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Distance mode. Proximity mode. Red light night vision mode. At 90 lumens, my new Black Diamond Spot headlamp is the newest addition to my backpacking kit in ages. For the second or third time on today’s maiden voyage hike, I unsheathe the Spot from my Gregory Z65’s brain pouch, cradle it in my fingers, and imagine how its endless wonderful qualities will make every trip better. The blood red bezel’s sharp lines attach to a diagonally-shaded retro headband conjuring the aura of Optimus Prime.

I’ve already perfected the push-button command rotation flowing seamlessly from one handy mode to the next. Now that I’m two miles along east county San Diego’s Noble Canyon Trail, I’m dying for nighttime and a chance to test it out.
A Noble Canyon Hiking & Backpacking Trip
Starting from the trailhead’s Pine Valley parking lot around 2:00 p.m., hiking buddy Chad and I weave with the path around rock strewn terrain before descending into an alluvial depression sandwiched beneath tangled chaparral hillsides. Even in mid-May, Southern California’s sun is withering on the path’s initial shadeless two and a half miles. Chad takes the lead. Snarled Cuyamaca manzanita and scrub oak eventually give way to javelin-touting desert agave and whipple yucca. Occasional patches of desert paintbrush give the trailside florescent red strokes.

Skirting the western fringe of Cleveland National Forest’s popular Laguna Mountain Recreation Area, Noble Canyon’s eight mile one-way trail is a short 45 minute drive from San Diego. The forest contains 460,000 acres of Southern California’s peninsular ranges and protects the area’s native chaparral, oak land, and evergreen sky island landscape. By mile three, the well maintained path continues its gradual 2,600 feet ascent between sharp slopes. A dense canopy of Canyon Live Oak provides protection from the sun while a tributary of Pine Valley Creek gushes over a stone-filled streambed.
Three miles in, we drop our packs in a glen containing a flattened spot for my cheapo Alpine Design tent ($30 on sale at Sports Chalet) as well as two perfectly spaced trees for Chad’s homemade hammock. Whitebark lilac’s lavender blossoms dangle like fluffy dusters above the undergrowth. Leaving our gear at the campsite, we explore the more wooded sections of the canyon further uphill and soon find ourselves surrounded by lofty Jeffrey pines.

Arriving at a narrow alpine meadow, Chad asks what’s further ahead. I have hiked the canyon several times before, so I offer a brief sketch: the path continues its gradual ascent towards Penny Pines on the Sunrise Highway where it joins the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) and offers incredible views over the Mojave Desert four thousand feet below. “Why not make a run for the PCT before dark?” he obviously proposes. With three or four miles to go, and not much more sunlight. Not wanting to be outdone in outdoorsy derring-do, I readily agree.
We trot briskly up the trail, and the sun seems to set with accelerating swiftness. I offer to pick up my pace, and Chad, taking me literally, breaks into a jog. I’ve never attempted trail running before, especially in mid-cut Lowa hiking boots. After a mile or so, I slow to a painfully hasty gait. The sun disappears behind Cuyamaca Peak in the west, and twilight dims rapidly. By the time we make the PCT, complete darkness limits our views over the desert to far off El Centro’s unimpressive glow.

This is the first time I’ve tried a night hike. Testing my body's and mind’s limits is a new thrill. I’m dehydrated and hungry. My body is exhausted after an eight mile hike-run, and we must now claw our way five or so miles to our campsite. A dull thud of worry hits my mind. I immediately catch a glimpse of life without modern comforts, and I’m not sure I like it.
Christopher McCandless, or Alexander Supertramp for those who have read or watched his biographical Into the Wild, exercised similar wilderness self-reliance. Immediately after graduating from Emory in 1990, McCandless abandoned his car, burned his spare cash, and donated his substantial bank account balance to OXFAM. He then disappeared for two years tramping solo around the American West. McCandless’ story appeals to something in my soul. It is difficult to read about his adventures without an indelible (and perhaps naïve) longing to share the dangers he sought.

Sharp, prickly bushes threaten our legs while loose, ankle-spraining rocks lurk at every stride. Our steps decelerate to a scuttle. Four miles to go. Anticipating a long schlep, pangs of anxiety give way to an alluring dependence on my own hardiness. I am suddenly at home with the unfamiliar simplicity of endurance and survival. The sensation is addicting.
McCandless was no histrionic kid trying to escape responsibilities. A broken family history left an emptiness in his heart, and McCandless tried to fill it by connecting to the simple emotions and mental concentration of survival. Relying on his own wherewithal filled him with the meaning that modern life left him without. Sadly, he would ultimately push himself too far and die of starvation while living solo in central Alaska. He was 24.
Chad and I tromp forward in relative ease and reach our campsite in less than an hour. Enjoying the aid of my foxy headlamp, we gulp freshly filtered mountain water and twin bowls of cheesy-ham Top Ramen. I can grasp McCandless’ satisfaction as he subsisted for months on self-found food sources in Alaska’s wild.

