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The musical theme from the 1960s Daniel Boone television show ran through my head when, as we drove across southern Kentucky, I saw signs indicating we were entering Daniel Boone National Forest (DBNF). The historical Boone was not actually a big man in physical stature, but his legend, and the actual accomplishments of the Kentucky frontiersman, were sizable.
Daniel Boone was a man,
Yes, a big man!
With an eye like an eagle
And as tall as a mountain was he!
In 1775, Boone blazed his Wilderness Road through the Cumberland Gap and founded Boonesborough, one of the first American settlements west of the Appalachians. By 1810 more than 300,000 pioneers had used the route marked by Boone to migrate to Kentucky. When an account of Boone’s adventures was published in 1784, he became a legend in his own lifetime. Appropriately, the forest named for Boone is vast, with more than 700,000 acres of federally owned land within an outer boundary of 2.1 million acres. If you are driving east to west (or vice versa) across Kentucky, it would be hard to miss.

Trying to spare ourselves the monotony of Interstate 40, my husband Bill and I were traveling to Virginia from our home in Oklahoma, taking a scenic route through Kentucky, when we encountered the Daniel Boone National Forest. Our schedule didn’t afford us the time to stop on the outbound leg of the trip but, having a more relaxed itinerary as we returned home, we decided to break up the long drive with a hike in the DBNF. Searching the Forest Service web site, I learned there are more than 600 miles of trails in this huge tract of land, which stretches north to south across eastern Kentucky. A relatively short and accessible trail with a waterfall near Corbin, Kentucky fit both our route and our schedule. Its name was also notable, and somewhat macabre: Dog Slaughter Falls Trail.
Our Hike in Daniel Boone National Forest
In spite of its gory name, this trail turned out to be magical. It has two trailheads just off Kentucky Highway 90. The Forest Service’s information was a bit unclear and I thought at first the hike would be a four-mile round trip. When we reached the first trailhead at mid-afternoon on a sunny day, however, its sign indicated a four-mile one-way distance to Dog Slaughter Falls, the terminus. Since we didn’t have time for an eight-mile round trip, we drove to the second trailhead, 2.75 miles farther up the county road. The trailhead was not obvious from the road, but we spied a few cars parked in small roadside pull-offs and nearby a path leading into the forest. A short walk from the road and over a bridge there appeared the second trailhead, its sign indicating the falls were only one mile distant. I felt a bit like Goldilocks. Four miles was too long, but one mile seemed too short. In the end, it turned out to be just right.

Once setting foot on the trail, we were enchanted. A narrow, rooted and rocky path took us through a dense forest of hemlock and rhododendron, along a beautiful clear stream. We noticed littering the forest floor what appeared at first to be used paper towels but were actually platter-sized leaves, some more than 18 inches long, and colored a silvery white. It turned out they had fallen from big leaf magnolia trees, a rare plant that grows as a small understory tree in the southeastern United States. I had seen them only once before, in a beech grove on the border of Oklahoma and Arkansas in the Ouachita National Forest.
The trail took us beneath huge bluffs farther into the cool, deep hollow. Soon we could hear the distinctive sound of a cascade and finally reached an overlook above a grotto containing a 15-foot waterfall surrounded by huge boulders. Three other people were below, enjoying the peaceful spot. We descended the trail into the grotto and scrambled around on the boulders, enjoying the beauty and relative isolation before turning back toward the car and the long journey ahead. As we walked, I noticed the afternoon light had turned golden, creating mesmerizing reflections on the water as we passed by.

