Blogs

For many backpackers, thru-hiking a major long trail just isn’t a realistic option. Not everyone can pause life, quit their job, and leave their family and friends behind for half a year to hike a long trail. Even if they could, not everyone has the mental and/or physical stamina to enjoy such an arduous task over multiple months. Maybe you’re an aspiring to thru-hiker, but feel like you need more experience before committing to such a long endeavor. If you fall into any of these categories, or maybe have put the idea of thru-hiking on the back burner, I’m here to tell you that there is still a complete thru-hike experience out there for you! The 173 mile Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT) is the perfect solution!

To give an idea of my perspective, I’ve hiked over 10,000 miles along long distance trails, and the 173 miles spent on the TRT are some of the most memorable. Having already experienced hiking’s Triple Crown (Pacific Crest Trail, Continental Divide Trail, Appalachian Trail), I can honestly say that I came into the TRT a bit jaded with few expectations. My impression of the TRT was that it would be a redundant walk around the same lake for a week or two. Fifty miles of which, I’d already done as it overlaps with the Pacific Crest Trail. I planned the TRT (with two friends of mine from the area) more to fill time between two other long hikes, and was more excited about spending time with my friends than the trail itself. Don’t get me wrong, I knew it would be fun because I love backpacking, but I didn’t expect it to be as great as it was. What a wonderful surprise!

The 173 mile Tahoe Rim Trail offers the opportunity for a shorter thru-hiking adventure.
Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT) Logistics & Hiking Overview
To start off, there are many pros to the TRT for logistical purposes. As a loop hike, it’s simple to park at a trailhead and return to that same trailhead at the end of the hike. No shuttle is needed, but there are also public transit options if you are not using a vehicle. If something happens and a hiker needs to exit sooner than planned, there are many exit points that will eventually lead to frequently used trailheads and a possible hitch from day hikers, mountain bike riders, or equestrians. Another unique advantage of the TRT is that many access points also allow for caching of water (and food if needed) in stretches that are relatively dry with significant gaps between water sources. All of this access to civilization, and yet the trail still provides a great balance with solitude and scenery. Perfect for someone testing out their thru-hiking skills for the first time.
Our Hike on the TRT Day by Day
What follows is a brief overview of each day of our hike to get a feel for this as a thru-hike and why I recommend it. By the end of the hike, we (myself aka Wired and my friends Christy aka Rockin’ and Nancy aka Why Not) felt like we had experienced a microcosm of what we do on a long trail over multiple months. It was wonderful! Note a few things. Mileage is included as a reference, but not recommended for all hikers. Each hiker should do mileage that in their personal comfort range. Even as a conditioned thru-hiker, I’d have enjoyed a slower pace to really take this trail in more completely. We chose to go counterclockwise and begin at the Kingsbury South Trailhead. This would allow us to see more PCT hikers by hiking against the grain when the two paths overlap. There are multiple trailheads to access the trail. It’s all up to personal preference where you choose to start/end and which direction you choose to go. We started fairly early in the season on June 2nd on a low snow year, so it may not be advisable to start that early on in other years with a higher snowpack.

The Tahoe Rim Trail keeps things interesting and takes hikers through scenery that's always changing.
Day 1: Oh How I’ve Missed You (10.1 miles)
After having just spent a couple months along the Hayduke Trail in the desert of S Utah and N Arizona, it was like a reawakening to be on the Tahoe Rim Trail. Fresh air, a cool light breeze, a beautifully winding blazed trail, amazingly large trees, and a reunion with good friends. We even got a glimpse across Lake Tahoe at what lied ahead with some snowcapped mountains.
Day 2: Lakeview Hiking (23.5 miles)
A day of beautiful views of Lake Tahoe to our west as we hiked high above the lake (most the trail is well above the lake) on the east side. One of my favorite views of the hike was a ridge walk along North Canyon with views of Lake Tahoe and Marlene Lake. Expansive views with low lying clouds in the distance that would build over the next 24hrs. Off a friend’s recommendation, we took a side trip to Sand Harbor Overlook. Well worth the effort for that view at the end of the day!
Day 3: Rockin’ Gets Her Wish (20.2 miles)
Threatening clouds had moved in overnight and loomed all morning as we descended to the flower filled Tahoe Meadows. Rockin’ mentioned that she’d like a bit more of a challenge on this hike given the wonderfully clear trail we’d been on thus far. Well, she got it as we climbed to the highest peak on the TRT, Relay Peak at 10,301ft. Temps dropped and snow fell as we hit snow covered trail that had yet to melt from the winter. It was like we entered a magical winter mountain expedition for a brief period before dropping back down to snow free trail.