I wake up early the next morning to the creek’s cheerful crackle, refreshed from the night’s physical and emotional strain. Although never in much danger, I feel like a survivor. I’ve discovered a new me: brave, hardy, ready for the next adventure. I’m eager to test this new confidence, following my Spot headlamp one step at a time.
Need to Know
Information
I found that trails were well maintained, with a 15.6 mile round trip distance. The hike is moderately strenuous with 2,600 feet of cumulative gain from Pine Valley to Penny Pines. Permits are required for overnight backpacking along with a Daily Adventure Pass ($5) or the Yearly Pass ($30) for parked vehicles. You can stop at the Descanso Ranger Station at 3348 Alpine Blvd on the way to the trailhead. More information can be found at the National Forest Service’s website.
Getting There
I-8 east out of San Diego; take Pine Valley exit north. Follow Old Highway 80 then veer sharp right after bridge to Pine Creek Road. Noble Canyon parking area is clearly marked with a forest service sign.
Best Time to Go
The best time to go is typically November through April with the summer months being especially hot.
Maps & Books
For a great map of the area, purchase a Tom Harrison Backcountry San Diego Backcountry Map. For more on hikes in the region, see the 101 Hikes in Southern California guidebook as well as Hiking Southern California.
Editor's Note: This article originally appeared in Issue 26 of TrailGroove Magazine. You can read the original article here for additional photos and content.

I sit alone along a flat gravel ridgeline somewhere in the Sonoran Desert’s Ajo Mountains. There are no winter clouds, no moon, and a spellbinding cacophony of tinsel stars is visible above the din of chirping, cheeping crickets. Suddenly, the distinctive roar of fighter jet engines joins the caroling chorus, aircraft whose red blinking LEDs trace somersault motions in the sky like a berserk Rudolph piloting Santa’s sleigh. A string of yellow puffs, bright as Christmas lights, trail the planes before I hear the distant boom of missiles pummeling the earth somewhere north within Barry M. Goldwater Air Force Range. Solitude. Nature. America. I can’t help but smile.

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument offers hikers challenging terrain and outstanding desert scenery.
A Backpacking & Hiking Trip in Organ Pipe Cactus Begins
Six hours after leaving San Diego, I arrive at Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument without a clear plan, hoping the ranger in front of me at the visitor center can suggest a backcountry route. “I’d like to ask about backpacking in the monument,” I begin. Staring back in a confused manner, the ranger mumbled unintelligibly before repeating my question back to me: “You would like to know about backpacking in the monument?” “Yes,” I affirm, leaning on the glass countertop. I sense we’ll be here for a while.
Organ Pipe Cactus encompasses 516 square miles of Southwestern Arizona’s Sonoran Desert. Designated a “Biosphere Reserve” by the United Nations, 95% of the monument is set aside as wilderness. Organ Pipe is divided into ominous-sounding “zones,” all but four of which are closed to overnight backpackers. However, the park’s superintendent, is committed to opening new areas to the public.

As far as deserts go, the Sonoran is a veritable garden due to higher and more predictable precipitation than, say, California’s bleak Mojave region or the Great Basin. Lime green Palo Verde, tangled Ironwood trees, and, of course, the picturesque Saguaro and Organ Pipe cacti comprise a bristling landscape that looks almost lush. Besides numerous short day hikes, there are no backpacking trails in the park other than “Country Road 131” which parallels the monument’s main artery, Highway 85, for all of eight miles. Backpacking in the four approved zones is entirely cross-country.
“OK,” the ranger finally says as if stalling for time, retrieving a large black binder from behind the counter and unclasping a sheet listing regulations and the approved zones. “How many people go out there to backpack?” I ask. “None,” he says with decisiveness. “Is it not popular?” I continue. “Not at this time of year. Only February and January.” He fills out my backcountry permit ($5) as I pour over a map and decide to try “zone 160” near the Ajo Mountains. After purchasing sundry post cards for friends ($3) and the obligatory patch for my pack ($6), I’m back in my 2000 Jeep Cherokee and headed to the trailhead. Except, of course, there are no trailheads in zone 160.
A First Day of Hiking: Into the Organ Pipe Cactus Backcountry
I drive eleven miles on Ajo Mountain Drive, a one-way washboard dirt road, and find a suitable pullout from which to embark towards nearby hills. I am fully aware that an unconscionable amount of weight is squished into my aging Gregory Z65 including a REI Half Dome Plus (5 lbs) and a full twenty pounds of H2O. Having run perilously low on water during previous desert excursions, I take the gallon-per-day maxim literally this time and bring two and a half. Standing up under the heft requires a bit more maneuvering than usual, but I am soon tromping gently across the desert floor and up a nearby ridgeline to the west.
Intending to stop as soon as a flattish space for the tent presents itself, I have no problem navigating through the labyrinth of prickly shrubs, eventually settling on a spot directly atop the crest. Even though the dirt road is barely out of sight, I know I am alone. No one will drive through the Ajo Mountains tonight. No one else is backpacking in Organ Pipe Cactus.

