Backpacker - Issue August 2022 by PerpustakaanIIM.Majalah

SUMMER 2022

Contents

The Features 68

SMALLER CROWDS, BIGGER ADVENTURES There are 423 national park units in the U.S., and 6,600 state parks. Do the math: If you’re looking to lose the crowds this summer, start with America’s other best idea.

SIERRA TIME Before Kim Stanley Robinson wrote his Hugo and Nebula Award-winning books (the Mars trilogy among them), he was a hiker ﬁrst and foremost. Head into California’s high country with him, and see it anew.

HOW STUFF WORKS All the intel you need to be a smarter backpacker, including what causes alpenglow, how DEET confounds mosquitoes, and why that mountain goat is licking urine off of the plant you just peed on.

102 TO WALK ALONE

P H OTO BY A RC O I M AG E S / M E I S S N E R DA N I E L / G E T T Y I M AG E S

Backpacking alone unlocks a powerful wilderness experience. If you’re scared to go solo, you’re on the right track.

ON THE COVER: Coyote Gulch, Utah Photographer: Paige Tingey THIS PAGE: Full moon above the Eastern Sierra Nevada, California

BACKPACKER.COM

Contents

Adventures

Hiker’s Handbook

Field Test

In Every Issue

16 DISPATCH

40 LEVEL UP

56 HEAD TO HEAD

10 TRAILHEAD

Discover a little-known and sparsely traveled thru-hike along British Columbia’s Sunshine Coast.

22 MIRACLE MILE Summer sun in Florida can be a bit overbearing. Why not explore the Gulf Islands National Seashore at night?

24 TRAILMIX From Mt. Rainier to Mt. Katahdin and everything in between, we’ve got the routes that will take you above and beyond. This issue: Sniff a profusion of wildﬂowers, and watch calving glaciers.

28 GALLERY Visual adventures with the best outdoor photographers

36 LOGBOOK

Dehydrate your own meals, be a backcountry mixologist, and more tips for getting your camp chef on.

44 BOOT CAMP Mobile joints make for more enjoyable hikes.

46 TRAIL CHEF Care for a nice apple crisp after that stroganoff?

Softshells for hard weather. Plus: insider tips from our ﬁeld testers

64 THE KIT Turn your rugrats into packrats with outdoor gear for families.

66 FIELD NOTES O+ members report on the gear they can’t live—or hike—without.

48 KNOW NATURE Regarding your foraging skills: There’s ‘shroom for improvement.

50 OUT ALIVE

52 TRAIL CRAFT Fun—and peril—are written upon the waters. Learn to read the waves.

48 | SUMMER 2022

12 TRAILBLAZER A ﬁre ecologist learns to appreciate charred trails.

14 VIEWPOINT Which peaks are more worth bagging and bragging about: New Hampshire’s 4,000 footers or Colorado’s 14ers?

Lost for nine days in the woods of Washington

One great thing about a campsite? Unlike your kitchen, it never requires renovation.

4 Backpacker

In defense of America’s Wild and Scenic rivers, and readers sound off on fast-packing vs. comfort camping.

( L E F T ) P H O T O B Y Y U R I C H O U F O U R ; ( T O P ) M AT T S TA C E Y ; I R Y N A Z A I C H E N KO / I S T O C K / G E T T Y I M A G E S P L U S

SUMMER 2022

trekking tights reinvented

ABISKO TREKKING TIGHTS PRO Durable | Stretch | Recycled

As an important step forward on our journey of becoming the preferred outdoor brand among women, the Abisko Trekking Tights Pro is a comprehensive update to the original award-winning Abisko Trekking Tights. Offering unmatched comfort and reliability on the trail using a compressive, quick-drying fabric made from recycled polyester and abrasion resistant stretch on the seat and knees. Nature Is Waiting. fjallraven.com

Q: What is your favorite state park? EDITORIAL DIRECTOR

Peter Moore

Baxter, ME: Where I ﬁ rst tiptoed along the Knife Edge at 9 years old

Editorial SENIOR DIGITAL EDITOR Adam Roy Waubonsie, IA: An oasis of nature overlooking a hundred miles of ﬂ at farm ﬁ elds SENIOR GEAR EDITOR Eli Bernstein SENIOR SKILLS EDITOR Zoe Gates Franconia Notch, NH: The east has grand ridgeline hikes, too. ASSISTANT DESTINATIONS EDITOR Kristin Smith ASSISTANT SKILLS EDITOR Emma Veidt Rock Bridge Memorial, MO: Twelve caves to explore and hundreds of deer to hike with ASSISTANT GEAR EDITOR Benjamin Tepler Cape Lookout, OR: Steep cliffs, secluded beaches, and epic seaside cabins NORTHWEST FIELD EDITOR Ted Alvarez ROCKY MOUNTAIN FIELD EDITOR Elisabeth Kwak-Hefferan SOUTHWEST FIELD EDITOR Annette McGivney CONTRIBUTING EDITOR Liz “Snorkel” Thomas BRAND AMBASSADOR Steven Reinhold Art + Photography ART DIRECTOR Brian Johnson PHOTO EDITOR Anna Papuga

Itasca, MN: I love getting lost in the idea of what Minnesota was. Humboldt Redwoods, CA: Home to my favorite solo hiking moments among the tallest trees

Field Scouts Anastasia Allison, Laura Lancaster, Korey Peterson, Mary Beth Skylis, Ryan Wichelns, Erica Zazo Production and Circulation DIRECTOR OF CIRCULATION & CUSTOMER SOLUTIONS John Albin DIRECTOR OF PRODUCTION AND MANUFACTURING Barb Van Sickle PREPRESS MANAGER Joy Kelley SALESFORCE COORDINATOR Cossette Roberts CIRCULATION MANAGER Angela Martinez Sales SENIOR SALES DIRECTOR, ROCKY MOUNTAIN Rob Hudson rhudson@outsideinc.com SENIOR SALES DIRECTOR, EAST COAST Chad Johnson cjohnson@outsideinc.com SENIOR SALES DIRECTOR, WEST COAST Nikki Ozmai nozmai@outsideinc.com SENIOR SALES DIRECTOR, MID WEST Liz Wilson lwilson@outsideinc.com MARKETPLACE SALES MANAGER Kathleen Chambers kchambers@outsideinc.com RETAIL SALES NPS Sales Strategy & Client Success SENIOR DIRECTOR Courtney Matthews SENIOR MANAGER, SALES STRATEGY Leslie Barrett COORDINATOR, CLIENT SUCCESS Kelly Corrigan MANAGER, CLIENT SUCCESS Erica Givans EVENTS DIRECTOR + BACKPACKER AMBASSADOR Randy Propster Public Relations PR@OUTSIDEINC.COM Adventure Group ONLINE EDUCATION PRODUCER Ryan Dionne ASSISTANT CONTROLLER Kelly Baumgardner FINANCE MANAGER Alice Morgan

CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER Robin Thurston CHIEF OPERATING & COMMERCE OFFICER Danielle Quatrochi CHIEF FINANCIAL OFFICER Ajay Gopal CHIEF PRODUCT OFFICER Michael Sippey CHIEF PEOPLE OFFICER Jade Curtis CHIEF EXPERIENCE OFFICER Drew Elder CHIEF LEGAL OFFICER Christina Halliday CHIEF CONTENT OFFICER Amy Dubois Barnett CHIEF MARKETING OFFICER Dmitri Siegel VICE PRESIDENT & GENERAL MANAGER, OUTDOOR GROUP Jon Dorn Carter Caves, KY: Where I learned to spelunk (and nearly died once) VICE PRESIDENT, SALES & STRATEGIC PARTNERSHIPS Sharon Houghton VICE PRESIDENT OF CONTENT STRATEGY, ADVENTURE SPORTS Micah Abrams Hudson Highlands, NY: So pretty, Billy Joel wrote a song about it VICE PRESIDENT OF MARKETING PJ Rabice VICE PRESIDENT, AD MARKETING + SALES STRATEGY Sam Moulton VICE PRESIDENT EXECUTIVE CREATIVE DIRECTOR Andrew Lincoln FREELANCE SUBMISSIONS backpacker.com/guidelines LETTERS TO THE EDITOR letters@backpacker.com EDITORIAL AND BUSINESS OFFICES 1600 Pearl Street, Suite 300, Boulder, CO 80302 SELLING BACKPACKER To sell Backpacker in your store, please call 802.846.9410. LICENSING shoughton@outsideinc.com PUBLIC RELATIONS pr@outsideinc.com Subscriptions & Reader Preferences Memberships: support@outsideinc.com | 800.350.1984 Print subscriptions: BKPcustserv@cdsfulfillment.com | 800.666.3434 International customers 1-515-248-7685 backpacker.com/customerservice PO Box 37751, Boone, IA 50037-0751

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Trailhead

or me, the horizon is a to-do list. I look west from my home in Colorado’s Front Range and tick off the inventory of peaks: Done it, done it, need it, need it, done it … oh man, gotta climb that one. And the one next to it. Those last two wishlist mountains have names: Hallett Peak and Flattop Mountain, rising high above the commotion of the busiest trailhead in Rocky Mountain National Park. It’s the one at Bear Lake, where you’re as likely to spot an open parking space as a snow leopard. I’ve been wanting to climb Hallett and Flattop ever since I moved to Colorado, because I like the way they hang above that hallowed landscape, and because that ridgeline divides the continent. Empty your Nalgene up there and the water would flow straight to the Pacific. So, you might ask: Why not stop blathering on about that hike, and just go? Because I need a reservation for it, just like the tasting menu at The French Laundry. My neighborhood national park went on a timedentry plan at the start of the pandemic, and so it remains. I either have to arrive at the entrance gate before 6 a.m., book a rez, or forget about it. I feel like I’m trying to climb Space Mountain at Disney World without a FastPass. Good thing there are options that offer comparable hiking, views, and a sense of accomplishment, also right out my door. Just off

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the northern border of Rocky lies 70,000 acres of spectacular scenery with the misleadingly bland name of State Forest State Park. But you know what? The name probably helps keep the crowds down. State Forest State Park has a quarter of the visitors who throng to RMNP, no doubt because most people thought: With a name like that, how good could it be? The 600 moose that stroll those environs agree with me: It’s freaking awesome. You’ll read all about it on page 68, in “America’s Other Best Idea,” by longtime Backpacker contributor John Fahey. That title plays oﬀ of novelist Wallace Stegner’s assertion that our national parks were “the best idea we ever had.” True enough, but if you want to ditch the crowds before you pitch your tent, aim for one of the nation’s 6,600 state parks. They may be less famous, but that just means fewer people have circled them on their calendars this summer. (Before you go, brush up on your know-how with our feature “How Stuﬀ Works,” on page 92.) And while you explore the outer reaches of the wilderness, why not take a hike with otherworldly writer Kim Stanley Robinson? He’s the Hugo and Nebula award winning scribe of such sci-fi classics as his Mars trilogy, plus The Years of Rice and Salt and 2312. But before he became “one of the greatest living science

fiction writers,” according to The New Yorker, Robinson was dropping LSD and blissing out on Sierra hikes. He no longer eats blotter acid as trail food, but he continues to climb in the California high country. He chronicles all of it in his amazing new book The High Sierra: A Love Story. In our exclusive excerpt, Robinson takes you through a perfect day in his favorite mountain range. Which brings me back to Hallett and Flattop. I just went on Recreation.gov and reserved a park-entrance time for my hike, after the snow melts but before schools let out. As most experienced hikers know: Once you get a quarter of a mile from the car (even the one at Bear Lake), you may as well be on Mars with Robinson. Often, that’s all it takes for the crowds to lessen, the quiet to take over, and the views to grow long. I hope this issue inspires you climb to new heights, as well.

—Peter Moore, Editorial Director

P H O T O B Y M AT T D I R K S E N / G E T T Y I M A G E S

E D I T O R ’S N O T E

Trailhead

THE GOOD FIGHT

Let The Rivers Run Free A set of 10 bills currently in Congress will protect 7,000 miles of American waterways— if they pass. BY KRISTIN SMITH

( A B O V E ) P H O T O S B Y PA U L A C O B L E I G H / A D O B E S T O C K ; ( B E L O W ) A L E X S AVA / G E T T Y I M A G E S

The Wild and Scenic Rivers Act, passed in 1968, was a landmark piece of legislation. For the first time in United States history, it gave Congress the power to protect rivers with “outstandingly remarkable scenic, recreational, geologic, fish and wildlife, historic, cultural, or other similar values,” prioritizing sustainable management and banning dams or other development. Since then, though, just under half of 1 percent of the nation’s rivers have been designated as Wild and Scenic, while over 12 times that many river miles are classified as too polluted for swimming or fishing. This year, a set of proposed bills from several states—Oregon’s River Democracy Act, Washington’s Wild Olympics Act, New Mexico’s M.H. Dutch Salmon Wild and Scenic Rivers Act, and the Montana Headwaters Legacy Act, among others—would protect another 7,000 river miles and another 5 million of riparian shore area with Wild and Scenic River designation. The challenge? As is so often the case, the bills are stalled out in committees and subcommittees, with not enough noise made by constituents to move them. That’s where you come in. As hikers, we know that the Wild and Scenic Rivers we love to trek beside are a treasured resource, and that our nation’s waterways need more protection than ever. Head to usa.gov/elected-officials to find your representatives and their contact information. Then write, call, and email your support for more Wild and Scenic Rivers.

HIKING POLL

ULTR ALIGHT

What’s your packing style: Ultralight or ultra-plush?

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22.9 %

SOME WHE RE IN BE T WE E N

ULTR A- PLUSH

69.5 %

7.6 %

CBD FOR YOUR PAIN

Everyone feels the hurt as we age, but CBD can help you deal with it.

ife really does ﬂy by. Before I knew it, my 40s had arrived, and with them came some new gifts from dear ol’ Mother Nature— frequent knee pain, stress, low energy and sleeplessness. Now, I’m a realist about these things, I knew I wasn’t going to be young and resilient forever. But still, with “middle-age” nearly on my doorstep, I couldn’t help but feel a little disheartened. That is until I found my own secret weapon. Another gift from Mother Nature. It began a few months back when I was complaining about my aches and pains to my riding buddy, Ben, who is my same age. He casually mentioned how he uses CBD oil to help with his joint pain. He said that CBD has given him more focus and clarity throughout the day and that his lingering muscle and joint discomfort no longer bothered him. That made even this self-proclaimed skeptic take notice. But I still had some concerns. According to one study in the Journal of the American Medical Association, 70% of CBD products didn’t contain the amount of CBD stated on their labels. And, as a consumer, that’s terrifying! If I was going to do this, I needed to trust the source through and through. My two-fold research process naturally led me to Zebra CBD. First, I did a quick online poll—and by that, I mean I posed the CBD question on my Facebook

page. Call me old fashioned but I wanted to know if there were people whom I trusted (more than anonymous testimonials) who’ve had success using CBD besides my buddy. That is how I found out that Zebra CBD has a label accuracy guarantee which assures customers like me what is stated on the label is in the product. Secondly, I wanted cold hard facts. Diving deep into the world of CBD research and clinical studies, I came across Emily Gray M.D., a physician at the University of California at San Diego (UCSD) Medical School and medical advisor for Zebra CBD who is researching the effects of CBD. Dr. Gray wrote “early results with CBD have been promising and we have a lot of research underway now. I’ve had several patients using CBD with good success. It’s important that you know your source of CBD and how to use it properly.” After hearing it from the doctor’s mouth, I returned to my online poll and was amazed by the number of close friends and family who were already on the CBD train. Apparently, I was the only one without a clue! And funny enough, a couple of friends who commented were using the same brand as my buddy—Zebra CBD. There was no consensus as to why they were using CBD, but the top reasons given were for muscle & joint discomfort, mood support, sleep support, stress and headaches, as well as supporting overall health & wellness.

Eventually, even the most skeptical of the bunch can be won over. With a trusted CBD source in mind, I decided to try it. When I viewed Zebra CBD’s selection online, I was impressed by its array of products, including CBD oils called tinctures, topicals, chewable tablets, mints and gummies. After reading on their website that all their products are made with organically-grown hemp, I ordered... and it arrived within 2 days! The first product I tried was the rub. Now this stuff was strong. Immediately after rubbing it on my knee, the soothing effects kicked in. It had that familiar menthol cooling effect, which I personally find very relieving. And the best part is, after two weeks of using it, my knee pain no longer affected my daily mobility. The Zebra Gummies, on the other hand, had a different but equally positive effect on my body. To take it, the instructions suggest chewing thoroughly. This was simple enough, and the taste was, well, lemony. After about 15 minutes, a sense of calm came over my body. It’s hard to describe exactly; it’s definitely not a “high” feeling. It’s more like an overall sense of relaxation—a chill factor. Needless to say, I’ve really enjoyed the gummies. While it hasn’t been a catch-all fix to every one of my health issues, it has eased the level and frequency of my aches. And it sure doesn’t seem like a coincidence how much calmer and more focused I am. All-in-all, CBD is one of those things that you have to try for yourself. Although I was skeptical at first, I can say that I’m now a Zebra CBD fan and that I highly recommend their products. My 40s are looking up! Also, I managed to speak with a company spokesperson willing to provide an exclusive offer to Bicycling readers. If you order this month, you’ll receive $10 off your first order by using promo code “BP10” at checkout. Plus, the company offers a 100% No-Hassle, Money-Back Guarantee. You can try it yourself by ordering at ZebraCBD.com/Hike or by calling 888-762-2699.

Trailblazer WISDOM FROM HIKERS MAKING A DIFFERENCE

ALLIE WEILL F I R E ECO LO G I S T / AU T H O R

INTERVIEW BY PETER MOORE BACKPACKER: In your article you wrote: “Residents of fire -prone landscapes may benefit from…visits to local burn sites throughout the recovery period.” How? Allie Weill: My study came out of the Wragg fire in the California Coast Ranges. It’s a popular hiking area that was totally denuded. A friend and I went to scope it out a month after it burned.There hadn’t been any rain yet, but there were already little bits of green resprouting here and there, which was pretty incredible. At the same time, the trail infrastructure was destroyed. But when the first rains came in the winter, it was just beautiful. Shrub skeletons were sticking up, with this mossy green underlayer. BP: So you’re a fan of the burned landscape, on some level? AW: It was so cool. A friend of mine was doing research in Yosemite after the Rim Fire in 2013. The following spring it was just otherworldly to see the shapes of the burned trees on the landscape. I got this idea to survey people about the experience of hiking in that space, as well as whether it prompted people to think about fire more generally, and also just what people knew about wildfire.

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BP: What did you find? AW: People thought the hiking experience was much better than they expected. They wrote some really interesting and lovely things about getting to see nature recovering, regrowth, and rebirth. Someone called it a “phoenix landscape;” somebody else called it a “spooky forest.” They loved how the views opened up. And they also enjoyed seeing this process of nature. It helped with their healing experience. Seeing the recovery is very powerful. BP: What about the plants and animals? AW: Many plants and animals take advantage of and even depend on post-fire environments—even after severe fires. The black-backed woodpecker is a pretty well-known example. This bird likes to nest in snags: standing dead, burned tree trunks, where it’s easy to find the bark- and wood-boring beetles that they eat. They like moderate- and high-severity burn areas, or a mix, where there are lots of snags. There are beetles that are specifically attracted to wildfire smoke and lay their eggs in burned dead or dying trees—sometimes when they are still smoldering. Fire can make habitats that animals like. Historically, indigenous people burned for different reasons. It could clear areas for hunting so deer could move around the landscape more freely. Fish can be negatively affected if a river is shaded, and then the vegetation burns and it increases the temperature of the river. But fire also unlocks nutrients, and the landscape is more open. There are plants that particularly thrive in those settings, and seeds may be triggered to germinate by the fire, heat, and smoke. A year or two after a fire, you can get some lovely flower pulses.

BP: Are there other challenges to plant life, aside from the obvious ones? AW: Ideally a place would burn and new, beautiful flowers and plants would come in. But it’s also prime space for invasive species, which makes it more likely to burn again in the future. All over the West we have tons of invasive annual grasses, and they burn more easily than what was there before. They also create fuel in a place that never really burned before, like in the desert. Fire burns, invasive grasses come in, they burn again, more grasses come in and so on. It can convert entire habitats. BP: What should Backpacker readers look out for? AW: Invasive grasses are carried a lot by people who are out in the backcountry. Cheatgrass is the biggie in more arid areas like the desert and the Great Basin. Brush off your boots before a hike! BP: What are some other risks for hikers? AW: Smoke can affect huge areas. It’s not healthy and it’s not pleasant. It’s become something to factor into your plans in a way that it never has before. Sometimes you can appreciate the burned landscape and see the beauty. Sometimes it’s just sad and ugly when things are lost. BP: How can we help avoid the “sad and ugly”? AW: Don’t make fires where you’re not allowed to make fires. A campfire used to be such a characteristic part of being out in nature, but it’s different now. Some backpackers don’t even bring a stove. They just soak their ramen cold.

(L -R)PHOTO COURTESY OF ALLIE WEILL; JAMENPERCY/ADOBE S TOC K

Weill is a California fire ecologist and the lead author of a study published in the International Journal of Wildland Fire about how hikers relate to landscapes scarred by flames. She takes pains to prevent fires, but once the smoke clears, she’s among the first out there to study, learn, and appreciate the beauty in the blackened landscape.

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FIJIWater. com *Compared to the other two top premium bottled water brands. © 2022 FIJI Water Company LLC. All Rights Reserved. FIJI, EARTH’S FINEST, EARTH’S FINEST WATER, the Trade Dress, and accompanying logos are trademarks of FIJI Water Company LLC or its affiliates. FW220329-14

Trailhead VIEWPOINT

THIS or THAT?

Peakbagger Battle Which summit challenge is the best: Colorado’s Fourteeners or the East’s Four-Thousand Footers?