Had we continued beyond the falls, we would have intersected the Cumberland River and the Sheltowee National Recreation Trail, considered the "backbone" of the DBNF trail system, with links to a wealth of other footpaths. The Sheltowee Trail begins in northern Kentucky and extends south almost 290 miles to Tennessee’s Pickett State Park. Only a short distance from where we turned around, the Sheltowee Trail comes to the Cumberland River and the well-known Cumberland Falls, sometimes known as the "Niagara of the South.” This 68-foot high, 125-foot wide cascade is best known for its “moonbow,” a rainbow visible during the full moon, something seen consistently in only a handful of places on earth.
As we drove west toward home, I pondered the wealth of natural resources available to modern outdoors aficionados in the U.S. Perhaps we’ve no trails left to blaze in the Daniel Boone sense, but each of us can blaze our own new trails on a personal level by enjoying, respecting and protecting the great blessing of our abundance of public lands.
Need to Know
Information
The Daniel Boone National Forest includes 708,000 acres of federally owned land in eastern Kentucky with an outer boundary of 2.1 million acres. Its name was originally the Cumberland National Forest and was changed in 1966 in honor of the explorer Daniel Boone. Rugged terrain and a wealth of water features characterize the area.
Best Time to Go
As with most of the southeastern deciduous forest, spring and fall are generally the best times to go, avoiding humid summers and often snowy winters in the mountains.
Getting There
DBNF is located in eastern Kentucky. The closest major cities are Lexington, Kentucky and Knoxville, Tennessee. The Dog Slaughter Falls Trail is located off Forest Road 195, 0.8 miles (the first trailhead) from its junction with Kentucky Highway 90, 14 miles southwest of Corbin, Kentucky.
Maps and Books
A map for the Dog Slaughter Falls trail is located here. Several guidebooks are available, including a Falcon Guide to Hiking Kentucky, and a book on Day Hiking the Daniel Boone National Forest by Johnny Molloy.

Recent books and movies have inspired countless hikers and potential hikers to dream about thru-hiking one of the “big three” of America’s long trails: The Appalachian Trail, Pacific Crest Trail, or the Continental Divide Trail. However, most people that attempt the feat drop off the trail before completion. A six-month commitment to a hike can become just too difficult. Countless others don’t even try; it’s just too much time away from family and the lives they’ve built. Completing all three trails, the “Triple Crown of Hiking,” is beyond even contemplating.

Other options exist though. There are long trails that, while still providing life changing experiences, can be completed in weeks rather than months. In fact, there’s even a “Triple Crown” that can not only be contemplated, it can be accomplished. That’s right, there’s a junior version of hiking’s “Triple Crown.”
Mine began as a bucket list hike. As a guy in his 50’s with titanium in one foot, I didn’t even entertain the thought of the AT, PCT, or CDT. I was looking for a significant adventure though and settled on trying the Colorado Trail. The 486 mile CT shares nearly half of its distance with the Continental Divide Trail and travels through some of the most beautiful scenery of the Rockies. It was a tremendous, month-long experience; everything I had hoped for.
After that trail, I was hooked on thru-hiking, just not the kind that requires six months at a time. In the last year I also completed both the iconic John Muir Trail, and the trail many consider to be the inspiration for the AT, the Long Trail. For those with weeks, not months, available to hike; I recommend them highly. But which trail is the best? It all depends on what you are looking for.
The Long Trail
The Long Trail is 273 miles of classic eastern mountains. Much of the time is spent meandering through oaks and maples. Because the trail runs the very spine of Vermont’s Green Mountains, there are a surprising number of big views. Besides the bare peaks of Camel's Hump and Mt. Mansfield, several other mountains crossed are ski resorts in the winter. The cleared ski slopes reveal more scenery than typically found on other eastern mountains. Quite often the views also include a beautiful small town nestled down in a valley. One such spot is Stratton Mountain. It was there that Benton McKaye conceived of the idea of the Appalachian Trail.

The southern 100 miles or so of the trail are perfect if you are looking for an AT type experience. In fact, for that stretch the trail is shared with the AT. There are numerous shelters, plenty of company and nearby resupply. Once north of the split, the trail is significantly more challenging. The crowds disappear and the hiking gets much more rugged. There were many spots where I found myself climbing ladders or metal rungs drilled into rock walls. There were other spots where I wished there were ladders. More than once I looked at the trail in front of me and exclaimed, “You have got to be kidding me!” Oh, and the famous “Vermud” is a real thing. If you’re looking for a new level of challenge, the Long Trail is for you.
The Colorado Trail
The Colorado Trail is quintessential big mountain hiking. Rather than follow one chain of mountains, the CT crosses eight named mountain ranges, each with its own look. The hike varies between open coniferous forests, aspen groves, high mesas, and rugged alpine passes with views of mountaintops that seem to extend forever. In some drier areas, there are even cacti. While the trail averages 10,000 feet in elevation, the object of the trail is not to climb the peaks, but travel around them. Peak bagging is possible through side trips, but not on the CT itself.