Propped up in my folding camp chair, I enjoy a Knorr’s Pasta Sides dinner and face the Ajo’s dramatic snaking apex to the east, sunset rays playing magnificent games on the range’s naked geologic veins. I can taste the rock’s fruitlike shades of orange like a giant parfait of mango, tangerine, and papaya. I watch as the sunlight’s changing angles spray neon terra cotta and deep blood red upon the jagged massif which soon looks like slaughterhouse mounds of newly hewn meat. Smiling and talking aloud to God, I watch the sun’s grand finale peels probe and illuminate the mountains’ every curve, curl, crevice. “Wow,” I repeat to myself. “Wow.”
Day 2: The Hike Out
Without a specific destination in mind and no trails to follow, I decide the next morning over a Jetboil full of cement-like oatmeal to ascend a rocky eminence a quarter mile or so south and reconnoiter the area. It doesn’t feel like backpacking as much as casual exploring, a very different sensation. The going is slow as I contour around the erosive slope, finally climbing several hundred feet up a crumbly incline to the boulder-strewn summit. I find myself standing on the lip of a wide bowl encircling a forked gorge boxed in by auburn sandstone crags. Diablo Peak, rising another half mile ahead, beckons to me as the most enticing next target.
Long pants are typically suggested for cross-country bushwhacking in the Sonoran boonies. I, of course, did not bring a pair. Blazing a path requires squeezing, squirming, and sidestepping through mazes of flesh-chawing brush. Every plant, it seems, has developed an effective means of harpooning any creature fool enough to graze against it. Briars, thorns, needles of all diameters, sharp-as-swords leaves, thistles, or any combination thereof, scratching my bare legs into pulp – jabbing, poking, piercing until my calves look like checkerboards of bright pink welts and blood stains.

I wade through punishing fields of sotol whose javelin pompoms skewer my ankles. I dance around columns of saguaro and barrel cacti, flirting with veritable doom. If I’m not careful, Organ Pipe Cacti spread their octopus tentacles wide, always attempting to give me a bear hug I’ll never forget. At one point, feeling something knifelike against my big toe, I find a nail-sized ocotillo thorn has punctured the sole of my hardy Lowa hiking boot. Yikes.
My route wreaths along a narrow gravelly rim to the foot of the peak, zigzags around its precipitous midriff a quarter mile, then clambers up a precariously steep seepage between sedimentary cliffs. Slabs of long-congealed volcanic ash look cratered, full of caves and grottos whittled by millennia of tireless wind and water. Most of the cavities are trampled with animal footprints. One is filled with mountain lion scat, discreetly arranged as in a kitty litter. I can stand erect in another and briefly consider spending the night. I keep moving.
Diablo Peak
From the tiptop of Diablo Peak, serrated desert ridgelines ebb into vast alluvial fans, countless square miles pockmarked by flash flood drainages and gray scrubland brush. Distant mountains, hemming every horizon, are pale against a sky hung with downy clouds flowing across the deep indigo atmosphere like streamers in the wind. The land looks as barbed and foreboding as the plant life, beautifully barren, showing off every wrinkle and crease in the earth’s storied crust. Gusts whipping my face, dumbstruck with awe, I crouch next to my backpack and eat a peanut butter Clif Bar. Life is meant for moments like this.

Aiming to descend the range to the south, I trundle around the uneven hilltop plateau and find only uninviting bluffs and broken drop-offs. Eventually, and a bit begrudgingly, I decide to retrace my steps down the north side of the Diablos, a feat accomplished several hours later after tromping to and fro down sharper-than-I-remember slopes. With clouds getting stormier and Twin Peaks Campground mostly empty and just ten miles away, I decide to leave the wilderness a day early. I’m tired, scratched up, still have one and a half gallons of undrunk water on my back. But I’m happy. I’m refreshed. And I’m more in love with the desert than ever.
Need to Know
Information
Expect uninterrupted desert scenery and verdant Sonoran flora on this hike with strenuous cross-country trekking over rough terrain. No backcountry trails exist in Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. I navigated with a map and compass and brought plenty of water, which would be the case at all times of the year. More information can be found at the National Park Service’s website. Backcountry permits are required. See the monument’s permit regulations and guidelines.
Getting There
Directions: Take I-8 out of San Diego, turn right on AZ-85 out of Gila Bend.
Best Time to Go
To avoid desert temperatures and crowds, winter months are typically best. January and February comprise the most popular hiking season, but temperatures are inviting as early as November when the monument is nearly empty.
Maps & Books
The Trails Illustrated Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument map by National Geographic details the area. For a guidebook check out the Falcon Guide, Hiking Arizona’s Cactus Country. For getting to and from the trailhead and exploring other destinations in the state, the Delorme Arizona Atlas & Gazetteer can be useful.
Editor's Note: This article originally appeared in Issue 29 of TrailGroove Magazine. You can read the original article here for additional photos and content.

Along the edge of an ancient sea, a reef formed. The water was an inland sea, connected to the rest of the earth’s oceans by a narrow channel. The reef grew and grew until it stretched around the horseshoe-shaped shoreline of the sea for a length of over 400 miles, towering high above the ocean floor, similar to the Great Barrier Reef off the coast of Australia. This 250-million year old reef is known as The Capitan Reef. It was a tropical ocean, teeming with life – sponges, algae, and other lime-secreting marine organisms.

For several million years these organisms built their home in the ocean until the inlet became restricted and the sea began to evaporate. Thick blankets of other sediments then covered the reef, eventually burying it for millions of years. As movements of the Earth’s plates caused the area to rise and these ancient sediments were exposed, they began to erode and reveal the massive reef once again, leaving the resistant limestone standing high above the surrounding softer sedimentary rock. This exposed reef now forms the rugged and beautiful Guadalupe Mountains National Park, which contains the four highest peaks in Texas.

