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  2. When I became intrigued by the trout swimming in mountain lakes in the Northern Rockies, I realized the tenkara rod gathering dust in my gear room would be a great way to test the waters before outfitting myself with a full fly rod and reel set up. Tenkara is a Japanese method of fly fishing that focuses on simplicity and forgoes a reel in favor of a longer rod length, fixed amount of line, and uses as few fly patterns as possible. Presentation, mindful casting, and technique are emphasized more than trying to “equip” your way into catching more fish. Tenkara offers a lightweight and minimalistic backcountry fishing solution. Backpacking and Tenkara Fishing I’d used a tenkara rod in Kentucky with limited success, but it wasn’t until my second summer in Montana that I took it out onto the rivers, streams, and lakes in the Bitterroot Mountains and other ranges. I enjoy fly fishing, but almost exclusively as a supplementary activity to backpacking and not as my main motivation for getting outdoors. Fortunately, there is an incredible amount of overlap between amazing mountain scenery and fishable bodies of water. I’ve even noticed myself getting less interested in visiting lakes without fish and prioritizing camping at lakes with rumors of large trout. At first, I just used the tenkara set up that I had because it was what I had on hand and there was no additional investment required. Plus, since I’d used it in Kentucky, I was familiar with basic casting so I didn’t need to learn any new skills – I just brushed up on my knots and bought the flies appropriate for the season and places I’d be fishing. I thought that after learning more about fishing the lakes (I almost exclusively fish lakes) I’d likely acquire a traditional fly rod with a reel and transition to using that. However, after several short summers – fishing season in the high country is all too brief in Montana, with many lakes only ice-free from late June to early October – of catching a variety of trout on dozens of lakes, it seems that tenkara is all I need to have a great time. Its minimal weight (even with extra tippet, box of flies, clippers, and extra line my set up is less than 6 oz) and compact size (the rod I use collapses to 15 inches) are in a class of their own and absolutely perfect for weight-conscious backpackers. The ability to quickly get a fly on the water is also something that cannot be emphasized enough, as I’m able to be casting within less than a minute of getting to a lake. When fishing with friends using traditional fly rods, I’ve often caught two or three fish by the time they’re making their first cast. The ability to efficiently pack up and move on is also a benefit, especially when fishing multiple lakes in the same day. There are trade-offs when using a tenkara rod, like limited casting distance and inefficiency in fishing subsurface. Tenkara rods are designed to fish dry flies, but friends of mine have had some success using nymphs. For lakes where the fish are not actively feeding on the surface, this can be a point of frustration. However, in friendly “rod to rod” competitions with friends where I’ve used a tenkara rod and they’ve used a traditional fly fishing setup the results have been so similar that it appears that any advantage lies solely with the fly chosen and the skills of the angler. On the topic of angling skills, I must admit that mine are certainly in the novice-to-intermediate range. With so many outdoor hobbies, I’ve never dedicated the time to becoming a technically proficient angler. Fortunately, because of the intuitive nature of tenkara and minimal gear to manage, that hasn’t stopped me from catching some impressive trout or dozens in a single afternoon during prime conditions. Tenkara is also a less-intimidating way of fishing when sharing it with others. I’ve had friends who never cast a rod in their life catch small trout within a few minutes. Even if the fish aren’t biting, there is some solace that you’re not hauling around an extra pound or two of gear for no reason. Although they’re light, I’ve found the tenkrara rods to be rather durable. I typically don’t bring the rod case and instead just tuck them into a side pocket of my pack and cinch them tight with the straps. Even when in some thick bushwhacking, I haven’t lost or damaged a rod yet. My original rod is a decade old at this point and still casts great. I purchased a second rod last summer to have on hand for guests and to share some of the wear with my other rod. I’m hoping it should last at least a decade as well. Rainbow trout caught on tenkara gear Tenkara Gear and Final Thoughts If you’re interested at all in fishing mountain lakes, tenkara is a great way to ease into the activity. A complete set up can generally be had for under $200, and much less than that if you’re willing to shop around. When compared to the other expenses related to getting equipped for backpacking, it’s not a bad deal for something that can bring you hours of entertainment on each trip and quite possibly provide you with a meal as well. If you're ready to try tenkara, you'll want to get a rod that is appropriate for the types of waters you fish and the size of the fish you'll typically be catching. I've found rods in the 10 to 11 foot range to be ideal for the mountain lakes I fish and still reasonably maneuverable for streams and small rivers. Others might advise longer rods, especially if the lakes you're fishing tend to have larger trout (lucky you!). The topics of rod length, line length, tippet strength, and fly choices are much too broad for the scope of this article which is intended to serve more as inspiration than as a shopping list. That said, I've had success on mountain lakes in the Northern Rockies and Pacific Northwest using a 10 ft. 10in. rod, 11 or 13 feet of line, and 5-7 feet of 5X tippet. For sight fishing, don't forget the polarized sunglasses that will help reduce glare on the water's surface and help you see fish. There are several different "beginner" kits by a variety of manufacturers selling tenkara-style rods that contain similar equipment and are a great place to start – you can find plenty of tenkara gear online and Amazon has a wide selection. But perhaps one of the most important things to remember when fly fishing in the tenkara style is that it is less about the gear and much more about the experience, the technique, and the interaction with the landscape.
  3. The forested slopes of southeastern Oklahoma’s ironically named Sans Bois Mountains provide the backdrop for much of the excitement in “True Grit,” a novel by Charles Portis and two major motion pictures (1969 and 2010). You wouldn’t know it though, for the mountain peaks shown in the films suggest places farther west. Indeed, the movies were filmed in Colorado and New Mexico, but pursuing outlaws in post-Civil War Indian Territory, as the main characters are portrayed as doing in “True Grit,” was not just one of Hollywood’s fictional creations. Here in the foothills of the larger Ouachita Mountain range, deep forests and rugged terrain did indeed shelter folks on the wrong side of the law during and after the Civil War. During that conflict, deserters found refuge in these isolated backwoods. And for many years after the war, Indian Territory maintained a reputation for lawlessness. Legend has it that unsavory characters such as Jesse and Frank James, the Doolin Gang, and Henry and Belle Starr hid out in these parts, some even living in sandstone caves in the cliffs of the Fourche Maline River. Whether or not any of these notables ever used it as a hideout, the name “Robbers Cave” seemed apropos for the signature feature of this Oklahoma state park when it was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps along the banks of the Fourche Maline in the 1930s. As for the decidedly wooded mountain range named Sans Bois, which is French for "without wood,” a creek with very little timber and its source in these mountains is said to have given the range its name. The dense forest is dominated by short-leaf pine and post oak, hickory and cedar, with dogwood and redbud adding color to the landscape. With its diverse geology and ecology, Robbers Cave State Park offers abundant opportunities for hiking and exploring. Hiking at Robbers Cave All of this makes for excellent hiking, with