campers taking a on a much later start to the day. Fisherman floated down the river in boats, and so did flotillas of day drinkers on kayaks and inner tubes. Some of these groups could be a little disruptive, but it never took more than a couple of minutes for them to float on by.

While we were very happy with how our short trip was planned out and never saw a need to break the mileage down into three days, we did see some campsites along the Manistee River side of the trail that made us envious. Most notably, around mile marker 7 we passed a family occupied site that was perched along the top of a cliff about 100ft. directly above the river. The site was spacious and the unobstructed views second to none. Mile markers 3 & 4 on the other hand offered some riverside spots that would allow one to cast for trout while sitting in the tent. Given more time, I would have loved to have spent another relaxing day fishing and cooking around one of these top notch campsites.

Slated to wrap the 10 mile hike around mid-afternoon, we took our time and even stopped for a mid-day fishing break. Nothing was biting (most fishermen or women will advise you not to fish during the heat of the day), but the water was surprisingly warm and I loved casting from my butt in the middle of the river. After a quick lunch and an even quicker nap, we powered through the last couple miles of the loop and reunited with our car at the Seaton Creek campground. While not a hike worth traveling cross country for, we thoroughly enjoyed our weekend journey and would highly recommend the Manistee River Loop to anyone passing through central Michigan.

Additional Sources

North Coast Route


Olympic National Park, Washington State

Length: 32.8mi (52.8km) from Makah Trailhead to Rialto Beach. Option to extend another 18.3mi (29.3km) to Oil City
Days: 3 to 4 (5 to 6 with extension)
Difficulty: Hard (rocky scampering, steep passes requiring rope assist)
Gear: Standard gear + rain essentials, water shoes for fording, bear canister (required), tide chart (required), GPS or PLB (highly recommended)
Completed: September 2018

In summary: Gorgeous beach trek and a wonderful way to explore the most remote corner of the United States. Enjoy panoramic views of haystack rocks and fall asleep to the sound of the waves and gulls. Just be wary of the tides and come ready for sand / water. You are passing through a rainforest by the way.

Preparation / Know Before You Go

Getting there can be difficult. The trailhead is far from nearby cities (~2hrs from Port Angeles and ~3.5hrs from Aberdeen). Trekkers should also arrange for a dropoff / pickup or transit between the trailhead and destination. There are no roads along this part of the coast so the drive is over 1.5hrs. from one end of the trail to the other. Fortunately, affordable parking can be arranged with the local Makah if you need to leave a car. Just look for the lawn signs steps from the trailhead and pay cash.

Follow the rules! This trek place takes place along some of Washington’s most beautiful, but also most vulnerable natural coastlines. Thus, much of the land is protected and hikers are required to follow a number of guidelines put in place by the NPS as well as various native tribes who have graciously opened their land for public use. Rules to know include:

  1. The northern trailhead begins on the Makah Reservation and permits are required for access
    • These can be purchased at a number of locations in Neah Bay for ~$10. Check out the local shops and native museums while you are there!
  2. Campsite reservations MUST be made with the National Park Service in advance (they book fast depending on season)
    • Many campsites have quotas to reduce wear. Find more information here.
  3. Bring a bear canister and store all scented items in it at all times. You may not hang food.
    • This is actually more for racoons than bears. They are aggressive and have been known to run off with daypacks in the area
    • Canisters can be loaned from the NPS Wilderness Center though purchasing ahead of time will save you a detour

Get a tide chart and be wary of the tides. I cannot emphasize this enough. You can purchase tide charts at any local convenience store, gas station, Chamber of Commerce, etc. At the very least, having a tide chart and learning to read it will save you from trip delays. At most, it will save your life. If you are informed, this journey is very safe. As 90% of the trail is along the beach, it is nearly impossible to get lost! However, in some stretches the beaches are thin, rocky and bordered on one side by impassable cliffs. An official wilderness map will tell you how low the tide must be to pass at certain points along the trail and the tide chart will indicate at what times that is possible. Outside your window, the pass or entire beach will be swallowed up. Bring a GPS or PLB for emergencies, but do not chance it. The water is rough, the shores rocky, and I do not imagine the Coast Guard’s commute is short.

Purify your water. Though the route crosses a number of rivers, many of which are crystal clear, giardia is present in the area so never drink the water prior to cleansing it.

Day One: Shi Shi Trailhead to Seafield Creek Campground (7.3mi)

Day one got out to a slower start than anticipated after cell reception issues required a detour to the Quinault Ranger station in order to register and reserve campsites. By the time the drive was complete, Makah permits / tide charts were secured, and final gear checks made, it was around 1pm. Nevertheless, I happily embarked on a nice summer afternoon.

The trail started off with an unremarkable 2mi stretch through the coastal forest, but in no time I was spat out onto the beautiful Shi Shi Beach. My excitement was tempered relatively quickly however when I realized I had long missed the window for crossing the base of Point of the Arches. Fortunately, the 2hr tide delay offered a chance for some relaxing beach reading with the picturesque Point of the Arches haystack formation as my backdrop.

Around 4:30pm or so, the tide was low enough for me to get around the point, though not without getting soaked up to my knees. A short while later I reached the first overland pass, marked by a circular warning sign and a nearby rope and buoy. Like many of the other passes I would encounter, the steep path up the hill was slick with mud and I relied heavily on the rope assist. From the top of the cliffs, the view was incredible. Coastal forests in Washington tend to be sparse with wind-broken foliage, thus I was rewarded with panoramic views of the ocean and haystack rock formations. The sunset and dusk glow added to the effect (and picture quality), but also made it clear I needed to hustle.