In late October 2008, my usual hiking buddy Ward and myself made a trek from Oklahoma to the west Texas Chihuahuan Desert to visit Guadalupe Mountains National Park. Guadalupe Mountains National Park is not a park where one drives to overlooks to see the sights – here you have to get out and hike to them. And hike we did. There are 85 miles of trails in the desert, the mountains, and the rugged canyons. The park is remote, it lacks water, and once you’re in the backcountry chances are you’ll feel like you’re the only visitor in the whole place. In our week there we saw the highest point in Texas, hiked in the canyons, were amazed at the bright autumn colors of the maples, had endless views of the surrounding countryside, and spent a couple of nights in the isolated backcountry campgrounds of this awesome national park.
A Hiking Trip to Guadalupe National Park Begins
We drove from our homes in central Oklahoma, across the somewhat boring flatlands of western Oklahoma and the Texas panhandle, and arrived at the park in late afternoon. We found a camping spot in Pipe Springs Campground. It was only $8 for the night, but there are essentially no facilities except a restroom, a few water spigots, and a sink for washing dishes. It was adequate for our needs. After a cool, quiet night, and a beautiful sunrise, we relaxed around the campsite for a time, then broke camp, loaded our packs, and began our hike to Guadalupe Peak. Our goal was to go to the peak and then camp at the backcountry campground which has five sites. Guadalupe Peak is the highest point in Texas (8,749 feet) and it is 4.2 miles one way to peak from Pipe Springs Campground.

Along the way there is a 2,940 foot elevation gain. On sections of the trail, we were amazed and impressed with the expert construction of the trail, and the obvious difficulty of constructing a trail in such steep terrain. At one point, there is even a footbridge perched precariously over a chasm on the side of the mountain. The last part of the climb to the peak is steep and rocky but not that difficult. From there are beautiful 270 degree views of the surrounding desert and El Capitan below. On the highest point of the peak is a silvery metallic obelisk – a monument placed by American Airlines in 1958 to commemorate the one-hundredth anniversary of transcontinental mail delivery, which went through Guadalupe Pass. After visiting the peak and taking some pictures, it was getting late in the afternoon so we headed about a mile back down the trail to the campground – the highest campground in Texas – which has five sites scattered just off of the trail.

The next morning we were treated to a lovely sunrise. We broke camp and headed back down the trail to the campground and chose a site where we set up camp for the night. Since it was still early afternoon, we decided to hike Devil’s Hall Trail. Compared to the trail to Guadalupe Peak, this is relatively easy 4.2 mile round trip with minimal elevation change (~750 feet). The trail also starts at Pine Springs Campground, heads out across the desert and eventually drops into the shallow valley of Pipe Springs Canyon. The canyon meanders and gets gradually deeper. I’m sure that water flows in the canyon some times of the year, but when we were there it was completely dry. Partway along the hike is a stepped rock formation known as the Hiker’s Staircase. The canyon is lined with oak and big-tooth maple trees, alligator junipers, yuccas, agaves, cacti, and Texas madrones. At the end of October, the maples in this canyon were especially vivid. At the end of the trail is Devil’s Hall, a narrow, vertical-walled slot, about 200 feet long and 15 feet wide. This is the turn-around point of this hike.

Along Devil's Hall Trail
McKittrick Canyon
The next day we hiked in McKittrick Canyon. This canyon is in the eastern part of the park – to get there from Pipe Springs and the visitor center area, you have to leave the park briefly and drive a few miles to the northeast and then back into the park, or hike up and over the reef, which would amount to a multi-day backpacking trip. McKittrick Canyon Trail is fairly level and shaded most of its length and follows a small stream for much of the way. Historic Pratt’s Lodge, Hunter Line Cabin, and the Grotto are highlights along the trail, plus the relatively lush forest. It is about 3.4 miles to where we turned around at The Grotto, although the trail continues past this spot, climbing nearly 2,000 feet to McKittrick Ridge where the trail connects to several other trails in the heights of the mountains.
One evening, with nothing better to do than hang out and enjoy the fresh air of west Texas, we drove out of the park a few miles to the southwest, where we had a spectacular overview of the west side of the reef. As the sun set I repeatedly took pictures of the ever-changing light on the mountains, and came away with one of my favorite photos which I now proudly display in my home. When taking pictures, it is always a goal of mine to shoot one which I consider worthy of hanging on my walls. I occasionally succeed, as was the case that evening.

Desert scenery at its finest
To Pine Top
Our next hike was up the Tejas Trail to spend the night at Pine Top Campground. The Tejas Trail starts off fairly level for the first mile or so, then has three miles of switchbacks. The hike from the trailhead at Pine Springs Campground to Pine Top Campground is a total 4.2 miles with an elevation gain of about 2,540 feet. Pine Top is aptly named as it is in a dense (for west Texas) forest of ponderosa pines, Douglas firs, and other trees. Once we set up camp one of the eight available campsites – again with piled trees, branches, and rocks for a windbreak – we took an evening jaunt on the Bowl Trail to Hunter’s Peak. This peak is, at 8,368 feet of elevation, the 5th highest peak in park and has spectacular views in all directions – a great place for a panoramic photo of the park and the surroundings. It is an easy mile hike from Pine Top to Hunter Peak. Back at our campsite at Pine Top, I shot some beautiful sunset shots of Hunter Peak.