Some areas still had remaining snowpack from the previous winter.
Day 4: Of Course We Did! (31.1 miles)
We awoke knowing that we were 31.1mi from our resupply location of Tahoe City, which the trail goes right through and the one point where the trail goes down to Lake Tahoe. There was quite a bit of wooded hiking with a gradual descent. The pull of a hotel room, a restaurant meal, and shower motivated us to make the miles in time for dinner. It was glorious in only the way a meal at the end of a 31 mile day can be.
Day 5: This Is the Life! (9.7 miles)
A relaxed return to trail after a half day in town and taking in the atmosphere at a quiet and clear Tahoe City Marina. The less populated trail is a bonus for hiking early in the season. One of those days that feels free, relaxed, and calm. With full packs, we began the climb back up into the woods and rain began to fall. We got our tents up in a sheltered area just as an earth shaking thunderstorm blew through for brief periods before bed. Just awesome!
Day 6: Returning HOME (21.4 miles)
The day we all were excited about! We started our 50 mile overlap with the Pacific Crest Trail! Before hitting that intersection, we took a side trip to scramble to the summit of Twin Peaks, a highlight of the hike. All of us have completed the PCT and this was like returning HOME. We talked to countless thru-hikers and reminisced on our respective days through this section.
Day 7: Stupendous & Serendipitous (18.9 miles)
One of my all time favorite days ever on trail..heck ever in life! Sometimes the trail is just magical. We spent the morning hiking through the Desolation Wilderness while still overlapping with the PCT. We were transported to an abundance of alpine lakes reflecting granite peaks with snow on top. Temperatures were the warmest of the entire hike – in the 80s – and that made for some welcoming dips in the lakes and streams. An amazing number of coincidences happened the second half of the day that had us, not only hiking the most beautiful section if the TRT, but also experiencing some true trail magic.

We were unexpectedly hosted by old trail friends that happened to be staying at Echo Summit Lodge. Dinner was made by a world famous chef, and we were invited to stay the night. Even more magical, as the evening wore on, we discovered how many of our paths had unknowingly crossed years ago, and how serendipitous life can be. We were definitely where we were meant to be that night!
Day 8: Nice Climbs & Fun Finds (17.9 miles)
Coming off the high of the previous day, we were gliding. We saw many more PCTers in our final miles overlapping the PCT. After forking off the PCT, we dipped down into a forested area where we surprisingly found ourselves surrounded by treasure in the form of morel mushrooms! At $40/lb these are a rare find and they were in abundance around us given the unique conditions of cold damp weather. Why Not found a whole new use for her mosquito head net as she collected quite the loot of morels. Note, that it is legal to pick small amounts of morels along many areas of the TRT and as long as they are not being sold for commercial use.

The final day would be defined by fog and wet weather.
Day 9: Socked Ending (22.3 miles)
The final day ended in deep fog. A viewless, yet mystical ending, that seemed fitting after having experienced almost every type of weather. It was really unique to experience a day that felt like fall in the Northwest, when it was early June and we had been in 80 degree heat just two days prior in the Desolation Wilderness swimming in alpine lakes. Much of the trail that day was in a forested area and made for quite nice scenery, but we did miss out on one particularly great view at the pass near Freel Peak. Looks like I have yet another great reason to return to do this hike again!

The Tahoe Rim Trail holds its challenges, but the rewards made the effort worth it.
Final Thoughts on the Tahoe Rim Trail
As I said before, I’ve hiked thousands of miles, and the Tahoe Rim Trail ranks up there with some of the best. It’s remarkable what we experienced in just the 9 days that we took to hike the trail. I think I could hike this trail multiple times and get vastly different experiences each time. The TRT is unique in providing such a variety of experiences and scenery while also being a trail that both beginner and veteran hikers would greatly enjoy. There are definitely challenges to face with terrain, elevation, weather, and water, but the TRT is one of those trails where the rewards definitely make the challenges worth facing. A highly recommended trail for day hiking, biking, thru-hiking, section-hiking, and horseback riding. Enjoy!
Hiking the Tahoe Rim Trail (TRT): Need to Know
Information
Head over to www.tahoerimtrail.org for links to resources and more information on the Tahoe Rim Trail. Pay attention to days when mountain bikers are allowed on trail, and plan your hiking schedule to avoid them if possible. There is a schedule on the TRT website of which days specific sections are open to mountain bikers as well as hikers. With melting snow and lakes along the way, be armed to defend against mosquitoes during those weeks that they tend to multiply once the snow melts off. Also, look into where the waterless stretches are if you think you’ll need to cache water along these notoriously dry sections.
Permits/Reservations
The two permits needed to hike the Tahoe Rim Trail are a Campfire Permit and a Desolation Wilderness Permit. Information on obtaining those permits can be found on the TRT website.
Best Time to Go
The most ideal window for thru-hiking the Tahoe Rim Trail most years is July-September. Check snow levels if going during the shoulder months.
Maps & Books
There are multiple maps and guidebooks available. Some are listed at the TRT website above including some free ones available for download. A summary of top resources for the trail includes:
Tom Harrison's Tahoe Rim Trail Map Trails Illustrated Tahoe Rim Trail Map 1013 Tahoe Rim Trail Pocket Atlas The Tahoe Rim Trail: The Official Guide for Hikers, Mountain Bikers, and Equestrians The Author
Erin “Wired” Saver is a long distance backpacking blogger that has hiked over 10,000 miles since 2011 including hiking’s Triple Crown (Pacific Crest Trail, Continental Divide Trail, Appalachian Trail).
Editor's Note: This article by Erin "Wired" Saver originally appeared in Issue 27 of TrailGroove Magazine. You can read the original article here for additional photos and content.