Initial construction was completed in 1987, making it by far the newest trail. Beyond self-issued permits at some of the wilderness areas, no paperwork is required to hike the CT.
Winding from just south of Denver, Colorado to Durango in the southwest portion of the state, the CT is mostly single track without significant mileage on Forest Service roads. There is one (6 mile) section of road walking. Besides multiple mountain ranges the trail winds through six wilderness areas and some of the most beautiful scenery in the Rocky Mountains. The CT shares approximately 235 Miles with the Continental Divide Trail.

The trail itself is very well constructed and appears to be well maintained. A tent is a necessity as support structures such as shelters are noticeably absent. In my mind a hammock is not really an option due to the trail spending extended stretches above tree line. Altitude is a significant consideration on the trail. With the average elevation over 10,000 feet, snow can remain well into the summer months. Thunderstorms at that height are a real danger.
Hikers on the CT need to be self-sufficient. In the more remote sections there are few other hikers and convenient resupplies can be far apart. I typically hiked 70-100+ miles between town stops.
Wildlife is prevalent on the trail and I saw quite a bit, from hummingbirds, chipmunks, and pika up to big mammals including deer, moose, bighorn sheep, and elk. Marmots were very numerous at higher elevations. There are also black bear near the trail, though I did not see any.
The John Muir Trail
The JMT should be on every hiker’s bucket list. It is 210 miles of spectacular. The JMT shares 170 miles with the Pacific Crest Trail and by most accounts is the most scenic section of the PCT. Running from Yosemite National Park to Kings Canyon National Park, the trail travels through the Sierra Nevada Mountains to the top of Mt. Whitney, the highest peak in the continental United States. Known for their beauty, the Sierra were called “The Range of Light” by John Muir.

Beyond jaw dropping views of places like Half Dome, Cathedral Peak, Evolution Valley, and the high passes, the JMT is about water. There are beautiful alpine lakes and countless clear streams. Even hiking during the 2015 drought, enough melting snow was left to fill the spectacular rapids and waterfalls that travel down the mountains’ steep slopes. Much of the trail appeared very dry, but water was never an issue. There is only one mountaintop view, but it’s a doozy. At 14,505 feet, the summit of Mt. Whitney is the official endpoint of the JMT. On a clear day, the view goes on seemingly forever.
Potential wildlife sightings on and near the trail were second to none as well. A good portion of the hike is within National Parks after all. All the wildlife normally thought of in a mountain wilderness lives near the JMT. Deer were thick through the lower elevations and seemingly oblivious to hikers. What really stood out during my hike was the close encounters with predators. I happened upon coyote and even a bobcat while on the trip. The multiple sightings of bear left no doubt as to why food canisters are required.

Resupplies get tougher as you travel from north to south. The last relatively convenient resupply option is at Muir Trail Ranch, 110 miles into your 220-mile hike. (Yes, I know the trail is 210 miles, but you still have to get off Mt. Whitney.) Cramming enough food into your bear canister to take you the rest of the way can be a challenge, to say the least.
Like the CT, the JMT has high elevations and big climbs, but both are well constructed with switchbacks when needed. Again, like the CT, you’ll need to rely on your own shelter.
Perhaps the biggest challenge with the JMT is getting a permit. If you want to start at Happy Isles in Yosemite, plan on faxing in an application 24 weeks before your planned start date. By the end of the day, you will find out if you secured a permit. You probably did not. Per the National Park Service website, over 97% of all applications are denied. Prepare to repeat the process the next day with a new starting date and start location options. One hiker I met on the trail had been denied 22 times before she received a permit to start at Happy Isles Trailhead.
Now I fully understand the National Park Service’s position. They have a duty to protect the wilderness from overuse and want to provide a true wilderness experience for those that do receive a permit. I certainly did not want to hike the JMT like I was in a conga line or a parade. Based on my experience, allowing 45 people daily to travel over the JMT’s first pass seemed like a reasonable number. While I saw others at times, it was not constant and I was always able to find a good spot to camp. None of that makes getting the permit any easier, however. You’ll need to plan ahead, yet be very flexible.
In my case, after being turned down a few times, I changed my plan. I was able to secure a permit starting from Tuolumne Meadows, 20 miles down the trail. However, I also arrived at the park a couple days early and day hiked the section I would have otherwise missed. Yes 20 miles is a long day hike, but using park bus service and walking it backwards, it was doable. Was it perfect? No, but it was the only option to walk the entire trail within my timeframe.