As the sun went down and dusk turned to dark, it became pretty clear I was not going to make it to the Ozette campground as I had hoped. Instead I pulled out my headlamp and crawled over the rocky beaches at a snail’s pace. Amusingly, my lantern attracted insects and bats kept darting across my line of sight, some just feet from my face. Less amusingly, I found scampering across boulders and slick rocks to be very precarious in the dark and I didn’t make Seafield Creek until hours after dark. A set of colorful washed up buoys and retaining logs marked the site, and after a hasty dinner I was fast asleep.

Day Two: Seafield Creek to Cedar Creek Campground (16.4mi)

Day two got off to an early start, as was mandated by the tides. Keen on avoiding another round of night hiking, I packed up and headed out on a foggy morning. The day started with some calm, quiet beach walking. Before long, I came to the Ozette River where I was greeted by a pair of massive golden eagles that had just been fishing. The river was just too large to jump so I had to drop my boots and ford it barefoot. Though not an absolute necessity, I would recommend water shoes for this reason. Some of the river bottoms could be slick or rocky.

Beyond the river, I entered the Ozette Indian Reservation. One of the special things about this trek is that in addition to it’s obvious natural beauty, it also leads trekkers through historically significant lands. The beach at Ozette is the site of an 18th century mudslide that swallowed an entire Makah village. Hundreds of years later, the space was excavated as part of a major archeological dig. Some of the buildings from the dig still stand abandoned. At the southern tip of the reservation I made my way around Cape Alava, a beautiful beach area popular with day hikers and overnighters looking for a shorter trip. To my right, Ozette Island and the Wedding Rocks loomed large out on the water. Though I could not see any, the barking of seals echoed landward from the isolated haystacks.

Near Wedding Rocks I stumbled upon a set of petroglyphs, one of my favorite sites from the trip. My map noted they were in the area, but after about 20-30min. of searching I gave up and decided to move on. As I did so I paused for a drink of water, looked behind me, and there they were. Large and impressively well preserved I could easily make out the whales, faces, and fertility symbols etched into the large boulders centuries ago.

The rest of the journey was long and grueling, but worth the effort. Much of the route required some pretty tough scampering over rocks and boulders often slick from high tide being caked in algae, barnacles and anemones. I did my best to disturb as little of the sealife as possible, but it was difficult. I put my hiking poles to the test, shoving them between rocks and into holes in order to preserve my balance. I would not recommend hiking without poles. If I’d have been without, I likely would have spent a significant amount of time on all fours exposing my hands to the sharp barnacles and mussels. The scampering did offer a glimpse into some massive tide pools which I really enjoyed and spent a lot of time exploring. Fluorescent anemones and colorful starfish reminded me of aquarium touch tanks from when I was a kid.

After over 16 miles I finally arrived at Cedar Creek, which was in my opinion the perfect campsite. No matter how you set your itinerary, I would recommend one night here. The tent spots were insulated from the coastal winds, but still close enough to the surf that you could fall asleep to the sound of the crashing waves. In true Pacific Northwest fashion, the sunny weather of the day was steadily exchanged for a coastal haze, and I was blessed with a natural shower as I made camp.

Day Three: Cedar Creek to Rialto Beach (9.1mi)

The day three start was just as early but a little slower as some soreness and fatigue had set in from the rock scampering the day prior. By sunrise the rain had retreated and been replaced by a blanket of ocean fog. The fog was thick enough that despite there being no actual rain, it soaked my fleece and I was forced to switch to the rain gear. The actual walking started with a leisurely couple of miles down a large beach. Things became a little more complicated when I came to the only overland pass of the day. The hill had become very slick with mud and even with the rope assist ascending was a challenge. I managed to avoid any spills by leaning back a near 45 degrees and trusting the integrity of the rope. On the way down I wasn’t so lucky and a misstep resulted in a 15ft slide down the side of the hill. Fortunately no injuries were sustained and I was back on another beach, this one littered with huge old growth logs.

Around late morning I turned the corner on Cape Johnson and was one step closer to the home stretch. The tide was just low enough, but even then the strip of dry beach and rock was thin. Before long I came upon the Chilean Memorial, a small headstone memorializing the sailors of a notable shipwreck just offshore. This is one of two such memorials on the North Coast Route, as the surrounding waters are known to be one of the most treacherous nautical areas in the world. As I continued to work my way south, the weather improved and before long I was enjoying a perfectly warm but windy afternoon.

The end of my journey came ceremoniously upon reaching Hole-in-the-Wall, a natural sea arch that is a favorite tourist attraction along the Pacific Coast. Over the course of my three days on the route, I mostly enjoyed solitude, only passing three other groups of hikers headed in the opposite direction. Once I cleared Hole-in-the-Wall, I was on the populated Rialto Beach. I moved past day trippers and beachgoers who seemed to be wondering where the muddy guy in the large backpack came from. In no time I was sitting in the parking lot, awaiting my pick up and looking forward to a hot shower.

Alternative Options

Though my journey ended after three days at Rialto Beach, many people on the North Coast Route will continue south through Oil City. There are two obstacles to this journey that prospective hikers should be aware of:

  1. The southern end of the North Coast Route requires very low tides to pass some of the headlands. Depending on when you go, tides may not dip below 2′ and thus the trip would not be feasible. This happened to be the case when I went and prevented me from completing the whole journey.
  2. The Quillayute River at Rialto Beach is impossible to ford. Hikers thus have two options for continuing to Oil City. One would be to hike / hitchhike 9.1miles along the road from Rialto to the Third Beach trailhead. The other would be to call the La Push Harbormaster and ask him to ferry you across. I was told this could be done for $20-40, but was also warned that it should be arranged ahead of time since calling day of is not always reliable.

Additional Sources