The Guadalupe Mountains can offer spectacular scenery at sunset and sunrise.
Final Thoughts on the Guadalupe Mountains
It’s mind-boggling to think that all of what we had seen during our visit was once under an ocean. This is a rugged mountain range, with steep slopes and deep canyons, high ridges, and limited water sources. The geography is complex, allowing unique life zones to shelter a staggering variety of animals and plants. After a wonderful four days of hiking and enjoying the fall colors and beautiful scenery of the Guadalupe Mountains, we said our farewell (for now) to the mountains, and headed home. The park is a hiker’s dream, with numerous trails ranging from easy beginner trails to multi-night backpacking trails. With few amenities and being in an isolated location, park visitation is small compared to many other national parks – all the more reason to go!
Need to Know
Information
Like most trips, visiting Guadalupe Mountains requires some planning to ensure that your experience is a pleasant one. There is no gasoline available in the park. If you are traveling from (El Paso) Texas, Dell City is the closest town with amenities such as gasoline, food, and ice. When traveling from New Mexico, Whites City is the last place to stock up on supplies. Campgrounds offer primitive dry camping. There are two campgrounds: Pipe Springs Campground near the visitor center, and Dog Canyon Campground, a more isolated in the secluded, forested canyon on the north side of the park. Other than restrooms and potable water, there are no other amenities. There are no lodges in the park. Weather in the park can be unpredictable. Cell phone coverage is very unreliable in the park. This is a dry environment. Permits (free) are required for all backcountry camping. Find more details on the park website. Other nearby attractions include Carlsbad Caverns National Park, about 42 miles to the northeast on US Highway 62.
Getting There
Guadalupe Mountains National Park is in west Texas, about 110 miles east of El Paso, Texas via U.S. Highway 62/180. Dog Canyon, on the north side of the park, is accessed via New Mexico state road 137.
Best Time to Go
The park is open year round. Weather in the Guadalupe Mountains can change in an instant. In the spring and summer, average temperatures vary with highs between 70-80+ degrees with evening lows in the 40-60 degree range. The fall and winter bring milder temperatures with highs typically from 50-60 and evening lows in the 30-50 degree range.
Maps and Books
National Geographic Trails Illustrated Map 203. For a guidebook see Hiking Carlsbad Caverns and Guadalupe Mountains National Parks, a Falcon Guide. For getting to and from trailheads and exploring other destinations in the state, the Delorme Texas Atlas & Gazetteer can be useful.
The Author
Steve Ancik is a landscape architect by profession whose hobbies include mountain biking, hiking, backpacking (getting there is half of the fun!), and photography. He lives in Edmond, Oklahoma. All photographs in this article © Steven L. Ancik.
Editor's Note: This article originally appeared in Issue 37 of TrailGroove Magazine. You can read the original article here for additional photos and content.

Tromping to the beat of my trekking poles’ clickety-clack against trailside stones, I notice perched on a low boulder ten feet away a yellow-bellied marmot, slothful and only superficially interested in the approach of my dad and I. Nozzle pointed heavenward, sniffing our advance, the marmot scuttles under his rock as we pass, unhurried, only to reemerge as soon as we hike several paces beyond. Looks like a giant hamster coated in grizzled cinnamon with a gold spackle gut. I snap a picture.

Dad and I are on the fringes of Yosemite National Park’s backcountry above Chilnualna Falls, and we can’t find the lake for the life of us. Perhaps the rapidly melting groundcover snow from last night’s storm obscures a side trail. Maybe we’re distracted by magnificent lodgepole pines, dripping and stretching one hundred and twenty feet towards gray nimbus clouds speed racing like catamarans on an ocean of sky. It’s getting late, and I am in charge of crafting chili Frito boats for dinner with friends back at Summerdale Campground in Sierra National Forest. Time to head back.
Saturday Morning
Chilnualna Falls Trail, starting at 4,200 feet, embarks from Wiwona within a tunnel of California black oak whose gnarled hobgoblin shapes beckon the passersby into an enchanted realm. Lofty ponderosa pines and incense-cedars obscure all direct sunlight while the needle-strewn forest floor radiates warm browns, ambers, and reds. Within an eighth of a mile, the path leads up what seem to be the Stairs of Cirith Ungol with oversized granite hewn blocks scaling a crooked misty ascent. Chilnualna Creek’s unnamed bottomland cascades, worthy of their own destination trail, tumble 20 or 30 feet over gigantic granite slabs into small rock wall pools. Everything is leafy and damp.