So, if the logistics of a 2,000 mile hike are impossible for you in the near future, don’t fret. There are viable options to still be a thru-hiker. Pick whichever one of the shorter options of America’s three foremost cross-country trails that sounds best to you. Perhaps you’ll get the bug and eventually hike the Triple Crown; just the junior version.
Need to Know
Information
No permits are required to hike the Long Trail though some camp areas and shelters have a $5/night fee. More information is available at the Green Mountain Club.
Other than free, self-issued permits at some wilderness areas, no permits are required to hike the Colorado Trail. More information is available at the Colorado Trail Foundation.
A permit is required to hike the John Muir Trail. The cost is $5 for the permit, plus $5 for each person in the group. In addition, a bear canister is required on much of the trail. For those starting from the northern (Yosemite National Park) terminus, information on permits and the trail is available on the Yosemite National Park page.
Best Time to Go
The hiking season for both the CT and JMT is generally July through September. Early season hikers enjoy more wildflowers, stream flows and mosquitoes. At the highest elevations, snow can last well into the summer, and return again early in the fall.
Parts of the Long Trail do not open until Memorial Day Weekend. The “mud season” returns by late October. September would be my choice as the trails tend to be at their driest, bugs mostly gone and the AT thru-hiker wave has passed. Early-mid October brings the added draw of tremendous fall color.
Getting There
The Colorado Trail Eastern/Northern terminus is located at 11300 Waterton Road, Littleton, CO 80125. From Denver, take I-25 South to C-470 West to CO Hwy 121 South. After 4.5 miles turn left onto Waterton Rd.
Most hikers attempt to start the John Muir Trail at the Happy Isles Trailhead located at the eastern end of Yosemite Valley inside Yosemite National Park. There are numerous options for both driving and public transportation to and throughout the park.
The southern terminus of the Long Trail is located on the Appalachian Trail at the Vermont/Massachusetts border. The trail can be accessed via the AT by hiking north from the crossing of Mass Rt 2 between Williamstown and North Adams, MA. Another option is the hike the Pine Cobble Trail from Pine Cobble Rd in Williamstown to the AT just south of the Vermont state line.
Maps
There are highly useful FarOut phone apps for all three trails. The Green Mountain Club produces a map of the LT. The Colorado Trail Foundation produces a map and a databook for the CT and many Trails Illustrated Maps cover the route. For the JMT I used the John Muir Trail Pocket Atlas by Blackwoods Press. The JMT Map Set from Tom Harrison Maps is another option.
Books
The Colorado Trail Guidebook by the Colorado Trail Foundation. Long Trail Guide by the Green Mountain Club. John Muir Trail: The Essential Guide to Hiking America’s Most Famous Trail by Elizabeth Wenk. Backpacking’s Triple Crown: The Junior Version by the author Jim Rahtz.

With limited time and a good forecast, Jen & I decided on a quick overnighter for this trip close by in the Winds. It would need to be a quick trip – obligations (a bit more on that later) would have to keep us close to civilization, and on top of that we would have to work with a later start on Saturday.

Our plan was to take the Stough Creek Lakes Trail into the Popo Agie Wilderness up to Roaring Fork Pass / Stough Creek Saddle, then retreat part of the way back to make camp. The next day would be a quick start, through the woods and back to the trailhead.
Into the Popo Agie Wilderness
Saturday we made the quick drive up to the trailhead at Worthern Meadows Reservoir, ascending from about a mile high to 8800 feet. As we drove upwards through the switchbacks rather ominous clouds were seen amongst the peaks above, and it began to rain just as we pulled into the parking lot and began to shoulder our packs. We were however, in luck. As we made our way through the pines, the sun came out and you began to find yourself wondering why you don’t get out twice as much as however often you do now. The trail started out easily enough, and we wound our way through the National Forest and quickly reached the wilderness boundary.
We then made it to Roaring Fork Lake, where the trail runs across the lake’s outlet stream, ford required. The stream was thigh-high deep and slow flowing, but numbing cold and wide enough that you can’t just rush across in a few steps.