On this trip, I was able to return to Canyonlands National Park, but this time stayed on the opposite side of the river from the Maze to join up with Ted Ehrlich and Christy who drove in from Colorado to backpack through Salt Creek Canyon and the Needles.

The Needles offer a near endless array of unique rock formations to find and routes to explore.
Backpacking Into the Needles
Our respective drives late on a Thursday night resulted in a noon-ish start from the Cathedral Butte trailhead the next day after shuttling a vehicle. The weather was slightly sketchy, overcast with what looked like rain in the distance and a brisk wind reminded you that spring wasn’t yet in full swing. However, once we dropped off the top of the butte and into the Salt Creek drainage we escaped the wind and settled into hiking the easy 12 or so miles we’d planned for the day…or so we thought. This early in the season, the earliest signs of spring were just starting to show themselves, and at many points along the way it was fairly apparent that others had been here before, some not so recently.




Following the drainage downstream it soon became apparent that we weren’t making the progress that we should have been making. Ted and I cross checked maps and found that there was a mileage discrepancy – with the map we’d been referencing underreporting the trail mileage. In the end it took us much longer than expected to reach our goal for the day, the Salt/Horse Zone for which we had obtained our backpacking permit. 6 hours of expected hiking ended up being more like 9, and headlamps on, we filtered water, found a spot to setup camp, and ate dinner before retiring for the night. I tried to stay up and read a while, but actually woke up in my tent some time later during the early morning hours, headlamp still on.

Desert wash in the Needles
Hiking to Higher Ground
We continued following the drainage downstream on day 2 to Peekaboo, where we turned west and started climbing to higher ground – sometimes via unexpected ladders. Here there was no trail, only cairns, and the views didn't disappoint. Sunset found us still a few miles from our reserved site, and once again we found and setup camp after dark. It would be our last night, and with long drives home the next day we planned to wake up early in hopes of squeezing in one last side trip prior to trip’s end.




A cross country route through the Needles.
A Canyonlands Needles District Hike Comes to a Close
Soon after 7 A.M. the next day we all managed to pack up and put in a few extra miles, climbing to Druid Arch. After admiring the arch for a few minutes and snapping a few photos, we then reversed course on the out and back trail that leads to the arch and made it back to the other car…crowds increasing along the way…parked at Elephant Hill by noon. With 40+ miles down and a lot of it in soggy shoes from hiking through Salt Creek, it was nice to rest my feet. An hour later we parted ways back at Cathedral Butte, and I drove north anxious to make it home shortly after dark. A snowstorm near the border of Utah and Wyoming thwarted that attempt however, and at one point I found myself crawling along in a strange mix of fog and snow in the mountains after dark at 5mph.
Great scenery and hiking, sand in my shoes and snow under the tires at some point – what's starting to seem like par for the course on a typical trip to Utah in spring.
Backpacking the Needles: Need to Know
Best Time to Go
Spring and fall are the best times to explore Canyonlands to avoid summer heat and winter weather.
Getting There
From Moab, drive south on U.S. 191 39.7 miles to UT-211. Head mostly west towards Canyonlands National Park. The turn off for the dirt Beef Basin / 107 road leading to Cathedral Butte is 20.3 miles on the south side of the road. When we were there, the road to Cathedral Butte was easily passable for 2WD passenger cars but conditions may vary. The Cathedral Butte Trailhead and parking area will be about 17.2 miles down this road on your right. Continuing west on 211 past the turnoff for the road leading to Cathedral Butte 14.2 miles will get you to the visitor center, and another 6 miles, the last couple on a narrow dirt road, will get you to the Elephant Hill parking area.
Information
Permits start at $36 and can be reserved online here – individual designated sites as well as some zone camping is available. Effective May 1st, 2014, hard sided bear resistant food containers (check out our BearVault BV450 review if needed!) are required for backpackers in the Upper Salt Creek and Salt/Horse Zones. No fee is required to access Cathedral Butte, but the other end of our shuttle required entering Canyonlands National Park to access the Elephant Hill parking area and requires an entrance fee in addition to your backpacking permit. Be sure to stop by the visitor center for an update on water conditions. If you get in late like we did, camping is available just outside the park at Hamburger Rock. More information can be found on Canyonland's Needles Page.
Maps
We used Trails Illustrated Map #311 and 210, though be aware that the mileages shown on the map from Cathedral Butte to Peekaboo weren’t entirely accurate (per National Geographic, this will be updated in future versions). Delorme’s Utah Atlas and Gazetteer can also be helpful for getting to and from the trailhead and hike planning. National Geographic also offers their Canyonlands Map Pack set.

Chris, Randy and I sat at a local brewery, a map of Olympic National Park spread across the table. We had climbed in the Olympics for decades, but now we were attempting something different – a thru hike from one side of the park to another. You might have thought planning to cross using established routes would be simple, but it was proving anything but.
“Even the freaking rain forest is on fire.” Chris traced a route with his finger. The Pacific Northwest was suffering through one of its hottest summers on record, and our choices were dwindling. Park rangers had nixed the north-south high route, telling us the Elwha Snow Finger – the path leading from the mountains to the central river valley – had disappeared with climate change. Descent would require a rope and rack of climbing gear. As Chris noted, the western exits were threatened by the Paradise Fire, burning for months in the upper canopy of the Queets Rainforest.