PETER MOORE I hiked all 47 of New Hampshire’s 4,000-footers as a kid, but now that I am an adult, I have put away childish things. After climbing just 10 Colorado Fourteeners, I know that East is least, and West is best—I write that with all due affection for the pipsqueak peaks that cower in the shadow of Mt. Washington’s 6,288-foot summit, including Mts. Tom (4,051 ft), Willey (4,285 ft.), and Field (4,340 ft.). Even if you combined those three dwarves (Sleepy, Dopey, and Pointless), they wouldn’t add up to a named peak in the Rockies. And they shrink in comparison with Colorado’s Quad of the Gods—Democrat (14,148 ft.), Cameron (14,238 ft.), Lincoln (14,286 ft.), and Bross (14,172 ft.)—where I danced above timberline for eight hours of uninterrupted sunshine and bliss. Longs Peak (14,255 ft.), the capstone of Fourteener fun, required me to plunge through the treacherous Keyhole, tightrope along the Narrows, and heave myself up the near-vertical Homestretch. The elevation gain alone (5,100 ft.) beat out New Hampshire’s lilliputian Mt. Lincoln (5,089 ft.), the seventh-highest peak in New Hampshire. On Longs, the thrills, like the views, are endless. A hiker’s reward for summiting Mt. Washington? Parking lots crammed with Auto Road boilovers, flatlanders in Bermuda shorts looking for the toilet, and a reeking cog railroad that spouts black soot. George’s heirs should sue to have his name removed. To the Yankee whiners who complain about how crowded Fourteener summits are, I respond: They’re popular because they’re worth it.

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Praise For Small Peaks ELI BERNSTEIN Until I moved to Colorado to work for Backpacker, I had no idea how easy folks in the West have it. And before you launch into your defense of the Rockies, full of scary buzzwords like “acclimatization” and “glissade” and “class 4,” let me spare you the breath: You don’t know truly difficult hiking until you struggle up 1,500 vertical feet of straight-up-the-hill trail—the East doesn’t really “do” switchbacks—striated with logs, roots, and boulders, with a grabby layer of mud and slick dirt underneath. And views? Forget about ’em. That’s the experience of hiking a Four-Thousander in the East; with few exceptions, there are none of the Rockies’ high-alpine trails or nonstop views. But here’s the thing: If you only climb Fourteeners, you’ll never know the thrill of breaking through the canopy at the top of a tree-covered eastern mountain, having finally reached the summit. You’ll be hard-pressed to replicate the feeling of flying down that same switchbacks-be-damned trail on the descent. And you won’t gain the same humbling perspective: It’s obvious that a Fourteener can kick your ass, but underestimate Four-Thousanders at your own peril. And isn’t that how we should view ourselves as well? All hikers are more than they seem, and we all harbor the ability to astound.

I L L U S T R AT I O N S B Y E V G E N I Y Z I M I N / A D O B E S T O C K

Fourteenermania

Theodore Roosevelt National Park South Unit

Don’t Miss This Uncrowded National Park National parks are a treasure to be enjoyed. So come to Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota — no reservations necessary. Find bison and wild horses, uncrowded trailheads, colors that outdo other Badlands and affordable, inviting accommodations. Visit us online to plan your adventure. LegendaryND.com

Adventures DISPATCH

Lush northwest forest on the way up Tin Hat Mountain.

Thru-Hiking, Canadian Style When the pandemic shut down my plans to hike Europe, I found a world-class trail right on my doorstep.

At the top of British Columbia’s Tin Hat Mountain, the 360-degree panorama looks uncannily like Tolkien’s Middle Earth: Below me spread deep-cut fjords and hazy lakes, velvety mountains and densely forested foothills. A hobbit wouldn’t seem out of place. But today, nothing moves. There isn’t a single backpacker outside the handsome wooden hut perched on a rocky bluff several hundred feet below, a sought-after overnight destination in a normal year. It’s summer 2021, though, and between the fluctuating pandemic restrictions and the shift away from international travel, it has been anything but normal, which is how I find myself alone on the summit. Tin Hat marks the halfway point of the Sunshine Coast Trail (SCT), a 112-mile path that meanders from Sarah Point in Desolation Sound to Saltery Bay, its route winding through the evergreen forests blanketing the coastline north of Vancouver. Flanked by BC’s skyscraping Coast Mountains on one side and Vancouver Island on the other, it’s the longest hutto-hut trail in Canada and, fortunately for hikers, also one of its most meticulously signposted. The bulk of the SCT’s route twists through a mixture of old- and new-growth forest, climbing at intervals to rocky lookouts and breezy mountain summits. The coastal sections are short and wooded, while the abundant lakes are secluded and beautiful. The ascent of Tin Hat incorporates logging roads, soft forest paths, and a bit of minor scrambling as the trail breaks free of the trees to reach the 3,914-foot summit. Many hikers (myself included) consider this to be the best spot on the SCT, thanks largely to the view and spectacularly situated hut. Just as I begin to tire of the forest, the trees suddenly part and—boom! Enormous mountains and clear lakes seem to sprawl in every direction, with nothing but more peaks all the way to the horizon. As the sun pokes hopefully through the morning clouds, I’m tempted to savor my surroundings a little longer. But with another 22 miles to cover if I’m to reach the town of Powell River before dark, I elect to keep moving. Leaping off a rock, I break into a gentle jog as the trail descends into forest, my feet falling softly on a springy layer of fir needles marked with an occasional pile of bear scat. Normally the sight of fresh droppings would make me wary, but nothing can disturb my composure this morning. I’m just blissfully happy to be outside, drinking in the fresh alpine air.

P H O T O B Y D A N I E L L E G E R VA I S

BY BRENDAN SAINSBURY

Adventures BACKPACKER.COM

Adventures DISPATCH Like many others, I found my hiking plans stopped in their tracks when the pandemic hit. Unable to travel outside Canada when Covid-19 closed its vice-like grip on the world, I instead opened up a map of British Columbia in search of closer-to-home long trail options. I had a rudimentary knowledge of the Sunshine Coast from previous visits, and was aware that a relatively new trail (it was completed in 2000) equipped with overnight huts cut through its wooded mountains. But, distracted by foreign work assignments and family visits to my native England, I had repeatedly put exploring the region on the back burner, instead opting to trek through Peru’s Cordillera Blanca and the Italian Dolomites. When the door to overseas travel unceremoniously slammed shut in 2020, all other temptations vanished. Working within my new limitations, I started to make tentative trips north from my home near Vancouver to test my mettle on the long and winding SCT. While the huts were closed due to the pandemic, I improvised by staying overnight in Powell River—a 4-hour drive northwest of Vancouver—and section-hiking the trail on elongated day trips covering up to 30 miles.

As an experienced backcountry runner, I was able to maximize my trail time and still enjoy the huts as picnic stops. It wasn’t strictly backpacking, but it was a formidable challenge. My first trip took me up to the trail’s highest point, 4,255-foot Mt. Troubridge. The day was wet and drizzly, with the earthy aroma of damp soil in the air and a faint mist hanging over the mossy canopy. On the second, I jogged along the trail’s northernmost section, taking in Manzanita Bluff with its rust-colored arbutus trees and Appleton Canyon’s fern-framed waterfalls. I’d traversed tougher trails in more exotic locales in the past, but the SCT felt pleasantly intimate, like I was on home turf. Today’s trip, Tin Hat Mountain, is my third, and by this point I am thoroughly seduced by the SCT’s unique charms. This isn’t simply a trail designed to get you from A to B; it’s a beloved community project, nurtured and maintained by an enthusiastic group of local volunteers. The grassroots support goes way beyond just building huts and raising funds. There’s an annual race along an 18-mile section of the path, weekly hiking groups tackling assorted trail highlights, and even a comprehensive guidebook written by SCT cofounder Eagle Walz.

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P H OTO S BY ( L E F T ) E V E R I C H A R D S O N ; ( TO P ) J E F F P E L L E T I E R

Clockwise from above: On the SCT near Louis Lake; Tin Hat hut.

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Adventures DISPATCH

Looking out on the peaks and lakes of the Coast Mountains from Tin Hat’s summit.

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After descending from Tin Hat, I follow the path through the mountain’s forested lower reaches before dropping down to an abandoned farm and orchard at Fiddlehead Landing. The faint reminders of humanity are brief, though. Within minutes, I’m back in the wilderness, climbing through ancient fir forest to Confederation Lake, where I stop for a brief lunch of energy bars and pepperoni sticks outside an attractive waterside hut with a green gabled roof. As well-managed as it is, the trail remains curiously under-the-radar, playing second ﬁddle to more famous BC jaunts like Vancouver Island’s West Coast Trail (which, unlike the SCT, employs fees and a reservation system). The ﬁnal 9 miles into Powell River, much of it along forested lakeshore, is tiring but immensely satisfying. Enjoying the solitude, I watch loons swooping low over calm waters while—mindful of the local bear population—I sing 1980s indie-rock anthems. I stumble into the deserted streets of Powell River’s historic townsite at around 5 p.m.

with all four limbs still functioning. The liquid reward for most hikers who frequent these parts is a pint of Tin Hat IPA from the local Townsite Brewpub, muddy shoes and aching legs be damned, and I think I’ve more than earned it. The Sunshine Coast oﬀers me freedom, adventure, and solace from long stints of working at home. More importantly, in an era of disorientating restrictions and uncertainties, it provides me with a clear and well-marked path.

DO IT Permit None Season Open year-round; summer is best Trailhead 50.0576, -124.8361 Distance 112 miles Days 7 to 9

P H OTO BY Y U R I C H O U F O U R

When I started hiking the SCT, the first thing to impress me was the diligent markings. Detailed map-boards illustrate the topography, signposts indicate nearby water sources, and small orange numbers nailed onto trees denote every passing kilometer. Next to steal my heart was the condition of the trail: scrupulously maintained, from the kitted-out huts (complete with pellet stoves, sleeping lofts, picnic tables, and outhouses) to its sturdy wooden bridges. I can recall only one or two occasions when I had to circumnavigate a waterlogged section or vault over a fallen tree. Best of all are the hidden treats, proof that the SCT isn’t just liked, it’s loved: I especially enjoyed the logbooks left at strategic spots for hikers to share comments, and the lone canoe tied to a jetty on Little Sliammon Lake, which gave me the opportunity to go for a tranquil paddle while temporarily resting my legs. I might be alone in the Canadian wilderness, but, entertained by these thoughtful little gestures, I feel as if I am being looked after, tracked by an invisible guardian angel.

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Adventures MIRACLE MILE

Sand, Moon, and Stars The white beaches of Florida’s Gulf Islands National Seashore are the perfect place for a moonlit pre-dawn hike.

I left the oceanside trailhead at Pensacola Beach at 4:30 in the morning and walked east along the edge of the barrier island that forms this section of Gulf Islands National Seashore. I was looking for a place where the light pollution is all but nonexistent. The sand was so ﬁne that I left my hiking shoes behind in favor of some old Crocs, which spread my weight like snowshoes; the tiny, pure-white grains squeaked under every step. A few eager birds sang, but the loudest noises were the rush and retreat of ocean waves. The Milky Way spread out above, more vast even than the ocean, with the crescent moon rising beneath. Hiking this beach at night is one of my favorite things in the whole world: You never know what you’ll ﬁnd, from tiny pearlescent

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shells to skittering ghost crabs to headlamp-lit glimpses of the emerald-green water. After I’d walked about a mile, the moon and the Milky Way lined up. I pulled out my camera and switched oﬀ my headlamp. It was so dark that I could barely see my hand in front of my face. I took a couple test shots with longer exposure to dial in the composition and see the shoreline when my eyes could not. Working quickly before the pre-dawn twilight hour outshone the stars, I clicked away. One shot, then two, then seven, and the panorama was done. I took a deep breath of salty air as light began spilling over the bright sand, watching the daytime colors of the seashore come slowly to life. Mission accomplished.

P H O T O B Y J E F F WA L D O R F F

BY JEFF WALDORFF, AS TOLD TO KRISTIN SMITH

GO ON A VACATION THAT MOVES YOU.

GO EXPLORE

Adventures TRAILMIX

A small brook winds in and out of the meadow below Ostler peak and Amethyst Lake in Amethyst Basin, UT.

Peak Season BY KRISTIN SMITH These trails take you from the slopes of Mt. Rainier to the summit of Mt. Katahdin, wandering through the best wildﬂower blooms in the country and Alaska’s calving tidewater glaciers on the way.

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P H OTO BY C O N O R BA R RY

The high country has finally melted out, the meadows are in full bloom, and the weather is warm. Time to tackle the hikes you dreamt about all year.

WHERE TO HIKE:

Double Arch Trail DANIEL BOONE NATIONAL FOREST, KY

Amethyst Lake UINTAWASATCHCACHE NATIONAL FOREST, UT Backcountry picnic destinations don’t get much better than this high-alpine lake nestled beneath two 12,000-foot peaks. Secluded Amethyst Lake, deep in Utah’s High Uintas, is surrounded by meadows, scattered trees, and austere, scree-sloped ridgelines; keep an eye out for mountain goats. Set up camp on the shore and bask in views of the clear blue-green water and snowspotted cliﬀs, or explore the handful of named and unnamed tarns that dot the rest of the rocky basin.

P H OTO BY A N N & J O H N M A H A N ( R I G H T )

DISTANCE 13 miles ELEVATION GAIN 2,326 feet SEASON Summer PERMIT None CONTACT fs.usda.gov/uwcnf

Utah isn’t the only state with impressive sandstone arches. Of the more than 100 arches in the Red River Gorge (the largest concentration of them east of the Rockies), none are more striking than this set of stacked windows. The trail is best (and most easily) hiked in summer after the snow, icicles, and slippery trail ice melt away. Check out views of Courthouse Rock, Haystack Rock, and other prominent features of the Gorge from inside the lower arch, or scramble to the top for panoramic views of the Gorge. DISTANCE 4.6 miles ELEVATION GAIN 633 feet SEASON Year-round PERMIT None CONTACT bit.do/redrivergorge

Greenstone Ridge Trail ISLE ROYALE NATIONAL PARK, MI It might not be high elevation, but this northern island melts out just as late as the alpine. A hike that spans the entire spine of a Great Lakes island, with more moose than fellow campers? Sign us up. The Greenstone Ridge Trail traverses Isle Royale from end to end, ranging through boreal forest, wetlands, and rocky ridgetops as it crosses six peaks. Hit the trail at midsummer and take advantage of the remote lakes scattered along the route for a quick dip, or wait until late August to enjoy a blueberry feast. DISTANCE 42 miles ELEVATION GAIN 4,320 SEASON Summer PERMIT Backcountry overnight

permit (free), available on the ferry or at Rock Harbor CONTACT nps.gov/isro

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Adventures TRAILMIX

Spray Park MT. RAINIER NATIONAL PARK, WA

DISTANCE 6 miles ELEVATION GAIN 1,300 feet SEASON Summer and early fall PERMIT None CONTACT fhk&_gn'egjY

Mt. Katahdin BAXTER STATE PARK, ME The highest point in the state of Maine at 5,267 feet, Mt. Katahdin is also the high point of many hikers’ summers. With over 4,000 feet of prominence, this summit has no competition on any horizon, and the views are all-encompassing: Lush forests, deep blue lakes, and distant hills spread out as far as the eye can see. Take the Helon Taylor Trail up to tiptoe across the aptly named Knife Edge Trail to the top. DISTANCE .&, ead]k ELEVATION GAIN +$,)+ ^]]l SEASON Summer PERMIT None CONTACT ZYpl]jklYl]hYjc&gj_

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Wildﬂowers

for the short, snowless pollination window. The best way to catch the show? Hike it. It’s as amazing a view as the peaks looming above.

dada]k$ dmhaf]$ Yf\ egfc]qÛgo]j3 Gj]_gf k ;gf] H]Yc Yj]Y ak `ge] to an astonishing 300-plus species g^ oad\Ûgo]jk&

From the sprawling subalpine meadows full of nodding yellow glacier lilies on the West Coast to the fuzzy beargrass and bright pink mountain ball cactus of the Rockies to the East’s low-growing mountain rosebay, plants are strutting their stuﬀ

WHERE TO SEE THEM: The Great Smoky Mountains in North Carolina and Tennessee bloom with Catawba rhododendrons, purple orchids Yf\ ÛYe] YrYd]Yk ]n]jq kmee]j$ and the Cascades of Washington Yf\ Gj]_gf [ge] Ydan] oal` _dY[a]j

Calving Tidewater Glaciers

WHAT TO SEE

There are few water shows in the world as stunning as watching huge chunks of ice from tidewater glaciers crash into the sea. In North America, the best place to view these long rivers of ice tumbling into the ocean is in Alaska and northern British Columbia. The flow of ice becomes unstable where it drops into the water, causing enormous pieces of ice to fall off (calve), particularly in the warm summer months. Calving glaciers in Alaska generate waves up to 25 feet high, the final break accompanied by an enormous cracking boom and a fountain of spray. WHERE TO CATCH IT: Glacier Bay NalagfYd HYjc Yf\ Hjaf[] OaddaYe Kgmf\ in Alaska are home to 11 and 17 la\]oYl]j _dY[a]jk$ j]kh][lan]dq& ;`][c out area trails or try out a sea kayak lgmj lg ]ph]ja]f[] l`] a[] mh [dgk]&

P H O T O B Y ( L E F T ) A U S T I N T R I G G ; ( A B O V E ) S T E P H E N M AT E R A

Snag iconic views of alpine wildﬂowers and icy Mt. Rainier on this trail leaving from the less-visited Mowich Lake Area. When the deep Cascadian snowpack ﬁnally melts out in July and August, the meadows of Spray Park burst into bloom: Deep purple alpine aster and butterwort, red-orange paintbrush and columbine, and delicate yellow glacier lilies form the foreground of a perfect picture, with the volcano rising in the background. On the way up, make sure to take the short side trail to 354-foot tall, 100-foot wide Spray Falls.

GO LOSE YOURSELF IN A LONG WEEKEND.

GO EXPLORE

T H E GA L L E RY *** Summer is the season of big hikes—the quit-your-job kind of hikes; the bucket list treks you blow all your savings on but never regret; the everyone-saysI-can't-but-I'll-do-it-anyway journeys. Hikes like the Appalachian Trail, the Continental Divide Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail, and the Lost Coast Trail. This gallery is a celebration of those trails, but it serves an even greater purpose: to inspire your own Big Summer Hike. Maybe it's five months; maybe it's five nights. Either way, dream big, because the trail awaits.

Appalachian Trail, TN Photo: Kat Dellinger 1/20 sec, f4

Continental Divide Trail, CO Photo: Michael DeYoung 1/30 sec, f6.3

Appalachian Trail, TN Photo: Austin Trigg 1/800 sec, f4

Appalachian Trail, NC Photo: Steven Yocom 1/640 sec, f2.8

Paciﬁc Crest Trail, WA Photo: Amanda Shale 1/1500 sec, f2.2

Lost Coast Trail, CA Photo: Joshua Simas 1/400 sec, f9

PLAY OUTSIDE

It’s not just about sweat. It’s how you feel. How you plan. How you gear up. Harness the power of O+ today so you can do more of what you love: getting outside.

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Adventures LOGBOOK

A Matter of Perspective Regular backpacking trips are the key to contentment.

can feel the cool air coming off the lake as I exit my tent. The morning light is soft and inviting, casting reflections of pine trees on the water as I walk along the shore gathering sticks for another fire. Last night I was grateful for the heat of the flames, content to just stare into their heart. Later, I lay out beside them and looked up at the stars. I slept well, with hot soup in my stomach and a hot water bottle on my belly. Wise folks have told us that less is more for centuries, but nothing drives it home like a backpacking trip. And boy, did I need the reminder. I recently bought a house in Palisade, Colorado. I moved here from Honolulu to get closer to the mountains, but lately life stresses have had their way with me. The vortex of being a new homeowner is indeed real and seductive. The list of things you “need” to do never ends, and everyone has an opinion or suggestion that adds to it. I love my family and friends,

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but sometimes the people closest to you cause the most frustration. Every time they come by or call, they ask about my house as if it’s a patient in the ICU. What are you doing about the backyard? And the kitchen? Any plans to fix the bedroom? This way of interacting is pretty normal for society—I’ve done it to friends myself—but it drives home an unpleasant message: What you have is less than ideal and you can’t possibly be settled, fulfilled, or happy until you change it. I took everyone’s critiques to heart and set my mind on “fixing” everything in time for the housewarming party. I made a huge list of projects: Redo all the landscaping and garden boxes; patch up the backyard fence; put in new screen doors; sand and stain the kitchen cabinets—the list went on. I made diligent, humble progress, and things were looking up. But then, just a week before the party, a phone call. Home Depot. The stain I ordered was delayed, and wouldn’t be in for

another week. The cabinets—the centerpiece of the kitchen—wouldn’t be done in time. I felt the thought of it in my chest. All the built-up stress came flooding out. I’m embarrassed to say I had tears in my eyes after hanging up. I placed so much pressure on myself; I felt unsettled in my own home, stressed and overwhelmed, all because of what? Appearances? Pleasing everyone else? How did I become this person? Now I’m camped out at one of the 300-plus backcountry lakes atop the Grand Mesa, the largest flattop mountain in the world, far from even the thought of an unstained kitchen cabinet. I have a new home, and this is my new home away from it—a place to remember that, at the end of the day, a simple life is a happy life. In the backcountry, it’s easy to appreciate the little things: A clean, sturdy tent. A hot drink. A simple meal. Today, a morning fire. No distractions or temptations, and no such thing as a time-wasting task. I easily perform skills like tending shelter and preparing food

P H OTO BY

R O B E R T WA LT M A N / I S T O C K / G E T T Y I M A G E S P L U S

BY WILL MCGOUGH

A rainbow above Island Lake on Grand Mesa.

with gratitude. Ironically, the wilderness is a place where I feel like I have it all, despite actually having very little. Here, my indoor living space is small, but I have a huge yard, and the grass never needs cutting. When the weather is nice, I cook my meals outside beside the lake, and I don’t worry or complain so much about chores like organizing my gear, starting the fire, cooking the meal and filtering water. I reap the benefits immediately in the moment—no delayed gratification or buyer’s remorse here—and in the backcountry, function rules over fashion. Appearances are meaningless. That’s why I’m here: To bottle up the feelings of fulfillment I get in camp and bring them back

home with me, to feel restored and remember that I already have everything I need. I spark a tinder ball and my morning fire bursts to life. I feel the heat grow, and close my eyes to soak in the feeling. I’m grateful for the small things in this moment: I was warm last night, and now I can sit by the lake and make coffee. It’s startling to compare this simplicity to back home, where despite all of my supposed luxuries and ease, contentment and happiness often feel like moving targets. Present in the moment, I know that I should be proud of everything I’ve earned, regardless of what anyone else thinks. Out in my new backcountry haunts, I find myself stumped and confused by the house-mad renovator I’ve become. When I’m home, I’m surrounded by everything I think I want, but bogged down by wanting more; when I’m sleeping here in an uncomplicated tent in the wilderness, I’m grateful for the bare minimum.