challenging terrain and beautiful scenery, and the cave itself is a must-see, although not a cave in the true sense of the word. Robbers Cave is more a crevice created by the shifting of inclined layers of sedimentary rock. It is easily accessed from a parking lot on the northeast side of the park via a short but steep climb. Whether or not Belle Starr ever set foot in it, climbing up, sitting inside and peering out is a satisfying accomplishment. No less interesting are the rock formations below the cave, which create narrow passageways reminiscent of slot canyons. It’s a worthwhile place to spend some time. Three main paths – Rough Canyon Trail, Cattail Pond Loop, and Mountain Trail – dominate the Robbers Cave State Park trail system, and the ability to connect them with a multi-use trail and four backcountry camp sites makes it possible to put together an enjoyable backpacking experience. The Rough Canyon trailhead is adjacent to the cave parking lot, and what hiker could resist a trail called “Rough Canyon”? The first mile lives up to the “rough” appellation with lots of rocky uphill, briefly running along a stream before opening up, then flowing into a dense pine forest. The trail continues uphill then intersects with the Cattail Pond Loop, which incorporates a stream crossing and circles the eponymous body of water, passing a primitive campground before it turns toward lovely Lost Lake. Surrounded by maples and covered with lily pads, this is an intensely beautiful spot in the fall, and its rock dam and attendant stone structure are worth investigating. The trail continues with lots of rocky downhill, returning to the cave parking lot for a total of about four miles. These trails can be mixed and matched for various distances and, on the west, they connect with the park’s 4.8-mile Mountain Trail. On the park’s southern end, the Deep Ford Campground serves as the primary starting point for the Mountain Trail. This is really the park’s signature trail, tracing the western shores of Lakes Carlton and Wayne Wallace before connecting with the Rough Canyon Trail. Finding your way can be difficult in spots, however. As the trail climbs above Lake Carlton, it is easy to veer off course, confusing the well-worn spur to the bluffs with the main trail. The bluffs must be explored, as the view is breathtaking, but remember that the main trail goes above the bluffs, not below. Other hiking and equestrian trail branches also create confusion along the way and the park maps are not all that helpful. But if you sort it out, you’ll come to the Rocky Top primitive campground on the northern edge of the Mountain trail, near the intersection with the Rough Canyon Trail. A multi-use trail connects with the Mountain and Rough Canyon trails, allowing creation of an overnight backpacking loop of about 11.5 miles in length. Robbers Cave is also perfect for day hiking, with abundant campgrounds and cabins built in the 1930s in National Park Service rustic style. In fact, the park is so full of intact historical structures that it is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. After a vigorous hike, take a leisurely walk to explore such structures as the 1936 bathhouse on Lake Carlton, now serving as the park’s nature center. And, with its huge sandstone rock faces, Robbers Cave State Park is a popular destination for rock climbers. Robbers Cave in bloom Then and Now While you’re unlikely to find any outlaws hiding out there these days, hiking at Robbers Cave State Park, near Wilburton, Oklahoma, offers a taste of the backwoods that attracted those renegades 150 years ago and perhaps a glimpse into what life on the run might have looked like in those cliffs above the Fourche Maline. Need to Know Information There is no fee to access the park but a $10 per day parking fee is charged (annual parking passes are also available). Parking is, however, included in fees for cabin/lodge room rental or camping. The park offers ample camping, including 86 primitive tent campsites. Tent camping in backcountry campsites and campgrounds is $16 per night. Make reservations, obtain a parking pass and get complete park information here. Getting There Robbers Cave State Park is located five miles north of Wilburton, Oklahoma on State Highway 2. Wilburton is about 160 miles from Oklahoma City, 130 miles from Tulsa, and 75 miles from Fort Smith, Arkansas. Best Time to Go Spring and fall are the best times to go thanks to cooler temperatures and more color in the landscape (dogwood and redbud in spring and maples and other hardwoods in fall). Winter is also a very good time to go, as temperatures are usually mild. In the summer, while ticks and poison ivy can be annoying, the trails are generally well groomed and shady, so hiking then can be pleasant as well. Maps and Books Oklahoma Hiking Trails by Kent Frates and Larry Floyd, and True Grit by Charles Portis. The Oklahoma Delorme Atlas and Gazetteer can help with getting to and from and exploring the area. The Ouachita Maps web site offers topo maps and detailed hiking directions. Also see the Robbers Cave Historical Walking Tour.
  4. Pad Thai with Chicken from Backpacker’s Pantry takes their most popular dinner – the vegetarian Pad Thai – and adds chicken with a “meal kit” including a lime packet and Sriracha powder, so you can customize the meal to your personal tastes. Right off the bat, it stands out that the meal packs a punch in the calorie department (for a pre-made backpacking meal at least), at 840 calories total. As I’m personally a fan of a meatatarian meal for dinner when I’m on the trail (after all, breakfast and lunch are usually vegetarian for me just by accident), I’ve always passed on the previous vegetarian version of Pad Thai from Backpacker’s Pantry, despite the fact that it's always been one of their most popular offerings. With the recent addition of a chicken option however, I went ahead and gave the meal a go around in the TrailGroove trail kitchen. The meal comes with a complete kit of ingredients that allow you to adjust the meal to your own taste. Making the Meal and Impressions If you’re one that likes an easy to make pre-made backpacking meal but still likes to do a little doctoring, this might be the meal for you. Upon opening the package you are presented with the typical backpacking meal contents and oxygen absorber, but also inside is an additional bag containing peanut butter, peanuts, and the previously mentioned lime packet and Sriracha powder. The peanut butter is added when preparing the meal and the peanuts add some crunch as a topping later…and both help push the calorie count up on this one. After rehydration, the consistency of the meal is good – no soup here, just a hearty blend of ingredients that go together pretty well. For me personally, I didn’t find the lime packet to work too well with the meal and frankly, I think it could have been omitted entirely. The Sriracha powder however, is simply amazing and really packs the flavor with a little spice as well. The peanuts are a nice addition that bring the crunch factor that’s usually missing from these types of meals. Flavor wise, the meal is good – I would say it’s a little high on the tomato flavor for an Asian type meal for me however. With the spaghetti-like rice noodles that are ingredient number one, combined with the tomato sauce / powder that is ingredient number two, the meal was a little too reminiscent of spaghetti and tomato sauce for me…though with some other Asian themes mixed in. However, overall the meal does taste good, can be doctored as one wishes, and although it's priced at $13 MSRP it is on the high side of the calorie count at 840. The Backpacker's Pantry Pad Thai with Chicken Meal offers good flavor and some texture as well. Conclusion While my favorite Asian themed backpacking meal from Backpacker’s Pantry, and one of my favorite pre-made backpacking meals of all time was their Pad See You with Chicken offering, it has unfortunately been discontinued (find a DIY version of this meal here). I wouldn't say that this new offering will replace it on my list of favorite meals of all time, but this will be a nice one to work into the dinner rotation every now and then. Backpacker's Pantry Pad Thai with Chicken retails for $13 and can legitimately feed a couple hikers with average appetites. Find it at Backcountry.com as well as here at REI.
  5. dkim000