After a month of planning we decided to come in from the east, up the Dosewallips River Trail, over 5800-foot Hayden Pass, and then out to the north, along the Elwha River. Even this route reflected the consequences of a changing climate and aging park infrastructure. We’d be out for six days and travel 60 miles, but 11 miles of that total would be on what were once access roads. A 310-foot section of the Dosewallips River Road had washed out in a flood in 2002, and cost, competing views of wilderness, and the likelihood the river would continue running higher essentially meant the road – the traditional eastern approach to the park – would never be rebuilt. We would end our trip the same way. On exiting the trail system at Whiskey Bend, we needed to trudge six miles along a road that was frequently blocked by flooding and was crumbling away one chunk of asphalt at a time.
Our Hike Across Olympic National Park
The trip began, then, with our staggering along the Dosewallips Road. The temperature topped 90 degrees. The steep rise to the abandoned ranger station angled us into the sun’s glare, bleaching the road bed white and burning the outline of my pack along my shoulder blades. Drenched with sweat, we dropped our packs at the base of a towering cedar. I sucked in a breath and looked at what remained of the ranger station and campground. The place felt haunted. The river’s white noise might have blended with voices, as families came to picnic beside the sparkling water. Now plywood covered the windows and doors of the park service buildings. Modesty at the toilet was provided by a shower curtain hung where the door had once been. Waist-high grass swayed, overgrowing the picnic tables, and the informational signs – “Dosewallips Trailhead/Mountain Wilderness” – and a host of others had been blown over, the plastic facings shattered and their bases smothered in weeds.

On the trail at last, we fell into a familiar line: Chris leading, Randy next, and me anchoring. Our goal was camp on Deception Creek, 8 miles and 1500 vertical feet away. Our time on the sun-drenched road had wasted us. Even sheltered under the cedars and firs, I couldn’t catch a full breath in the heat. We dropped onto the mossy carpet beside the trail at ever-shortening intervals. At each stop we’d gulp water and then guiltily check our bottles, evaluating whether what remained in them would last till camp.
Finally, mercifully, a bear wire appeared, tracing a line from a fir’s branches to the ground. The camp was just below the trail, a big dusty circle with the creek trickling quietly along one side and the river giving a full-throated roar on the other. I dragged myself down the path and walked out beside the river. The Dosewallips cascaded by in blue-white arcs smooth as Chihuly glass. We had 13 miles behind us and 47 left to go.
“These long hikes, you get faster each day,” I said over dinner.
Randy, ever the cynic, caught Chris’ eye and bobbed his head my way. “Does he ever stop lying?”
“Well, the weather is supposed to break soon,” I replied, trying to fight the leaden mood exhaustion brought on.
But the next morning supported Randy’s negative world view. The trail climbed the valley, popping out of forest and into meadows of head-high grass and Russian thistles, the plants holding heat like a sauna and disguising chuckholes deep as tiger traps. I remembered the first book I’d ever read about the Olympics – a 1970 edition of the Olympic Mountain Trail Guide by Robert L. Wood – and thought how this day contrasted with his telling. Mt. Fromme, described as “crowned with snow cornices”, now shimmered at the valley’s head, a series of naked cliffs that seemed to float, detached from the earth. Near tree line, Dose Meadows opened before us, acres of grass and lupine burning with light. At Woods’ writing, the meadow had teemed with wildlife, marmots, deer, and bears among throngs of backpackers, but we hadn’t glimpsed an animal, human or otherwise, in a day and a half, the three of us alone on the once-popular trail.

A boot path led around a low dirt hill to another gorgeous site on the Dosewallips, the river here placid and shallow. Once the tent was up, Chris and I hastily repacked for our side trip up Lost Peak. We might be thru-hiking, but peaks rose all around us, and the climbing bug couldn’t be easily shaken. “You sure you’re not coming?” I asked. Randy stood beside me with a book under one arm. “Swear to god, man, just two miles up. No farther than that.”
But Randy snapped his book open, and the two of us headed up the Lost Pass Trail, so primitive and steep we had to kick our boot edges in to hold the slope. We reminisced along the way. One goal of this trip was to slow life down and refocus. “I feel like the last twelve years went by like a dream, Doug,” Chris said. “Like I lost them. Where’d they go?” Once, we climbed three weekends a month, but we all settled down and had kids, and while their young lives flew by, our trips to the mountains had become rare and manic in turn.
Harsh alpine country surrounded us at Lost Pass. We headed toward a rounded dome to the east, kicking over talus and through krumholz. The mountain was parched. Heather snapped as we pushed through, and every broadleaf alpine plant was burned a brittle red. Lost Peak was a rubble pile about 100 feet higher than the dome, and we scrambled the boulders to the top. We looked back the way we’d come. The river’s canyon wound away, slopes darkening with firs until everything vanished in the haze.