I set a leisurely pace. Swaying, meandering switchbacks wind two thousand feet up Turner Ridge’s southern slope. Underneath the lower montane forest spreads a cushion of Woodwardia ferns and poison oak. The grade is steep as it zigzags over dozens of contour lines on our Tom Harrison Yosemite High Country map. Views over the Winona Valley below and the backcountry ridgeline above are hidden by conical treetops rising like swirls of lime meringue froyo. Occasional squaw currant clearings offer glimpses of dense evergreen jungle matting the Sierra Nevadas’ every pitch, every backbone, every gulch. After a tiring four and a half miles, the path leaves the mountainside shadows and half-moons towards Winona Dome’s granite facade.
Yosemite National Park
Yosemite National Park. What else is there to say? Almost 1,200 square miles of the Sierra Nevada’s most vibrant woodlands, granite whalebacks, dramatic ridgelines, and, of course, the world’s most marvelous valley are latticed by 800 miles of perfectly maintained trails. “Into this one mountain mansion Nature had gathered her choicest treasures, to draw her lovers into close and confiding communion with her” John Muir enthused in The Yosemite. He was right.

Despite such expansive dimensions, the park’s infrastructure and land host a burdensome four million visitors each year. Avoiding the hustle-bustle of the park’s many famous hikes can be challenging. If you find yourself visiting the park for a few days, after the de rigueur tour of the valley, the Chilnualna Falls Trail offers a far more secluded retreat near the park’s south entrance. It’s a Saturday in May, and Dad and I pass 30 or so fellow day hikers and a single group of four backpackers – peanuts compared to other day hikes within park boundaries. In the early hours of the morning, we have the mountain entirely to ourselves.
The Falls
A touch over one mile later, dad and I traipse over the last few hundred feet to a lookout over lower Chilnualna Falls. We listen to the caustic roar of springtime floodwaters falling three hundred and forty feet over two cataracts somewhere beneath us within a deep slit in the granite platform which acts as a funnel for terrific, warlike howls of plummeting water. Although a precarious perch would offer further views, neither of us is very fond of heights. We continue to the upper falls several hundred yards upstream.

The view of rushing snowmelt drainage plunging 50 feet over broken granite shelves instigates us to stop for a snack of peanut butter-filled pretzels and H2O. Something about waterfalls captivates man’s imagination, his instinct to worship. Spigotless roiling water flooding downwards displays unswerving continuity through time, an invitation to think deep thoughts about past and future, entrancing like a campfire’s curling auburn flames. If waterfalls elicit awe, than Yosemite is a temple, perhaps the most magnificent temple, nature offers to inspire contemplation about our lot as humans. Dad and I are transfixed by the grinding power of water against granite, the torrent’s thunderous self-applause, the rainbow-clad spray above an invitingly placid pool. I am trivial next to such breathtaking phenomena. I can sit here forever and just look. I think deep thoughts.
The Lake
With plenty of energy left, we decide to continue upwards and hike towards a lake at 8,300 feet about five miles further. Clambering over a granite rim above the falls, we hug Chilnualna Creek’s headwaters. A puffy layer of mist hovers over the diamond white snow like a frizzy hairdo or like nighttime fairies sowing the forest floor with pixy dust. The towering canopy of evenly spaced sugar and lodgepole pines filters the morning’s sunlight into soft emerald beams which dance with every ripple of the wind through snowy boughs. Electric green lichens slather massive tree trunks curving 15 feet in circumference. The claustrophobic stillness of the woods, excepting the crunch of our boots against the icy footpath, is surreal, and I feel like I am entering someone else’s wintery dream world. The scene is pure magic.

The path gradually climbs upwards, crosses, and then leaves the creek, but we are never far from running water. We tiptoe over an unnamed effluent and twist around the southern base of Buena Vista Peak. Sunshine is obscured by a persistent layer of gray clouds which we penetrate as we gain elevation until, over lunch in a quiet waterlogged meadow, we watch fogbanks whirl around us, obscuring the marsh and forest in hazy walls of wet. It’s frigid, and the weather looks sure to get worse.
“Where’s that lake?” Dad wonders out loud. “I think we must have passed it,” I surmise, watching the vapor somersault through trees. “We’re probably closer to Crescent Lake by now.” I want to tramp forward endlessly, meeting and knowing every special feature in this place on a first name basis. I never want to go back. I’m bewitched, ready to live out my days as a washed up hermit hiding in the depths of the Yosemite high country. So much to see. So much to learn. Dragging my thoughts back into reality, I mumble out loud, “We better turn around.” Dad agrees.
Need to Know
Information
Distance: 11.2 miles round trip to upper Chilnualna Falls, 4-6 hours. Trails: Well maintained and plainly marked. Elevation: 2,240 feet cumulative gain to upper Chilnualna Falls. Permits are not required for day hikes. More information can be found at the National Park Service’s website.
Getting There
From San Diego, take I-5 north and fork onto CA-99 on north side of Grapevine near Bakersfield. Take CA-41 north through Fresno and continue into Yosemite. Expect seven hours to reach the park’s south entrance, two more hours to reach Yosemite Valley on a windy mountain road. Alternative routes through the desert and Tehachapi Pass are preferable to LA’s dismal traffic jams.
Best Time to Go
Depending on the year and snowpack, the waterfalls are usually blasting from May until June, making for magnificent views. Otherwise, like all over the Sierra, the weather is typically best in August and September…although the falls are lower then.
Maps and Books
Tom Harrison maps are indispensable for all California hiking excursions. A family-run affair, Tom and his wife only create and publish maps of the best California hiking areas. They are beautifully informative and almost deceptively easy to interpret and follow. I heartily recommend using the Tom Harrison Yosemite High Country Map. National Geographic also offers their Trails Illustrated Yosemite Day Hikes map. As far as books go, John Muir's The Yosemite is as good a tour guide to Yosemite as can be hoped for. Day Hiking Yosemite National Park also offers information on shorter hikes in the park, as well as Best Easy Day Hikes: Yosemite National Park, with Hiking Yosemite National Park offering further information.
Editor's Note: This article originally appeared in Issue 25 of TrailGroove Magazine. You can read the original article here for additional photos and content.