I pour my coﬀee and look up at the trees. I feel calm and centered enough to go home and put on a good face for the housewarming party in a few days, stained cabinets or not. But I can’t solve all my “problems” with one camping trip. The projects will still be there, with some other arbitrary date looming on the calendar, and I know it’s only a matter of time until I’m sucked back in by society and its expectations. That’s where my commitment to consistency comes in, my plan to visit the backcountry with regularity. With enough time in the mountains, I can learn to balance my “needs” and “wants” with gratitude for what I already have, to live in town the same way I do when backpacking: with simplicity, responsibility, thankfulness, and contentment. I’ll do my best to remember how I feel right now by this lake. But when I forget, whether it’s in a few weeks or a few days, I know I can always come back to the source and reﬁll. BACKPACKER.COM

*** Backcountry Banquet Discover the secret to restaurant-worthy camp meals. Identify five wild mushrooms, learn to read a river, and improve your mobility..

I L L U S T R AT I O N BY C H A R L I E F L I N D E R S

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Hiker’s Handbook

LEVEL UP

DIY (Dehydrate It Yourself) A home dehydrator might be the handiest kitchen tool you never knew you needed. Upgrade your backcountry cooking with these drying (and rehydrating) tips. By MEGAN MCDUFFIE and MICHAEL VAN VLIET

Backpackers cannot survive on freeze-dried meals alone. OK, you probably can, but if you don’t want to spend every trip picking from someone else’s menu, it’s time to invest in a dehydrator. These devices, which retail from $40 to over $400, help you prepare meals ﬁt for a dinner party, dehydrate them to backpacking weight, and then rehydrate them under the alpenglow in a matter of minutes. There’s no better way to elevate mealtime on the trail.

DRY THIS AT HOME First, the bad news: You can’t dehydrate all food (sorry, bacon). The good news? Using dehydration-friendly ingredients, you can save money and make meals you’ll actually enjoy, with enough meat to satisfy carnivores. Foods that can be dehydrated: 2 Fruits 2 Vegetables 2 Grains, such as pasta and rice 2 Legumes, such as beans and lentils 2 Fully cooked meat, such as lean ground beef and chicken

Can you dehydrate full meals? Yes! Soups, stews, curries, and casseroles are good candidates for drying. When cooking, use minimal amounts of fat and oil. To dehydrate a complete dish, spread the entire meal out in a thin, even layer. Follow the temperature guide on the next page, deferring to the warmest temperature required for your combination of ingredients. For example, dehydrate a stew with beef, beans, and veggies at 145°F.

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P H O T O B Y A N T O N I VA N O / A D O B E S T O C K

Foods that can’t be dehydrated: 2 High-fat and oily foods 2 Dairy products or eggs

LEVEL UP

In-Camp Essentials The equipment you’ll need for camp cooking depends on what you’ll be doing and the number of people you’re feeding. Here are the basic tools of the trade.

I L L U S T R AT I O N S B Y A R K A D I W N A A N D N ATA LYA L E V I S H / A D O B E S T O C K

Drying Temperature Guide 2 Vegetables: 125°F 2 Beans and lentils: 125°F 2 Fruit: 135°F 2 Grains and rice: 145°F 2 Pre-cooked meats: 145°F Dehydrating Time Several factors aﬀect how long it takes your food to dry: the humidity in your home, dehydrator load, and the speciﬁc dehydrator you use. Once your food is visibly dry, give it a check. Remove a few pieces from your dehydrator and let them cool completely. Vegetables should be hard or crisp. Fruits will be pliable but release no visible moisture when cut in half and squeezed. Beans, lentils, grains, and precooked meats will be hard. Pack it Up Dehydrated food keeps for up to a few months. Package it in an airtight container and keep it in a cool, dry place. Check for moisture buildup, which can cause mold, and discard any dehydrated food that has

1) Stove An integrated system—fuel that attaches directly to a combined stove and pot, such as the Jetboil Flash, is perfect if you just need to boil water quickly and don’t plan on doing any serious cooking. An integrated cooking system with a fuel regulator, like the MSR WindBurner, provides the simmer control you need for some light cooking. This is helpful when preparing meals with both dehydrated and fresh ingredients. If you plan on cooking most of your meals using fresh ingredients, look for a stove with good simmer control and pair it with a wide-bottomed pot or pan. 2) Cooking Pot Solo backpackers should look for a pot that holds 700 milliliters. For a two-person trip, opt for a 1.2-liter pot. 3) Eating Utensil A spork is a hiking classic, but consider a utensil with a spoon shape that can scrape every last morsel of food out of your pot. This will make cleanup much easier.

Hiker’s Handbook

ELEVATE THE BASICS Still prefer commercial freeze-dried dishes over playing chef? There’s no shame in that, but some of those meals could use a bit of a flavor upgrade. Here are some simple hacks to make store-bought meals more exciting, especially if you’re eating the same one every night on the trail. 2 Condiments: Pack small sealed containers of flavor-boosters like hot sauce, soy sauce, or infused oils. You don’t have to raid the mall food court for single-serving packets, though: Websites such as minimus.biz sell all your favorites in bulk. 2 Spices: Think beyond salt and pepper. Try Cajun spice in mac and cheese, Italian herb blend in fettuccine Alfredo, Ras el Hanout with couscous and dried apricots, and taco seasoning with rice and beans. 2 Veggies: A handful of additional ingredients can elevate the nutrition, texture, and flavor of your meal. Dehydrate veggies at home, or look for dried options like mushrooms at the store. Add dehydrated or freeze-dried vegetables to your food before you add the boiling water.

spores blooming. Store meals with meat in the freezer and remove them before your trip—they will still be shelfstable for several weeks. For shorter backpacking trips, store your dehydrated

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Hiker’s Handbook

LEVEL UP

It’s 5 O’Clock Somewhere Backpacking is work—fun work, but you still might want a drink when you’re done. A dehydrator isn’t just for meals; it allows for mixologist-level cocktails with unexpected ingredients that don’t compromise pack weight. Dehydrate berries and citrus for sunset sangria or limes for margaritas. Experiment with your favorite ﬂavors or try this recipe on your next trip.

BACKCOUNTRY OLD FASHIONED MAKES 2 SERVINGS

At home: 1 Add a few drops of bitters to two sugar cubes (enough to saturate but not disintegrate them). 2 Dehydrate the sugar cubes, orange slices, and cherries at 135°F. 3 Pack your cocktail ingredients with two 50-mL nips of bourbon. At camp: 1 Divide the ingredients into two cups and add one serving of bourbon to each. 2 Stir vigorously until the sugar mix dissolves, and enjoy.

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P H O T O B Y M I C H A E L VA N V L I E T A N D M E G A N M C D U F F I E

A few drops of bitters 2 sugar cubes 4 orange slices 4 Bing cherries 100 mL bourbon

LEVEL UP

Put Your New Skills to the Test RED LENTIL AND BEAN CHILI MAKES TWO SERVINGS

This dehydrated chili is loaded with plant-based protein to stay fueled on the trail. It’s cheap to make, quick to cook, and guaranteed to ﬁll you up. ½ ½ ½ ½ 1 3 ½ 2 ¾ ¾ 1 1 ½ ½ ½

P H O T O B Y M I C H A E L VA N V L I E T A N D M E G A N M C D U F F I E

Tbsp. oil cup diced onion cup diced bell pepper tsp. salt, plus more to taste cup sliced zucchini cloves garlic, minced Tbsp. ground cumin Tbsp. chili powder cup ﬁre-roasted diced tomatoes cup kidney beans, drained Tbsp. tomato paste cup vegetable broth or water cup red lentils tsp. sugar tsp. salt, plus more to taste Tbsp. olive oil

Everybody Do Your Share Improper cleanup can attract wild animals to your camp. Here’s how to wash up the right way. 2 Do your cleaning 200 feet from water sources. Biodegradable soap needs the microorganisms in soils to break down; it doesn’t degrade in lakes or streams. 2 Use your spoon to scrape away any remaining crumbs or grease. Pack out the food remnants, or, better yet, lick your spoon clean. Scrub your cookpot with a minimal amount of biodegradable soap and warm water. Rinse and scrub your spoon with the soapy water in your cookpot. 2 Dig a 6-inch-deep cathole and pour your dishwater into it. If that’s not an option, broadcast spray the dishwater across a wide area.

Hiker’s Handbook

At Home: 1 Heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat. Once the oil is hot, add the onions, peppers, and salt. Sauté until the veggies begin to soften. 2 Add the zucchini and cook until the vegetables begin to turn golden in spots. 3 Stir in the garlic, cumin, and chili powder and sauté until fragrant (about 30 seconds). 4 Add the tomatoes, beans, tomato paste, and broth. Stir to combine. 5 Bring to a simmer, then add the lentils. Simmer for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the lentils are tender, adding more water if needed. 6 Stir in the sugar and adjust seasoning to taste. 7 Remove from heat. 8 Spread the chili in a thin, even layer onto dehydrator trays lined with solid fruit leather sheets. 9 Dehydrate at 135°F for 8 to 12 hours, until the chili is dry and crumbly. 10 Pack in sealable bags and store in a cool, dark place or your freezer. 11 Pack the dehydrated chili and olive oil separately. In Camp: 1 Place chili, 2 cups of water, and oil in a cookpot. 2 Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and cook for about 10 minutes, stirring frequently, until the beans and lentils are tender.

Calories: 518 Protein: 22 g Weight: 3.9 oz.

BACKPACKER.COM

Hiker’s Handbook

BOOTCAMP

Movement Improvement Widen your range of motion to feel your best on the trail and avoid injuries. By KAELYN SILVA

Mobility refers to the ease with which your joints move throughout their range of motion. Having mobile joints can minimize your risk of injury and lead to reduced pain while you hike. Don’t confuse mobility with ﬂexibility: Contrary to popular belief, stretching doesn’t help with mobility. ¶ Training to improve mobility should include compound movements: those that take you through the full range of motion, not just the easily-accessed middle. ¶ With mobility exercises, it is important to be intentional; that is, to concentrate on what you are feeling at the joints involved. Begin by completing the following exercises at a low intensity at least once per week—though the more you do it, the better you’ll feel. As you get comfortable, you can increase the diﬃculty. THE EXPERT: Kaelyn Silva, CSCS, is the owner of Pasadena Sport Science in Pasadena, California. When she’s not training clients, she enjoys hiking with her dogs in the Ansel Adams Wilderness.

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Scan here to access our online training course, 6 Weeks to Trail Fit.

P H O T O B Y D E N I S E M I L I T Z E R ; K A E LY N S I LVA

BOOTCAMP

Warmup 1

Cat-Cow

Get on all fours, ensuring that your knees are directly below your hips and your wrists are directly below your shoulders. For the “cat” part of this movement, lift your spine toward the sky, imitating a scared feline. Lower your gaze toward your knees, focusing on separating each vertebrae from its neighbor. After a few seconds, slowly relax the arch in your back and let your belly button sink toward the ﬂoor. Push back with your tailbone and cast your gaze upward for “cow.” Hold for a few seconds and repeat three to four times.

each side of your body. If this is too diﬃcult, try performing the movement with your rear knee on the ground.

I L L U S T R AT I O N S B Y P E T E R S U C H E S K I

Lunge with Rotation

Get into a straight-arm plank with your wrists under your shoulders. Bring your right foot just inside of your right hand. Extend your right arm, supporting your weight with your left hand and right foot, and rotate your spine until your right hand is directly above your right shoulder, creating a straight line between your two hands. Hold for two to three seconds. Breathe. Rotate to the left so that your right hand slides behind your left wrist, palm up. Reach as far as you are able without discomfort. (It may take practice to stay balanced.) Hold for two to three seconds, remembering to breathe. Repeat the cycle three to four times on

Over-and-Back

This movement requires a prop: It can be a broomstick, a piece of PVC pipe, a belt, a thick resistance band, or whatever item you have around that is at least a few feet long. From standing, grasp the stick across your thighs with a wide grip, ﬁngers facing your body. Relax and lower your shoulders. Gently lift the stick overhead; try to keep it horizontal. If using a belt or resistance band, keep your arms wide so it stays taut. Slowly lower it behind your head. With intention, focus on feeling your shoulder blades move over your ribcage and the shoulder joints open up. Take a breath and return to the start. Repeat 10 to 12 times. 4

Mobility Exercises Perform three sets of each of the following. 5

Happy Baby

Lie on your back. With your head on the ground, ﬂex your hips and bend your knees 90 degrees. The soles of your feet should face the ceiling. Separate your knees so that they are wider than your shoulders. Grasp each foot, either from the inside or outside. Rock from side to side, your arms and legs moving as a unit. Move until your body lets you know it’s happy.

Hiker’s Handbook

8 to 10 Frontal Plane Scapular Raises

Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent slightly, spine straight. Hold a 3- to 5-pound dumbbell in each hand. Lead with your thumbs as you slowly lift the weights in a jumping jack motion. Stop when your hands are shoulder high. Lower them to the starting position, keeping your thumbs up until the end. 6

10 Charlestons (per side)

From standing, take a step forward with your left foot so your feet are staggered. Bend over and touch your right hand to the ground. As you return to standing, swing your right leg forward at the hip. Lean forward as you swing your leg behind you, tapping the ground with your right ﬁngers. 7

8 to 12 Drinking Birds (per side)

Stand with your feet together. Keep your spine and right leg straight as you bend at the hip, lifting your left leg out behind you so it’s parallel to the ground. You can keep your arms at your side, reach forward, or raise your arms for balance. Complete all reps on this foot, then switch sides.

8 to 10 Overhead Kettlebell Holds with Squat Touch (per side) 8

Hold a 5- to 8-pound kettlebell overhead in your right hand, with the bell over the handle. Squat, at the lowest point reaching down with your left hand to touch the ground near the outside of your left foot. Stand, keeping the kettlebell aloft. 9

Active Bar Hang

Grab a pull-up or monkey bar with both hands set wider than your shoulders. Lift your feet or move oﬀ a support step and hang. Relax your neck and shoulder muscles. Feel the space between your ribs and vertebrae expand. Hold for as long as your hands allow; grip fatigue usually signals the end of the rep. Ready for more of a challenge? Rotate at the spine, turning your hips to the left, back to center, and then to the right. Repeat until fatigued.

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Hiker’s Handbook

TRAIL CHEF

MAKES 2 SERVINGS

This sweet crumble works as well for breakfast as it does for dessert. By MEGAN MCDUFFIE and MICHAEL VAN VLIET

Ingredients 2 medium apples, such as Pink Lady, Fuji, or Honeycrisp 1 Tbsp. lemon juice 2 Tbsp. brown sugar 1 tsp. ground cinnamon ¼ tsp. ground cloves ¹ ₃ cup granola ¼ cup chopped nuts, such as walnuts, pecans, or hazelnuts

At Camp: 1 Empty the apple and spice mix into your cookpot. 2 Add 3 ﬂuid ounces of water to the pot and stir. 3 Cook mixture over a medium-low ﬂame until the apples soften, the sugar dissolves, and the liquid thickens a bit, stirring often and adding more water if needed. 4 Remove the pot from the heat and sprinkle the granola and nuts on top. Grab your spoon and dig in.

Calories: 334 Protein: 7 g C A LO RI ES, P ROT EIN, A ND W EIG HT A RE P ER SE R VI NG

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Weight: 2.8 oz.

P H O T O B Y M I C H A E L VA N V L I E T A N D M E G A N M C D U F F I E

At Home: 1 Slice the apples to a quarter-inch thickness. 2 Combine lemon juice and 1 cup cold water in a bowl. Add apples and soak for 5 to 10 minutes before arranging them on dehydrator trays. 3 Dehydrate the apples at 135°F for 6 to 12 hours or until dry. When ﬁnished, they will easily snap in half. 4 Place the apples, brown sugar, cinnamon, and cloves in a zip-top bag. 5 Pack the granola and nuts in a separate bag.

YOU DIDN’T TAKE YOUR TRAINING WHEELS OFF TO GET BEAT BY THE HEAT.

The heat can make for a tough ride. Pedialyte has

3X THE ELECTROLYTES AND 1/4 OF THE SUGAR* vs. the leading sports drink, so you can stay hydrated. *Pedialyte Sport has 1380 mg sodium and no more than 14g sugar per liter; leading sports drink has ~460 mg sodium and ~58 g sugar per liter. © 2022 Abbott. All rights reserved. May 2022 LITHO IN USA.

Hiker’s Handbook

K N O W N AT U R E

A Forager’s Guide to Fungi Still settling for those tasteless supermarket white button mushrooms? Expand your palate with these five ’shrooms that grow in forests across the U.S. By EMMA VEIDT Wild mushrooms make a great addition to any backcountry meal, and if you know how to look, you can find them along your local forest trails. Start foraging with these tips from Beck Ferguson, professional mushroom hunter, grower, and owner of central Vermont’s Mansfield Mushroom Co.

Chicken of the Woods when: Spring into fall where: At the bases and on the trunks

dead, dying, and living hardwood trees This porous, shelf-like mushroom stands out like, well, a chicken in the woods: Its clusters of bright orange and yellow can grow heavier than 50 pounds. When cooked properly, it often has a similar taste and texture to its eponymous poultry.

Golden Chanterelle when: Early summer into fall where: On forest ﬂoors near

living hardwood trees This burst of sunshine is a great source of beta-carotene, hence its golden hue. It also has a ﬂowery fragrance and apricot-like ﬂavor. You can identify it from the wrinkles running down the stem from under the cap .

Lion’s Mane when: Summer into fall where: In the abcesses of dead or

dying hardwood trees If you see Cousin Itt’s fungus relative growing on a tree, you’ve found a lion’s mane. This mushroom stands out for its mop of tiny, hairlike teeth (as opposed

to pores or gills). When cooked, it has a similar texture to shellﬁsh like crab and lobster, and as a bonus, it strengthens your immune system.

Morel when: Spring where: Around the bases of dead

or dying oak, elm, ash, and aspen trees Morels are prized for their meaty flavor and easy identification. When you spot a morel, be sure to verify that your find isn’t a potentially poisonous lookalike: A true morel is completely hollow, and a false morel has inward-growing folds chambered inside.

Pheasant Back (a.k.a. Dryad’s Saddle) when: Spring where: On dead or dying hardwood

trees, particularly elms or oaks, and living maple trees Whatever you call this mushroom, its name is very ﬁtting: In Greek mythology, a dryad is a spirit that lives in the trees, and the pattern on the cream-colored, shelf-like cap is akin to the feathers on a pheasant’s back. When young, this mushroom’s taste is reminiscent of fresh watermelon or cucumber.

HOW TO HARVEST MUSHROOMS Some mushrooms are hurmful when consumed: Cross-reference your harvest with at least two or three guidebooks to make sure you have identiﬁed everything correctly. Never eat anything you are not 100 percent sure of, and never identify a mushroom through taste. When harvesting, use scissors or a knife to cut the mushroom from the stem. This keeps the mycelium, the mushroom roots, healthy enough to continue propagating. “Always be respectful of the land and practice sustainable harvesting,” Ferguson says. “Thank the land and never take more than you need.” Always cook your mushrooms. They’re made of chitin, a ﬁber similar to cellulose, and we can only absorb its nutrients once broken down by heat.