Randy was still reading when we returned, reclining against a log in the meadows and bathed in sunset light. The scene was blissful, and, next morning, the universe picked that same joyous tune. High clouds rolled in and the heat wave broke. For day three we’d maintain our basecamp, go light to Hayden Pass, and then follow a climber’s trail to Sentinel Peak. The river breathed its last beneath a final bridge, just a sheen of water trickling down rock steps. We hiked through tundra and followed the looping switchbacks to the pass, just a sharp notch in the ridge. A strong trail south wound up Sentinel, crossing talus basins and squeezing through clumps of alpine firs. Views opened on the rock slabs just below the summit – far off, the smoke plume from the Paradise fire and, nearer, clouds building behind Mount Anderson, a tortuous ridge-run away, its twin summits separated by a glacier and a rock pillar thrust skyward like a knife blade.

We settled back in camp early. I’d planned on an afternoon nap, but we shoveled down snacks and chattered away, and I couldn’t keep my eyes closed, afraid I’d miss the next story though I’d heard each one a dozen times.
That evening, a buck stepped from the shadows across the river, the first animal we’d seen in four days out. Heedless of us, he lowered his head to drink, his neck and shoulder muscles rippling. He picked his way soundlessly through the brush, glowing in front of that dark forest like Zeus come to earth in animal form.
The next morning we hiked to the pass again and took the Hayes River Trail down, coasting nine miles to the banks of the Elwha. The views of Mount Anderson’s intimidating glaciers disappeared. We navigated a trail washout, and shortly after that entered a gentler world. Hikers appeared in clusters. The forest rose and moss painted earth and blow downs a delicate green, every image softened as though viewed through a gauze-covered lens.

On the porch of the Hayes River Patrol Cabin we took a break before strolling to yet another perfect river camp. Compared to the Dosewallips, the Elwha was mellow, its water clear and the gravel-lined bottom symmetrical as though a pool boy had taken a rake to it. Our final two days of hiking had a dreamlike quality to them after the battering we’d taken at the outset. On day four, the valley broadened as we passed the Elkhorn Guard Station, deciduous trees draped with moss in a scene out of the Mississippi bayou. After one last camp, on the Lillian River above the Elwha, we passed increasing numbers of hikers and reminders of the human history in this valley: the weathered cabin grandiosely named “The Elk Lick Lodge” and the equally-dilapidated Cougar Mike’s Cabin a couple of miles further up the trail.

Olympic National Park offers stunning forest hiking interspersed with scenic meadows and mountain views.
The End of the Trail
Half an hour past Cougar Mike’s came trail’s end at Whiskey Bend. We swung around the road damage and hiked the pavement the final six miles to one last barrier, the gate closing the road to traffic. There we encountered a scene of intentional destruction, all in service of this beautiful country we’d just traversed. I dropped my pack and followed my friends onto an overlook platform. Across the river, a matching platform was filling with tourists exiting a bus, but on our side we stood alone.
A century ago, the Glines Canyon Spillway had been erected to dam the Elwha at a cleft between rock walls. Now the dam was gone, removed in 2014 to restore the river and allow a vanished ecosystem to be reborn. In all honesty, it didn’t look like much – the spillway was just two weathered cement walls caked with moss, old metal channels hanging loose above the rushing water. Back in the direction we’d come, manmade Lake Mills had drained. The ground it once covered looked like a construction site, braided channels flowing through a mudflat and patches of scrub. But the point of it, I told myself, was what this scene symbolized. With the park’s roads crumbling, the high country parched and the forest on fire, at least this attempt was being made to return one river valley to its pristine state in a way everyone could enjoy, whether or not they chose to hike the whole darned park to get there.


Along the trail in Olympic National Park
Need to Know
Information
As the park service says, “Wilderness Camping permits are required for all overnight stays in Olympic National Park wilderness (backcountry) year-round.” All of the areas on this trip were considered “non-quota”, which makes getting a permit easier, but the process is still fairly complicated and appears to be changing from an in-person or phone in to an online system. Best recommendations are to check out the wilderness sections of the park website, call the park at (360) 565-3130, or stop into a wilderness information center at Hoodsport or Port Angeles. One possible complication is that the Hayden Pass Trail was damaged (fire again) in 2016, and as of 2019 the NPS doesn’t recommend it. If it is not reopened, you might consider taking the primitive Lost Pass Trail north and exiting at Hurricane Ridge.
Best Time to Go
Obviously, the weather has been warming, but from the end of July through September, weather in the Pacific Northwest remains as close to perfect as you can imagine. While it’s always a necessity to pack rain gear, days are long and nights are temperate.
Getting There
The Dosewallips River Road leads west off Highway 101, just north of the tiny town of Brinnon, Washington. If you’re coming from the Seattle area, the coolest way to make the trip is via the Edmonds/Kingston ferry (reserve your spot through the Washington State Ferry system), and then take Highway 104 till it ends at Highway 101, at which point you head south toward Brinnon.
Maps and Books
Olympic Mountain Trail Guide by Robert L. Wood is the book I still use for general park info since the author knew every trail well. The book has been out for decades and was recently updated in 2020.
If the idea of bagging a few peaks along the way appeals to you, be aware that the Climber’s Guide to the Olympic Mountains is known to have some interesting route descriptions for obscure peaks. The guide lists both Lost Peak and Mount Fromme as Class 1, trail all the way to the top, excursions. Lost was a thrash that became a light scramble at the summit; Fromme appears to be a Class 2 that begins with a steep unpleasant stomp through krumholz. Most of the other allegedly 1.1 climbs in the Dose Meadows area are probably of a similarly mixed character. The book does give an overview of all of the approach trail systems, so it has its uses.
There’s also a newer Falcon Guide, Hiking Olympic National Park by Erik Molvar. For navigation, the waterproof and tearproof National Geographic Trails Illustrated Olympic National Park Map is suggested.