    Issue 56 Released

    Thanks for including my story of hiking the Donjek!
  6. I collect hidden places of refuge in the wilderness. At least once a year I retreat to one of these havens to renew my spirit. These spots have a few things in common: They are off trail, deep in the wilderness, difficult to get to, and a delightful surprise when first discovered. And, when I am there, being alone feels exactly right. Deep within one of California’s coastal mountain ranges in the Ventana Wilderness, one such location is a sandstone cave at the base of a large rock outcropping that rises several hundred feet above the surrounding terrain. One of the few good trails through these mountains passes within a mile of the cave. Before I knew about the cave, I had always wanted to find a route to the outcropping. I enjoy scrambling over rocks when the climbs are difficult but not life threatening. These rocks were so inviting I was sure people must have beaten a use trail to them. The Ventana Wilderness offers a mix of interesting ecology, geology, and intriguing hiking opportunities. Finding a Way One day I went out looking for a route to the outcropping. From the main trail, I took a poorly maintained trail that led in the direction of the rocks. At the point on the trail closest to my destination, I was separated from the rocks by a deep, steep-sided ravine. This is where I thought I would find a use trail, but there was no sign of one. I went farther down the trail but never saw a sign that anyone had ever crossed the ravine. I decided to cross, even though both slopes were covered in dense chaparral and thick mazes of poison oak. Having reached the other side, I tried working my way back toward the large outcropping, but going was slow, and I eventually gave up. As I fought my way back to the trail, I considered my options for my next assault. The best part of this failure was the discovery of smaller rock features that the elements had carved into dreamscape of fantastic shapes. As I was leaving the wilderness, I stopped at a high overlook about a mile from the rocks and looked back. It appeared that much of the other side of the ravine, upstream from the rocks, was open forest. If I went around the top end of the ravine maybe I could traverse the far slope all the way to the rocks. The following year I tested this idea. It wasn’t as easy as it had looked. I hadn’t noticed a side ravine coming down from the mountain that cut across my route. It was steep and choked with brush and thorny vines at the bottom. On the other side it was thick chaparral all the way to the outcropping. I finally arrived at the base of the monolithic rock formation in mid-afternoon, hot, dirty, lacerated, and happy. I rested on a sloping sandstone surface and looked around. The terrain here was more open, and I saw I was surrounded by surreal rock shapes. Some looked like a cupped hand reaching up from the underworld. Some had small caves. Others were covered in a complex lattice work of ridges and cavities. I walked toward the rock face that rose steeply above me. I crossed a small, mossy stream that trickled from pothole to pothole. I climbed the other bank and entered a grove of trees, and, out of nowhere, there it was. A beautiful cave. I knew at once that I would return here many times. The cave resembles a large bedroom with half of one wall missing. The walls are sculpted in flowing shapes resembling abstract sculpture, but the floor is flat, dry sand. There is a boulder near the entrance that provides a convenient surface for cooking. In one corner is a small fire pit. Smoke has an opportunity to exit the cave through a small hole in the roof of the cave. Even better, a rock overhangs the hole so that the smoke can leave, but rain cannot enter. I settled in. After unpacking, I drew water from one of the potholes and filtered it. The cave is only visible when one is standing directly in front of it. At night, light cannot be seen from anywhere in the surrounding wilderness, offering an atmosphere of security and contentment – as though nothing can harm you, and no one in the world knows where you are. The next morning I cooked breakfast on the cooking boulder and carried it across the stream to a place I have come to think of as the breakfast nook. It is a gently sloping sandstone slab backed by a large scooped out stone shaped like a band shell. This spot gets the first morning sun as it rises over a mountain three miles away. In the stone surface are several rounded holes the size of softballs. This is where the people who lived here earlier ground acorns into meal. When the first aboriginals found the cave, they must have felt even luckier than I do. Native Americans are believed to have survived in this valley into the mid-1800s, long after other tribes had been subdued by the Spaniards. Water brings life in the Ventana Wilderness. The Last Day I spent the next day exploring the surrounding fantasyland. Extraordinary shapes were everywhere. I went far up into the outcropping and around its base as far as the chaparral would allow. I found a number of smaller caves, four of which would comfortably sleep one or two people. That evening, I found it easy to imagine sitting there with a group of the original residents. Someone would have said, “This is perfect! How did you find this place?” It is sad to feel their presence and yet know that they will never return. They must have been so happy here. A stay here doesn’t feel like moving into an abandoned home; it feels like house sitting for good friends. When I left the next morning, I found a much shorter route through the rocks and bushes, directly across the ravine, and up to the trail. It was still a hard climb with a full pack, but it took only about 15 minutes. I return often. I spend my time exploring, looking for new rock shapes. I gaze out across the mountains during the day and up at the stars at night. I read, write, and meditate. I am not terribly introverted, but I am comfortable being alone. A visit to the cave always restores my equilibrium and clarifies my judgment. In any wilderness, step off the trail – even if it’s just a mile or two, and there’s no telling what you might find. Chances are however, that someone has walked those paths before you. Hopefully we can all find our own retreat and spot to return to year after year, whatever and wherever that might be. Need to Know Information Trails and the roads to trailheads may be closed from time to time as a result of wildfires and heavy rains. The Monterey Ranger District can also give you up-to-date information by phone: (831) 385-5434. Getting There Two trailheads are off of Hwy. G16 in Carmel Valley. Cachagua Road 5, miles southeast of Carmel Valley Village, goes to the beginning of the Carmel River Trail at Los Padres Dam. The first mile is difficult and parts of it are overgrown. Another 7 miles takes you to Tassajara Road, which passes the start of the Pine Ridge Trail. This trail is in good shape and leads to several other trails. Tassajara Road is never in good shape, but usually does not require 4-wheel drive. Best Time to Go Weather is good in mid-spring and so are the wildflowers. Early fall is also pleasant. Winters can be rainy, and summers are hot with biting flies. Maps A good paper map is available from Wilderness Press and National Geographic also offers their Big Sur and Ventana Wilderness Map.
  7. Whether you are venturing out on a day hike with inclement weather in the forecast, or heading out on a multi-day backpacking trip, when you’re doing so with a canine companion taking the appropriate gear not only for yourself, but also for your dog is critical. A dog jacket is one such item that I put to constant use on the trail – nearly every backpacking trip into the mountains – in addition to other dog-specific gear like dog packs and sleeping bags. While there are many dog jackets that will keep a dog warm, there aren’t many that will also keep a dog (relatively) dry if wet weather rolls through during the hiking day. For backpacking usage, I find a dog jacket like the Cloud Chaser from Ruffwear to be a must-have item. The Ruffwear Cloud Chaser Dog Jacket Weighing 9 ounces in a size large, the Ruffwear Cloud Chaser dog jacket is one solution that performs well for all around backpacking and hiking usage. This jacket is sleeved in the front for additional warmth, and features a stretchy bottom with a waterproof / breathable top section. Both the top and the bottom have a water repellent DWR coating. Reflective trim and a light loop on top complete the exterior of the jacket. The interior is lined with a very light fleece. Getting the jacket on and off is pretty easy with a little cooperation from your dog – get the front sleeves on and then zip the jacket on. Folding the zipper back locks operation so it will not unzip itself while on the trail, and there is both an inside zipper guard and outer zipper cover that serve to keep the zipper from snagging fur and also to block the weather. Rearward, there’s enough room for calls of nature without the jacket getting in the way. While this jacket doesn’t exactly feature warmth appropriate for the arctic, and doesn’t offer rain protection for something like an all-day downpour, the jacket is most appropriate to take the edge off the cold, block some wind, and to assist in keeping the dog somewhat dry. Since this isn’t full coverage like rain gear we might wear, your dog will still get wet in the rain and the bottom of the jacket is not waterproof. However, even if they do get wet, this fully synthetic jacket will help to keep them warmer. The jacket is also great for chilly nights in the tent. The jacket is offered in 6 sizes, sized by measuring around your dog’s chest behind the front legs. Sizing wise, my dogs have measured to fit the medium, but after trying that size I found it worked but was just a bit too tight. I like to size up in the Cloud Chaser, especially for backpacking purposes where your dog will wear the jacket when they sleep at night. If the jacket is too tight, not only will your dog be uncomfortable, but it will compress their fur and they will be less warm as a result. The Ruffwear Cloud Chaser has helped to keep more than one of my canine companions warm and dry on countless backpacking trips. Conclusion Overall…and currently going on 15 years of use all on the same jacket, I’ve found the Cloud Chaser to work very well for hiking and backpacking with dogs – it offers just enough warmth for 3-season chilly mountain backpacking trips, and is perfect to have on hand if inclement weather rolls in where you need to have some type of protection for your dog. At night, your dog needs to stay warm and get a good night of sleep just as much as you do. The Cloud Chaser helps in all these respects, packs fairly small, and while I wish it was a bit lighter to carry around, it’s well worth the tradeoff for me. While I’ve found the Cloud Chaser to work great for all-around usage, Ruffwear offers a few choices in the dog jacket market, one of which will likely be a good fit for the conditions you and your dog are likely to encounter. These include the insulated Powder Hound and the fleece-only Climate Changer jackets. The Ruffwear Cloud Chaser dog jacket retails for about $90. You can find it here at Amazon and at Ruffwear.com.
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  9. Mark Wetherington

