I stood, breathless and exhausted, on the top of the divide, looking down at the pristine and untrailed cirque that lay ahead. My route bared before me, for a moment continuing on across the three passes that lay ahead seemed achievable. Then my eyes lifted to the glaciated massif of 7,600-foot Mount Mystery on the opposite wall of the basin, and my shaking legs sent an unmistakable message: I would make it no further.

Olympic National Park offers hikers rugged terrain and stunning views.

The Plan and an Olympic National Park Trip

I had set out solo the day before from the Dungeness River Trailhead, in the northeast corner of Olympic National Park, with an ambitious loop planned. My goal was to enter Royal Basin via a high traverse and then trek cross-country beyond the basin through the wild high country of the eastern Olympic Mountains. All told, the route covered 27 miles and a whopping 11,000 feet of elevation gain (and loss) in three days. While certain to challenge me, the route promised the dual rewards of solitude and unparalleled adventure in one of the most difficult-to-penetrate mountain ranges in the lower 48.

The trip began innocently enough, following the well-trodden and relatively flat trail along the Dungeness River through lush old-growth forest. Moving briskly through the easy riverside terrain, it wasn’t long before I reached the Old Way Trail that would guide me to the top of Gray Wolf Ridge. The ridge hovers around the 7,000-foot contour, forming the northern flank of Royal Basin, but is wide and smooth enough to be less technical (in contrast to nearly every other ridge in the vicinity) and provides an alpine conduit into the heart of the basin.

The shift in grade from flat to calf-screamingly steep was instantaneous as I turned onto the Way Trail, the beginning of a 5,000 foot climb from river to ridgetop. Apparently, the scant eight miles from the trailhead to Royal Lake via the ridge – which from a glance at the map hardly seemed realistic – would be made possible by eschewing switchbacks. With each step, I forced my leg to land flat to avoid doing hours of calf raises and lifted as much of my pack weight as possible with my arms and trekking poles. By the time the trees receded into meadow, still 1,000 feet below the summit, my body felt as if it had suffered through 15 miles of hiking rather than just two.

With the summit in sight, though, I pushed ahead, determined to make it to the top before stopping for lunch or taking in the view. I was greeted at the top by a gnome sitting on a toilet – by far the strangest and, delirious with exhaustion and celebration, funniest mountaintop trinkets I have encountered. But I certainly envied the gnome’s boundless panorama. Puget Sound, the Strait of Juan de Fuca, and the southern reaches of the Salish Sea stretched out before me, punctuated only by the San Juan Islands and the mountainous coast of Vancouver Island. To the east, the glaciers of Mount Baker and the Picket Range stood out against the hazy blue horizon, while to the west the tip of Mount Olympus poked out from behind the jagged peaks of the Bailey Range.

My reverie in the endless landscape was broken when, looking ahead and comparing the landscape to the map, I counted one bump too many in the ridgeline. The summit I had reached was not a summit at all! Instead, it was merely the shoulder of the first of three peaks along Gray Wolf Ridge. My celebration quickly turned to anxiety, as the ridge climb had not been nearly as straightforward as I expected and the traverse was looking equally challenging. Each peak dropped over 1,000 feet to a saddle, meaning that my tired legs had much more climbing to face. Worse, I was running low on water and there was no sign of snow along the ridge. To top it all off, by the time I reached the true first summit, legs wobbly, it was already late afternoon.

It was clear that continuing along the ridge was not a viable option, but rather than turn back to The Way Trail, which would have doomed my trip only hours into it, I decided to drop off the ridge below the first saddle and head downhill for Royal Creek and the trail. The ensuing bushwhack was a backpacker’s nightmare. Exhausted and without water, I descended 3,000 feet first over loose rock and then, after reaching the tree line, through unkempt rainforest. By the time I reached the trail, a highway running through the forest compared to the endless debris of fallen trees that I had been scrambling over, I was too unhappy even to celebrate making it down. I simply put my head down and forced myself to march the five miles of trail up to Royal Lake as the sunset faded to dusk.

I reached the lake, my original endpoint for the day, at 9PM. Exhausted and frustrated, I pitched my tent in a hurry. Setting up my stove to cook dinner seemed a laughably difficult task at that point, and in any case I was too dehydrated to have much of an appetite. Instead, I munched on trail mix and Oreo’s before crawling into my tent and passing out.