Before you begin to narrow down your choice of a sleeping bag or jacket for backpacking usage, there’s one key decision you must arrive at first: the choice of down vs. synthetic insulation. The source of much debate, both options have mostly pros and a few cons. In this post we’ll detail why you might choose one over the other and detail the performance of down and synthetic insulation across various backpacking situations.

Down and synthetic backpacking jackets
Down Insulation
The lightest and most compressible option, down insulation can either be goose down or duck down. Down insulation is rated by fill power (fp) – which is simply a measurement of how many cubic inches one ounce of down will fill. For non-backpacking usage this is non-consequential and lower rated fill power jackets could be utilized for example to save cash (the jacket will just be heavier), but when you’re carrying everything on your back, this is a key number. Higher fill power gear is more expensive, with top of the line jackets and sleeping bags typically using somewhere around 900fp or so. At these higher fill power levels down will give you the lightest and most compressible insulated gear available, but at the most cost.
With down you also need to be careful not to get it wet, but this goes for all your gear no matter what it's made from. However, when down does get completely soaked, it takes forever to dry and retains less warmth than synthetics. This can be mitigated by taking standard precautions to keep your gear dry and I’ve found this to mostly be a nuisance when I wash gear at home. That said, on backpacking trips where you are in constant, unrelenting rain day after day with near 100% humidity, your sleeping bag will not have a chance to dry during the day in your pack – and inevitably will absorb some level of moisture every night especially if there is condensation inside your tent. This can lead to degradation in warmth of the bag – without it being completely soaked – after several days.

High fill power down cluster
Hoping to remedy the situation, chemically treated down has gained significant market traction in recent years – and treated down seeks to help with any potential doubts here by applying a Durable Water Repellent (DWR) treatment to the down itself. I have found that DWR treated down does not quite have the same type of loft (it’s a bit clumpy) compared to high quality non-treated down. Additionally, the natural oils in down make it naturally water resistant. However, treated down does perform better in tests when it comes to its ability to resist water and may offer some additional peace of mind. Another thing to keep in mind is that (and this goes for down or synthetic) your jacket and / or sleeping bag shell fabric likely already has a DWR treatment and will resist light rain or condensation, for a period of time. Being one of the heaviest things you carry, a down sleeping bag is a great item to target to save weight.
Synthetic Insulation
Synthetic insulation comes in many forms and in many names, and while some perform better than others performance can still be described in general terms here. Synthetic insulation will be cheaper, but compared to high quality down – it doesn’t pack up as small and will weigh more to provide the same level of warmth. In addition, longevity is a concern and synthetic insulation will not retain its loft over the years with many uses like a well-cared for down sleeping bag or garment will.

Synthetic insulated ultralight backpacking jacket
Synthetic insulation does retain more heat when it’s wet as it will not completely collapse when soaked through, and it will dry faster than down…although sleeping in a soaked synthetic sleeping bag will still not be all that comfortable. When you take thick synthetic insulation and wrap it in a high denier nylon or polyester shell on both sides it can still take quite a while to totally dry – even days to dry for a sleeping bag or thick jacket (unless you find an opportunity to put it in the sun). However, it does perform better in consistently wet conditions and will often get you on the trail for less cash than top of the line down. Synthetic may be the better choice for those that are not looking to save weight and have plenty of room in their pack, or basecamp type backpacking.
If you’re one to wear an insulated jacket while actually hiking during the day (I never do this), synthetic will deal with sweat better, but best to take the jacket off before that happens no matter what insulation choice you go with. You’ll want to take extra care of your synthetic insulation – as while longevity is good and getting better, synthetic gear can only stand so many compression and use cycles before the loft begins to degrade (a well-cared for down bag will last decades or more). A synthetic sleeping bag will cost the most weight difference when compared side by side to a high quality down bag, while with something like a synthetic insulated jacket the difference will be less.

Down sleeping bag
Down & Synthetic Backpacking Gear: Conclusion
As a backpacker in the mountain west, my personal choice is to go all down – and I appreciate the weight that’s saved, the investment over the long-term, and the extra space I get in my pack. I do take extra precautions to keep that gear dry – packing it all in a waterproof dry bag and then inside a highly water-resistant backpack. However, if your pack is more on the sort of waterproof side, a trash compactor bag used as a pack liner is a great way to provide additional protection from water. Trips where it starts to rain, and doesn’t stop for several days, have been the only challenge to this system where the sleeping bag can start to absorb moisture during the night and from tent condensation and has no opportunity to dry – but this doesn’t lead to a complete collapse of the bag. In this situation a 20 degree bag may turn into something more resembling a 30 degree bag until it can dry, and having the ability to toss a hot Nalgene in my Zpacks 20 degree sleeping bag is nice to have. On the trail, I certainly appreciate the lighter weight of down gear and the increased compressibility.