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Hiker’s Handbook

OUT ALIVE

Finding Life on the Edge of Death In June 2021, Andrew Devers disappeared for nine days after setting out for a dayhike in Washington’s Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest. As told to EMMA VEIDT I couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of the spot where I If you were anybody else, you would have found your way out. would probably die. The cuts on my knee were getting infected, You’re an idiot. Congratulations. and I didn’t have the energy to move, but I didn’t want to leave, For most of my life, I’ve been hard on myself. I have ADHD, anyway: Salmonberry bushes surrounded the plush, mossy rock so my brain makes less dopamine than it should. Pair that with where I lay, so I ate from a buffet of berries while resting on nachildhood family trauma and lifelong depression, and you get ture’s Tempurpedic. The area had a clear view of the sky where someone who struggles to think positvely. I’ve even delayed I could spot approaching helicopters, if anyone cared enough to proposing to my girlfriend for years because I can’t bear to see search for me. the love of my life marry someone I don’t even like. Three days before, on June 18, 2021, I went on a dayhike along For two more days, I stumbled and slept, stumbled and slept. the Pratt River Trail in Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest. I had I have little recollection of this time except for an endless panever hiked this trail, but I needed fresh views and exercise to clear rade of trees, around which I remained lost. Four days in with no my head. Navigation was difficult, and I passed some landslide exit in sight, I felt forced to reckon with my 25 years on earth. debris without noticing a sign warning that the trail ahead was If you were to die here, were you a good dude? Was your time unmaintained. It was like when you’re driving on the highway, deep worth it? You never did the things that you wanted to do, but at in thought, and accidentally pass your exit. the very least you had good intentions and Ninety minutes later, the trail became always made your friends laugh. overgrown and thorny; I was wearing only My anger eventually dissipated, and my a T-shirt and shorts, so I decided to turn thoughts turned spiritual. It could have “SEVERAL TIMES, around. When I did, though, I found a been the exhaustion, the record-breaking I CRUMPLED completely different landscape from the summer heat, the hunger, or the desperaAND PASSED OUT. one I recalled walking through. Nothing tion to survive. Out of nowhere, I heard IT WAS LIKE looked the same, and I couldn’t determine my girlfriend’s voice say, “here.” To my A VIDEO GAME; which direction to hike. I climbed to highright, there was a trail of salmonberries I DIED AND HAD TO er ground to search for the road I drove in that led to the mossy rock. Recovering in RESPAWN. on, but saw only endless forest. It was just that oasis, I listened for helicopters overEACH TIME I GOT UP, me, alone, getting hungry and cold. head, but the river nearby was so loud that SURVIVAL SEEMED I’d watched enough survival videos to I couldn’t tell the difference between rushLESS LIKELY.” know that I should stay put for the night. ing water and an airborne rescue mission. Leaning against a tree, I tucked my arms If I died at that moment, I would have and legs into my shirt and draped my long been proud for making it this far. I forgave hair over my face as a makeshift mosquito net. I fell asleep angry the version of myself that got lost four days ago. for getting myself into such a terrible situation. I spent two days there, resting and eating berries to regain By the next morning, my terror and rage became more my strength. I didn’t give up, though: I organized dark rocks to visceral. The morning sunlight dappled through the trees, and I spell out SOS, and when a helicopter flew overhead, I threw realized once again—and more acutely this time—that nobody sticks to get the pilot’s attention. Once my energy was restored, was coming to help me. I hadn’t even told anyone where I was I set out in search of a popular trail upstream. It wasn’t long hiking. My survival was entirely in my own hands. before I was completely sapped of energy again: Several times, Fear took over as I stomped through the dense shrubs; I didn’t I crumpled and passed out. It was like a video game; I died and have a plan except to move. My fury reached a breaking point had to respawn. Each time I got up, survival seemed less likely, when I plowed my foot through a dead log and a chunk of wood but I forced myself to continue. I told myself I wanted to see stabbed me right below my kneecap. Now I wasn’t just angry—I the rippling bark of one more tree, hear one more crunchy leaf, was also bleeding and in pain. To make things worse, I thrashed or feel the cool, rushing water of a river one more time. At one through the bushes so aggressively that at some point, my water point, I pulled out the notebook I’d packed and started writing bottle slipped out of my backpack’s mesh compartment. It was my wedding vows. I was going to make it out of this forest and gone. My morale sank, and inner demons took over. finally live the life I had put on hold for years.

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OUT ALIVE

Another voice appeared. I don’t know where it came from because its message was foreign to me: Rest for tomorrow’s salvation. The next day, I saw acorns lining the trail, which I recognized from my hike eight days ago, before I ignored the landslide and got lost. These acorns were like cairns, indicating the trail’s direction. No other trail I’d been on had them; somehow, I was back on the Pratt River Trail. Relief washed over me as I calculated that I was only a mile and a half from my car. I bellowed out a cathartic yawp; I had actually saved myself. I was still so weak, and it was getting dark, so I decided to sleep for the night and hike out in the morning. When the sun rose, I woke up to the sound of two hikers approaching; they saw me and oﬀered to help. I knew I could make it on my own, but I let

I L L U S T R AT I O N BY C H A R L I E F L I N D E R S

Hiker’s Handbook

them leave to find cell reception and alert search and rescue. After waiting half an hour, I convinced myself that these trail saviors were figments of my imagination. Luckily, they were real; I eventually heard echoes of people shouting my name. After nine days, I finally wasn’t alone—but I guess I never truly was, anyway. Turns out, my friends had been driving around, trying to find my abandoned car that entire time. Once I made it to the hospital, my girlfriend met me with love, compassion, and overwhelming forgiveness. I had all these people who worried about me, looked for me, and rescued me. They all cared. I was finally safe. Scan to listen to the new season of the Out Alive podcast.

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TRAIL CRAFT

I L L U S T R AT I O N BY B R E T T A F F R U N T I

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CASCADE LOCKS, OREGON

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OUTDOOR EXPO • GEAR SALE • RAFFLE • ACTIVITIES • PCTDAYS.COM

Our testers weathered alpine gusts, freak downpours, and rough granite slabs to ﬁnd the very best softshells. Eight jackets rose to the top.

P H O T O B Y PA U L I N A D A O

Taking your little one on their ﬁrst backpacking trip? We’ve got the essentials for a drama-free adventure.

Gear

Softwear Update

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Gear HEAD TO HEAD

Softshell Jackets A softshell jacket is your ticket to staying comfortable in ever-changing conditions, from windswept alpine summits to chilly morning runs. These layers boast stretch, breathability, and weatherproofing that will keep you happy and protected on the trail.

BY LILY KRASS PHOTOGRAPHY BY MAT THEW STACEY

4.7

BEST ALLAROUND

Arc’teryx Trino SL Anorak/Hoody $219 | 10.2 oz. (w’s M) men’s S-XXL, women’s XS-XL

COMFORT: 4.8 We were able to keep this truly aerobic softshell on through an 8-mile trail run on a windy, 50°F spring day in the Tetons (usually we dump a jacket in the first two miles). Breathabilit y is impressive thanks to a Gore -Tex Infinium outer, while a nylon-elastane inner dried quickly, wicking moisture to keep us cool. Articulated panels at the elbows and armpits allowed for natural arm swing as we jogged and hiked with poles.

FEATURES: 4.5 Anoraks can be tough to wriggle into, but a handy left-side zippered pleat on the women’s version loosens everything up for easy on and off. A right-side-entry kangaroo pocket is the perfect spot to stash a key, phone, or pack of energy chews. (The full-zip men’s hoody comes with two zippered front pockets.) The shell’s low-proﬁle hood ﬁt snugly under a helmet when we were climbing in Utah’s Big Cottonwood Canyon, and we appreciated the close cut while we went trail running on a gray day outside Park City.

WEATHERPROOFING: 4.6 The combination of windproof Gore-Tex Inﬁnium, which blocks light rain but lets air escape through a porous membrane, and high-strength yet breathable Teslin fabric (93 percent nylon, 7 percent elastane) made the Trino SL ideal for

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high-output activities in less-than-ideal conditions. Think soggy PNW trail runs and windy Front Range summits. Inﬁnium is not fully waterproof, but the waterresistant and windproof design was one of the most hydrophobic shells in this roundup, keeping us dry while hiking through misty rain all day in Washington’s Alpine Lakes Wilderness.

DURABILITY: 4.8 After scratching it up with errant crampon placement, raking it against bicycle chains while ﬁxing ﬂat tires on rainy commutes, and scooting across scree while picnicking on rocky summits, we found the bombproof Teslin fabric stood up to wear with style, never once showing a snag after use and abuse.

LL A ER V O

4.5

BEST PROTECTION

Black Diamond Dawn Patrol Shell $200 | 1 lb. 3 oz. (m’s M) men’s S-XL, women’s XS-XL

COMFORT: 4.0 The Dawn Patrol is a little beefier than the rest of the softshells we tested, but the four-way, stretch-woven design delivered ample breathability for 50°F hikes in Washington’s Alpine Lakes Wilderness. A brushed lining felt soft when worn with just a T-shirt underneath. Underarm gussets and the stretchy fabric flexed perfectly with every move as we set up camp in the snow next to Jackson Lake, and the slightly slim fit was ideal layered over a baselayer or sun hoody.

FEATURES: 4.4 The Dawn Patrol has capacity for ample snacks and gadgets; spacious, harnesscompatible hand pockets held a turkey club and a packet of peanut butter cups when we climbed high in the Tetons, while the two internal mesh drop pockets stashed glove liners and a phone. The hood ﬁts over a climbing helmet, which came in handy on a gray, windy day climbing in Utah, but it can also be cinched down for a snug ﬁt around a trucker hat or headband. It’s not as packable as other shells on this list, but that made the rolled-up, cantelope-sized jacket a great pillow for a night in Grand Teton National Park’s Alaska Basin.

WEATHERPROOFING: 4.8

SCENES FROM A MISSION In mid-April, I set out on a guide training trip to summit Mt. Baker via the Coleman-Deming route. It was challenging right out the gate: The road was washed out 4.5 miles away from the trailhead, so we had to walk on pavement with enormous 70-pound packs and full-shank mountaineering boots. We made it to the trailhead and decided to camp there for the evening while it snowed and the wind howled up high. The second day, we walked in snowshoes up to our basecamp at Hogsback Campsite, which we stumbled upon in a whiteout. The trail hadn’t been touched in quite a few days, so routeﬁnding was exciting. We woke up the next morning with a plan to walk up a few thousand feet and ﬁnd a crevasse to jump into for practice.

We had some intermittent sunshine and snow showers, as well as extreme temperature swings which were great for testing softshells. My team all got the chance to practice crevasse rescue; hanging in a crevasse for 45 minutes is fun, but also a little scary, quite chilly, and requires lots of layers. The next day was bluebird, and we sprinted up the ﬁrst 2,000 feet of the climb in less than an hour. Once on the ridge, I threw on some crampons, as it was a bit variable and icy in spots. I set the boot pack the entire way, which was exhausting. At the top, we hung out above the clouds for a while before we dropped back into the abyss and retreated to our campsite. On the ﬁnal day, we hiked all the way out and got milkshakes on the drive down, the perfect way to cap off an adventurous trip. — Morgan McGonagle, as told to Lily Krass

This burly shell will keep you warm in winter and stand up to changing conditions year-round, as we learned while hiking through the tempermental weather of the Tetons and Cascades. We tested the Dawn Patrol in everything from 7°F hikes in April snowstorms to 50°F dayhikes with the family, and were impressed with the DWRtreated shell’s blend of weather protection (light, feathery snow fell right off) and breathability (chasing fast friends up Mt. Si this spring without getting swamped). It blocked 30-mph winds with ease while standing on top of Si, eliminating the need to throw on an extra layer.

DURABILITY: 4.8 Crampons and ice axes couldn’t scratch this durable softshell, which boasts a sturdy combo of nylon, polyester, and elastane, while we booted up spring ski lines on Wyoming’s Togwotee Pass. We wore this stalwart layer during a day of overburdened backpacking, and it showed no signs of wear and tear along the back or shoulders, where backpacks tend to rub.

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Gear HEAD TO HEAD

4.4

MOST DURABLE

Patagonia Upstride $299 | 14.2 oz. (m’s M) men’s XS-XL, women’s XS-XL

COMFORT: 4.3 Built for gaining elevation fast, the Upstride’s stretch-knit polyester fabric kept us dry while we jogged, hiked, and scrambled our way up Colorado Fourteeners. On hikes where temps ranged from a frosty 33°F alpine start to a sunny 70°F afternoon, the Upstride’s soft feel and breathable design rose to the occasion, and we never had to take it off. We found the ﬁt to be quite slim (it was hard to ﬁt more than a light tank or tee underneath), so sizing up is a good call for layering, but the inside backing felt soft against skin when worn directly over a tank top.

FEATURES: 4.4 Two oversized hand pockets proved to be the perfect spot to stash a ham and cheese sandwich and a 0.5-liter soft flask for a much-needed midday snack along the Continental Divide. Left unzipped, the mesh-backed pockets made effective vents. The slim-fitting hood (designed to fit over only the most lowprofile helmets) with a laminated visor shut out wind and light rain on a drizzly post-work jaunt up Snow King Mountain.

WEATHERPROOFING: 4.0 The windproof and PFC-free DWRtreated polyester shell stood up to light precip, keeping us dry and comfortable while we roamed across windswept summits in Colorado’s Gore Range. The Upstride stood out as one of the most weather-resistant softshells in this lineup, shedding light precip while we worked our way up steep trails in the Tetons.

DURABILITY: 4.8 Seemingly indestructible, the polyesterbacked shell proved to be a workhorse, earning its status as one of the most durable in this test. Aside from roughing it up on long bootpacks and ridge scrambles, we used the Upstride as a picnic blanket for an elaborate charcuterie spread on Colorado’s 14,433-foot Mt. Elbert, and even as padding for a rope during crevasse-rescue training in the North Cascades, without major wear.

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HOW WE TESTED Weather that’s a little chilly, a little breezy, but not a full-on storm—that’s where softshell jackets shine. We’ve found softshells to be often underappreciated and ambiguous in terms of their place in the world of outerwear, so we set out to test a variety of jackets that spanned from featherlight wind-protectors to burly fortresses that could stand up to shoulder-season storms. We tested over 20 softshell jackets this year in search of the best, and put them through their paces while we scrambled up rocky summits, walked windy ridge lines, and hammered out trail miles on bike, foot, and ski. When the results came back, the eight softies you see here emerged as the best, most versatile outer layers available. — Lily Krass, Shells Testing Manager

LL A ER V O

4.4

MOST BREATHABLE

Strafe Recon Stretch Pullover $189 | 12.3 oz. (unisex M) unisex XS-XL

COMFORT: 4.6 The retro style drew us in, but the Recon Stretch fabric truly won us over for its breathable and (you guessed it) stretchy feel. We kept it on all day while scrambling around in the San Juans in 50°F temps and trail running in the Hudson Valley on a cool 40°F morning. Extra breathable back and underarm panels helped mitigate back sweat for long miles with a pack on, and the unisex design (which had a slightly boxy drape on smaller frames) offers a large size range to ﬁnd the perfect ﬁt.

FEATURES: 4.2 The pullover design of the Recon made it easy to throw on mid-hike or -climb, and the spacious kangaroo drop-pocket kept chocolate chip cookies, sunglasses, and glove liners close at hand during spring adventures on PNW volcanoes. The long front zipper is also a great vent when you’re not quite ready to dump a full layer. We cinched up the waist and hood for a snug ﬁt that held tight during a windy 25-mile Teton traverse from Teton Village to Grand Targhee, and we stashed our phone in the chest pocket for easy nav checks.

WEATHERPROOFING: 4.2 On summer ski-mountaineering missions and mud season hikes in the Rockies, the PFC-free DWR-treated nylon and elastane fabric shed moisture from unexpected drizzles, sitting squarely in the middle of the pack for water-resistance. It really shines when the wind picks up, and kept us comfortable when we ducked behind a rock for cheese and prosciutto on the summit of Static Peak in Grand Teton National Park, where the wind howled at 30 mph.

DURABILITY: 4.5 We weren’t exactly gentle with the Recon Stretch, but the fabric came out of climbing trips and multiday hikes in the Cascades with nothing but a few wrinkles. It stood up to abrasion during long days with heavy packs on Rainier and Mt. St. Helens, and shed dirt and mud after a few bushwhacky approaches in the Tetons.

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Gear HEAD TO HEAD

4.3

BEST VALUE

Outdoor Research Ferrosi Anorak $99 | 12.5 oz. (women’s M) men’s S-XXL, women’s XS-XL

COMFORT: 4.5 A tried-and-true favorite with some welcome updates, the new Ferrosi (now made with 46 percent recycled fabric) features extra stretch in the nylon and spandex construction. It’s a true put-it-onand-leave-it-on layer that never left our backs while we explored alpine lakes in the Tetons, went spring climbing in Wyoming’s Wild Iris, and chased summer objectives on Mt. Rainier. Strategically placed panels of 90-denier ripstop on the body and hood feature 14 percent spandex for mobility and temperature regulation while you hike, pedal, run, or climb. The Ferrosi’s ﬁt is also slightly boxy, which made it easy to throw on over a baselayer and vest while we brewed coffee at camp on a chilly morning in Colorado’s San Juans, and the jacket’s soft material felt great against skin when layered over a T-shirt or tank top.

FEATURES: 4.3 A simple yet functional pocket conﬁguration (one zippered chest and two zippered hand pockets) stashes everything from a phone and sunglasses to a chocolate bar and bag of dried mango. The whole jacket can zip right into the left pocket at about the size of a 32-ounce Nalgene, which (for the brief times we took it off) was useful in organizing overly stuffed packs during a traverse of the Tetons. Nice touch: A carabiner loop allows you to clip the stuffed jacket to your harness or pack straps for quick deployment when you can’t ﬁt anything else in your overnight pack.

WEATHERPROOFING: 4.0 Constructed with a tightly woven windand water-resistant nylon and spandex weave, the Ferrosi’s weatherproofing stood out during summer adventures in the San Juans, where blue skies never lasted long. During a 12-mile hike along

TESTING STATS

60 Backpacker

the Colorado Trail that featured a mix of 30-mph winds, sunny 65°F temps, and afternoon hail, the Ferrosi was the only piece of gear that stayed on all day. It proved solid for brief spots of rain in arid climates like Colorado, but it runs about average in its ability to seal out rain and wind.

HOT TEST TEMP

71°F in Moab, UT

| SUMMER 2022

DURABILITY: 4.4 The new edition of the Ferrosi features 120-denier Cordura reinforcements along the shoulders and arms, which added welcome abrasion resistance while we climbed granite in Little Cottonwood Canyon throughout the spring.

COLDEST TEMP

-23°F in Grand Teton National Park, WY

The beefed up design—which provides protection without adding significant weight—stood strong while hauling heavy packs and coiling ropes on Mt. Rainier, especially for one tester who spent two months guiding climbers on the mountain.

TOTAL MILES

750

LL A ER V O

4.3

MOST COMFORTABLE

Black Diamond Alpine Start Hoody $165 | 7.4 oz. (m’s M) men’s S-XL, women’s XS-XL

COMFORT: 4.7 We found the Alpine Start to be impressively stretchy and light as we explored shaded slot canyons on a 60°F day in Zion National Park. Breathable nylon and pliable elastane made it easy to climb over rocks and lower ourselves into nooks and crannies along desert creek beds, which testers agreed made it the easiest shell to put on and forget about. It also provided the perfect blend of protection and breathability on early morning approaches in sub-40°F weather in the Tetons.

FEATURES: 3.6 Black Diamond clearly kept simplicity in mind with this packable emergency layer (their lightest softshell available), which features a single Lara Bar-sized chest pocket. Thanks to the handy carabiner loop, we stuffed the whole jacket into that pocket and clipped it to a harness for a quick rappel.

WEATHERPROOFING: 4.5 Small but mighty, the Alpine Start impressed us as one of the best windblockers in this test as we cruised along exposed ridgelines in the Wasatch Mountains. “I was surprised that I never had to pull out a burlier shell while the wind was raging on top of Mt. Superior,” said one Utah tester. Treated with a PFCfree Ecorepel Bio finish, the Schoeller stretch-woven nylon fabric kept us dry during light drizzles and in moody morning fog.

DURABILITY: 4.1 The Alpine Start’s 50-denier material kept us well-protected while we scraped our way up chimneys and bushwhacked through overgrown trails. “This jacket can take a beating,” said one Idahobased tester after taking a spill on a talus ﬁeld in the Uinta Range. It stood up to spiky foliage and rock walls, but did show minor abrasions after rubbing up against crampons and ice axes during a sporty spring mission on Rainier.

TOTAL VERT

210,000 ft

DAYS OUT

RIPS SUFFERED

SURPRISE STORMS WE ATHERED

EMERGENC Y BIV VIES

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Gear HEAD TO HEAD FEATURES: 4.3 The featherlight Felsgrat Hybrid is a nofrills windbreaker that packs into its own chest pocket (about the size of a grapefruit) to deploy at any time. Despite the anorak design, the long zipper made it easy to pull on (even while wearing a climbing helmet) and the zipper-free waist created a streamlined ﬁt that lay ﬂat under a backpack hipbelt. We also stashed two energy gel packets in the single chest pocket for easy snacking on a two-day traverse of the Tetons.

WEATHERPROOFING: 3.8 Colorado’s wicked winds of the west didn’t stand a chance against the Felsgrat’s Pertex fabric. “I stood comfortably at 14,439 feet on top of Mt. Elbert with this jacket layered over a baselayer,” reported one Colorado tester. This wouldn’t be our top choice if rain is in the forecast, though, since the windproof polyamide lacks DWR and wets out pretty quickly.

DURABILITY: 4.4 Built for packability and wind-resistance, the Felsgrat’s reinforced polyamide shoulder panels showed an impressive tenacity when up against sharp rocks and gear. During a two-day mountaineering trip on Rainier, we never punctured it with crampons and ice axes.

 SOPHIE FEARON, GEAR TESTER

“Shady multipitch climbs can be a recipe for hours of shivering, but the Mammut Felsgrat Hybrid WB Hoody prevented sufferfests on long routes near Silverton, Colorado. I would start in a T-shirt and then throw it on once I got up into the shade; it packs into the chest pocket with loops to clip it to my harness when I didn’t need it. The jacket’s durability and protection are ideal when you’re roped up for hours.”

4.2

LIGHTEST

Mammut Felsgrat Hybrid WB Hoody $279 | 6.3 oz. (m’s M) men’s S-XXL, women’s XS-XL

COMFORT: 4.3 The jacket’s double-weave Pertex Equilibrium design features a loosely woven structure on the inside and tightly-woven structure on the outside. It wicked moisture while we huffed and puffed up to 13,000 feet on a 60°F day near Colorado’s Silverton Mountain and blocked the 40-mph wind on the summit.

LL A ER V O

4.1

MOST PACKABLE

Mountain Hardwear Kor Airshell Hoody $130 | 6.4 oz. (m’s M) men’s S-XXL, women’s XS-XL

COMFORT: 4.7 Put it on and forget about it: The soft, lightweight feel of the stretch ripstop fabric moved with us while we scaled craggy summits, busted out miles on the Teton Crest Trail, and ﬂipped pancakes on windy mornings at camp. The Pertex Quantum Air fabric allowed for enough air permeability to wick moisture while we hammered in stubborn tent stakes, and raglan sleeves and underarm gussets made for easy, unrestricted maneuvering. The featherweight fabric (hence the name) felt great against our skin when layered over a tank top and a sports bra on a 60°F hike in Moab.

FEATURES: 4.1 Pocket design is simple, just the way we like it: Two hand pockets stash a granola bar, pair of sunnies, and a headband. Instead of utilizing a zippered pocket, the jacket stows into a hidden internal drop pocket, folding into itself to become smaller than an iPhone for easy stashing in a day or overnight pack.