Once across the trail began to ascend in elevation, until we made it to a marshy area about 2 miles in at 9500 feet. Surprisingly, a seriously well-constructed boardwalk led across the marsh, so our feet stayed dry.

The trail then climbed more steeply in a continuous set of switchbacks. As we climbed past swift flowing mountain streams, we broke out of the trees and rocky terrain began to dominate the landscape.

Above: This offered a reminder of a previous offtrail route we once took in the Winds. (A much longer story than this one...)

Above: The 4 of us made our way upwards through the rocky switchbacks...

Our starting point, Worthern Meadows Reservoir, now far below
We then entered another pine forest, which began to thin the higher we climbed. We quickly made it past 10,000 feet and began the final push to our destination – the pass at 10,550’. We had seen a few lingering snowbanks along the trail prior to this point, but they began to become more numerous with a few towering over our heads as we passed (or ventured over). Eventually we broke into an open meadow at the pass and spent a few minutes enjoying the view.

Various flowers in bloom dotted the open ground.


Wind River Peak
From here the trail continues on to Stough Creek Basin, but now 5 miles in and with the late start evening was beginning to approach. We headed back the way we came as clouds began to close in. Soon thunder echoing through the mountains could be heard, and it soon became obvious that the storm was only getting closer. I tried to ignore the rain at first, but the slow sprinkle soon intensified into a strong shower and the rain began to soak through my clothes. We pulled over and outfitted ourselves (including the dog) in full rain gear. As soon as I finished zipping up my rain jacket and getting my pack back on and in order the rain stopped, the sun came out, and bird calls began to signal the rain’s end throughout the forest. We hiked on. Heading offtrail into the forest, we searched for quite some time until we found a fairly level space among the pines with no ominous looking dead trees perhaps ready to fall at any moment directly next to our spot.


We setup our shelter and filtered water, then ate dinner about a hundred yards from camp as the light began to fade. Bear bag secure, we stumbled through the deadfall and found our way back to the waiting tent by way of headlamp. Once we returned to camp we noticed some "bear sign" about 20 feet from the tent that we'd somehow missed when scouting out the site earlier. Too late to pick up and move everything, we were glad that we cooked dinner and secured our food some distance away. The moon was nearly full with passing clouds. The thin, opaque cuben fabric of our shelter (Zpacks Hexamid Twin) allowed us to watch the moon, clouds, and the illuminated treetops through the roof itself. Presumably from the marsh we had passed earlier that day, loons could be heard flying overhead, their eerie calls resembling, well…not much else that exists in a worldly realm. Soon the clouds increased yet again and rain began to fall as we drifted off to sleep.
The Hike Out
The next morning we woke to clear skies and hordes of mosquitoes…it’s a low snow year – they’re out early! We retrieved our bear bag to make coffee and breakfast while constantly swatting in an attempt to keep from being eaten alive. Due to it being June and the early time of year (for the mountains), no insect repellent had been packed along. A great cup of coffee and an equally nice breakfast made it worthwhile however, as a white-breasted nuthatch with great determination sought a meal of its own from of a stubborn pine cone just a few feet away.


We then packed up in a haphazard manner, as we always seem to do on the last day of a trip. Making our way lower along the trail, we traversed the boardwalk yet again and retraced our steps from the day before, the ford of Roaring Fork Lake colder than ever. Back at the car we threw our packs in the back and carefully drove along the bumpy dirt road leading away from the trailhead. While the trip was short, we were still lucky enough to touch on all the great things backpacking has to offer – and the post-trip burger was as good as ever.