Medium weight down parka
That said, if I had a synthetic 30 degree bag and a down 30 degree bag and was planning to only pack in a few miles and setup a basecamp for several days, then hike out with a forecast calling for rain the entire time with lows in the 30’s, I’d probably pack in the synthetic. Moving daily on a thru-hike or high mileage backpacking trip? I’d choose down. If you’ll be hiking in an environment where moisture is frequently encountered for long periods of time, one strategy is to go for the down bag and combine that with a synthetic jacket or vice-versa. Down or synthetic, at home make sure to dry out your insulation gear after a trip and store it uncompressed, either hanging or stored very loosely in a breathable, large cotton storage bag and when needed, give it a good wash between seasons.
The best choice depends on your own backpacking style and the conditions you’ll encounter, but whether you choose to go all down, all synthetic, or mix and match for the best of both worlds all 3 of these strategies are well-suited and workable when it comes to typical backpacking conditions. And frankly, if the gear itself is good enough – I’m not one to automatically rule something out because it’s not down or not synthetic. In all cases, you want to take every effort to keep your sleeping and insulation gear from getting soaked and take care of it at home after the trip, and by doing so you’ll be on a good track towards both having warm gear in camp and using your insulated gear on countless trips over the years.
You can find a full selection of insulated backpacking gear at REI. Down insulated jackets can be found here and you can shop down sleeping bags here. For synthetic you can view their selection of synthetic insulated jackets and synthetic sleeping bags.

Since my sister Melissa retired, we have taken several hiking, backpacking, and photography trips together. This time, we headed to Colorado and New Mexico for another adventure. Melissa has wanted to hike to Wheeler Peak for years. I’ve wanted to see the Wheeler Geologic Area for years. So, we combined the two desires into one awesome trip – The Tale of Two Wheelers.
Hiking & Exploring Wheeler Geologic Area
We started off early on the morning of July 5th and headed west across Oklahoma, experiencing a spectacular sunrise out of the rear-view mirrors on the way. We camped our first night in the Spanish Peaks area of southern Colorado, then the next morning, we headed to Hanson’s Mill near Creede. The road to Hanson’s Mill (apparently the site of an old lumber mill no longer in existence) is fairly well graded and accessible by most vehicles. The area at the end of this road has several campsites, but it is a fairly open sun-drenched area (due to dead trees having been cut and removed), with only a few scattered standing trees.

The only facilities here are a vault-type toilet, a few picnic tables and fire rings, but no water or refuse receptacles. Beyond Hanson’s Mill, the route (Forest Road #600) quickly deteriorates into a one-lane, rough, rocky four-wheel drive, high clearance road for 14 miles. It took us about 2 ½ hours (with a few photo stops) to arrive at the end of the road at the trailhead for Wheeler Geologic Area. There is an 8-mile long hiking trail (Trail #790) that begins at Hanson’s Mill, which would be the alternate way to the geologic area if you don’t have a car capable of the rough 14 mile drive.
The Engelmann spruce forest in this area has been devastated by spruce broom rust (caused by a fungus) and spruce beetle epidemic which has killed vast stands of the spruce. The old forest was already stressed by disease and weakened by extended drought and a warmer climate when the beetles were able to really start their attack. Today, though the epidemic has slowed – killing almost all the trees susceptible to the outbreak – it continues in isolated pockets.
Younger trees seem to be healthy, as confirmed by a college-aged forester along the road, to whom we spoke. She described the forest and how the beetles kill the trees, how they are a natural part of the cycle, how climate change has contributed, etc. The forest service has been putting pheromone packets on some trees which signal to the beetles that “this tree is already full” to prevent the beetles from infesting the healthy trees. Eventually, this forest may look better as the older, still-standing dead trees fall and the younger ones grow up, but for now, it is surely sad to see.

According to the descriptive signs at the trailhead, 30 to 40 million years ago, lava flows that were nearly 4,000 feet thick covered an area of 9,000 square miles. Then about 29 million years ago, a massive pyroclastic (ash, dust, volcanic rock, and pebbles) eruption engulfed the area, producing large quantities of volcanic ash, also known as tuff. For nearly three million years, thirteen volcanoes covered the area with up to 3,000 feet of ash. Subsequent erosion has exposed this ash, resulting in the spectacular scenery of the area.

At the end of the rough road, there are several dispersed camping sites in the fields and woods at the parking and turn around point (in this area there seemed to be fewer dead trees), and we chose a spot and set up camp. We then loaded up our day packs and began our hike, which begins at an elevation of 10,840 feet. We hiked the Wheeler Loop counterclockwise, with a side hike out to Halfmoon Pass, then back down to the Wheeler Loop and on around the loop. Coming from 1,200 feet with very little time to acclimate to the elevation, we found it to be a very strenuous hike, especially me. At the top of the pass, there was a small patch of snow, so we took photos of each other throwing snowballs.