WEATHERPROOFING: 3.6 On 12,519-foot South Teton, 40-mph winds were no match for the Pertex Quantum Air fabric, a surprisingly lightweight layer of armor against gusts that nearly knocked us off our feet. The Kor Airshell shed light sprinkles (and took the brunt of the mud) while our testers mountain biked on soggy PNW trails, but it wet out pretty quickly when up against any real precip.

DURABILITY: 3.9 Although the the 20-denier stretch ripstop fabric feels paper-thin, we were impressed by its strength, which stood up well to rocky picnics, multiday overnights, and getting stuffed day after day inside its stow pocket (which we felt actually protected it quite well when we weren’t wearing it). It did, however, pick up a few abrasions (not full rips) when we were reaching for challenging moves on a spring climbing trip to Lander, Wyoming.

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1. FEATHERWEIGHT SHELTER BIG AGNES COPPER SPUR HV UL4

Trekking with Tykes

$700 | 5 lbs. 11 oz. You’ve already got more than enough extra weight to contend with when backpacking with a preschooler. Thankfully, the Copper Spur HV UL4 is one of the lightest four-person tents on the market, weighing in at only 1 pound 4 ounces per occupant and packing down to the size of a rolled-up yoga mat. With 57 square feet of floor space and 50 inches of headroom, sleeping four adults is a bit tight, but it was plenty for two adults, a 4-year-old, and an 80-pound labrador. The tent’s 12 interior pockets swallowed water bottles, phones, and even a cribbage set. The Copper Spur’s PU-coated ripstop nylon fly, 7-inch-high tub floor, and prebent aluminum poles stayed strong during a torrential thunderstorm near 10,000 feet at Firehole Lakes in Wyoming’s Bighorn Mountains. On sunny days, the trekking pole-assisted vestibule awnings make for an ideal front porch. And thanks to a full mesh canopy, your kiddo can fall asleep while stargazing on clear nights.

Heading into the wilderness with your hiker-in-training? This gear will make the trip as fun for you as it is for your little one. BY CHRISTINE PETERSON PHOTOGRAPHY BY MATTHEW STACEY

2. ULTRALIGHT QUILT ENLIGHTENED EQUIPMENT ACCOMPLICE 2PERSON 20°F

$480 | 2 lbs. 5 oz. (regular) In my hunt for the lightest, most comfortable childsnuggling sleep system, the Accomplice quilt is a major score. Weighing just over 2 pounds and packing down to the size of a small bear canister, the 850-fill down quilt is a lighter, more compact carry than bringing two sleeping bags or one double bag. Even without zippers, we stayed toasty on spring nights near the Accomplice’s temperature rating. An enclosed toe box kept our feet cozy while a snap-top, cinchable neck blocked drafts. One of the main benefits of quiltsleeping with a kiddo is the freedom of movement. It was easy to throw open one side for more ventilation and the included pad straps keep people, pads, and quilt in place. The 10-denier, DWR-finish nylon fabric is sturdy enough for a rambunctious kindergartener. Ding: The price. Sizes: regular, long, extra-long

3. ROOMY PAD EXPED ULTRA 3R DUO $300 | 2 lbs. 9 oz. (long-wide) This 51-inch-wide mega-mat is so spacious that it sleeps two adults and a small child if your little one has nightmares. (The 72-inch-long, 41-inch-wide medium pad is still roomy with one adult and child.) Thanks to a tapered design that’s 40 inches at the foot, this pad packs down to the size of a bread loaf and weighs just 2.5 pounds. With an R-Value of 2.9, the three-season Ultra 3R Duo proved plenty warm in temps just below freezing when we took a trip to Glendo Reservoir in central Wyoming. Separate inflation valves for each half offer individualized firmness, and neither myself nor my daughter felt the other move at night on the three-inch-thick pad. While the lightweight, recycled 20-denier ripstop polyester held up fine to child-related shenanigans inside the tent, we wouldn’t trust it as an outdoor loungepad. Sizes: medium, long-wide

4. PORTABLE GAME NIGHT OUTSIDE INSIDE TRAVEL BACKPACK CRIBBAGE BOARD $18 | 7.4 oz.

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When you’ve got nothing but time, you’ll be extra grateful for bringing along this half-pound travel cribbage set. The 13- by 3.3-inch board is light, durable, and folds in half to keep a deck of cards secure. It’s exactly what you and your partner need when heading into the tent with a sleepy child at 8 p.m. The board

Gear THE KIT allows space for up to three players, which means you can teach your child, too, and secure another activity for rainy, cold evenings.

5. INDESTRUCTIBLE GROUNDSHEET OUTDOOR PRODUCTS ALL PURPOSE TARP

8. KIDDO CADILLAC OSPREY POCO PLUS $340 | 7 lbs. 14 oz.

$6 | 11 oz. (6’x8’) Yes, this tarp does the basics, like keeping our stove and bags dry during a sudden thunderstorm on a rafting trip in interior Alaska. But the durable polyethylene sheet also protected our crawling kid from sharp rocks, pokey sticks, and prickly pine cones while we set up camp. Reinforced grommets mean the All Purpose Tarp is easy to rig as a makeshift shelter for more hangout space, too. You may sacrifice a few ounces for this dead-cheap groundsheet, but having an indestructible, kid-proof layer that can be hosed down is worth it. Sizes: 6’x8’, 8’x10’, 12’x14’

7. BREEZY HANGOUT ENO DOUBLENEST HAMMOCK

6. SNACK PACK DEUTER KIKKI CHILDREN’S BACKPACK

$75 | 1 lb. 3 oz.

$50 | 12 oz.

My family spends hours cuddling and reading books inside the DoubleNest anytime we are below treeline. It’s an affordable, durable hammock that works equally well for hanging out and sleeping while managing to keep its weight down. This hammock is 9.5 feet long, holds up to 400 pounds, is plenty spacious for an adult and child, and can even squeeze in an extra parent while still packing down to the size of a grapefruit. The quick-dry, 70-denier nylon-taffeta material is airy on hot days and is triple-stitched around the body and anchor loops. If you want to rock yourself to sleep at night, the DoubleNest is also compatible with ENO’s system of bug nets, rain tarps, and insulation.

Our daughter’s first solo-powered backpacking trip at age 3 was successful largely because she had access to her own snacks. The 100-percent recycled polyester Kikki is small enough to fit kids aged 3 to 5, holds 8 liters, and weighs only 12 ounces. An easy-to-unclip top flap and drawstring opening offers child-friendly access to an internal stretch pocket, making it easy to seperate snacks and toys. A sternum buckle keeps well-padded shoulder straps from slipping down, while stretchy side pockets on either side each hold small water bottles. Cute bunny ears are a big draw for the kids, too. Sizes: one size

The Poco Plus carries up to nearly 50 pounds while still feeling like a cushy backpacking pack thanks to a sturdy, full-wrap aluminum frame, breezy trampoline back mesh, and 6-inch adjustable torso for swapping carrying duties between parents. My shoulders and back emerged pain-free after three days and 12 miles of hauling my daughter through the Bighorn Mountains of central Wyoming. But where the Poco Plus excels is in child comfort: A slightly angled headrest is perfect for naps, ventilated side panels keep your kid cool, and a built-in sunshade doubles as a rain cover frame. The cinchable front-facing harness is more adjustable and ﬁts snugger than most: It kept my wiggly 3-year-old contained as I forded rocky creeks and high-stepped over logs. Nine pockets store snacks, extra clothes, and water bottles, with a diaper-swallowing 17-liter bottom pocket that’s a breeze to clean. Sizes: one size

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Field Notes O+ members dish on their latest gear-testing experiences.

RUGGED ENERGY SOURCE

GOANYWHERE TROUSER

RAB KINETIC ULTRA

GOAL ZERO VENTURE 35 POWER BANK

HELLY HANSEN RASK LIGHT SOFTSHELL PANTS

$200 | 10 oz. (m’s M)

$70 | 10.1 oz.

$150 | 11.3 oz. (w’s M)

The Kinetic Ultra is the ideal jacket for anyone who wants the stretch and breathability of a softshell and the protection of a hardshell. Its PU-coated, threelayer recycled polyester knit feels more like a softie next to skin, and offers impressive mobility without any annoying crinkle. Still, the Kinetic Ultra seals out weather: It shed rain and blocked wind on a stormy, 40°F fall jog in Alaska’s Chugach State Park. During a strenuous dayhike in the same park earlier that season, it never got swampy when temps reached the mid-60s. This shell is light on features, with one small sleeve pocket for keys and ID and no pit zips, but it packs down to the size of an overstuffed burrito. It did wet out on a late fall sailing trip in Prince William Sound during a torrential snowstorm—but so did my Gore-Tex Pro hardshell. Bonus: A hood with a cap-style visor rolls down into the collar when not in use. Sizes: m’s S-XXL, w’s XS-XL

For those who don’t want to worry about babying their electronics in the backcountry, the Venture 35 offers power in a package designed for rough use. On a four-day solo trek across Washington’s Olympic National Park, the 9600mAh battery fully charged my iPhone three times and still had enough juice to top off my satellite communicator. It proved its mettle against dust, dirt, and impact when I dropped it down several rock steps near Royal Lake, and shrugged off water during an all-day rainstorm that soaked my pack. The Venture 35 also held its charge well when temperatures dipped into the low 30s on the second night. Bonuses include the ability to charge multiple devices at one time (two USB-A ports and one USB-C) and a built-in 50 lumen flashlight. This compact device is the size of two Clif Bars stacked together, but at just over 10 ounces, the main tradeoff is weight. I find its reliability worth the (small) penalty.

I wore these champions of durability and stretch on late summer hikes around Wyoming’s Wind River Range, especially as the weather got cooler and rainier. The DWR-treated polyamide-elastane blend proved extremely breathable on sunny, 75°F hikes in the foothills of the Cascades, and warm and dry on drizzly, 40°F outings around Snoqualmie National Forest. These pants never got sweaty, and fit like a second skin. The Rasks have a clean design, with a stretchy waist, a gusseted crotch, and elastic at the ankles, which kept my hems out of the mud. Articulated knee panels add extra abrasionresistance, while two roomy front zipper pockets plus a vertical thigh pocket provide plenty of space for stashing chapstick, keys, and phone. Even with all of the reinforcement points, these pants are still lightweight and fast-drying enough for rainy day rambles with my dog. Sizes: m’s S-XXL, w’s XS-XL

Lang Van Dommelen

Matt Wise

Arianne Zwartjes

HOME BASE Anchorage, AK FAVORITE TRAIL Anything in the Talkeetna Mountains FAVORITE TRAIL SNACK Gummy bears

HOME BASE Bremerton, WA FAVORITE TRAIL Grand Valley Trail, Olympic National Park FAVORITE TRAIL SNACK Trail mix with M&Ms

HOME BASE Tacoma, WA FAVORITE TRAIL All the mountain trails around Leadville, CO FAVORITE TRAIL SNACK Tortillas with pepper jack and salsa

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P H OTO S BY C O U RT E S Y

FASTANDLIGHT HARDSHELL

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other

Let the crowds stampede the national parks—in the U.S., you’re never far from state lands that boast sublime beauty, natural seclusion, and endless adventure. These 14 just scratch the surface.

P H O T O B Y S T E P H E N M AT E R A / TA N D E M S T O C K

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CLOCKWISE The view from

Katahdin’s Kife Edge in Baxter State Park; alligator overpass in Blackwater River State Park; the Blackwater River.

his documentary series “The National Parks,” filmmaker Ken Burns extolled the populist nature of what he refers to as “America’s Best Idea”—the fact that those amazing federal lands are available to people from all walks of life. But what about the countless folks who don’t live near federal land? According to the National Association of State Park Directors (NASPD), there are 6,792 state park units in the U.S., and that’s just the beginning. In addition, the National Association of State Foresters says state forest agencies oversee nearly 74 million acres. Admittedly, state parks are generally much smaller in size than their federal counterparts, but they’re cumulatively vast, individually unique, and ecologically and socially important. You want to embark upon a spur-of-themoment backpacking trip and you live in New York City, you don’t go to Yellowstone. You go to Harriman State Park. “Most people do not live in a place where they can visit a national park or forest without taking a week of vacation,” says Paul McCormack, director of state parks for the South Carolina Department of Parks, Recreation and Tourism and vice president of the NASPD. “State parks serve to introduce people to the outdoors; they are also economic engines for a lot of rural areas, as well as protecting a lot of resources.” What follows is a geographically diverse, but by no means exhaustive, homage to some of the country’s great state parks. They’re all home to top-shelf backpacking and an array of stunning landscapes, from desert vistas to rainforests to skyscraping peaks. If none of these are within a day’s drive of you, don’t worry—there are plenty more where they came from.

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Ancestral home of the Penobscot Baxter (like Madonna or Ronaldo, it only needs one name) boasts 209,000 acres, 75 percent of which are wildlife sanctuary and home to large populations of moose and black bears. It’s also

home to the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail—5,269-foot Mt. Katahdin—which makes it one of the more recognizable state parks in the country. Baxter is the centerpiece of a triad of

P H O T O B Y J O N AT H A N M A U E R / A D O B E S T O C K

P H OTO S BY G E R R I / A D O B E S TO C K

protected lands that includes the 92.5-mile Allagash Wilderness Waterway and the 87,500-acre Katahdin Woods & Waters National Monument, which was only established in 2016. A GREAT DAYHIKE: From Roaring Brook Campground, follow Hamlin Ridge Trail to Pamola Peak, across the Knife Edge of Katahdin to Baxter Peak, then back to Roaring Brook via Chimney Pond. The trail is 11 to 12 miles, depending on

which route you take off the mountain. A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE: Roaring Brook to Russell Pond to Davis Pond, over to Chimney Pond, and back to Roaring Brook. “You can stretch this from four or ﬁve days to 10 by checking any number of interesting corners of the park,” says Don Hudson, who served on the board of directors for Friends of Baxter State Park. KNOW BEFORE YOU GO: Permits are required for almost all visitation.

Ancestral home of the Creek, Choctaw, and Seminole Located in the Panhandle, Blackwater River State Forest (BRSF) is the largest in Florida. Thirty miles of its namesake waterway ﬂow through the BRSF, home to the world’s largest remaining concentration of longleaf pines, which once covered more than 60 million acres in the southeastern U.S. According to Recreation Administrator David Creamer, the BRSF is home to numerous endangered and threatened species, including the gopher tortoise, the Eastern indigo snake, the redcockaded woodpecker, and the panhandle lily.

intersects several trails and camping is allowed on sandbars. KNOW BEFORE YOU GO: There are alligators but, according to Creamer, they are a rare sight. There are also a delightful variety of poisonous snakes, including diamondback and ground rattlesnakes, water moccasins, copperheads and coral snakes. Watch your step.

A GREAT DAYHIKE: Traverse crimson bluﬀs and sandy beaches on the 8.8-mile Juniper Creek Trail. A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE: A multiday paddle down the Blackwater River BACKPACKER.COM

Paul Bunyan State Forest

Ancestral home of the Ojibwe According to the fortuitously named Forest Eidbo of Minnesota’s Department of Natural Resources, the state’s Division of Forestry manages about 4.5 million acres, which makes it one of the most expansive systems in the country. Located near the headwaters of the Mississippi River, the 105,000-acre Paul Bunyan State Forest isn’t Minnesota’s largest, but it punches above its weight class with unique geography and self-propelled outdoor recreational opportunities. “The Paul Bunyan consists of a terminal moraine,” says Forest Supervisor Mike Lichter. “It has hilly terrain, gravelly soil, and hills with overlooks, which is unusual in northern Minnesota.” A deep system of lakes in the Paul Bunyan provides some of the cleanest water in the state. A GREAT DAYHIKE:

The 3.8-mile Waboose Lake Loop passes through old-growth pine forest as it encircles its namesake body of water. A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE:

The 25-mile section of the North Country Trail accessed from the Highway 64 trailhead traverses the Paul Bunyan through rolling hills and dense white pine forest. KNOW BEFORE YOU GO:

Northern Minnesota’s reputation for mosquitoes is well-deserved. Ticks are also an issue. This is Lyme disease country.

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Ancestral home of the Esopus The sprawling Catskill Park exists in the shadow of the larger Adirondack Park to its north, but it’s just as beloved by New Yorkers. Like Adirondack Park, there’s a lot of private property within the park boundaries, but that still leaves a forest preserve in the tens of thousands of acres just a few hours from New York City. According to Wendell George, president of the Catskill Mountain Club, three things come to mind when talking about the park: trees, water, and wildlife. “This is where southern hardwood forests meet the northernstyle boreal forests,” he explains. “New York City gets 90 percent of its drinking water [from here], and it’s so clean that the city doesn’t have to filter it. The park has been protected for 114 years

and has tremendous biodiversity—black bears, bobcats, coyotes, foxes, and bald and golden eagles.” One last fun fact? This is where fly fishing in America was born. A GREAT DAYHIKE: The 3.75-mile Giant Ledge Trail oﬀers views of the range from ﬁve open ledges. A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE: The 26-mile Devil’s Path is considered by many to be the most difficult hike in the eastern U.S., thanks to punishing elevation gain and loss, and tricky scrambling KNOW BEFORE YOU GO: Crowds are enough of an issue that a local advisory group recently suggested a parking reservation system. If that’s not in place when you intend to visit, plan to arrive early.

Diamond Notch Falls along Devil's Path in Catskill Park. RIGHT Devil’s Path in Catskill Park.

( L E F T ) P H OTO BY B R A N DT B O L D I N G / A D O B E S TO C K ; L AU R A / A D O B E S TO C K

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Ancestral homeland of the Kechemeche To the surprise of many, densely populated New Jersey has an extensive system of public lands, including the 1.1-million-acre Pinelands National Reserve, the ﬁrst place in the country to earn that designation. The Pinelands National Reserve covers nearly a quarter of the state and consists of numerous land-management components, including the 122,880-acre Wharton, the 38,000-acre Brendan T. Byrne, and the 23,563-acre Bass River state forests. Much of the Pinelands are flat and sandy, which might sound boring, but actually supports a unique ecosystem. That’s according to Carleton Montgomery, executive director of the 5,000-member Pinelands Preservation Alliance, who explains, “the water table is very high, so there are a lot of wetlands that support significant biodiversity found nowhere else.” The forests consist largely of oaks and—true to the area’s name—pines. “This is different from other temperate forests because of the highly acidic, sandy soil. There are really no invasives replacing the native ecology. The water that flows from these forests is pure.” Home to 299 bird species, 59 reptile and amphibian species, and 91 fish species, the Pinelands are beloved by birders, anglers, and anyone who loves the croaking of frogs. A GREAT DAYHIKE: On the 9.4-mile Mullica River Trail, you can see beaver, whitetail deer, great blue heron, and red-tailed hawk. A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE: The 53.5-mile Batona Trail, designed to connect the three state forests, offers multiple overnight options.

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Sunrise fog over Sylvan Lake in Custer State Park. BELOW Batsto Lake, Wharton State Forest

KNOW BEFORE YOU GO: The sandy soil of the Pinelands interior is not conducive to insect propagation, but it's a diﬀerent story on the lowlands closer to the Atlantic shoreline, which is home to impressive populations of mosquitoes and biting greenhead ﬂies during the warmer months.

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P H O T O B Y PAT R I C K TA P P E / A D O B E S T O C K

Ancestral homeland of the Lakota Sioux Nestled between Wind Cave National Park and the Black Hills National Forest, Custer helps form one of the largest stretches of public land in the northern Great Plains and is among the best wildlife-viewing parks in the country. Home to a bison population that numbers about 1,400, Custer is also thick with elk, pronghorn, bighorn sheep, and wild

burros, all of which you can easily view from the Wildlife Loop Road. Kobee Stalder, former visitor services manager at the park, eﬀuses about Custer’s topographic diversity: “You can drive or hike 5 miles and you’re in a totally diﬀerent landscape. In the south, there’s rolling hills and native grass prairie. Then you start moving

( TO P ) P H OTO BY C R A I G Z E R B E / A D O B E S TO C K

north and you get to the granite spires that make the Black Hills so popular with climbers.” A GREAT DAYHIKE: The 3.9-mile Sunday Gulch trail oﬀers plenty of rock scrambling, stream crossings, and small waterfalls. “The best thing about the trail is the wide open views of the Black Hills,” says Stalder.

A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE: A 22-mile section of the 111-mile South Dakota Centennial Trail—which traverses the Black Hills from Bear Butte State Park in the north to Wind Cave National Park in the south— passes through Custer, providing several overnight opportunities. There are access points at Iron Creek, Badger Hole, and French Creek trailheads. KNOW BEFORE YOU GO: Bison weigh as much as 2,000 pounds and run up to 35 miles per hour. Give them a wide berth. BACKPACKER.COM

Green Ridge State Forest

Ancestral home of the Susquehannock

A GREAT DAYHIKE:

The 4-mile Twin Oaks Trail loop traverses some of the most wild terrain in the GRSF. A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE:

The 9-mile Long Pond Trail, which boasts a shelter, terminates above the Potomac River. Also, 18 miles of the Great Eastern Trail pass through GRSF. KNOW BEFORE YOU GO:

Camping permits are required.

The Borrego Palm Canyon in Anza-Borrego Desert State Park leads to one of California’s largest desert palm oases.

Ancestral home of the Ojibwe

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GUTTER CREDIT TK

The westernmost part of the country’s weirdest-shaped state contains eight state parks, three state forests, and even a ski area. The 49,000-acre Green Ridge State Forest (GRSF) is the largest contiguous parcel of public land in the state. Located within the “ridge and valley” province of the Appalachian Mountains, it features oak and hickory forest and terrain that ranges in elevation from 500 feet on the Potomac River to 2,000 feet on the summit of Town Hill. “Because it is located in the rain shadow of the Appalachians, Green Ridge receives the least amount of rainfall in Maryland,” says Regional Forester George Eberling. Given its proximity to both Baltimore and Washington, DC, Green Ridge sees 75,000 to 100,000 visitors per year. But, like many places, most of those visitors stick close to the road.