    Solitude in the Sapphire Mountains of Montana

    I’ve always placed a premium on solitude when planning my outdoor activities and, with some planning and luck, have never found it to be particularly difficult to obtain. However, with trails across the country being more crowded than ever the past few years, it’s taken a bit more effort even in sparsely populated western Montana to have that lake, peak, or meadow all to yourself. Fortunately, with a bit of flexibility and research I was able to turn a short-notice opportunity for an overnight trip during a perfect summer weekend into a well-balanced outing that left the crowds behind. Hiking Trail in the Sapphire Mountains Backpacking in Montana's Sapphire Mountains As an avid reader of guidebooks and map nerd, I have both a paper list and a mental list of trips that fit into various categories. Cross-country multi-day trips, easy weekend loops, out-and-back overnights, weeklong “life list” treks, and everything in between. I typically plan my trips weeks in advance, but I’ve also learned to become adaptable when a weather window opens up or a friend has a gap in their schedule and wants to go backpacking at the last minute. Because of this pre-planning, when my girlfriend, Andrea, let me know on a Friday that her work schedule had shifted and she’d be able to join me on an overnight trip the following day I was able to quickly put together an itinerary. Wishing to maximize our time on the trail, minimize our contact with crowds, and not physically push ourselves too much due to recent injuries that we were still recovering from, we drove an hour to a trailhead in the Sapphire Mountains. I usually get a bit flustered when I pull into a parking lot that is near capacity, which was what happened when we arrived around noon at the trailhead. We pulled into one of the last available spaces and shouldered our packs as two other vehicles pulled in only to have to turn around and park at pull-offs further down the road. It was no surprise at all that the trailhead for a 2.5 mile hike to a subalpine lake with only 500 feet of elevation gain was crowded. Summer is short in Montana and hikes that provide such easy access to such stunning scenery are not exactly rare, but they’re also not terribly common either. However, unlike the other hikers and backpackers on the trail the lake was not our final destination. Instead, we would stop there for lunch, fish for the native Arctic grayling that inhabited the lake, summit a nearby peak, then continue on to a meadow just over a mile away that a guidebook description described as “a very scenic and photogenic location where solitude is virtually guaranteed.” As expected, the lake was crowded with anglers, families taking children on an easy backpacking trip, and other hikers and campers. There was fortunately plenty of room to spread out for our stay and Andrea spotted a perfect rocky nook on the far shore for us to have lunch and fish from. After enjoying a pleasant lunch and catching a few small grayling, we stashed our gear and made the steep ascent up the mountainside to a ridge that led to two separate highpoints. From the first highpoint, we had a spectacular view down to the meadow where we would spend the night. We also had a spectacular view west to the snow capped Bitterroot Mountains. Not only did the view excite us for our next destination, but it also helped us plan ahead as the small pond that we were considering for a water source appeared to be totally dried up or so muddy as to be unappealing. From the northern end of the ridge, we walked through beautiful whitebark pine forest to the southern highpoint, which had a great view of the lake. After admiring the vista, we descended to the lake, took a quick swim to wash off the sweat from our effort, and loaded up our packs with water to take to our dry camp. Once we left the lake, we didn’t see any other hikers until we returned to the trail to the lake the following day. Our journey to the meadow was not overly arduous – we took a maintained trail for a half-mile to a saddle where an elk path led down a hillside and through a forested area to the meadow. I regretted the water weight I was carrying when we crossed a small but lively stream in the forest, but better to have been safe than sorry. And on the bright side, at least one camp chore was out of the way for the evening. The meadow was even more incredible than it had looked from above. Stark cliffs with talus slopes ringed it in and the grassy expanse before us was huge. We picked a spot near the treeline to set up camp and then stretched out a hammock to enjoy a pre-dinner snack, take in the view, and scan for wildlife. There were lots of elk signs in the meadow and nearby, but we didn’t see any of the enchanting ungulates during our stay. We did see lots of mosquitoes, but fortunately the net over the hammock kept them from being more than a minor nuisance. The Sapphire Mountains of Montana offer outstanding mountain views combined with rugged terrain. The Hike Out The view of the night sky from the meadow was nothing short of phenomenal and the soft glow of sunrise on the cliffs was one of the most beautiful mornings I had all summer. After a relaxing breakfast, we packed up and headed back to the trailhead. Although we didn’t have everything to ourselves on this trip, which can often be the case in Montana and tends to have a spoiling effect when you have to share the landscape with others, we certainly had it where it counted. And when visiting a lake, peaks, and a meadow and to have solitude at two out of three when the parking lot was full is definitely not something to complain about. Information The Sapphire Mountains are in western Montana and, aside from a few popular destinations, typically see far fewer crowds – especially hikers and backpackers – than the nearby Bitterroot Mountains. The Lolo, Bitterroot, and Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forests all have jurisdictions over different parts of the range. Using the maps for these forests, or online software like Caltopo, is the best way to plan a trip in this range. In the northern part, the rugged Welcome Creek Wilderness provides early season hiking opportunities and blue ribbon trout fishing in Rock Creek. The southern tip of the range fades into the Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness. In the middle are plenty of trails and roads to keep outdoor enthusiasts busy for a lifetime of summers, but relatively little information is available about specific trails or routes (likely factoring into the low number of visitors). Due to a lack of wilderness designation, the area sees more OHV and mountain bike use than other nearby areas which helps keep trails in decent condition, but of course things vary greatly from year to year. A few trails in the Sapphire Mountains are described in 100 Classic Hikes: Montana by Douglas Lorain, Best Hikes Near Missoula by Josh Mahan, and Hiking Montana by Bill Schneider.
  10. It’s almost as if the Pacific Ocean is a magnet, pulling me west each time I venture out to explore. While I take full advantage of the natural wonders offered by my home region in the central U.S., if I am traveling very far to hike, it is usually somewhere west of Oklahoma. As a result, I have hiked very little in the eastern United States, though I’ve managed to walk short sections of the Appalachian Trail on trips to Vermont and Maryland. Not much to brag about. Recently, I was in Virginia on business with my husband, Bill, and found myself with a free day, presenting an opportunity to experience a slice of the hiking in the East. We were stationed only a 30-minute drive from the southern boundary of Shenandoah National Park (SNP), so it was a natural choice. The 200,000-acre park is located in the Blue Ridge Mountains in western Virginia, stretching 105 miles from north to south. One main road, Skyline Drive, runs the distance of the long, narrow park and most hiking trailheads are accessed right off that main road. With more than 500 miles of hiking trails at SNP, there’s plenty to choose from. But how to choose? Since I was coming from the south and wanted to maximize my time hiking rather than driving, I picked a trail in the Loft Mountain area, about 20 miles north of the park entrance. And who doesn’t like waterfalls? SNP is full of waterfalls and I selected a couple of trails that appeared to have nice cascades, connecting them in a loop with a section of the Appalachian Trail, which runs all the way through Shenandoah. My total walking distance would be about eight miles, a nice length for a leisurely day hike. Hiking in Shenandoah Arriving in Shenandoah early in the morning on a cloudy October day, I pulled into a nearly empty Jones Run Trailhead, pleased to be getting ahead of the weekend crowds. There was only one other vehicle there and I let its owner get on the trail ahead of me. I was alone, since Bill was working, and I preferred some solitude on the trail. The leaf-strewn path lined with ferns took me down, down, down into the hollow toward Jones Run Falls, a 42-foot cascade. I knew what the long descent meant – what goes down must come up. But for the moment I enjoyed the easy walking. Raindrops began to pepper the forest canopy and I thought how silly I was to have forgotten a rain jacket. In spite of what the calendar said about the season, there was little color change in the oaks and hickories, and what little existed was muted by the overcast skies. The temperature was pleasant, though, and the rain had stopped. I was enjoying myself thoroughly, nearly scampering along on the rocky trail. “I got my picture of a bear,” said a hiker, approaching from the opposite direction. The gray-ponytailed man in a ball cap stopped to explain he had just seen a bear on the trail and was able to capture a photo of it. He said he’d had to wait a while before proceeding, watching the bear cross the creek and eventually clamber up the hillside. I thanked him and continued, a little more watchful in case I too might get such a photo op. Soon I came to Jones Run Falls, but it was only a trickle, as the area had been experiencing drought. The 42-foot cascade was a 42-foot dribble, but I imagined it would have been quite spectacular with water. Continuing, I crossed the creek and began to ascend, now on the path toward Doyles River Falls. There are two falls along the Doyles River Trail, the upper and lower. Like Jones Run, there was only a trickle of water flowing across them. As I approached the lower falls, my solitude ended. Crowds of hikers, young and old, human and canine, were coming down the hillside as I climbed up, up, and up. If they were looking for spectacular waterfalls, however, they were out of luck. Soon I came to a spring surrounded by a wall of mossy stones. A sign there pointed to Doyles River Cabin. Curious, I followed the spur trail to find a woman and two young girls sitting on the front porch of a rustic house. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said. “I saw the sign and wondered what was up here.” “No worries,” said the woman. “You’re not the first hiker we’ve seen today.” “I accidentally locked us out,” said one of the girls. “My daddy’s gone to get the ranger so we can get back in.” Probably more information than the mother would have liked her daughter to share with a total stranger, but then I also probably looked (and am) pretty harmless. I wished them luck and turned back, continuing my climb. It was a relief when I reached the top after the long ascent, and there I found the trail marker for the Appalachian Trail (AT), indicating a 3.4-mile walk back to Jones Run, my starting point. The AT was narrower than the trail I’d just been on, appearing less trafficked at this point. Right away, I saw bear spoor on the trail, and only seconds later another such deposit, renewing my alertness. I started walking more quickly and making a bit of noise, becoming nervous about a bear encounter. The End of the Trail Soon I began to meet other hikers on the trail and relaxed a bit. Then, lo and behold, I came across the first hiker I’d met, the guy who took the bear picture. I told him I hadn’t seen the bear and he asked about my camera, a lightweight mirrorless I was carrying around my neck. He was carrying his big DSLR with its huge lens in a waist pack. Good for pictures, heavy for hiking. Bidding him adieu, I soon reached my car, well satisfied with the hike but hungry. I drove a little farther into the park to the Loft Mountain Wayside and grabbed a late lunch, then began my return trip. As I drove south, the sun broke through the clouds, lighting up the red leaves of the maples along the roadside, so much so that I was compelled to stop at a turn-out and admire the view. The wind freshened, and as I left, autumn leaves skittered across the road and onto my windshield. Fall, it seemed, had just decided to arrive. Need to Know Information Shenandoah National Park lies along the Blue Ridge Mountains in north-central Virginia. Almost 40% of the land is designated as wilderness and protected as part of the National Wilderness Preservation System. The highest peak is Hawksbill Mountain at 4,051 feet. 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 Shenandoah National Park is located about 70 miles west of Washington, D.C. The park has four entrance stations along its 105-mile length. The Jones Run Falls trailhead is located at mile 84.1 in the south district of the park. Maps and Books A map for the Jones Run Falls/Doyles River Falls loop is located here. Note, however, I connected the two trails with the Appalachian Trail rather than with Browns Gap Road. National Geographic also offers their Trails Illustrated Shenandoah National Park Map. Several guidebooks are available on Amazon, including a Falcon Guide to Hiking Shenandoah National Park.
  11. Aaron Zagrodnick