I broke camp early the next morning, knowing that my second day was the most ambitious portion of the route and that I would be moving slowly after the abuse of the day before. To form a loop between Royal Basin and Constance Pass, from where maintained trail led back to the Dungeness River trailhead, I would have to first climb over the shoulder of Mount Deception at the head of Royal Basin. Once down the other side, the plan was to contour around the base of Mount Mystery until I could find a way into the notch on its southern flank known as Gunsight Pass. From there, the map presented a maze of closely-spaced contours that I could traverse to intersect Constance Pass. A glance at the map seemed to indicate that none of this would be possible, although my research into the trip (the same research that had failed to adequately prepare me for the traverse of Gray Wolf Ridge) had assured me that it could be accomplished in a single day.

With my quads still throbbing, I turned uphill once again following the trail from Royal Lake to the upper portion of the basin. As I passed through a series of astoundingly beautiful meadows, Royal Creek running alongside the trail, the morning was filled with the sound of marmots chirping. At the head of the basin, rivulets poured from remnant snowfields on the northern face of Mount Deception into a turquoise-colored tarn. Looking up, trying to pick out the least vertical path up to the divide 1,000 feet above, the immensity and steepness of the landscape hit me in full. I had come to the right place for a rugged adventure, but I was no longer certain I was prepared for this level of ruggedness.

Moving sluggishly, I picked my way up the steep talus field, stopping every now and then to watch the ominous rock falls coming down the main face of Mount Deception. Shapes became apparent on the ridgetop, and my first thought was that I would have to fend off mountain goats when I reached the top. Thankfully though, the shapes took on human forms and I crossed the group of three as they descended into Royal Basin. Apparently, they had attempted to reach Gunsight Pass via the Mystery Glacier the previous day and failed, the steep terrain proving too unstable to climb. In response to my plan to traverse around the base of the mountain, their leader grimaced and expressed little confidence in the route. With my resolve already as weak as my legs, this was anything but encouraging.

I pushed on, determined at least to reach the top before making any decision. The view as I crested the divide was almost enough – almost – to push me onward. Mount Mystery stood in full splendor directly across from me, along with the Mystery Glacier and its invitation into Gunsight Pass. The basin itself was dominated by a muddy lake at the glacier’s base, the grey water flowing steeply out of the basin and leading my eyes to the craggy peaks hidden deep in the interior of the Olympic Mountains. My intended route around the base of Mount Mystery was also clearly visible from the pass – even from a mile away and 1,000 feet up, the area that I had planned to contour around looked steep.

The Decision Point

Looking wishfully at the map and the basin before me, it was obvious that to go on would be painful at best. Once I began the descent, there was no reasonable way back to trail except to reach Constance Pass, which meant crossing a significant portion of uninviting terrain culminating in Gunsight Pass. The weight of these concerns, combined with the heaviness in my legs, was enough of a signal that I had reached the end. Disappointed to let go of my grand loop, but content with my decision, I made the steep descent back into Royal Basin from where a switchback-rich trail could deliver me back to the trailhead.

Need to Know

Information

Royal Basin is one of only a few areas within Olympic National Park that requires reservations for overnight camping. The park begins accepting reservations in March, but note that summer weekends often fill up. All overnight trips into Olympic National Park require backcountry permits, available at the Wilderness Information Center in Port Angeles.

Getting There

From Highway 101, turn onto Louella Road opposite Sequim Bay State Park. Turn left onto Palo Alto Road and follow this for 17 miles as it enters Olympic National Forest, crosses the Dungeness River, and ultimately ends at a well-established trailhead just before a concrete bridge over the river.

Best Time to Go

Royal Basin becomes free of snow in early to mid-July most years, although snow can persist on the pass over Mount Deception into August; you can call the Wilderness Information Center for current conditions. Late September and early October offer colored leaves and misty mornings, but cold nights and unpredictable forecasts. Reservation permits are required for backpacking from May 1 to September 30.

Maps and Books

Trails Illustrated 216 Olympic National Park map. An overview of the attempted route is briefly described in Olympic Mountains: A Climbing Guide, and you can find additional information about hiking in the park in this guidebook.

Editor's Note: This article by contributor Michael Graw originally appeared in Issue 32 of TrailGroove Magazine. You can read the original article here for additional photos and content.