Ancestral home of the Ipai, Tipai, and Kamia (Kumeyaay), Cahuilla and Kuupangaxwichem (Cupeño) Established in 1933, California’s largest state park is also an International Dark Sky Park, which means it’s recognized as one of the best places for stargazing on Earth. Within the park boundaries are 12 wilderness areas and elevations that vary from 15 feet above sea level near the Salton Sea to 6,193-foot Combs Peak in the northwest. The park’s resident bighorn sheep population is not camera shy, and its springtime flower blooms following wet winters draw folks from all over the state to see a daytime show to rival the nighttime one.

A GREAT DAYHIKE: The 3.25-mile Borrego Palm Canyon trail winds through a narrow, ﬂash ﬂood-prone canyon toward native fan palm oases, with a high probability of spotting bighorn sheep. A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE: The 8.8-mile trail to the summit of 5,349 Whale Peak is a steep slog, with more than 2,000 vertical feet of climbing (no pain, no gain). KNOW BEFORE YOU GO: This may not the best destination for midsummer, when daytime high temperatures at the park’s lower elevations average 107°F.

The 60,000-acre “Porkies ” are tucked along the shores of Lake Superior in a remote corner of the Upper Peninsula and showcase the “biggest and best track of virgin northern hardwoods in North America,” according to the Michigan Natural Features Inventory. This is Michigan’s largest state park, home to

a robust black bear population, several wolf packs, 90 waterfalls, and 23 miles of Lake Superior shoreline. A GREAT DAYHIKE: The 4.3-mile Escarpment Trail combines a high rocky bluﬀ and alpinelike vistas, with views of the park’s centerpiece: the incomparable Lake of the Clouds.

A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE: The 17-mile Lake Superior Trail parallels the shore of Lake Superior. KNOW BEFORE YOU GO: Lake Superior is the world’s largest freshwater lake by surface area and known as an inland sea. It gets ferocious, with increased wind and wave activity due to climate change.

LEFT Lake of the Clouds, in the heart of Michigan’s “Porkies.”

( T O P ) P H OT O BY GA RY K AVA N AG H / I S T O C K / G E T T Y I M AG E S P L U S ; WIREPEC/ADOBE S TOC K

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Ancestral home of the Dena’ina A GREAT DAYHIKE: The 6.5-mile Grewingk Glacier Trail reaches the only trail-accessed glacier in the park. A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE: The 32-mile Tutka Backdoor Trail was completed entirely by volunteers in 2016. KNOW BEFORE YOU GO: There is no road access to either of these parks. Visitors must utilize ﬂoat planes or water taxis out of Homer, though hearty hikers might be able to access the parks from the village of Seldovia, which is also only accessible by car ferry or ﬂoat plane from Homer.

Grewingk Glacier in Kachemak Bay State Park

Ancestral home of the Mescalero, Lipan, Kickapoo, Jumano, and Comanche

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Not to be confused with the similarly-named Big Bend National Park, which lies less than 100 miles to its east, Big Bend Ranch (BBRSP) only fully opened to the public in 2007. The largest state park in Texas, it remains something of a working ranch, with a semi-annual roundup of the resident longhorn cattle herd. Don’t worry, though—there are plenty of animals that don’t require chaps to

( L E F T ) L A N C E K I N G / A D O B E S TO C K ; ( TO P ) L AU R E N C E PA R E N T

These two connected parcels total more than 371,000 acres on the Kenai Peninsula. With a cumulative coastline exceeding 200 miles along its namesake bay, as well as the Gulf of Alaska, it’s no surprise that visitors stand a good chance of seeing sea otters, seals, porpoises, and whales. Land mammals include moose, black bear, mountain goats, coyotes, and wolves. Many avian species, such as eagles, gyrfalcons, and puffins inhabit the parks. The innermost reaches of the park have glaciated peaks that exceed 5,000 feet in elevation.

Loyalsock State Forest

Ancestral home of the Shawnee and Seneca Pennsylvania has no shortage of state forests, but the 115,000acre Loyalsock State Forest may be tops among them. Located northeast of Williamsport, Loyalsock is home to five natural and wild areas that mark an abrupt topographical change from the lower two-thirds of the state. “We are located in the transition zone from the ridge and valley province in the south to the more glacier-carved lands to the north,” says District Forester Rich Glinski. “We have higher elevation, steep terrain, crystal-clear sandstone creeks, and significant waterfalls and rock ledges.” A GREAT DAYHIKE:

(RIGHT) PHOTO BY KYLE REYNOLDS/ ISTOCK /GETT Y IMAGES PLUS

The 1.7-mile Jacoby Falls Trail accesses the 30-foot eponymous falls, considered one of the prettiest cascades in the state.

ABOVE Sierra de la Guitarra in Big Bend Ranch. BELOW RIGHT Loyalsock State Forest surrounds

a second state park, known as Worlds End.

view. BBRSP is home to populations of cougars, bobcats, golden eagles, peregrine falcons, zone-tailed hawks, western mastiff bats, gray fox, mule deer, coyote, seven species of owl, and six species of woodpecker. There are two main differences between the Ranch and its national park sibling.

One is water: “Despite being smaller, we have twice as many water sources,” says Park Superintendent Nate Gold. “We have a lot of riparian areas that teem with wildlife.” The other diﬀerence? Visitors. The national park now sees an average of 500,000 people a year, while BBRSP saw just 85,000 last year.

A GREAT DAYHIKE: The 5-mile West Fresno Rim Overlook Trail takes hikers to the edge of Fresno Canyon, with a spectacular view of the Soliatrios Flatirons. A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE: The 22-mile Rancherias Loop oﬀers water sources at least once a day—a rarity in this parched area of the country. KNOW BEFORE YOU GO: Don’t come here in the summer.

A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE:

Both the 28-mile Old Loggers Path loop and the 60-mile Loyalsock Trail oﬀer good overnight options. KNOW BEFORE YOU GO:

Like most of Pennsylvania’s state forests, the Loyalsock is a working forest. You may encounter active timber mangement during your visit.

Ocean views from the Kalalau trail in Nā Pali Coast State Park. OPPOSITE Wildﬂowers in State Forest State Park.

Ancestral home of the Kānaka Maoli Eyeball a map of Kaua’i and you are likely to notice that a significant percentage of the island is colored green. More than half of Kaua’i is protected through an administrative hodgepodge that includes forest reserves, natural area reserves, a wilderness preserve, a national wildlife refuge, and six state parks. Though the entire island is magnificent, the northwest—which includes the incomparable Nā Pali coast and Waimea Canyon—is particularly impressive: Picture vividly colored, striated, thousand-foot cliffs and canyons, waterfalls, caves, marshlands, and beaches. At its center stands 5,148-foot Wai’ale’ale, considered one of the wettest places in the world, with 450 inches of rain a year on average.

P H O T O B Y M AT T H A G E

Though small by mainland standards, the four state parks on the Kaua’i’s northwest side—Koke’e (4,345 acres), Waimea Canyon (1,866 acres), Nā Pali Coast (6,175 acres) and Ha’ena (65 acres)—are part of an uninterrupted lattice of habitat that is home to numerous endemic bird species. One of those is Hawaii’s state bird, the nēnē, or Hawaiian goose, which nearly went extinct in the mid-20th century. Kauai’i’s nearshore waters provide habitat for a number of marine mammals—whales, dolphins, and the endangered Hawaiian monk seal—as well as sea turtles. A GREAT DAYHIKE: The 3.5-mile Alaka’i Swamp Trail follows a boardwalk, installed to protect the alpine bog environment, that winds through two steep river valleys and three bogs before ending at the rim overlooking Wainiha Valley.

P H OTO BY A RT WO L F E / G E T T Y I M AG E S

A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE: Both the 11-mile Kalalau Trail, which connects Ha’ena State Park with Nā Pali Coast State Park, and the 11.5-mile Waimea Canyon Trail are for experienced hikers only. KNOW BEFORE YOU GO: If you are inclined to hike the Kalalau Trail, you must make reservations at least 90 days out. Kalalau is a dangerous trail, upon which numerous fatalities have occurred. There are slippery cliffs, swift water crossings, and high tides that can impact accessibility.

Ancestral home of the Arapaho and Ute The 71,000-acre State Forest State Park (SFSP) is Colorado’s largest state park by a wide margin. It serves as a very attainable alternative to the country’s ﬁfth-mostvisited national park, Rocky Mountain, just to its south. Located between the west side of the Medicine Bow Mountains and the north end of the Never Summer Range, SFSP oﬀers elevations ranging from 8,500 to 13,000 feet and vistas that compare favorably to anywhere in the central Rockies. Moreover, SFSP boasts a singular

distinction among public lands in Colorado: It is considered the state’s moose-viewing capital. Twenty-four moose were introduced into this part of the state in 1978. Subsequent transplants and successful reproduction have swelled Colorado’s moose population to nearly 3,000, about 600 of which live in the SFSP. A GREAT DAYHIKE: The Lake Agnes Trail is less than a mile long and sees a lot of traffic. It’s worth braving those crowds, however, for

the unparalleled view of the horizon-defining Nokhu Crags. A GREAT MULTIDAY HIKE: The 5.5-mile American Lakes Trail accesses its namesake lake and oﬀers the option of continuing over Thunder Pass into Rocky Mountain National Park. KNOW BEFORE YOU GO: Given the altitude, best to acclimatize yourself for a few days before hoisting your pack. Nearby Fort Collins has great craft breweries to help pass the time.

M. J O H N FAY H E E H A S BEE N W R I T IN G FO R BAC KPAC KER SIN CE 19 8 6. T H E A U T H O R O F 1 0 B O O KS, FAY H EE H A S H IK E D T H E A P PAL AC HI A N, C OL O R A D O, A N D A R I ZO N A T R A IL S. H E L I VE S N E A R A VERY C O O L S TATE PA R K I N N E W M E X IC O.

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SIERRA

TIME Before he won the Hugo, Nebula, and Locus awards for his science fiction, Kim Stanley Robinson was a hiker in the Sierra Nevada. He still is. Walk with him in this exclusive excerpt from his new book, The High Sierra: A Love Story. by

KIM STANLEY ROBINSON

( L E F T ) P H O T O C O U R T E S Y O F K I M S TA N L E Y R O B I N S O N ; ( R I G H T ) P H O T O B Y A N N A PA P U G A

woke in my sleeping bag and saw my friend Terry sitting up in his. It was still dark, but the sky was blue in the east, beyond the great gulf of Owens Valley. I had slept poorly, a little high on Diamox, altitude, and the knowledge I was back in the Sierra. Around us stood tents and picnic tables and grills: the car campground at Horseshoe Meadows. A girl in a nearby tent had put us to sleep the night before by reading aloud to her friends, her musical voice like a lullaby. Now tall pines soared over us, black in the dawn. All the people around us were still asleep. Where else do you find so many people sleeping outdoors together? It’s a thing from an earlier time. We packed as quietly as we could and took our stuff to the nearby parking lot. Sitting on the asphalt by my old station wagon, we brewed up some coffee and finished loading our packs. It was cold but not too cold. With a final check we were off. Destination: Mt. Langley, the tallest peak at the south end of the Sierra. We had done it again: another Sierra trip. We’ve made well over 50 of them at this point, Terry and I, almost half of those just the two of us. Rambling the Sierra with my moody friend: at various times he would be gloomy, exuberant, calm, remote. It didn’t matter. Both of us were there for the Sierra. In that sense we were a good match. We were used to each other. Now we flowed up the trail, hiking fast through shadows—a TOP Terry Baier on Mt. Langley long, gentle, uphill walk through narrow RIGHT Backpackers meadows, threading an open forest. Evtrek to Cottonwood erything was cool and still, the shadows Lakes on the trail toward Mt. Langley. horizontal, the light yellow.

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( P R E V I O U S S P R E A D ) P H OTO BY B E N JA M I N E R L A N D S O N / I S TO C K / G E T T Y I M AG E S P LU S

LEFT Kim and friend Darryl DeVinney approach a drop-oﬀ in the high Sierra. RIGHT Two bighorn sheep look on from above.

WHEN I’M IN THE SIERRA, I FEEL PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL. THAT SENSE OF ELEVATION, OF BEING RAISED UP (A PHRASE THAT ASSUMES HEIGHT EQUALS GOODNESS), GIVES ME AN UNDERLYING CALM, HUMMING LIKE A CONTINUO BENEATH MY THOUGHTS.

MORNING IN CAMP

When the sky gets light in the east, I often wake. Pleased that day has almost arrived, I sometimes snuggle back into my sleeping bag for a last snooze; other times, I put my glasses on and lie on my back and watch the stars wink out. Sleep out. Don’t sleep in a tent unless it’s raining. I advise this most sincerely. It’s not that cold in the Sierra; you don’t need the slight extra warmth of the tent. Your sleeping bag itself is a tent, and a quieter one. And sleeping out, you are out there. Night in the Sierras is a magical time. The dawn sky is gray before it takes on the blue color. Sometimes peaks to the west of camp have a dawn alpenglow, more yellow than pink. It’s cold, but often I’m done with sleeping, and things are visible, and very likely I have to pee. Once up and about, I seldom climb back into my sleeping bag and lie down. Easier to sit on my scrap of eggcrate foam that serves as butt pad, hip belt, and pillow, pull my sleeping bag across my legs, brew up my coﬀee, and sit watching the morning happen. If the sky is clear, the ﬁrst

( L E F T T O R I G H T ) P H O T O C O U R T E S Y O F K I M S TA N L E Y R O B I N S O N ; S I E R R A R AT / I S T O C K / G E T T Y I M A G E S P L U S

I felt the energy of the trip’s ﬁrst hour, and yet things were still a little dreamy too. Sometimes hiking involves a lot of looking down to be sure of your footing, but other times it’s like strolling up a sidewalk. Minute follows minute, they unspool with nothing in particular to mark their passing. You’re just walking, and you’re only going to be walking for the rest of that day. And so you begin to shift into hiking’s altered state of consciousness. Sierra time. In that morning light, at the start of a trip, I sometimes laugh out loud. That feeling is one of the things I want to write about here. Crazy love. Some kind of joy. There are people who go up to California’s Sierra Nevada, fall in love with the place, and then live the rest of their lives in ways that will get them back up there as often as possible. I’m one of those, and I want to explore various aspects of that feeling, thinking about how it happens, and why. Analyzing love: Is this wise? Possibly not, but I notice we do it all the time. So I’ll give it a try. I’ll do this by dividing the paradigmatic day into parts.

blast of sun over the mountains to the east will immediately warm things up. Between coﬀee and my warmies, and the bag draped over me, it’s usually warm enough. Although I am also waiting for the sun. This can be mesmerizing. Very often there are ridges above the camp to the east, which means that almost every camp is in a little bit of a hollow. There are those rare camps that overlook the Owens Valley, and the sun cracks the distant horizon before it even comes level with you: You are higher than sunrise. But no matter the topography, above this shadow line it’s bright and sunny, and obviously warmer than where you are; and you are down in the shadows below, waiting for the sun. And the line moves, down and down and down. If you watch a boulder near the sun, but still in shadow, and keep watching it, then the sunlight will hit the top of the boulder, then move down the boulder—also the whole slope—slowly, slowly, but not imperceptibly, not quite sunrise. This is the speed of the planet rolling under your feet. At the pace of time itself. You can see time.

P H O T O C O U R T E S Y K I M S TA N L E Y R O B I N S O N

THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN HIGH

Could it have something to do with altitude? I mean, you’re high. Less than 6 percent of the Earth’s surface sticks up more than 3,300 feet above sea level, and far less than that breaks 10,000 feet. High mountains are rare, and hardly anyone lives year-round above 15,000 feet, even in the Himalayas and the Andes. The Sierra are a remarkably high and narrow range. Is it diﬀerent up there? Is that part of the mountain high? It’s hard to say. The air is thinner, and thus clearer, and cooler. Warm in the sun, cool in the shade. The sky is often a darker shade of blue. The clouds tend to be lower in the sky; some ﬂoat right at your level, or you’re even in them, in a fog or a mist. Even cirrus clouds look lower, because they are. Or rather, you are higher. When I’m in the Sierra, I feel physical and spiritual. That sense of elevation, of being raised up (a phrase that assumes height equals goodness), gives me an underlying calm, humming like a continuo beneath my thoughts. By now it’s somewhat associational, I’m sure; I feel good in the mountains because of all the previous times I’ve felt good in the mountains. Contentment, happiness, bliss. Being high is more than physiological. It has to do with wildness, with beauty. You couldn’t take an elevator to the top of a high tower and feel it, and you don’t feel it in an airplane, where the air pressure is set to the equivalent of 8,000 feet above sea level. It’s

Terry Baier walks across a river.

an eﬀect of history and a manifestation of the sublime; the reduction of oxygen may not have anything to do with it.

IN PRAISE OF RAMBLING

Most Sierra days, after packing up and taking a last look around the campsite, we take off and hike cross-country, off trail, because that’s what we’re up there to do. Anyone who can walk without pain could enjoy hiking cross-country in the Sierra. It’s not a skill sport, or to put it more precisely, it’s not a specific sports skill having to do with eye-hand coordination. Eye-foot coordination, maybe. Balance and the like. But, we evolved as a species by walking; we evolved in order to walk better. We’re good at it. This is central to the joy of backpacking, making this discovery: We’re born to walk! Not that it doesn’t help to be in shape. Now that so many of us sit all day, and get around in cars, we’re not as tough as people used to be. The poets Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth used to

walk 10 miles to visit each other, and then walk home that same night. They were not athletes; they were just humans in the 18th century. These days, those of us who do physical work for a living are still strong, but back then even writers were strong, because it was walk or get nowhere. So they walked. With some preparatory getting in shape, anyone can still do that. If you’re young, you’re already strong enough for the Sierra, no matter how much you sit around at home. Youth itself is a kind of strength. What I advocate for here is not mountain climbing. Sierra scrambling is nothing like any of the extreme sports, it doesn’t share their mentality or partake in the brutal teststo-destruction that appear to dominate contemporary culture’s idea of what people are supposed to do in mountains. Hang off cliffs, fall and die; get caught in storms and die; climb Everest and die. This is mountaineering in our time. Rambling and scrambling are not like that. We try not to get onto any slope steeper than a staircase. This means the hardest stuff we hike over is rated class 2, using a classification system that was developed in the Sierra by early Sierra Club climbers. In BACKPACKER.COM

P H O T O B Y A N N A PA P U G A

THIS IS THE SPEED OF THE PLANET

ROLLING UNDER YOUR FEET. AT THE PACE OF TIME ITSELF.

YOU CAN SEE TIME.

or spiritual aspect—is partly like walking through a great art museum, partly like orienteering, and partly like fooling around on a jungle gym when you were ﬁve years old. Mostly we ramble, sometimes we scramble. Scrambling is very simple monkey fun, and rambling over such a landscape is beautiful. However you think of it, backpacking won’t save the world. It isn’t virtuous, although it’s true that the carbon burn involved once you start walking is extremely low. Backpacking is not dangerous, and often it isn’t dramatic. Still, there is something deeply attractive to it. Central to the attraction is the simple act of walking. If you go backpacking mainly to enjoy your time in camp and only endure the time you spend walking from camp to camp, then backpacking ultimately will not appeal to you. Because it’s mostly about walking. That’s what cross-country hiking is like. You’re surfing a wave that is stuck and motionless (or moving extremely slowly compared to you!), so that you have to provide the locomotion yourself; but the principle of where to go is the same. When you look up a complicated slope above you, or across one, or down at one, it’s always rumpled, and often there are parts of it that are out of your view. Can you deduce

or intuit a line that looks good? I’m always looking for some give-and-take with the opportunities and blockages. If you pay attention, there often appears a sort of staircase inlaid into the granite, revealing itself for your convenience as you ﬁnd it. That’s the clean line on that slope. Reinhold Messner once remarked that his climbing lines are his true sentences. I like to ﬁnd a clean hiking line in just the same way I like to write a clear sentence.

SUNSET AND TWILIGHT

In the evening comes an hour of peace. From a good campsite you can see a long way, and often a lake ﬂoors the basin below you. Dinner eaten, camp set, legs tired, you pour two ounces of single malt into a yellow plastic cup bought at a dollar store in 2005, which weighs nothing, or maybe even less than nothing, and sit on a rock and just watch the sunset. Again the speed of the world comes clear. It’s slow, but it goes too fast. If there are clouds, they turn orange and pink, bronze and gold, mauve and magenta; or stay gray; or do all these things at once. Nature doesn’t believe any colors clash; anything can happen. If there are clouds in the west, the sun sends god rays in a spray that makes no sense, astronomically speaking. It doesn’t matter, there they are, spangling the sky. Glories, the English called these bursts of light through the clouds. Distant peaks may still stand in the light of day when you have been long in shadow. A moment comes when the lake under you seems to be lighter than the sky above. This must be an illusion of contrast, the rocks being dark now. Silhouetted trees are black on the bluing sky. As the light leaks out of the air, and dusk comes fully on, the blue shrinks to nothing more than a narrow ribbon between black earth and black sky. Then it’s black velvet below; a strip of glowing lapis lazuli, darkening above to indigo, but at the horizon itself, still glowing the bluest blue ever seen. The pulsing of it is maybe in your optic nerve, or perhaps it’s your own pulse, your body quivering as it soaks it in. The blue inside of blue, electrically crackling from its own oversaturation. When that last band of lapis slips away, the day is done. The beauty has not gone away, but shifted. It’s beating inside you. You’re in the dark, and have to wonder if you remembered to put your headlamp in your pocket, or if you’re going to have to dig for it. It doesn’t matter; you can see in the dark. Finish your Scotch, and start getting ready for bed. It’s been a good day.