    Toaks 550ml Titanium Pot Review

    When it comes to backpacking cookware, most of us can keep things simple with a pot combined with a mug of choice. Especially when solo backpacking however, using the same vessel for both purposes is one option to save weight, save pack space, and is a great way to keep the camp kitchen even simpler. The Toaks 550 is about the smallest option you can go with that will still perform well across the board as an all in one solution. The Toaks 550 is made of titanium to save weight, and features folding handles plus a vented removable lid. The Toaks 550 Titanium Pot / Mug The Toaks 550ml Pot is a lightweight titanium mug / pot with collapsible handles and an included lid. The handles, complete with a finger rest, make for a comfortable hold when enjoying morning coffee and the lid improves fuel efficiency. A small handle and venting is included in the lid. Very convenient measuring marks are stamped into the mug in both ounces and milliliters. True to its name, the 550 holds 550 milliliters / about 18.5 ounces of fluid to the brim, so when you factor in a little room, at max capacity it's workable for the 2 cups many freeze dried meals will call for and about right for a big cup of morning coffee. 2 versions of the 550 (with handles) have been offered – the standard version seen here is made from a thicker gauge of titanium weighing 3.5 ounces (3.65 measured), and the ultralight, light version is also offered that uses a thinner gauge to get the weight down to 2.6 ounces, saving .9 ounces. A stuff sack, adding half an ounce, is included. Both options have their pros and cons. For cookware that uses a lid, as with the 550, thinner versions are nice for the slightly lighter weight, but life on the trail for a mug / pot can be a little rough. In my case, a pot is often shoved into a a pocket of my pack or perhaps into a full Ursack early on during a trip, or carried on the outside of my pack where it will be leaned against the occasional tree or rock with the weight of a full pack pressing against it. With the light gauge titanium pots and mugs I’ve used they will all usually at some point get bent out shape. No big deal with a mug; but for pots that have a lid it can be a bit frustrating to repeatedly bend the pot back into shape to get the lid to fit right, only to have it get bent out of shape the next day again. While it’s about an ounce heavier, the standard 550 is quite tough and has held up to the above scenarios well without getting wonky on the shape, something I do appreciate at meal time. The standard version is also about $10 cheaper. So without a doubt, there’s an upside to both versions of this mug. That said, the "light" version is much easier to find these days. Either way for solo use, toss in a utensil and you can be all set with either version of the Toaks 550. It’s a workable size if you’ll be focusing on freeze dried or freezer bag meals, but it’s still tight – this isn’t the pot you’ll want for cooking more complex meals in the pot, or if you like to boil enough water for a meal plus coffee or tea all at once. In these cases going with a larger pot / mug combo or using a smaller mug combined with a dedicated pot (I use the Evernew 900 or 1.3 depending on the trip) to prevent a double boil scenario would be best....and that’s just fine, as this Toaks makes for an excellent coffee mug for those that like a big brew. Beware also that if you bring a full 2 cups to a rolling boil, some water will jump over the sides, so boil with caution. Toaks 550 with handles folded The 550 will fit a 110 gram fuel canister or a stove, and I prefer to just keep my fuel canister separate on this one as my Soto Windmaster doesn’t quite fit when a fuel canister is also inside the pot. If you use a smaller upright canister stove using the stuff sack, and/or turning the lid upside down, can help keep everything together in a single package if that's desired. A Nalgene bottle will also fit inside if that helps you save packing space. A small fuel canister fits perfectly inside the Toaks 550. Conclusion If you're looking for a large backpacking mug, or a small pot...and ideally both of those in the same package, the Toaks 550ml titanium pot makes for a very nice option. The 550 goes for around $25 for the normal 3.5 ounce version, and $30 for the thinner gauge, 2.6 ounce light / ultralight offering, which is about the only version you can pick up these days. You can find the 550 here on Amazon, as well as here at REI.
  12. We had been warned that the Three Fingers Lookout wasn’t for the faint of heart. But that didn’t take away from the shock of first seeing it. The hut was just a speck in the distance, perched precariously on a jagged spire of rock rising up above a crevasse-riddled glacier and a low sea of clouds. From our vantage, it seemed impossible that the wooden hut could balance there for another night, let alone that there would be a passable trail to reach it. My partner, Emily, and I had gotten hooked on the idea of visiting this 89-year-old lookout, in Washington’s Boulder River Wilderness, after a friend made the journey. She described needing to keep the windows closed for fear of falling out of bed and over a 2,000-foot cliff, and then showed us a photo of the panorama of the North Cascades. We were sold on the trip. Reaching the lookout doesn’t require technical climbing, but it wasn’t going to be straightforward, either. To start, the road to the trailhead was washed out, leaving a 10-mile mountain bike ride just to reach the trail. Neither me nor Emily are mountain bikers, so we borrowed bikes from friends – hers too large, mine too small. What better way to learn how to mountain bike than on frames that don’t fit, loaded down with overnight packs, in a classic Northwest drizzle? The road was just uphill enough that my legs and back started burning after just a few minutes of pedaling. With a loaded pack, though, I couldn’t stop for fear of never being able to get the bike moving again. I was pretty excited when we arrived at a brushy opening into the forest, much sooner after leaving the car than I had expected. Our trip to Three Fingers Lookout began by bike. The Journey Begins If it seemed too good to be true; that’s because it was. After a few miles on the trail, we were still in the forest. I was beginning to feel suspicious – the route was supposed to be 7.5 miles to the lookout, yet we were still a long way even from the basin that it sits above. My GPS clearly showed a trail snaking its way from our position to the lookout, but we had hardly made a dent in the route after hiking for more than an hour. My questions were answered when we ran into another pair of hikers, who told us that in fact there are two different trailheads that lead to Three Fingers. The one we had been planning to start at was located several miles further up the road. The one we found started 15 miles from the lookout. After that revelation, the next few hours were a fast-packing blur. It was early afternoon and we had more than 10 miles and 4,000 feet of elevation to cover on foot – more than we had originally planned for, even after the time we had already spent hiking. The blur came to an abrupt halt three hours later when we reached the Tin Can Gap and got our first view of the Three Fingers Lookout. After how far we had come, it still seemed impossibly far away. Plus, we knew that this would be where the straightforward trail ended and the rock and snow scrambling began. Almost immediately, we transitioned into a steep snow-filled gully, cresting the ridge before reconnecting with the faint trail. From there, the scrambling involved was thankfully more mellow than I expected. Earlier in the season, the crux of the route involves stepping out onto the icy headwall of the Queest-Alb glacier. But we found that the snow had pulled away from the rock, leaving a small space that could be easily navigated without crampons. We reached the base of the lookout about an hour before sunset. Entering the hut requires climbing a series of three wooden ladders held into the rock with pitons, rope, and metal wire. At the top of the third ladder, I stepped out onto a slab that, at its edge, falls into the abyss of the glacier 500 feet below. A worn rope led up to the lookout’s front door. Even after Emily and I got inside the hut, it was hard to feel comfortable about where we were standing. The lookout extends past the rock platform on which it was built on two sides, and there’s only a small spit of rock outside the back door before the mountain tumbles several thousand feet into the valley below. But the exposure also allows for a view that is, simply put, unbeatable. The fog had begun to clear as we approached the lookout, and just before sunset it cleared away entirely. Out of the front door of the lookout, we watched the sun set over the Olympic Mountains and San Juan Islands as the lights of Seattle and the I-5 corridor grew in intensity. The North Cascades remained cloudy that evening, but we were treated to the sight of the sun rising over the shoulder of Glacier Peak out of the back door early the next morning. It’s still hard for me to wrap my head around how the Three Fingers Lookout has existed in this spot for nearly 90 years without being blown off the mountaintop. But for those willing to believe that the hut can survive another day, let alone another 90 years, the commanding views make it well worth the effort required to spend the night. Need to Know Information There are no permits required to spend the night at the lookout. However, it is first-come first-serve and the hut does fill up on weekends in August and September. For more on backpacking to lookouts see this TrailGroove article. Best Time to Go The upper sections of the trail typically melt out in July, and the passage across the top of the Queest-Alb glacier opens in August. If you go earlier in the season, be prepared with ice axes, crampons, and potentially a rope to cross the glacial headwall. The lookout can also be accessed on skis throughout the winter. Getting There Follow the Mountain Loop Highway to Forest Road 41, and continue until the road closure at mile 8. You can hike or bike the gravel road from there. The Mountain Meadow Trailhead (15 miles to the lookout) is 2.1 miles up the road. The Three Fingers Trailhead (7.5 miles to the lookout) is 10 miles up the road. Maps and Books The Green Trails Map for the Mountain Loop Highway covers most of the Boulder River Wilderness, including the Three Fingers Lookout. National Geographic also offers a Trails Illustrated Map that details nearby North Cascades National Park, offering more exploration opportunities in the area.
  13. 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 Final Thoughts 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.