At the Trailhead
Information
No permits are needed to hike or backpack in this area of the Wind River Range. Roads leading to the trailhead may be closed into June, check with the local ranger station for current conditions. Early season snowpack may persist into July and mosquitoes are very prevalent into late summer. Trails Illustrated offers a Wind River map set and Beartooth Publishing's Wind River Range South map covers this area. For a guidebook, see Hiking Wyoming's Wind River Range.

Long before I’d ever shouldered a backpack for a hike into a wilderness area, I found myself intrigued by Arizona’s Superstition Mountains. As the purported location of the Lost Dutchman’s Gold Mine, I was first exposed to the Superstitions in books about lost treasures and historical mysteries I checked out from my middle-school library. An episode of “In Search of . . .” with Leonard Nimoy that featured the legend and aired as a re-run on the History Channel further deepened my fascination. Hidden gold and lost maps, murders and disappearances, towering rock formations and an unforgiving desert landscape – all made for captivating TV to a city kid in Kentucky. Tales of lost treasure closer to home, like Swift’s lost silver mine and buried Civil War payrolls were more geographically relevant, but the Lost Dutchman’s Mine and the Superstitions had made an impression.

After becoming an avid backpacker, my interest in the Superstition Mountains was rekindled. The Superstition Wilderness is one of the original wilderness areas designated in the Wilderness Act of 1964, is an excellent springtime backpacking destination, and – as far as stunning desert landscapes go – is easily accessible. Despite a few half-hearted attempts to plan a trip over the years, I didn’t get a chance to hike there until recently. Having a close friend and fellow backpacker who lived nearby and was eager to fit in a backpacking trip before the imminent and awesome responsibility of fatherhood was bestowed up him later in the year provided all the motivation I needed. The unlikely yet unique possibility that I might solve a centuries-old mystery while digging a cathole may or may not have factored into my enthusiasm as well.
Into the Superstition Wilderness
The plane touched down on the warm runway of the Phoenix airport at 10:17 a.m. and I filled up five liters of water from a water fountain while waiting for my checked bag to arrive. Backpacking efficiency at its best. John picked me up and, despite having not seen each other since a trip in 2015 in Montana’s Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness, we picked up right where we left off. After an anticipation-building eastbound drive, with the mountains rising ever higher from the Arizona desert and the buildings thinning out the further we traveled, we found ourselves on the trail by noon. Desert landscapes are surreal enough, but to have gone from boarding a plane six hours earlier in gray and snowy Missoula, Montana to being able to reach out and touch a Saguaro cactus (not that you’d want to) took the experience to another level.

The mix of muted browns and dull greens made the objectively inhospitable landscape seem almost cozy as we traipsed along the trail toward a campsite located a short jaunt from a reliable water source. Temperatures in the 70s, blue sky, and a light breeze made for comfortable hiking. In the shade of a particularly large Saguaro, I paused to investigate what I thought might be a dire circumstance – a puncture in one of my two-liter bladders. As it turned out, it was merely an inordinate amount of perspiration on my lower back. More amusing and, fortunately, much less concerning. And a good reminder of the importance of consuming water in such an arid environment.
We made good time to our campsite, climbing up to a mesa and then descending up to a pass and then down into a canyon, with some stellar views of iconic Weaver’s Needle along the way. Although there were several other backpackers out and about, we made it to the large camping area first and snagged what I believed to be a premium campsite. Secluded and with nice views of the canyon’s slopes, and plenty of elbow room before bumping into prickly, thorny, or otherwise unfriendly forms of vegetation, it was an ideal spot to set up our tents.

We relaxed for a bit before making the mile or so roundtrip to get water from the reliable spring further up the canyon, which offered suitable campsites that were predictably crowded. While it doesn’t take much to puzzle me, I was genuinely befuddled by the guys we met who earnestly intended to hammock camp in the area. Indeed, John and I had exchanged sarcastic text messages about hammock camping in the desert in the days prior to the trip, amongst other important topics such as sources of water and brands of whiskey. After stocking up on water and comic relief, we began our return to camp. Although our packs were heavy with water on the way back, the gentle downhill walk back to the campsite as the sun set and the light in the canyon changed were enchanting enough to make me forget I even had on a pack.
Back at camp, we stretched out in the twilight and started fixing our dinners. Or at least I started fixing mine while John struggled to open his bear canister, which he regretfully opted to bring to protect his food against rodents. I simply chose to bring my trusty stuff sack to hang from whatever I could find and then hope for the best. Bears are of no real concern in the Superstition Mountains and John paid an unexpected and mildly amusing price for his overkill decision in regard to food storage.