As we continued, we finally arrived at the reason we were there in the first place – the bizarre eroded rocks of volcanic ash. The actual area isn’t huge, but it is quite spectacular. The light-colored volcanic tuff has been eroded into spires, steep cliffs, towers, castle-like shapes, and, if you use your imagination, goblins and gnomes. We almost got there too late – the area faces west, but is partly blocked by some higher cliffs to the west. When we arrived, the sun was getting low and parts of the ash layers were already in shadow. We still got some good photos, but if I were to do it again, I would take the hike clockwise and see the formations first. Our hike here was 6 ½ miles long with around 1,800 feet of climbing.
Over the next few days we visited the town of Creede, hiked to several waterfalls in the area, drove on some crazy 4wd roads, went to Crested Butte to see the wildflowers (Wildflower Capital of Colorado), and then drove south to Red River, New Mexico.
Hiking Wheeler Peak
For our final hiking day of the trip, we drove to the Taos Ski Area where the trailhead for our Wheeler Peak hike starts. The trailhead is at an elevation of 10,200 feet, and starts off as a fairly wide, well-used trail. It slowly climbs over the first couple of miles to a turnoff to Williams Lake. The lake, at an elevation of 11,040 feet, is a short distance away. We stopped just before the lake for a snack and to take some photos.
There were quite a few tents on both sides of the lake and a lot of people on the trail to and from. Having had a week to acclimate to the elevation, this first part was not nearly as difficult as our initial hike at Wheeler Geologic Area. It naturally got more difficult on the hike up to the peak. From the lake, we returned to the intersection and headed up the trail to Wheeler Peak. The trail starts off in dense woods where we heard and saw numerous birds. As you climb higher, the trail finally gets above the treeline, and views open up.

From the trail, the destination peak is visible, as well as some of the switchbacks yet to be climbed, the Taos ski runs, and several other nearby peaks. And below, in the distance, we spotted Williams Lake several times – those tents looked very tiny from this distance and elevation! After leaving the woods, the switchbacks happen more often and the trail gets steeper. In several spots the trail crosses large scree fields (broken chunks of rock of various sizes that have tumbled from above and settled on the slope), which are places we had to be extra careful so we didn’t twist an ankle or fall. The last quarter mile, just before you arrive on a ridgeline, is the steepest with dust, sand, and small gravel on the trail bed.
Once on the ridge, it’s a short (and easier) hike to the actual peak. Wheeler Peak stands at an elevation of 13,161 feet. There is a plaque and a register to sign there. When we arrived, there were a dozen or so people on and around the peak, but most were in a group and soon left, leaving us with just a few others. We took the “mandatory peak photos” (thanks random citizen!), had a quick lunch (thunderstorms were brewing in the distance), and then headed down. Going down uses muscles in a whole different way – knees bent, tiny steps so we didn’t slip, and constant braking.

We had put on jackets up top, but soon stripped them off because of the exertion. We spotted a couple of raptors flying and doing high-speed dives at one point (we heard the whoosh of the air past the feathers of one). The rest of the hike down was uneventful. We arrived back at the car, quite tired but satisfied by this epic hike. The hike was a total of 9.4 miles round trip with 3,094 feet climbed and descended. It took us 6 ½ hours to complete the hike.

The next day, our drive home was long but uneventful. This was a great trip, and we saw so much! Waterfalls, mountains, rivers, mountain lakes, rough roads, and enough scenery to make us quite content (for a while). On top of that, we accomplished two long-term wish list items and took hundreds of photos. Let’s go do another!
Need to Know
Information
There are no fees or permits required for either of these hikes. Driving to Wheeler Geologic Are requires a high clearance vehicle, preferably with four wheel drive (although we did see a Subaru Crosstrek along the way (I wouldn’t recommend it). Camping at the end of Forest Road 600 is limited to first come, first serve. Parking for Wheeler Peak is at the Taos Ski Valley. There are a couple of other longer hikes to Wheeler Peak, with different parking locations.
Getting There
Wheeler Geologic Area is near Creede, Colorado. From Creede, travel southeast on Colorado Highway 149 for 7.3 miles, to the intersection of Colorado Highway 149 and Forest Road #600 (Pool Table Road), then approximately 9.5 miles northwest on Pool Table Road #600 to Hanson’s Mill. From here, a high-clearance 4wd vehicle is needed to continue the 14 miles to the Wheeler Geologic Area Trailhead.
Wheeler Peak is north of Taos, New Mexico. From Taos, travel approximately 4 miles north on US HWY 64 from Taos to the junction of NM State HWY 150, then east on HWY 150 to Taos Ski Valley. Continue through the Taos Ski Valley parking lot, veering left up Twining Road. Twining Road is approximately 2 miles long and contains several switchbacks. It will be fine for most vehicles in the summer and fall (4x4 in winter). Follow signs for the Williams Lake Trailhead and the Bavarian Lodge and Restaurant. Park at the large parking lot on the right as the road levels off (this parking area is before the Bavarian).
Best Time to Go
Both of these places are late spring to summer to early fall destinations, typically best from May or June through October. Both can experience thunderstorms (particularly in summer) with lightning, usually in the afternoon.
Maps
Trails Illustrated 139 La Garita Cochetopa Hills as well as Trails Illustrated 730 Taos Wheeler Peak. For getting to and from trailheads and exploring other hiking opportunities in the region see the Delorme Colorado Atlas & Gazetteer as well as a New Mexico Atlas.
Editor's Note: This article by contributor Steve Ancik originally appeared in Issue 58 of TrailGroove Magazine. You can read the original article here for additional photos and content.