  14. While many methods for backcountry water treatment exist, hollow fiber filters are quite popular due to their ease of use, effectiveness, reasonable cost, and longevity. While a hollow fiber filter is quite simple – with the filter itself having no moving parts and working through a multitude of hollow tubes (each hollow tube then having a multitude of microscopic pores, which actually filter the water) the filter element will still need to be maintained and some basic precautions should be exercised to maximize the lifespan of the hollow fiber filter. Hollow fiber water filtration is very popular for backpacking and hiking usage, but the cartridges do require some special care. Drops Every hollow fiber filter I’ve ever used has had precautions about dropping the filter – and although most have the actual element protected within a plastic housing, care should still be exercised. At home, store the filter on a low shelf or otherwise in some place where a drop would not be possible. On the trail, ensure that the filter is properly secured and stored. While I prefer to always keep my filter in an outside pocket of my pack for quick access during the day, we also need to make sure it can’t fall out easily if you happen to jump across a small creek. Water filters are one of those gear items where you can’t really tell if it’s working or not – if it’s working water comes out…just like if the element was compromised. Thus, I like to always look for a filter that comes with a manufacturer-approved integrity test that can be performed in the field – like the Platypus GravityWorks. Freezing Just like drops, hollow fiber filters can’t be frozen if they’ve been used (an exception can be found in the MSR Guardian), as any water inside the tubes (which can never really be completely dried) could when freezing expand and fracture the element. This is a constant issue in mountain environments when it can freeze any night of the year. As such, when there is absolutely any chance of freezing I filter all the water I’ll need for the night, then disconnect the filter (if applicable to the system) and put the filter element in the foot of my sleeping bag at night in a Ziploc bag. If it’s still below freezing when you get up, you may then need to carry the element around in a pocket until it’s warm enough outside. Once the season gets cold enough where you’re carrying the element around all day or it never gets above freezing, it’s best to look towards a different water treatment method, of course. This pond, which was the best water around for miles in either direction, was full of algae and quickly slowed the flow rate of my hollow fiber filter. However, after a quick backflush the flow rate was easily restored. Backflushing The flow rate for all hollow fiber filters will diminish over time and the dirtier the water, the faster this flow rate will fall. Luckily, hollow fiber filters can be rinsed or backflushed to help restore at least some of this flow rate, and this can usually be performed in the field. Look to the instructions specific for your exact system, but for gravity systems such as the aforementioned Platypus GravityWorks I currently use this simply involves filtering some water from the dirty bag into the clean bag, then raising the clean bag higher than the dirty bag, causing the clean water to flow back through the filter, taking dirt and debris along with it as it passes through. This dirty water can then be dumped on the ground. Other filters like the Katadyn BeFree can be cleaned by swishing the element in clean water. While backflushing will not make the filter perform quite as good as when it was brand new, keeping up with it and backflushing regularly can maintain acceptable performance for a surprisingly long amount of time. If you'll be backpacking where all of the water sources are questionable, you can also pre-filter your water with something like a bandanna to help extend the time you'll need between backflushes. Disinfection After a trip, your hollow fiber filter will still retain some of that water you filtered along the way – whether that was questionable pond water or from a high mountain lake. Putting the filter right on the shelf could lead to all kinds of growth, be it algae, bacterial, mold, etc. Not only is this not appealing, but it can clog the filter over time as well as these types of growths are not easily cleared by backflushing. Unless you’ll be picking right up and heading out on another trip very shortly, it is best to disinfect the filter prior to putting it away in your gear stash. Once again, we’ll need to look to the specific instructions for your specific filtration unit to perform this task. However, most manufacturers suggest using household bleach diluted in water, then passing this solution through the filter. Make sure you’re using unscented normal liquid bleach for this task and diluting it as the manufacturer suggests. For example, with the Platypus GravityWorks, 2 drops of bleach in 1 liter of water is suggested. This can then be run through the filter to disinfect – and this solution will remain in the filter while it sits on the shelf to keep things fresh until your next trip. When that next trip comes along, I like the run a about half a liter of backcountry water through to clear out this solution. After a trip, I like to backflush first, then disinfect as a way to gauge what type of flow rate I can expect on my next trip – and to make sure it’s not time to order a new element. Hollow fiber filter elements aren’t exactly cheap either, and are usually the most expensive part of the system – with something like a replacement GravityWorks filtration element running about $75, I like to replace the cartridge only when I have to. Final Thoughts By taking these few simple steps you can maximize your water filter investment and avoid having to replace the element more often than you need to. And by taking care of your filter, you might be surprised just how long a hollow fiber filter can continue to serve you season after season. Need more info on all the common different backcountry water treatment methods and what’s ideal for different scenarios? You can read our guide on backpacking water treatment methods here. Check out a full selection of backcountry water filters (including those that utilize hollow fiber filters as well as other technologies) here at REI.
  15. It's an early December afternoon in Yosemite National Park, and I'm watching a bobcat padding down the trail in front of me. In his mouth is a lifeless gray squirrel, so large that he drops it several times. He turns and surveys me with the lazy arrogance of a house cat who's proud of his kill. I'm unsure if I should be following this wild creature down the trail. I think of how animals are protective of their food. Still, the large cat and I are headed the same way, so I continue at a distance. Eventually he turns off the trail, and I draw closer and look up the embankment where he stands. The bobcat and I both freeze as a large, shaggy brown bear appears from around a rocky outcrop behind him. The moment slows, the sight too surreal. Then the bear spooks and disappears as suddenly as he appeared. I look around in search of other witnesses, but there are none. As a woman, so many different people in my life told me that I shouldn't be in this wild place alone. My mother. My friends. Various family members, and various strangers. From the man that rented me the car to the lady that shuttled me from the airport. These encounters filled me with wonder. Wonder and gratitude at the kindness and compassion of strangers, but also wonder and frustration at the fear that blooms around a woman walking alone into the woods. Eventually I just stopped discussing my trip with strangers. Exploring More of Yosemite National Park Back in Yosemite Valley the morning after the bear, I walk along Sentinel Meadow. Three coyotes lope through the mist that rises from the snowy grass. Beyond the winter-worn trees ahead, the granite walls of the North Rim loom over the valley, broken by the ribbon of Yosemite Falls. Today I will ascend to the top of these falls, the tallest in North America. The trail to Upper Yosemite Falls is one of the oldest and most iconic in the park, but on this chilled morning it appears abandoned. The bottom half of the trail is crisp but clear, the views expanding around every rocky switchback. Half way up the cold settles in, covering the granite in slick hard-packed snow. My progress slows as my feet slip continuously, too unwilling and fingers too cold to dig my microspikes out of my pack. By the time the trail levels out at the top, I've entered a pristine winterscape. I follow the footprints left by the intrepid before me, wishing to keep the snow out of my shoes and the trail under my feet. The sound of falling water grows, and the hill crest ahead reveals nothing beyond but fog. I've made it to the falls, but I must travel down two snowy switchbacks to the cliff's edge to see it. The first switchback bellies right up to the top of the falls, the pooled water disappearing ominously over a 2,425-foot cliff. As the trail turns, I'm faced with a snow-slickened rock ledge, hardly wide enough for one. Beside it, a single metal rail of unknown age and integrity protrudes from the cliff wall. Here I wait as a couple passes single file, the three of us clinging to the rail like a lifeline. It is my turn, and I descend carefully like a cat on a window ledge. I step down to the empty viewpoint and the expansive sight of Yosemite Valley from the top of the falls. Exhilaration washing over me like a wave, I can hardly believe I have this moment entirely to myself. I savor the experience for as long as I can, but standing still eventually lets the cold creep in. I wrestle my traction onto each shoe with stiff, clumsy fingers, then shove my gloves back on. Continuing to Yosemite Point is literally walking through clouds. Up this high, with the ground cloaked in snow and the mists swirling around me, the entire world is winter white. The silence is both peaceful and eerie, broken only by snow falling from branches and the occasional ice break down Yosemite Falls behind. I cross Yosemite Creek on a wooden bridge, snow covered and adorned with shimmering icicles. The trail is now a suggestion, a slight flattening out of the drifts. I know for certain I'm alone out here; the only tracks those of deer and birds. I think back to earlier this morning in the valley below, snapping photos of El Capitan and the Three Brothers near the Merced River. I came across bear prints so fresh, I checked over my shoulder for the animal that left them. Picturing the harsh gashes left by its claws, I shudder and hope not to see those here, or worse, cougar prints. The many warnings bestowed upon me creep back in, and my complete solitude suddenly feels heavy. But I've come this far and worked this hard, all these miles of climbing, feet slipping, thighs and lungs burning. These doubts are not even mine; I've only borrowed them from others. I dismiss them and forge ahead. Finally, the trees fall away, and then the world falls away as I approach the ancient metal railing of Yosemite Point. There are many more famous, more photographed, more sought-after views in this great valley. But this is my view, my precipice that no other dared adventure to in this untouched snow. Down below is the park in miniature, the silver road looping through, and out beyond are the looming walls and frosted peaks of the south rim. These are memories I know I'll carry forever, standing here grinning and heart pounding, just a woman alone in the woods. Need to Know Information No permit is required for day hikers, though all visitors to Yosemite National Park are charged an entrance fee. Wilderness permits for Yosemite Wilderness are required for overnight stays. Best Time to Go Views of the waterfall are most impressive during the spring and early summer, when the falls are at their peak from winter runoff. The trail to Upper Yosemite Falls is open year-round. Traction and hiking poles are recommended during the winter months, however, when parts of the trail are covered in snow and ice. While most of the trail is not exposed, falling rocks and ice are a potential hazard. Climbing down to the lookout at the top of the falls is exposed and requires extreme caution when the path is frozen. Getting There From the park entrance, follow Highway 140 for 6.5 miles until the road splits. Keep right and follow Southside Drive, turn left onto Sentinel Drive, and left again onto Northside Drive, following signs for Yosemite Lodge. Park anywhere around Yosemite Village or Yosemite Lodge. The trailhead is located behind the lodge at the Camp 4 area. The hike to Upper Yosemite Falls is 7.2 miles roundtrip. To continue to Yosemite Point, follow signs east towards North Dome. This adds another 1.6 miles to your hike. Those looking for an even greater challenge can head west from the upper falls to Eagle Peak, the highest point on the north rim, adding another 5.8 miles roundtrip. Maps and Books The National Park Service’s Yosemite Valley Hiking Map details the hike to the upper falls as well as Yosemite Point and Eagle Peak. National Geographic also offers their Trails Illustrated Topographic Map of Yosemite. For further reading, Hiking Yosemite National Park: A Guide to 61 of the Park’s Greatest Hiking Adventures offers a thorough guide to this hike and many others in the Yosemite Valley, while providing information about safety precautions, logistics, and other trip planning information.
  16. Aaron Zagrodnick