John lacked the ideal tool – a nickel – to open the bear canister and had little success improvising with other tools. A man versus bear canister battle unfolded before me as I devoured my pasta and tuna. I could contribute nothing except sympathy and stifled laughter. Frustration increased and, after about fifteen minutes, I am certain that if I had a spare nickel John would have gladly paid twenty dollars for it. As I moved on to dessert, the bear canister was finally opened in a triumphant display of determination and creative use of sharp objects. John was then able to consume a hard-won but ultimately underwhelming freeze-dried meal. After an hour or two of trading stories and sips of a whiskey while stars began to slowly punctuate the desert sky, we retired to our respective tents for a peaceful night’s slumber.
Although John had intended to hike the approximately 10-mile day hike loop from camp with me the following morning, a late-breaking and unexpected family emergency forced him to curtail his trip and hike out early. Since he would still be able to pick me up from the trailhead the next day, we parted ways that morning and I finished the rest of the planned trip solo. I would be remiss if I didn’t note my surprisingly deep disappointment at the fact that I would be companion-less for the rest of the hike. I’ve done over a hundred nights solo in my decade of backpacking and am incredibly fond of solo backpacking, but I cherish to the very center of my soul the trips I share with close friends. Missing out on the opportunity for another day of wilderness bonding with John emotionally altered my trip, but I understood the gravity of his family situation, adjusted my expectations, and proceeded onward and forward with the rest of my stroll through the Superstitions.
To say that the hiking was blissful would be an understatement. Overcast skies saturated the colors and added depth to the landscape that allowed it to shine in a different way than it had the previous day. The lack of a sun beaming down made the hiking remarkably pleasant and the scenery unfolded with a grandeur and intensity that was jaw dropping. Cacti, distant cliffs, pools of water in the creekbeds, rock formations, all occurred with a perfect mix of frequency and variety.

The Superstitions are certainly not an uncrowded area and I had the good fortune to share some of the hike with three other hikers. They were kind enough to invite me on a short scramble up to an overlook for lunch, which had a great view of Weaver’s Needle. We continued on the loop together, but different pacing eventually led to us drifting apart and I returned to my walking reverie through the desert. I re-filled on water at the same spring as the previous day and returned to camp to settle into my usual solo routine of stretching, reading, writing short letters to friends on the backside of maps or a scrap paper to drop in the mail, and replenishing lost calories and fluids.
The Last Night
A light rain fell consistently throughout the evening and overnight, but never to the point of inconvenience. Given how rare rain is in the desert, I looked upon it as a rare treat and appreciated every drop. The beauty of a rain drop on the needle of a cactus is absolutely divine. The cool morning temperatures and light rain which defined my hike out the next morning made for a mystical landscape, as fog rolled across distant mesas and swirled around rugged formations and mountains both near and far.
I made it back to the trailhead a half-hour or so before the pick-up time that John and I had agreed upon, which allowed me to stretch, make some tea, and generally lounge around the trailhead and enjoy the desert ambience. Upon reuniting with John for the concluding chapter of our trip, which was an overnight stay at the delightfully funky El Dorado Hot Springs to ease our exaggeratedly aching bones, we picked up right where we left off. And that is perhaps as best a note to end on as any – when it comes to friends, backpacking, hiking, and life in general – there is a simple pleasure in picking up where you left off, regardless of distance or time passed, that leaves one with nothing more to desire.