P H OTO BY C L I F F L A P L A N T / 5 0 0 P X / G E T T Y I M AG E S

this system the scale goes from 1 to 5, where 1 means walking, and 2 means getting on slopes where you might use your hands for balance, or as an aid up, and if you fell, you could only sprain an ankle or the like. Class 3, which we try to avoid, is hands-on for sure, partly to help yourself up or down, partly to hold on to the slope, because a fall, though unlikely, could in theory kill you. Classes 4 and 5, even more so. For both 4 and 5, ropes are advised for protection in case of a fall, and 5 gets divided into decimals, though it no longer stops at 5.10. It goes up to 5.15 now, to indicate levels of technical climbing difficulty. Class 5.5 and above is really gecko land but all the terrain in classes 4 and 5 is steeper than you want to fall from, a result that could be fatal. These distinctions are easy to make in the field. In fact we find it impossible to avoid noticing the border between class 2 and class 3, because it’s quite vivid. On class 2 you’re having fun, on class 3 you’re scared. This is an easy distinction to make! And in fact, I’ve crawled on my hands and knees over a good percentage of the class 3 terrain I’ve crossed. The Sierra Nevada of California is the great class 2 playground of the world. The game we play up there—mainly a game, but with an aesthetic, philosophical,

P H O T O C O U R T E S Y O F K I M S TA N L E Y R O B I N S O N

TRAIL’S END

All these thoughts are part of the peripatetic musings of someone with lots of trail time to ponder such questions. I’m quite sure that thoughts about wilderness are clariﬁed by actually spending some time in wilderness, and maybe the more time the better. Practice helps. For me, backpacking in the Sierra Nevada has been an immersion in a particular wilderness. It’s been a deep joy, impossible to express in full, but nevertheless real. I can bear witness to the experience of wilderness as a space of human joy. We were gamboling up there like kids in a meadow. Seeing young bighorn sheep fooling around one day in 2008 gave me the clearest image I’ve ever had of the feeling of being up there. I recognized what they were doing, and that made me laugh. Run in circles, pop suddenly into the air, collapse in a tangle, then get up and do it again! It’s not virtuous; it’s not useful. But I’ve enjoyed it. And it taught me things. I’m grateful it struck me so young and so hard. I hope to keep going up into the Sierra for as long as I live. I partly organize my life at home around trying to extend my Sierra years. But what you plan and what happens aren’t the same, as I know very well. What remains for me up there? I have a list in my head of places I still want to see. I don’t write this list down, although I do write down lots of lists. But this one is easy to remember. It’s a kind of utopian imaginary which I often visit to ﬁll my

TOP A friend and Kim

hike down upper Dumbbell Basin. ABOVE Kim writes on the back of a map in Dumbbell Basin. OPPOSITE Lake Ediza in the High Sierra

insomniac hours, or just in idle daydreams. The list is longer than I will get to complete. Which is ﬁne. If any readers of this are young Sierra hikers, recall this admonition: Don’t waste your precious youth! It only comes once, and it can be a zone of freedom. Be a pinball in your pinball years. It’s a big range. Go up often and wander. As for me, I’ll take it one trip at a time. For me, this is joy. This is what the Sierras can give you: Hours stolen from the gods. BACKPACKER.COM

THE BACKPACKER’S GUIDE TO

HOW STUFF

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illustrations by

Corey Buhay

Zohar Lazar

K E Y N AT U R E GEAR P H YS I O L O GY

WHY DOES C O N D E N S AT I O N FORM IN

T E N TS ? As you sleep, you exhale warm water vapor. That vapor cools when it touches a chilly tent ﬂy, causing the airborne water molecules to slow down, clump together, and pool into droplets.

W H AT I S C RY P T O B I O T I C

SOIL? D O E S I T R E A L LY TA K E 10 0 Y E A R S TO REGROW AFTER BEING STEPPED ON?

Curiosity is the root of adventure. You let it lead you to the next switchback, the next view, the next trailhead. Likewise, it probably drives you to ask questions—about everything from the color of the sky to why your knees are killing you. We gathered our editors’ most burning queries and spent weeks scouring textbooks, deciphering diagrams, and grilling experts for the answers. The result? Dozens of factoids that will impress even your most well-read hiking partner— and leave you with a new appreciation for our world.

Cryptobiotic soil, also known as biological soil crust, is a hardened, bumpy layer found on top of the soil in desert ecosystems that traps moisture and prevents erosion. For crust to form, tiny cyanobacteria must colonize the soil and “glue it together” for lichens and mosses to get established. Organisms that make up the crust only grow when it rains. According to United States Geological Survey researcher Jayne Belnap, damaged crusts may rebound after just 10 years in damp places like Idaho. As for dry Moab, Utah? Make that 70 years or more. The takeaway: Stay on the trail. Even areas that look barren could be in a critical stage of recovery.

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WHY DOES

ST I C KY SHOE RUBBER STICK? Attraction between the atoms in your shoe and atoms on the ground creates friction. The greater the contact area, the more atoms interact. “Sticky rubber’’ is just a formulation of rubber that’s so soft, a footstep can squish it into the microscopic textures of the rock in order to vastly increase the contact area—and therefore atomic attraction.

A R E W OM E N ’S

SLEEPING B AG S R E A L LY WA R M E R THAN MENS? Yup. Most sleeping bags come with an internationally standardized rating called an “EN” or “ISO” rating. This tells you what temperature range is appropriate, from super cozy (its “comfort” limit), to decently warm (“extreme”). Usually, women sleep colder than men, so women’s bags are labeled with their ISO “comfort” rating while men’s bags list the “extreme” rating,

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IS THRUHIKING

BAD FOR ME? Depends on your perspective. Most thru-hikers gain leg muscle (usually good) and temporarily lose weight (sometimes good). A case study found that one hiker’s arteries narrowed during his thru-hike (not good), perhaps due to dietary

changes. Many thruhikers end hikes early due to injury (bad), and some develop chronic joint pain (definitely bad). But substantive research is limited. The only real evidence of negative health impacts? Cavities. On a thru-hike, “you’re more likely to be eating something all the time. Teeth need time to recover from sugar,” explains Karel Sabbe, a dentist and record-setting thru-hiker. “My oral

P H OTO BY N I C K O N K E N / G E T T Y I M AG E S

says Sierra Designs product manager Ryan Bertrand. Example: A women’s 20°F bag might have an ISO comfort rating of 20°F and an extreme rating of 14°F—meaning it’ll keep an average male comfortable down to 14°F. That doesn’t mean dudes should buy women’s bags to get more bang for their buck: Ladies’ bags have diﬀerent proportions than men’s bags.

MOST M O U N TA I N S FORM NEAR THE EDGES OF CONTINENTS OR I N VO LC A N I C REGIONS. HOW DID THE

WHY IS

WOOL

ROCKIES SHOW UP IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE?

S O G O O D AT REPELLING

STINK? Bacteria grow best on damp, smooth surfaces. So, you can think of the shiny, sweaty, synthetic ﬁbers in your polyester tee as a perfect petri dish for odorproducing microbes. Wool ﬁbers, on the other hand, are covered with microscopic scales—natural structures that bacteria aren’t as excited to reproduce all over. Plus, wool absorbs and wicks tons of moisture. No external moisture on your skin or clothes = no frisky bacteria.

hygiene during the PCT record attempt was the worst. I was too tired to brush my teeth and was probably eating a half a pound of candy and drinking at least a gallon of a sugar drink a day.” Fortunately, Sabbe says, you will usually survive a week or so of sub-par brushing without cavities. But don’t push it: “The impact of [chronically poor oral hygiene] is huge and to this date still too much underestimated,” Sabbe says. “It creates a constant inﬂammation and your body is constantly ﬁghting it.” Not something you want to worry about on the trail.

WHY DON’T I EVER POOP ON B AC K PAC K I N G

TRIPS? “That’s a fiber and hydration problem,” says Aaron Owens Mayhew, Registered Dietician and Founder of Backcountry Foodie, a recipe and meal-planning resource for backpackers. “Hikers tend to eat more processed foods, which are naturally lower in fiber. You likely are eating more fiber and drinking more water at home, which is what’s keeping you more regulated.”

The textbook answer is that an oceanic tectonic plate got pushed really far underneath the West Coast. As the theory goes, “the slab was basically grazing along the bottom of the North American Plate, and—much like if you push a rug along a slippery ﬂoor—the plate started to ripple up in front of where it was being pushed,” explains Craig Jones, professor of geological sciences at the University of Colorado Boulder. “That’s a very nice idea, but there are some inconsistencies with what we see on the ground,” he says. Instead, Jones’s lab doesn’t think those shoving forces are what created the Rockies, per se. Instead, they think the sinking plate got coupled to the upper plate while it was descending. Meanwhile, the ﬂow of magma between the plates created strong suction forces that pulled the plates together. The sinking plate was tugged upward and the upper plate was tugged downward, which ultimately left a hollow that masses of rock could tumble into. To get an idea of how this works, imagine you have a trampoline covered with tennis balls. Now, if you crawl under the trampoline and pinch the middle of it and pull down, the

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“The mountains act like a giant movie screen,” says Corﬁdi, catching those ﬁltered rays.

HOW DO H O L LO W  P O R E WAT E R

Christina Buchanan, director of the High Altitude Exercise Physiology program at Western Colorado University, answers our biggest questions. Q: What does acclimatization actually do to my body? A: In your first 24 hours at altitude, you start producing more red blood cells and breathing faster. Your heart rate increases. Your body shifts to prioritizing glucose as a form of energy. Most people take about three weeks to acclimatize, but some never fully acclimatize.

Q: Why does altitude make me nauseous? A: At altitude, your blood pressure increases, so there’s an increase in pressure in the arteries in your lungs. There seems to be a link between that and acute mountain sickness. Your body can have an abnormal or overactive response, and that can cause headache, nausea, and other side effects like troubled sleep.

F I LT E R S WORK? Hollow-pore filters are filled with tiny straws, each made of superfine mesh. These tubes fold in half to form a “V,” which is stuffed into a filter casing and glued in place. Pressure from the filter forces water against the tip of the V at one end of the tube. The pores in the mesh are so small that water molecules can pass into the tubes, but bacteria, sediment, and other floaties can’t. Voila: Clean water pours out the open ends of the tubes on the other side of the filter.

Q: Does drinking lots of water help me acclimatize faster? A: No, but it will reduce compounding symptoms from dehydration. Q: Do those oxygen inhalers you can buy at tourist shops help at all? A: No. They’re a waste of money, and they’re terrible for the environment.

HOW DO

SUNCUPS

tennis balls will roll and pile up in the hollow you’ve created. That’s what Jones thinks happened—geological stress below the continent caused the plate to dip, inviting tons and tons of rock to slide inward and pile up over millions of years, creating the mountain range.

W H AT

CAUSES A L P E N G LO W ? According to Stephen Corﬁdi, a meteorologist with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), the red-orange to neon-pink hues that bathe high peaks at ﬁrst light are

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caused by the same phenomena as beautiful sunsets. Basically, we usually perceive the sky as blue because particles in the atmosphere reﬂect short wave-

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length light—blues and purples—down to our eyes. But at sunset and sunrise, the sun is so low in the sky that its rays travel farther before they reach us. Thus, the

atmosphere’s “ﬁltering eﬀect” is stronger. By the time light reaches the viewer at the far end of the horizon, all the blue is scattered out and only the red remains.

“Suncups are these features that form on equatorial glaciers and in warmer climates. Usually you see them on glacial ice or ﬁrn, which is basically old, compacted snow. There are a few running hypotheses on how they get started, but I would say the best theory is that grains of dust or dirt shade the snow underneath them, so the snow around the dust grain melts faster than the snow underneath. That gives you preferential melting, which can cause a scallop to form. When you get a steeper angle on these features, the sun hits the walls of the cup at an oblique angle but hits perpen-

P H OTO BY T Y L E R H U L E T T / A D O B E S TO C K

FORM?

dicular to the divots. So the divots melt out faster than the walls of the cups. These can get pretty extreme. I’ve been guiding on Mt. Rainier, hacking through suncups that are waist-deep, and it’s heinous. You can also see the same thing happen with big rocks— you can have a multi-ton boulder sitting on a narrow pedestal of snow because of that shading eﬀect. It’s wild.” —Max Lurie, AMGA alpine guide, glacier guide, and amateur glaciologist

P H OTO BY TO M G RU N DY / A D O B E S TO C K

WHY ARE SOME PEOPLE MORE P RO N E TO

MOSQUITO BITES T H A N O T H E R S?

It’s largely genetic, says G. Mandela Fernandez-Grandon, a UK-based entomologist. Skeeters are super sensitive to smells, and different people have different skin-dwelling bacteria that produce those smells. Mosquitoes also tend to be more attracted to men than women because men have a higher surface temperature and more skin surface area. Fernandez-Grandon’s advice for mosquito magnets? “Travel with a friend who’s even more attractive to mosquitoes than you,” he laughs.

DO TREKKING

POLES H E L P MY GA I T OR RUIN IT? They help reduce the load on lower extremities by up to 16 percent, according to physiologist Ashley Hawke. “We’ve seen consistent research showing that using poles alleviates pain in the knee,” she adds. The only time they might cause trouble? Leaning forward on your poles while hiking downhill on loose terrain, which can throw your balance forward, causing slips and slides.

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HOW DO

LICHENS GROW ON ROCK? Lichens are made of two organisms working together: an alga and a fungus. Because they aren’t plants (and don’t have roots), lichens don’t need soil. Instead, they stick to rock with ﬂeshy anchors called “rhizines” or “holdfasts,” and absorb water and nutrients through their leafy skin.

downward to the pelvis. The result is increased range of motion, which makes you feel unencumbered. Plus, the force is now distributed across your hips, a larger surface area than your shoulders. If you have the same amount of force, but distributed over a greater area, that means fewer pounds of force per square inch (and therefore less pressure) and sensation of weight.” —Dana “D3” Gleason, product manager and pack designer at Mystery Ranch

DO HIGHTOP

B O OTS R E A L LY P R OV I D E M O R E A N K L E S TA B I L I T Y T H A N LO W  T O P SHOES?

LOA D S FEEL LIGHTER? “Our spines have a bunch of little pads and pivot points. When the weight of your pack rests on your shoulders, these get pinned and compressed. That reduces upper body mobility and makes loads feel heavy and uncomfortable. “So, the goal is to pull the load in toward your body and push it down into the hips. A good suspension is strong enough to both resist downward forces from gravity and outward forces from the compression straps, and direct loads straight

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CAN

TREES AC T U A L LY C OM M U N I C AT E ? Believe it or not, trees are regular chatterboxes. They release chemicals into the air, transmit electrochemical signals through their roots, and exchange carbon and nutrients via vast networks of subterranean fungi. That’s according to Suzanne Simard, a professor of forest ecology with the

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BURIED

SECRETS

It took a near-catastrophe to introduce Dr. Suzanne Simard to the secrets of trees.

When Suzanne Simard was a young girl growing up in the forests of British Columbia, her dog Jigs fell into the outhouse. “Our family had to dig him out,” she says. “And that’s

the ﬁrst time I saw soil at depth.” There, several feet beneath the ground, she remembers seeing a thick, interlocking web of roots. Ultimately, Jigs was saved, and Simard

( L E F T ) P H O T O B Y M I G U E L S O T O M AY O R / G E T T Y I M A G E S

WHY DOES G O O D PAC K SUSPENSION MAKE

“In our research, we compared hiking shoes and mid-top boots. We looked at muscle activity, joint forces generated, and physiological variables during uphill walking . . . and found there were essentially no diﬀerences between boots and shoes.” —Ashley Hawke, physiology researcher at Northern Michigan University

University of British Columbia and author of Finding the Mother Tree: Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest. Simard also suspects that trees send signals via the “gazillions of species” of bacteria and microbes in the soil. But what are they talking about? “There’s information in these chemical compounds that can tell neighboring trees whether or not there are enemies, like an herbivore eating the leaves or a pathogen that affects the tree,” Simard explains. “The neighboring trees detect these compounds, and they’re able to increase their own defense against whatever the threat is.” Trees are also able to detect the species and kinship of each of their neighbors—and preferentially send nutrients to their offspring. But it’s not all butterflies and rainbows: “There’s collaboration but there’s also competition,” Simard explains. “Some communication is benevolent, and some is malevolent—just like human language.”

WHY DO M O U N TA I N G OAT S LICK

URINE? High-altitude vegetation is preciously low on salt and other essential minerals. You know what isn’t? Pee.

H O W LO N G D O E S

POOP TA K E T O D E C OM P O S E I N A C AT H O L E ? One to three years (longer in cold or dry environments)

WHY ARE RAIN

P H OTO BY I GW U RU B E

S U N D AY / I S T O C K / G E T T Y I M A G E S P L U S

SHELLS was left with a spark of curiosity about the secret lives trees might lead. Now, after decades of work as a forestry researcher, she’s learned more than she ever expected. Not only do trees communicate (see above), but that communication is incredibly advanced: According to a recent study, Simard says, electrical signals transmitted by fungi can be as complex as human language. Does that mean forests are sentient? “I can’t measure that, so

I can’t prove it if I look at the question as a scientist,” Simard says. “But if I take off my scientist hat, and look at them as a human being who’s lived my entire life in forests? Well, then I say, of course they are. Why wouldn’t they be?” After all, Simard says, a biodiverse ecosystem is a healthy ecosystem. It only makes sense that evolutionary pressure produced “social” plant species that could collaborate to create a healthy forest—just as it produced social animal species.

L E SS E F F E C T I V E OV E R T I M E ? Rain shells have three main parts: An outer fabric, a durable water repellent (DWR) coating, and a waterproof internal membrane. The membrane has many tiny pores that water vapor can pass through but liquid water droplets can’t. Your pit sweat is full of vaporized moisture, which is drawn through the pores of your shell to the drier air outside. But when the durable

water repellent coating on your shell gets dirty or oily, it stops working. Water then sticks to your shell fabric, essentially blocking the pores. That makes your membrane impermeable in both directions: Rain is trapped outside—and sweat is trapped inside. The result? You feel damp and clammy, even though your membrane is still perfectly waterproof. To ﬁx the problem, wash your shell with a technical wash detergent.

HOW DOES

TA L U S FORM? Talus is accumulated rockfall. It’s more common at higher elevations because of violent freeze-thaw cycles there: Water makes its way into rocky fissures, then freezes and expands, prying off chunks of the cliff over time.

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STA N C E R E A L LY P R E V E N T MY B O DY F R OM CHANNELING ELECTRICITY? That’s a hard nope. The one-time theory was that if a nearby lightning strike was traveling through the ground, keeping your feet together would prevent the electricity from arcing up through one leg and down the other, zapping your heart on the way. The truth? Pigeon, lighting stance, shivasanna—get into any pose you want, but a close-enough strike can still ﬁnd its way through your body. Instead, experts recommend moving to ﬁnd shelter

and avoiding tall objects, which can occasionally produce upward-reaching streamers of electricity during electrical storms, attracting nearby strikes.

HOW DOES

DEET WORK, AND IF IT CAN D I SS O LV E MY RAIN SHELL, WHY ISN’T IT T OX I C ? DEET repels insects without hurting them. It’s so eﬀective—and nonlethal—that farmers could spray DEET alongside deadly pesticides to deter honey bees, keeping them safe, says CDC entomologist Jeﬀ Bloomquist. Interestingly enough, scientists still aren’t

100% sure how DEET works. One of the better theories is that DEET targets nerve endings in mosquitoes’ antennae, temporarily blinding them to tasty smells, says Bloomquist. As for its eﬀect on human health? “After 80 years of using this stuﬀ, there’s little evidence that it’s dangerous,” Bloomquist explains. Yes, high concentrations can degrade gear, but “humans fortunately aren’t made of plastic,” he says.

W H Y I S T H AT PAT C H O F

S N OW PINK? Two possible answers. The first is a cold-loving species

P H OTO BY E N R I C O M O R A N D O / A D O B E S TO C K

DOES THE LIGHTNING

of algae (probably Chlamydomonas nivalis) that photosynthesizes and is pink in color. The second? Well, let’s just say you should lay off the beets.

FUELING UP IT’S NO SECRET SOME CAMPING FUELS WORK BETTER IN COLD WEATHER. TO UNDERSTAND WHY, YOU’VE GOT TO GET MOLECULAR.

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BUTANE

ISOBUTANE

PROPANE

WHITE GAS

Isobutane and butane have the same ingredients: four carbon atoms and 10 hydrogen atoms. Yet, butane molecules are zig-zag-shaped, so in cold temps, they tend to clump together instead of bouncing around inside the canister. The result: a slow, lazy fuel stream.

Isobutane molecules are a different shape than regular butane. They have a “tail,” which means they can’t get too close to one another. So, the molecules keep moving, creating higher pressure within the fuel canister—and a more even fuel stream in low temps.

Small molecules aren’t as strongly attracted to each other, so tiny molecules in propane bounce around within the canister a lot more than butane. That’s why propane canisters have to be so sturdy—and why they stay at high pressure even in the cold.

White gas, a cocktail of petroleum-derived fuels, is the most reliable choice in winter conditions. This is because liquid fuel stoves that use white gast let you manually regulate canister pressure, ensuring a consistent, even fuel stream no matter the temperature.

SWARM

within it. Squish those feathers together long enough for them to deform, and you reduce the air space where heat can settle, which lets the cold seep in.

CHASER

HOW CAN I GET RID O F L AC T I C

Dr. G. Mandela Fernandez-Grandon leveraged an unusual database to answer one of his biggest scientific questions.

AC I D FAS T E R ?

Mosquitoes aren’t the most glamorous study subject. So when asked how he got interested in studying the attractiveness of certain people to mosquitoes, Dr. G. Mandela Fernandez-Grandon laughed. “I actually started out interested in odor communication— that’s what I got my Ph.D. in,” he says. But then, a colleague mentioned that he was trying to answer an age-old question about mosquitoes—and using odor analysis and a pretty unique dataset to do it. “There’s a database in the UK of around 12,000 twin pairs. They all sign up to participate in these studies,” explains Fernandez-Grandon. So, his lab emailed the list of twins, promised them they wouldn’t actually get bitten, and brought them in. “We released over 1,000 mosquitoes per day over the course of the study,” he says. The result? When there were two people in the room, the mosquitoes tended to prefer one to the other—unless the two were identical twins (i.e. had exactly the same genetics). Then the mosquitoes split up 50/50—showing no preference.