    Issue 56 Released

    Thank you as always Steve! Certainly some really scenic country and great photos. Thanks for sharing.
  17. Steve Ancik

    Issue 56 Released

    Thanks for publishing me! And great cover, if I do say so myself.
  18. Aaron Zagrodnick

    Issue 56

    Note: This download is included at no extra cost with a Premium TrailGroove Membership - Details Here. Issue 56: (132 Pages): Jargon: Map Scale Trail News Trail Tip: Check your Bear Spray Backpacking in the Yukon Big Bend National Park NEMO Moonlite Elite Review Gear Mash Chicken Tikka Masala Review Buffalo River Trail Backcountry Navigation
    $10
  19. Aaron Zagrodnick

    Issue 56 Wallpaper

    Note: This download is included at no extra cost with a Premium TrailGroove Membership - Details Here. Full HD Desktop Wallpaper / Background for TrailGroove Issue 56.
    $1.50
  20. Michael aka Mac

    Review of the Victorinox SwissChamp Pocket Knife

    Thought that this photo would give viewers an idea of just how many features this knife has and the relative size of it
  21. Michael aka Mac

    My EDC Bag ( Every Day Carry )

    I have added to this bag a 6 inch long, 1/2 inch thick Ferro Rod, 1 Climber's Carabiner, and a small container of Liquid Skin.
  22. Aaron Zagrodnick

    Ruffwear Highlands Dog Sleeping Bag Review

    Backpacking with a dog will always add an extra section to your gear list, and when hiking during the colder shoulder season or winter months and in mountain locations that generally are always somewhat chilly at night, keeping your dog warm for a restful night of sleep is an important factor to consider. The Ruffwear Highlands sleeping bag for dogs is one way to provide insulation for your dog at night and is a dog sleeping bag solution I’ve used on the trail many times – when you're backpacking in chilly conditions (just about every trip in the mountains no matter the season), some type of insulation for your dog at night is needed. Some type of insulation for your dog is needed at night while backpacking, in all but the warmest of conditions. The Ruffwear Highlands Dog Sleeping Bag The Highlands sleeping bag uses synthetic insulation with a water resistant polyester shell, and a side zipper designed for easy entry and exit. On the bottom of the bag, a pad sleeve is built in, and insulation under your dog will be just as important if not more so than the bag itself. The bag has a listed weight of 26.8 ounces (26 measured) and packs into a 12 x 7” included stuff sack. The stuff sack is not waterproof, and thus I use an 8L Sea to Summit UltraSil dry sack instead – and this would even fit inside a compartment of the (size medium) Ruffwear Approach pack my dog wears on the trail if desired. The bag is bulky however, and requires that you pack the same amount of weight in the other side of the dog pack, so I instead have my dog carry lighter items while I carry the Highlands Sleeping Bag. The sleeping bag measures 35 x 26” flat, and the opening of the Highlands does not feature any type of closure or cinch system, and simply lays flat over the dog. The sleeping bag only comes in one size, but is just about perfect for my 40-45lb heeler. However, slightly larger dogs would still fit, and smaller dogs will have plenty of extra room. Note that there is a separate product from the sleeping bag, the Highlands Bed, which is not a sleeping bag and is designed simply as something for your dog to lay on top of. If this isn't enough room, Ruffwear also offers a large sized version of the sleeping bag. In previous years, I would bring along a cut down section of a closed cell foam Therm-a-Rest ZLite or RidgeRest pad for my dog to sleep on top of, and would then cover the dog at night with my spare clothing – like a down jacket combined with a rain jacket. This worked well, but would often need readjustment at night as my dog moved about. Additionally, this strategy no longer became possible when I switched to a lighter weight, hoodless sleeping bag where I prefer to wear my (hooded) down jacket while sleeping. Thus, a separate solution for my dog was needed. A separate dedicated jacket could easily still be used and is relatively lightweight, but the readjustment throughout the night issue remains. Using the Ruffwear Highlands sleeping bag has been a benefit in this regard. While the included pad sleeve is intended to fit the optional Highlands Pad, I simply use a section of a Therm-a-Rest RidgeRest SOLite which fits perfectly when you round off the corners of the pad a bit and provides plenty of 3-season insulation and warmth, and maybe even a little extra comfort for your dog after a high mileage day. While the SOLite pad is not currently available, the Therm-a-Rest ZLite would work as well. I have found the pad sleeve quite useful, and compared to my old system of a separate foam pad and overlaying a down jacket, there’s nothing to constantly re-arrange here throughout the night. The bag does not have a temperature rating, but combined with the foam pad underneath and a Ruffwear Cloud Chaser jacket that my dog wears in the backcountry as well – my dog has never been cold on typical 3 season trips in the Rockies. The only caveat is keeping your dog actually inside the sleeping bag, but success there will obviously depend on the personality of your dog – and the zipper that allows you to completely open the top of the bag and lay it aside temporarily until your dog is settled inside helps greatly in this regard. Although the polyester shell is tough and the synthetic insulation appreciated in wetter weather and with a soggy dog, the only issue I have with the Ruffwear Highlands is the bulk and weight. At around 27 ounces, this is as heavy as many lightweight 20 degree sleeping bags (for people) and heavier than the sleeping bag I carry, and it could indeed start to tip the scales on the Highlands bag from actual backpacking to perhaps more of a camping oriented item depending on your personal take in this regard. The Ruffwear Highlands sleeping bag does the job when it comes to providing warmth and comfort for your dog on the trail. Conclusion All considered however, the bag certainly does a good job on those chilly backcountry nights and overall is a well designed sleeping solution for your dog. The same design utilizing lighter weight and more compressible materials would certainly be nice to have for backpacking purposes, or perhaps an alternative ultralight model, but considering that I have packed the Ruffwear Highlands on many higher mileage wilderness backpacking trips, it is certainly doable in this type of scenario if you feel the Highlands bag meets your (dog’s) needs. The Ruffwear Highlands dog sleeping bag retails for $100 in the medium size, but you can often get it on sale at the following retailers – find it here at REI and on Amazon.com.
  23. 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.
  24. Mark Wetherington