Big Bend National Park – the key word here is Big – so big, in fact, that the park is home to thousands of species of plants, animals, and insects, and is so large that it contains an entire mountain range! The park is also quite a ways away from major cities, being in far southwestern Texas up against the Rio Grande River and just across from Mexico, allowing it to be a dark sky location.

The Chisos Mountains dominate the center of the park, with the high point being Emory Peak at 7,832 feet of elevation. Surrounding the mountains are thousands of acres of the Chihuahuan Desert. At the southern border is the Rio Grande River at an elevation of around 1,800 feet. The park covers a whopping 1,252 square miles. With this size, variety of elevations, and various ecosystems, there is an enormous potential for hiking, wildlife spotting, and photography.
The Trip to Big Bend
I took a week-long trip to Big Bend with my sister in early November 2023. We planned on hiking several trails, plus backpacking in the Chisos Mountains, which included a climb to the top of Emory Peak. The trip did not disappoint! For the first three days, we took shorter hikes of one to five miles each, including Persimmon Gap Draw, Boquillas Canyon, Ernst Tinaja, Balanced Rock, Rio Grande Village Nature Trail, Pine Canyon, Lost Mine, and the Window. All of these led up to our main event–backpacking to a backcountry campsite high in the mountains.

Our big trek started (after a couple of false starts) at The Basin, which is the trailhead for many trails. We hoisted our packs and began the hike up Laguna Meadows Trail. It got cloudier as the day went on, and was mostly cloudy by evening. We repeatedly passed and were passed by a group of college-aged “kids” on the hike, but otherwise saw very few other hikers on the climb. We spotted a black bear (there are about 30 to 40 in the park) about 100 feet off of the trail at one point, but it was too far away, moving too fast, and in too much brush to get any pictures.
We saw several Mexican Jays that caught our eye due to their bright blue coloring. At the intersection of Colima Trail, the group of “kids” continued south, and we turned east. We went up and over a saddle on the Colima Trail, and then down to Boot Canyon. This part of the hike was about 5.4 miles, with about 2,400 feet of climbing and about 520 feet of descent, and took us around 4 ½ hours, carrying packs weighing roughly 35 pounds each – not exactly ultralight, but we were also carrying about 1.5 gallons of water each, as there was no guarantee that Boot Spring would be flowing enough to replenish our supplies. That evening, we had seven or eight deer pass near the campsite and a later-identified acorn woodpecker that was busy in the trees. It was a chilly evening, so we were in our tents by a little after 7 o’clock. I read for a while and then tossed and turned much of the night – my lightweight air mattress is REALLY noisy! It was about 50° overnight and we had no other “visitors” that we know of.

The next morning, we had our breakfast and saw two young bucks (brothers?) grooming each other and then play-fighting. We had carried small day packs with us so that we could spend the day hiking without the burden of full backpacks. We left our backpacks in the provided bear boxes, flattened our tents (apparently bears get curious about tents left standing), and hiked south in Boot Canyon. When we hiked, there were numerous pools and even some flowing water in the canyon due to some recent rain. We arrived at the end of Boot Canyon Trail at the South Rim, then hiked an easy trail toward the Southwest Rim. We then turned around and continued back along the South Rim to the East and Northeast Rim and finally back to camp. It was a beautiful, mostly sunny day with some cirrus clouds. Despite quite a bit of haze, the views from the rims are spectacular! The Rio Grande River is visible out there in the distance and Mexico just beyond. I really enjoyed the loop and was reluctant to leave. The total distance of the loop was around 6.7 miles with about 2,180 feet of climbing, and it took us 5 1/2 hours, with plenty of stops for photos.

The trail along the rim is well-used and easy to follow as it winds along the edge and up and over several higher ridges. It passes through an area of the East Rim that had been burned in 2021 and is just starting to recover, and most of the campsites were in burned areas. I like the direction that we hiked – counterclockwise – as the hike down from the East Rim to Boot Canyon is quite narrow, steep, rough, and when we hiked it, somewhat overgrown – it would have been quite difficult in the opposite direction. On the return to our campsite, we stopped to refill our water supply at Boot Spring, which was flowing at least a liter per minute – something that you can’t always count on. Back at the campsite, we rested and watched birds flit about.
There was a Peregrine Falcon that visited briefly, and numerous woodpeckers pecking the trees, at least one catching bugs out of the air. After dinner, while sitting in camp enjoying the evening, a bear visited. He seemed quite interested in us, looking from several angles around the campsite, getting to within 25 feet at times! I tried to take a couple of pictures, but they came out blurry because it was nearly dark. We eventually (after probably only five minutes or so), got him to leave by yelling and throwing a couple of rocks. He seemed somewhat young and scared of us, at one point standing on his hind legs behind a tree, like he was thinking about climbing it. He soon moved on, and we didn’t see him again. That evening, we also heard in the distance, and then just above our campsite after dark, a Western Screech Owl – quite the thrilling evening!