The Superstition Wilderness offers backpackers and hikers an at times, surreal experience through desert terrain.
Need to Know
Information
The Superstitions are an ideal destination for the majority of most seasons other than summer. Water and heat are the primary limiters for trips here and should be given the utmost respect and consideration when planning your trip. The trailheads can be popular and crowded on weekends “in season” and camps directly adjacent to water sources can suffer from overuse. If you can commit to dry camping and plan your water sources appropriately, you greatly increase your chances for solitude. Several popular trailheads, such as Peralta and First Water, are located only an hour’s drive from Phoenix. Call the Tonto National Forest, Mesa Ranger District, for the most up-to-date information.
Books
Hiking Arizona’s Superstition and Mazatzal Country by Bruce Grubbs
Superstition Wilderness Trails West: Hikes, Horse Rides, and History by Jack Carlson and Elizabeth Stewart
Superstition Wilderness Trails East: Hikes, Horse Rides, and History by Jack Carlson and Elizabeth Stewart
Maps
National Geographic's Trails Illustrated Map #851, as well as the Beartooth Publishing Superstition Wilderness map both offer maps covering the general area.

In his beautiful and evocative memoir The Carry Home: Lessons from the American Wilderness, acclaimed travel writer Gary Ferguson breathes emotional and humane life into the Mountain West. After 25 years of marriage and as many seasons sharing a USFS ski patrol hut, Ferguson’s wife Jane passes away suddenly in a tragic canoeing accident in northern Ontario, dividing Ferguson from not only his partner and best friend, but from his identity in relation to her. In recognition of her last wishes, he sets out to scatter her ashes in her five favorite backcountry locations, and in doing so begins to hunt for what meaning he can reconstruct of his own life in her absence.

The Carry Home: Lessons from the American Wilderness
Reading The Carry Home
As Ferguson takes the reader through the deep wilds of the American West, he constructs his world through prose as granular and pulsing as his environs: “West of Caineville the land melts into the bare bones of existence: rusted waves of sandstone peeling away with every passing storm; deep blue sky, hot and thirsty and bright.” But what breathes life into his writing is not the descriptions of the earth around him, but rather the emotional connections he generates to it with his readers. Each of the locations at which he scatters Jane’s ashes bears personal meaning, and he imbues that meaning into his descriptions from the opening passage:
“The end came for Jane, and so for us, at the edge of a spring, when the leaves of the north country were washed in that impossible shade of lemonade green. A color she said always reminded her of a certain crayon in the old Crayola 64 boxes she had as a kid – one labeled simply “yellow green” – a clumsy name with no hint of the promise it held”
From the first page, he reaches out and takes the reader’s hand, guides us through the Mountain West as he knows it. His travels to lay Jane to rest take him through the heart of the northern American Rockies, from the Sawtooth Range of Idaho to the northern reaches of Yellowstone and the Beartooths, south down to the canyons of Utah, but the greater story that he tells brings the reader to Colorado, Oregon, and the Northwest Territories of Canada. His trips start brief as he recovers from his own injuries, making short forays into the Sawtooths and into Utah alone to say his private goodbyes and close the intimate chapters on the story of their life together. But by the time he’s ready to make the final scatterings, he’s joined by friends, family, and anyone who has their own closures to make with Jane, and leaves straight from his front door in the foothills of the Beartooths and hikes a hundred miles south and west for her final ceremony in the northeast corner of Yellowstone. And like a guide, he shows us what’s worth seeing, tells us about his connection to it, but encourages us to make a connection for ourselves. He lays the emotional agar and steps away to let us seed it with our own experience.
He occasionally gets in over his head in this regard, jumping back and forth, often several times per (already short) chapter, between multiple recollections of a place. But while understanding the location’s importance in his and Jane’s life is crucial to our appreciation of his voyage in the present, his frequent and sporadic trips into the locations’ natural and explorative history often interrupts the pacing and adds further complexity to an already complex story.
But of course, a search for identity is necessarily complex, and that is ultimately what brings Ferguson out in the wake of Jane’s death. Not to find the right place to lay her to rest, not even to honor her memory at the places she loved the most. He spent 30 years of his life at her side, as rangers and as partners, and thus his identification with nature is pinned to his identification with her. His journeys lay Jane to rest, sure, but ultimately his driving force is to work out who and what he is without her, and how he relates to these timeless wilds. Jane is now part of the wilds just as she is part of him, but as the wilds go on, so too must he.
You can find The Carry Home: Lessons from the American Wilderness here on Amazon.com.