    Petzl IKO CORE Rechargeable Headlamp Review

    For whatever reason, headlamps have not been an item I’ve paid particular attention to during a decade of backpacking. I’m on my third or fourth headlamp, but whenever I’ve needed to replace one (lost, intermittent failure issues, decided to make it a spare to keep in the car, etc.) I’ve simply purchased whatever was most similar to the previous one. Bells and whistles were never that intriguing to me when it came to headlamps (although one of mine did have a whistle built into the plastic on the headband adjuster), I just wanted something that would provide ample light for around camp and occasional night-hiking. I’ve never been especially impressed with the headlamps I’ve used, but I’ve never been terribly disappointed either. I suppose, much like the lights in my home, I just sort of take them for granted. The front of the IKO CORE features an array of LEDs producing up to 500 lumens. The Petzl IKO Core Headlamp I wasn’t really expecting much when I began using the Petzl IKO CORE Headlamp – even with its unique design and minimalist flair, I more or less assumed I’d find it to be like all the headlamps I’ve used before. Functional, but not anything that really put a grin on my face. To my surprise, I found that the IKO immediately impressed me in several ways when compared to the other headlamp I was using for backpacking (a Petzl ACTIK CORE). Although the weights are identical, the IKO feels lighter when worn due to the battery being at the rear and only a small housing for its seven bulbs on the front. This was most noticeable when wearing the headlamp while cross-country skiing and running, but even when sitting around camp it felt more comfortable than traditional headlamps with elastic headbands. Another nice feature of the headband is that it won’t absorb sweat or other moisture due to its fairly rigid plastic design. For its compactness, this headlamp was very bright on its highest setting. I found the lowest setting to be too dim for anything other than reading in the tent or small tasks around camp. The medium setting was the sweet-spot for me; bright enough to walk around camp and focus on tasks, but not so bright as to be obnoxious. The brightest setting was ideal for hiking at night and really lit up the landscape. The listed run-times for the various brightness settings are comparable to other headlamps I’ve used and should be plenty to get through an extended trip in shoulder-season, when you might be using your headlamp more and even might need to do some night hiking with the headlamp on the brightest setting. Three AAA batteries can be used or the rechargeable CORE battery. I’ve used the CORE battery, since it is interchangeable with my Petzl ACTIK, but it is nice to have the option to bring along the AAA batteries as a back-up on longer trips or for those trips in cold weather when batteries can get drained more quickly. The CORE battery can be recharged with a USB cable and has a green indicator light for when it is fully charged. The small light housing on the front of the headlamp tilts smoothly to adjust the beam where you want it. What’s nice about the design of this is that you can stop it anywhere along its path, whereas other headlamps I’ve used just allow it to be moved into one or two positions it clicks into. In the past, I rarely used this feature because it just never really worked for me with the preset angles, but the fine-tuning allowed with this one actually made it functional to adjust the beam lower when doing things like cooking, for example. As is expected when a product focuses on simplicity, there are only minimal features present with the IKO. There is no strobe feature or red light. This wasn’t a great loss to me, although I do find having the red light to be helpful when stargazing but needing to attend to a small task, or when in camp with others to lessen the visual disruption of a headlamp. The color temperature of the light is nice, and it doesn’t have a headache-inducing fluorescence to it. At its highest setting it is certainly bright enough for hiking off-trail and the medium setting is enough light for on-trail night hiking on most trails. The headlamp does have a "lock" feature, which is effective at keeping it from being inadvertently turned on and draining the battery when packed. The stuff sack that accompanies the headlamp is useful and it is nice to have it included, as most headlamps either don’t include a stuff sack or case and instead sell them as accessories. Granted, a stuff sack for a headlamp really isn’t a necessity and can be viewed as unnecessary weight, but I tend to use one on most trips as it helps with my organizational system. I particularly appreciate having a stuff sack for a headlamp during winter trips when I need to store it in my sleeping bag to keep the battery from getting sapped from the cold, for some reason it just seems to make it easier to push down to the bottom of the bag and out of my way than storing it loose. My first thought about using the stuff sack as a lantern as shown on the Petzl website was that it was simply a marketing gimmick, one of those things that seems nifty but during actual performance in practical conditions is lacking. I was pleasantly surprised when I tested this out on an early December cross-country ski touring trip. With sunset occurring a few minutes before 5 p.m., there was a lot of time around camp in the dark which made for great testing conditions. When used with the beam on the highest setting, I found the "lantern mode" to really brighten up my tent — in regards to both illumination and mood. On the medium setting, it was enough to read by and for doing other small tasks, like looking at a map and making notes. On the lowest setting, the lantern mode was barely functional. Given how quick the battery can be sapped when used on the highest setting (around 2 hours according to Petzl) this unfortunately made the lantern mode less practical. You can utilize the IKO Core as a lantern using the included storage bag. Conclusion Overall, this headlamp was a welcome addition to my backpacking kit. Its on-head comfort and ease-of-use are perhaps the most noteworthy characteristics. If you’ve never found a headlamp that you’ve found comfortable, or always have a latent feeling of mild irritation when wearing one, then this headlamp would be a great option. Given my previous experiences with Petzl headlamps and other products, the durability and longevity should be worth the price. The Petzl IKO headlamp retails for about $75 in the Petzl IKO version (without an included CORE battery), or for $105 in the Petzl IKO CORE version with the rechargeable battery included. You can find the cheaper IKO at Backcountry.com and the IKO CORE version here at REI. For more on how to choose a backcountry headlamp, see our backpacking headlamp guide.
  25. Aaron Zagrodnick

    Issue 56

    Read Online Download PDF Contents: Jargon: Map Scale Trail News Trail Tip: Check your Bear Spray Backpacking in the Yukon Big Bend National Park NEMO Moonlite Elite Review Gear Mash Chicken Tikka Masala Review Buffalo River Trail Backcountry Navigation PDF Version Read Online Download PDF In This Issue: The Yukon Big Bend N.P. Buffalo River Trail NEMO Moonlite Elite Tikka Masala Map Scale Trail Tip Navigation Guide
  26. Mark Wetherington

    Feathered Friends Down Booties Review

    Few items provide as much comfort for the weight during frigid backpacking trips as dedicated down booties. Cold feet can quickly sap out any enjoyment of wonderful winter scenery and can easily discourage someone from ever attempting winter backpacking or cross-country ski touring. While down jackets can easily keep your core warm, having a full-body strategy for keeping in heat is crucial for winter trips where you’re spending a significant amount of time in camp. Down booties provide a solution for keeping your feet warm and when combined with down or synthetic insulated pants can allow you to be comfortable sitting outside in sub-freezing temperatures. For winter backpacking and even just for those who tend to get cold sitting in camp, down booties can make all the difference. Feathered Friends Down Booties I’ve used Feathered Friends down booties on dozens of backpacking trips in the last seven years – everything from cross-country skiing, to snowshoeing, to backcountry cabin trips, to just plain hiking in cold temperatures. Although not cheap (at $119 they’re almost as much as some on-sale trail runners), they’ve proved to be durable and comfortable in a variety of conditions and I’m sure I’ve got at least another seven years, and probably more, of use left in them. One of the most user-friendly aspects of the Feathered Friends down booties is that they’re actually a down sock with a separate overboot that has a thin foam sole. Not only does this make them durable enough to wear around camp, but it allows you to keep the down socks on for extra warmth when you’re in your sleeping bag or in you tent and don’t need the protection of the shell. I’ve worn these on bare forest ground in the Southeast and they only show minimal wear; since using them almost exclusively on snow in the Northern Rockies for the last few winters they don’t seem to have gained any discernible signs of use. The comfort of these simply can’t be understated. Getting into camp in the winter and putting on a fresh pair of dry socks and these booties makes going about the most mundane camp chores downright pleasant. The ability to pull off the shells and get into the sleeping bag while still wearing the down socks is also a huge morale and warmth booster, although I always end up getting a bit too warm in my feet (a nice problem to have in winter) and removing the down socks during the night. I haven’t used these booties in extreme temperatures, but when wearing appropriate upper and lower body insulation these have kept my feet warm when walking around on snow (or sitting on a foam pad) in the single digits (F). While winter backpacking is a gear-heavy activity and watching every ounce brought is important, these down booties are 9.3 oz (total) for a pair in size medium. Given the warmth they provide and their utility around camp, I have never regretted bringing them on winter trips or considered them a “luxury item” whose weight might not justify bringing them along. Although these boots are exceptionally comfortable, they can be a bit awkward to move around in. If the snow is hard-packed or icy and there is a slant to it, there can definitely be some slipping and sliding. This mostly just makes for comical movements, but if in more exposed terrain it could prove to be a liability. And given how much more comfortable these booties are than mountaineering or ski touring boots, the temptation to wear them is rather strong, even if it might be a better idea to put on your actual boots before going to try and fetch water from a small spring that is somehow defying the freezing temperatures and feeding a small creek. The shells have two adjustments points, at the top collar and at the ankle, which help these feel a little less like moon boots and keep snow from going inside if you accidentally posthole and find yourself in over the top of the boot (this happens to me on nearly every trip while doing a camp chore). The shells are Pertex Endurance and do a good job of keeping off dry snow, but they can wet-out after extended contact with wet snow. The down booties offered by Feathered Friends excel both in providing comfort as well as warmth. Final Thoughts In addition to their use when backpacking, mine have also been useful around the house on chilly winter mornings as well. I’ve even worn them in my hammock in the backyard on cool fall evenings and mornings. If you’re considering them as a gift – for yourself or someone else – you can be confident that they’ll be a gift that keeps on giving and provide years of use. The shells come in different colors, so you can pick the color to make the gift that much more personal or to color-coordinate with your down jacket to make sure you are competitive for the Best Dressed in the Backcountry Award. All in all, unless you solely backpack in the summer (you’re missing out!), or live somewhere that never sees below freezing temperatures, it’s hard to go wrong with buying these down booties. The FF down booties are available in 6 different sizes and 6 colors – you can find them here at Feathered Friends.
  27. Aaron Zagrodnick

    Issue 56 Released

    Issue 56 of TrailGroove Magazine is now available! Click the preceding link or the cover below to take a look: In This Issue: Jargon: Map Scale Trail News Trail Tip: Check your Bear Spray A Journey through Yukon Wilderness Big Bend National Park NEMO Moonlite Elite Chair Review Gear Mash Mountain House Chicken Tikka Masala Review Buffalo River Trail Backpacking & Hiking Navigation Guide 132 pages dedicated to backpacking and hiking. Special thanks to all of our readers and contributors @dkim000, @Trish, @Steve Ancik, Melissa Ancik, and @Susan Dragoo for your support and contributions towards the latest issue! If it's your first time viewing the magazine, we suggest starting on Page 1 for online viewing tips and tricks. Prefer to view the magazine in high definition or save it and view it offline? Our HD PDF is also available individually or included with a Premium Membership. Your input is highly appreciated. Let us know what you thought about Issue 56 here on the TrailGroove Forum, or contact us anytime. Thanks for reading!
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