The next morning, we broke camp and hiked down Boot Canyon Trail (fairly level trail for about a mile) to the Emory Peak Trail. We left our packs in the bear boxes and then hiked up to Emory Peak, which is about 1.5 miles with about 800 feet of climbing. The trail gets rougher and steeper we climbed, until you reach the last 25 feet. We found we needed to scramble up an exposed rock face of large granite boulders, but the 360° view from Emory Peak, the highest point in the park, is superb. Climbing back down seemed the most treacherous with all of that steep rock and exposure, with no room for any false steps. Once we made it off the peak, we hiked back down and picked up our packs. This was where we saw the most other hikers on the trip, as there were about a dozen resting at this point. Then we hiked down the Pinnacles Trail to our vehicle. The total distance this day was about 8.5 miles with 3,000 feet of descent and 1,700 feet of climbing, and took us six hours with many breaks for photos and rests.
Other Hikes of Note
Pine Canyon
Pine Canyon Trail starts from a trailhead off of the main paved roads at the end of a one-lane 6.4 mile track that goes across the desert. The road is rough but was suitable, when we drove it, for a Subaru Forester or similar vehicle. The lower part of Pine Canyon Trail crosses a large Sotol (a type of agave with long, sawtoothed leaves) grassland and slowly climbs into a forested Pinõn-Juniper canyon on the east side of the Chisos Mountains.

The shaded canyon is full of a variety of large trees (including the national champion Arizona Yellow Pine, with a 105 foot height and 9-foot girth – unfortunately we did not know this at the time so did not know to look for it). There are also oaks, junipers, and maples along the trail. The last half mile gets quite steep until you reach a 200 foot-tall pour-off. It had a trickle of water when we were there. The hike was about 4.3 miles round-trip with about 1,000 feet elevation gain to the end.
Lost Mine
The Lost Mine Trail starts steeply from the parking lot, then less steeply but continuously, with many switchbacks along the way, up onto a ridge overlooking excellent views of the surrounding desert and mountains. This is one of the more popular hikes in the park, and for good reason –the views from the end are amazing, rivaling the views from the South Rim. A pair of ravens felt the same way as they perched on one of the large rocks and watched us. The hike is a total of 4.8 miles round-trip with about 1,100 feet elevation gain to the end.
Ernst Tinaja
To get to Ernst Tinaja you must first travel the rough four-wheel drive (high clearance needed) Old Ore Road for about five miles. From the trailhead, it’s an easy one-mile walk up a dry wash with very little elevation gain (less than 300 feet) to the tinaja – a pool or depression carved out of the rock below a waterfall. There were several small pools in the wash along the way. The tinaja is in a sloped canyon at the end, and is surrounded by twisted, colorful sedimentary (mainly limestone) rock layers with some fossil shells visible. This is a very good short hike, provided you have the right vehicle to get to the trailhead.
The Window
The Window Trail starts in Chisos Basin Campground between sites 49 and 51. There is also a trailhead at The Basin, which adds nearly a mile of hiking each way. The trail descends through Oak Creek Canyon to the Window pour-off. The top of the Window pour-off is slickrock–very slick, and is not a place I'd like to be if the rock was wet, with a near 200 foot drop off. Near the end of the trail, we took a side trail (Oak Spring trail) up to an overlook high above the Window, with great views of the surrounding desert and mountains.

Along the trail and at the Window, there are usually a few visitors, as this is another of the most popular hikes in the park. The view through the window frames panoramic desert vistas. The hike (without the side jaunt to the overlook) is about 4.8 miles round-trip with 900 feet elevation drop to the end (and 900 feet back up to the trailhead!). The extra side-trip to the overlook adds just over a half-mile and an extra 350 feet of climbing and descent, but the view is worth the extra effort.
Need to Know
Information
There are four developed campgrounds in the park. Information on seasons and reservations can be found here. Advance reservations are needed for all camping in the park. Permits are not needed for hiking. There are five visitor centers. Water is a concern and we packed in all that we needed.
Getting There
Big Bend National Park is quite isolated, and a long way from major cities. It is about 4 hours south of Midland-Odessa, 5 hours from El Paso, and over 8 hours from Dallas. The nearest major airports are at Midland/Odessa, Texas (235 miles from park headquarters) and El Paso, Texas (330 miles from park headquarters).
Best Time to Go
November through April are the busiest times. Later spring, summer, and early fall can be very hot. Summer can be even hotter. Spring break gets very busy. Campground and lodging reservations are required and can be made up to six months in advance.
Maps and Books
We used the Trails Illustrated 225 topo map of the park and the Falcon Guide: Hiking Big Bend National Park. Also, the Hiker’s Guide 2021 by The Big Bend Natural History Association is a good source. I additionally found Nature Watch Big Bend to be very informative about the park. Lastly, there is a Best Easy Day Hikes: Big Bend National Park guidebook available.
Editor's Note: This article by Steve and Melissa Ancik originally appeared in Issue 56 of TrailGroove Magazine. You can read the original article here for additional photos and content.