“Lactic acid actually clears the body rather quickly,” says Denverbased physical therapist Jamie Bovay. “Besides, soreness isn’t caused by the lactic acid or its byproduct, lactate, but because of the strain to the muscles themselves.” While you can’t really reduce the amount of lactic acid (or the hundreds of other byproducts) your body produces during exercise, you can reduce that “burning” feeling by building up a tolerance, Bovay says. The trick? Regular physical training. (Sorry—there are no shortcuts here.)

HOW DO

B L I ST E R S AC T U A L LY FORM? D O E L E C T R O LY T E S

AC T U A L LY DO ANY THING? Electrolytes are dissolved mineral ions—usually sodium, magnesium, and potassium—that your cells use to send chemical signals and keep ﬂuid levels balanced. So yeah, they’re pretty necessary. As for electrolyte drinks and supplements? Not so much. Most research indicates that you get most minerals from the food you eat; salty

snacks and plenty of water are usually enough to replenish what you lose through sweat.

WHY DON’T C OM PASS E S POINT TRUE

NORTH? Humans use “true north”—a ﬁxed, geographic point at the top of the globe—as a navigational reference. But compass needles don’t actually “point” to the north pole, they simply

align with the lines of the earth’s magnetic field, which is created by the flow of liquid nickel and iron around the earth’s core (badass, right?), and influenced by solar winds. That’s why it’s constantly shifting around, usually up to 37 miles in a year. Because “true north” and “magnetic north” come from totally separate mechanisms, they only roughly line up, and the similarity varies at different points on the earth’s surface. Hence, declination.

H O W LO N G CAN I KEEP A DOWN

SLEEPING B AG S T U F F E D BEFORE IT' S RUINED? You can forget about that compression sack for up to a month before it’s a lost cause, says Ryan Bertrand of Sierra Designs. “But please, please don’t push your luck.” What actually keeps you warm in a sleeping bag isn't the ﬁll—it’s the air trapped

Squeamish? This is your last warning. When your foot hits the ground, your outer layers of skin—which stick to your shoe via friction—move one way, and your inner layers move the other. This creates shear stress, which pulls one layer of skin away from the other. The resulting rift gets pressure-ﬁlled with a clear bodily ﬂuid called serum. The result: A cushioned pocket that, left unpopped, protects the inner skin layer as it recovers.

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P H OTO BY LO U I SA A L BA N E S E

TO WALK

Backpacking by yourself unlocks a powerful wilderness experience. If you’re scared to solo, you’re on the right track.

by CASEY

LYONS

recall a more anxious sunset. Color seeped out of the skylight in the branches above my campsite, and with it, hope for escape. Each advancing second brought the walls of the forest closer, while the trailhead seemed to creep farther away. Soon it would be too dark to move. And there were bears out there. There is one moment in every day where the light is low enough to fuzz out perception and blend reality with your nightmares. When, if you could just see, you’d know. And if you knew, you’d feel better. Or at least more hitched to reality, protected from your paranoia. I’d eventually come to learn that more than any feeling of heroism, accomplishment, or peace, this moment of terror is what really defines solo hiking—and on my first solo overnight in the woods of western Massachusetts, I was getting my first big dose. It was early spring of 2007. The Boston ground teethed with crocuses as I dragged depression around my apartment like a filthy tail. Alcohol and television had replaced my emotional range. My roommates were two close friends, but they talked to each other mostly through video games I didn’t play. And so there I was, sitting on the couch on my sixth or seventh Busch any night of the week, binging Law & Order while rumbling explosions seeped in from the next room’s digital warzone. But along came a few warm days. Tree pollen livened the air. I could feel the sun on my face. I’d gotten away from camping over the last six years, but could tell, somehow, that it was what I needed. I doubt I asked anyone to come camping with me because for the first time, I didn’t care if anyone did. I headed to Mt. Wilcox, a little hump off the Appalachian Trail in the Berkshires. The sun was weaker in the mountains. I built a fire. The flickering light elongated the shadows made by twigs on the ground and cast the trees above into a dome of warm orange, holding the darkness back and yet making it deeper. I stayed busy, gathering sticks out of the gloaming and getting into the pint of Jägermeister I brought. As the fire crackled, I thought about the fresh bear scat I’d seen on the way in, and imagined the bears just waking up from their winter torpor on this early April night. I drank more and the temperature dropped and so I drank more to stay warm and I sang over and over the only verse I knew of “I’m Lonely (But I Ain’t That Lonely Yet)” by the White Stripes. Soon, my comfort dome was only as big as my arms could reach around to gather up small bits of wood and dried leaves for the fire. And then 104 Backpacker

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PEOPLE ask three questions when they hear that you backpack alone: “Aren’t you scared?”, “Isn’t that dangerous?”, and “What if something happens?” Until about two years ago, I carried a special knife for solo trips. It’s a beauty: a two-inch-long fixed blade with a Micarta handle—conﬁdence cast in carbonized steel and sharpened into a drop point. Its sheath has a lanyard so I could wear it around my neck while I slept, and tugging at it became my last-light ritual. It felt safer to be armed, as if carrying the tool itself would unlock the skill to use it. I imagined giving bears or cougars the ol’ jukeand-stab instead of lying there like a side of fear-frozen meat.

I L L U S T R AT I O N B Y I L B U S C A / G E T T Y I M A G E S

I CAN’T

that was gone and so was the Jäger. In that instant, I was alone. Alone and most of the way drunk. And then very, very cold. There are no bears in this story. There seldom are. There was only me and my choices on a 25°F night in a 35°F sleeping bag, with goosebumps on my ribs that felt like a rash. I’d given up praying by then, but I can remember entreating the Almighty for the ﬁrst little light of dawn. I just wanted it to be over. It was the second-worst night I had ever experienced to that point. The worst night was six years earlier, when I’d decided to never ever camp by myself. It was less than 10 miles north of Springer Mountain, Georgia, and a friend and I were on a long section hike of the Appalachian Trail. I was 19, and it was my second or third night ever sleeping in a tent by myself. Sometime, maybe around 10 p.m., footsteps approached our two-tent cluster and then we heard a very strange bird-like clicking noise that sounded like the velociraptors in Jurassic Park. Whatever it was circled in on heavy footsteps, making that terrible noise. I laid still, heart in my mouth, heartbeat in my ears, eyes darting all around, connecting with a new sort of fear. This was the menace of the wild. The beast brushed my tent wall and moved on. To this day, I have no idea what it was, but I bet it’s still out there. Something always is. I knew that heading out into the hills of western Mass. I felt it especially passing the scat piles, wondering if early spring bears are unusually aggressive since they’re so hungry. But when you are not feeling much, there is reassurance in fear. You are at least feeling something, and I was desperate to.

P H O T O B Y J O L E K S I Y B OY KO / G E T T Y I M A G E S / E Y E E M

And then, on my right cheek, I felt a very soft caress.

In his 1949 posthumous classic A Sand County Almanac, Aldo Leopold argued that hunting is the most clarifying way people can connect to the Earth. To him, the gun was an umbilical to our early ancestors who fought with spears and teamwork to reduce a life into calories. By looking down from the top of the food chain with a gun in hand, the thinking went, a man could understand his place. This concept needs a refresh, and not just to improve its inclusivity. In our era, unlike Leopold’s, the wilds are practically gone. They cling to the skin of the Earth like a ﬂea the dog’s claws cannot quite reach. It is vulnerable, and so to connect with it, you have to be vulnerable. Yet when it comes to our environment, ﬁrearms are instruments of power and control, not connection. The wall between us and the wild is built of weapons and technology, and that barrier grows ever higher. To really connect with wildness now—to really feel it—you have to give all that up and travel back a few million years when the whole point of bipedalism was to see predators over the tall grass. You have to make

yourself prey. You have to open yourself to a primal sort of fear, the kind that obliterates the rest of your little human problems and discomforts with its urgency. And then you hope the fear doesn’t show up, even though you know that it will, eventually. North-central Texas doesn’t leave a lot for backpackers. Hunters, maybe, but finding good camping within a couple hours’ drive of Dallas is a lot harder than finding a feral hog. The Hagerman Wildlife Reserve on the shore of Lake Texoma seemed like an exception. Having recently moved to Texas in early 2009, going solo was the only option, so I went solo. By then I’d eased into solo trekking. The jolt of that Berkshires overnight had broken my depression so effectively that I headed out on another summer on the AT, first with a group of friends, then alone as everyone ran out of vacation time and went back to their lives. But you are never really alone on the AT. Then I explored the easy-access Fourteeners of Colorado when I was new to that place, bedding down in the dry sweetness of ponderosa forests. But hiking alone was still something that happened to me, rather than something I chose, and I was apprehensive as I threaded the network of social trails hugging the shore of the reservoir formed by clogging up the Red River. Detritus cast off from party boats marked the high-water line. In the waning light of that early spring afternoon, I ascended a small flat bluff with a 270-degree view of the lake and a dead tree where I could hang my food. As I unrolled my sleeping bag into my tent I heard the first rumble of thunder. Only then did I realize my food was hanging from the highest point around, perhaps for miles. Down I went into the leafless forest. The more I descended and the fainter the light got, the heavier my feet felt, until I dragged them in concrete shoes and my head swam with ill-ease. Things seemed to move between the trees, but advanced dusk had rendered the woodland into a sort of liminal grayscale. I stepped forward into a small, flat clearing, relieved that I had found a suitable place to throw down while it was still light enough to see. And then, on my right cheek, I felt a very soft caress. I bolted instinctively, all the weight melting off my feet as I tore away from whatever the hell that was. For about three steps. Then a voice inside my head cut through the panic: Where are you gonna go? I stood there, three paces from the caress, chest heaving and realized that I was already where I was going. There was no one to help me. My brain struggled to process what had happened and categorize it according to my BACKPACKER.COM

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Very few of them respond to knives. You can outrun almost none of them. Camping alone teaches you to make peace with the fact that there are some things you can never make sense of and that safety is less reliable than you think. You have to set up camp in the middle of a world you can’t control. The way people always have.

EVERYONE walks alone eventually. We are social to a point, and beyond that is the great granite unknown. We think of solo journeys as a rite of passage, symbolic proof that we’re fullyformed people ready to forge a path through our own lives. This almost completely misses the point. If you’re out there solo hiking, you aren’t breaking away from the pack; you’ve already fallen oﬀ the back of it. Soloing is mostly about making space for something to happen that will get you back on. This became my rhythm. When you feel that something is wrong with you and have taught yourself that only nature rights it, you get an instinctive sense for the kind of trip you need. This is to say wilderness became my medicine and I became good at titrating the dose. When I sought partners now—if I sought partners—I oﬀered backpacking trips as pre-planned experiences, take it or leave it. But I was glad when they left it; others were a barrier between me and my meds.

I was just off the interstate in New Mexico last year, 10 hours into a 12-hour drive to the Gila Wilderness, when the vet called. I pulled over. My dog had cancer. Two types. She gave him four to six weeks. I don’t want to talk about the shock or numbness I felt. My wife and I knew he was sick but I was still hanging onto hope that it was an abscess, easily drained, plenty of life ahead. It’s a strange thing to hope so hard for a malady as raw as that when there is no alternative. But that’s hope. And then, just like that, the hope was gone. I thought about turning back but didn’t. Maybe it was selfish to spend a week traveling 70 miles through America’s oldest wilderness, a designation Aldo Leopold himself was instrumental in securing. But I needed it. I kept driving. Coop wasn’t a trail dog. He took the couch over the tent any day, though when we camped he was always first in, scratching at the mesh for admittance before we even threw our bags inside and coming out only to eat. I think he knew that fear of dusk too. The ponderosa forest along the West Fork of the Gila tells the story of wildfire. It’s scarred land. Things live there despite the damage, or because of it. I have been to no natural place where the line between life and death seemed thinner. The canyon started wide but soon narrowed into intimacy. Owls, songbirds, grass flowers dried into circles like promise rings, and those old, scorched ponderosas swaying like Evangelicals on Sunday. Up on the rim, alligator junipers threw their crowns above bark that resembled doused firewood. I left the marked trail on the third day, following a social path that was like a pen running out of ink. The track faded into a

I L L U S T R AT I O N B Y I L B U S C A / G E T T Y I M A G E S

experience of life up until that moment. Maybe it was a leaf that fluttered down just so? Maybe it hadn’t happened at all? Maybe, but I could still feel goosebumps under my beard. I sat, back against a large tree to protect my blindspot, breath slowing and muscles relaxing. Bits of black flitted among the trees out in my periphery, tiny amounts of contrast where darkness had fallen. The last thing I saw was a bat climbing a tree like a gargoyle, gripping the bark with its little claws. It seemed so gangly and awkward. Why climb when you are a flying creature? Why run away when you have nowhere to go? Why hike alone when humans are social by nature? I set up my tent and zipped the vestibule all the way to the ground, fortifying myself with a fraction of a millimeter of polyester, and winced with every little noise from the woods around. If you solo camp, of course you’ll be scared. Of course leaving your house is more dangerous in the short term than if you had stayed at home watching Law & Order. But risk gives the experience its power. Even if it ends up being a sunny-perfect-easy trip where you blissed out on your exact own terms, you still have to muster enough activation desire to overcome the background fear. But accounting for selection bias (that those willing to hike alone probably get out more often than other types of backpackers), I doubt soloing is more dangerous than going with a friend. There are all kinds of bad decisions that happen only in groups. We are conditioned to think about safety in numbers, but that’s only the physical kind of safety. There are a lot of ways to feel in danger. Many of them we do to each other.

The footsteps

P H O T O B Y R AY M O N D G E H M A N / G E T T Y I M A G E S

walked right up to the edge of my tarp and stopped.

game trail then disappeared below grasses that crunched with the vestiges of last fall’s green-up. Better times past, but now only brittleness collapsing under my weight. I thought of Coop. I’d tell you how the tears started. How my throat snatched at my jaw and something in my sinuses heated until it liquiﬁed. How I tried to hold it in, to walk it oﬀ. I learned to be ashamed of crying when I was a boy, which I still felt even though I knew it was outmoded and dumb. But here with no one else around, I didn’t have to feel the grief and its embarrassment. I could focus on the full, pure thing. Then I’d tell you how I decided not to hold onto it, but to stop and let tumble out of my throat and into the actual world the sound of a wound that we all know. That it always sounds the same, no matter who is making it or for what. I’d tell you that it felt good, even in its terribleness, to let it out. And to have

my eyes blur the highland between the two canyons, and to simply be so fucking sad and helpless. I’d tell you, but you already know. We all know grief. Or will soon enough. Before I got moving again, I pictured myself standing there. A man with a minimalist backpack and a full-brim sun hat, alone in the open, far from any trail, looking as lost and despairing as a person can. But that’s not how it felt. I knew where I was and where I was going but had no idea about the journey that would connect the two. I had to walk that alone. There was room there in the sun for me to do so. I’m not sure I ever felt more free. Coop died at the vet’s oﬃce four weeks after I got back. I wept in the parking lot.

I KNOW that backpacking solo is a privilege. Not everyone can do it; the fear of physical danger varies by circumstance of person and place. For all the things that scare me when I’m out by myself, people rarely make the list. And yet that did not stop me from packing a homemade nightstick when I camped in Central Park in my late 20s in 2007. Months earlier, I’d listened to an Appalachian Trail thru-hiker boast about how his craving for a real slice of pizza had become so strong that when he reached that clearing in New Jersey from which the Manhattan skyline is visible, he left the AT for the city. He said there were pockets of forest in the park deep enough to conceal a stealthy camp. He said he camped there for two nights. OK. It was the very beginning of winter when I strolled into an area called Great Hill in the northwestern part of the park and promptly left the walking path. I’d moved to New York for journalism school after I left Boston and the idea of sleeping unseen in such a busy place was too delicious to pass up. Spending so much time on the trail that summer taught me that I could handle myself. I merged with a desire path—bare dirt left by dozens of footsteps through the grass—and followed it to a ﬂat spot between two boughs of a downed log. There was fresh trash, but otherwise it seemed good. The trees were close together, the understory thick enough. I could just make out the road around The Pond to the south. This would do. I returned 15 minutes before dusk, pitched my tarp, and fell asleep quickly in the heavylidded drowse that two warm sleeping bags create in a cold place. If there is one unequiv-

ocal good of solo camping, it’s the acquired ability to fall asleep under duress. Anyway, I didn’t want to run a headlamp. I didn’t know what the footsteps were at first. They came quickly and confidently and under dark—whoever was making them didn’t want to run a light either. The nightstick! The footsteps walked right up to the edge of my tarp and stopped. I’ve heard that humans think about 6,000 thoughts per day and my mind in that moment was like a crazed kaleidoscope of doom. I gripped the nightstick, but I was zipped-toblowhole in both sleeping bags and couldn’t really move. Or maybe that was the fear. Because here it was. It. This was it. Something changed. I could hear it in the ground. The footsteps backpedaled, then turned and booked. All that time I was afraid of what might come in the dark, had armed myself against it, but I ended up being someone else’s thing in the dark. I fell back asleep for a few hours before I woke to four Central Park raccoons the size of small dogs sniffing at my face. I unzipped and brandished the nightstick and they were not impressed. Don’t mess with racoons, I’d read in a book about NYC wildlife, they are valiant fighters. I popped out onto Central Park West in the sparse gray of early dawn and walked on the sidewalk home to Harlem. That was plenty. If it had gone down differently, people would have said I had a deathwish, just another yahoo idiot. I knew before I arrived at my apartment that I’d gotten off cheap, but privilege can be expensive. It cost Central Park that desire path, that fresh trash, and a small compacted spot where someone laid for the night. It cost Mannahatta everything as one of the world’s great cities grew on top of it, leaving only that little patch of manufactured wildness amid the high-rises. We think of backpacking alone as going without support, but it’s really going without accountability, which is the most fearsome kind of privilege. There is nothing but your own conscience or ethics to force you to manage your waste and wash water, walk all the way around switchbacks, stop you from camping illegally, and excusing yourself from any of those things because you are just one person so what’s the big deal? When you are alone, you get to choose. This is how solo backpacking tells you who you are. It’s not about how tough you are, or how you tested yourself, or cast yourself as some sort of conqueror, or any of that other rugged individualist fiction storyline. Camping solo is about how far you slept from the beautiful lakeshore with the long western draw where the sunset reflected just so when no one was watching. Only you count the paces. BACKPACKER.COM

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DITCHBAGGER S DELIGHT The lowdown on the greatest canyon hikes in the U.S. BY PETER MOORE

Monument. If you re lucky, bighorn sheep will be your trail companions.

WAIMEA CANYON RIVER TRAIL, KAUAI

ELEVATION LOSS: 2,513 feet, 10.4 miles one way. Hawai i s volcanic landscape and plentiful rainfall combine to form dramatic jungles and sheer cliffs. Head right over the edge of one as you navigate down to the Waimea River. Catch the trail on a light day (or in the shoulder season) and you'll mostly share it with goats and the wild roosters that are everywhere on Kauai. Get your feet wet on multiple river crossings, and enjoy jungle and cliff views. Save a granola bar for the schlep back to the top, OK?

LINVILLE GORGE TRAIL, NORTH CAROLINA

PARSONS TRAIL, ARIZONA

ELEVATION LOSS: 218 feet over 3.7 miles This hike might not get the attention that the Big Ditch does, but it also has fewer donkeys and more variety. Head for Sycamore Canyon, just two hours from Phoenix s Sky Harbor airport, for an oasis replete with waterholes, the gushing Parson Springs, and sheltering shade in mesquite and walnut forests.

MONUMENT CANYON TRAIL, COLORADO

ELEVATION LOSS: 656 feet over 11.6 miles Known for its high peaks, Colorado has its fair share of colorful canyons, too. Head west of Grand Junction to Colorado National Monument and drive the rim road to the Monument Canyon trailhead. Plunge 600 feet into the red rock gorge, and view such erosion-aided sculptural sandstone wonders as Pipe Organ, Prayer Hands, and Independence

TRAIL OF TEN FALLS, OREGON

ELEVATION LOSS: 668 feet over 7 miles The Pacific Northwest is wet, which is good for waterfalls and for the hikers who leave the trailhead properly covered in waterproof layers. Their reward is hiking in, among, through, and even behind the falling waters that dot this popular route. Situated and saturated in Silver Falls State Park—Oregon s largest—this memorable route is just an hour south of Portland. (For more great state parks, flip back to page 68.)

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P H OTO BY JA N I N E / A D O B E S TO C K

THE RANGER AT THE GRAND CANYON VISITOR S CENTER eyed me with suspicion. It was Valentine s Day, and I was about to (temporarily) ditch my wife and plunge over the edge of America s most renowned chasm. He wanted to save my wife from a real bummer of a romantic holiday, and himself the trouble of scraping me off the canyon floor. Do me a favor, he said. Go into the gift shop right now, and buy some microspikes. The first quarter of a mile of the South Kaibab trail is glare ice. And it was! But I was surefooted as a cat, losing 6,568 feet in altitude but gaining smileage with every step. Starting a hike uphill is overrated—let gravity be your hiking buddy on these great downhill hikes. But remember: after the low point, there s no place to go but up.

ELEVATION LOSS: 3,064 feet over 28.6 miles This vertiginous trek is located i n N o rt h C a rol i n a s P i s g a h National Forest. Hike during June, when the Linville River runs strong and the rhododendrons will shower you with pink petals. The Cherokee called it Eseeoh, or river of many cliffs, which is a word to the wise: Slick rock and steep slopes mean you need to watch your step. Ditchbaggers know that gravity is cruel.

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Backpacker - Issue August 2022

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SMALLER CROWDS, BIGGER ADVENTURES

SIERRA TIME

HOW STUFF WORKS

FIELD NOTES

THE KIT

OUT ALIVE

KNOW NATURE

BOOT CAMP

TRAILBLAZER

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MIRACLE MILE