I sat with my face squished against the passenger-side window, trying to get a better view of the toothy white summits jutting above the western horizon. Driving south on Interstate 5, Mount Shasta hardly seemed worth a glance compared to this jagged range I hadn’t even realized existed. Pulling up Google Maps, it didn’t take long to identify the range. A quick search brought stories of rugged traverses of knife-edge ridges and lakeside campsites ringed by granite cliffs. Looking back at the snow-covered peaks, a new destination jumped to the top of my list - the Trinity Alps.

Six months later, I found my opportunity to explore the interior of this under-the-radar wilderness. An old friend, Peter, had recently moved to California, and we arranged a three-day trip in July. After combing through more accounts of alpine scrambles and poring over maps – inviting lakes distracting my eyes from the closely spaced contours – we decided on backpacking into a basin in the heart of the Trinity Alps.

Hiking the Trinity Alps

We hit the trail at noon, challenging the midsummer California heat. Ascending switchbacks seemingly without end for the first six miles, the sun glared down on us without relief. Thankfully, the melting snowpack left plenty of icy streams flowing across the trail. We paused at nearly all of them, splashing our faces and filling our hats to drip-cool for the next mile. After each trickling oasis, the conversation turned inevitably towards the promise of a swim in the lake at the end of the hike.

Our first view of the basin was like a promise fulfilled – three darkly blue lakes sat surrounded by granite walls that culminated in toothy, snow-patched ridges. From the lowest lake a massive waterfall poured into the abyssal gorge below our trail, tracing a line west towards the Klamath Mountains. As Peter and I pushed our way through blooming fireweed, the only question between us was which lake would offer the most postcard-worthy campsite.

Against Peter’s better judgement, I declared the spot to be a small rise above the lake that offered dominating views of the basin – and caught the 20 mph gusts that blew across the water. He watched in amusement as I pitched the tent, hoping it wouldn’t fly into the lake before I could secure it. To add to the challenge, my stakes stood no chance against the shallow bedrock. Refusing to give up on my site, I set about tying every lash point on the tent to a rock. By the time I had finished the tent looked like it had been attacked by Spiderman and still leaned threateningly with each gust, but never left the ground. I declared it a success.

With the tent in place, we headed down to the shoreline. The water was perfectly clear, revealing where the submerged granite bench dove abruptly into the depths of the lake. We dropped our shirts and waded in to our knees, adjusting to the cold, then dove headfirst into the water. It was magical – and then, very quickly, it was frigid. We spent the remainder of the afternoon laying out on the warm granite, enjoying the rewards of a long day on the trail.

That relaxation ended unexpectedly when, ready for dinner, I watched as Peter shook the fuel canister with a dubious look on his face. “Weird. I think it’s empty.”

While I’m normally a Whisperlite diehard, I succumbed on this trip to the allure of cutting a few ounces. Peter had vouched for his $10 generic stove. And in summer conditions, why shouldn’t we relieve ourselves of having to prime a fuel bottle? What we hadn’t accounted for was that a stove the size of my thumb wouldn’t have the power output to boil two liters of frigid lake water. In retrospect, the careful placement it required to balance my oversized pot on the quarter-sized burner should have been a giveaway. What caught our attention instead was the unmistakable sound, two liters of not-quite-boiled water later, of puttering. Thinking quickly, we salvaged dinner by running water through my gravity filter and enjoyed some tortilla soup with extra crispy rice and beans while considering the merits of cold oatmeal for breakfast.

As the sun set that evening, we walked around to the western edge of the lake to watch. The sky turned shades of pink and orange over the Klamath Mountains, illuminating the haze that swirled over the endless series of ridges and casting a soft glow over the basin. Returning to the tent, the Milky Way began to rise over the ridge crest and my windy tent site was vindicated – from the comfort of our sleeping bags, we had a view sweeping over the lake, the jagged spires at the head of the basin, and beyond to the Milky Way.

The next day’s plan was to hike over Sawtooth Divide – which rose 1,200 feet above the lake – and set up camp at Emerald Lake in the next basin over before retracing our route back to the trailhead on our last day. We had heard rumors that the trail was impassable, but just as we were setting off another backpacker approached the lake and struck up conversation. He had just come from Emerald Lake and while the pass itself was snow-free, the north-facing route that we would climb up to it remained buried. He also advised that we would need to hunt for the buried trail in order to clear the pass.

With that inauspicious send-off, we hiked around the lake and began to climb. It didn’t take long before the trail disappeared under a steep snowfield. We tried to stick to easy walking on exposed trail, until the trail cut a sharp left and vanished entirely under thick snow. The divide remained several hundred feet above us, with no clear indication of which notch was the one we were aiming for.

Although part of me was inclined to blindly follow the last direction the trail had led, Peter had had his fill of snow. He struck off uphill, following patches of bare ground covered in loose rock and we headed directly up the steep slope for the crest.

After a shaky final ascent, Peter reached the crest first. The ridge crest was surprisingly flat compared to the rock we had just scaled, but it was also narrower than the two of us could stand on side-by-side. Peering over the other side, it was nearly a straight shot 2,000 feet down to a glinting blue dot in the valley below – our night’s planned camp. Apparently, we had climbed to the wrong notch.

Without any discussion, the decision was made to spend a second night back at the lake. Even if we could find the trail, it was obvious looking down at the speck that was Emerald Lake that descending and then re-ascending Sawtooth Divide the next morning would be a herculean effort.

We sat atop the divide, taking in the panorama. The basin below was a cirque similar, but the elevation relief was even more stunning. From where we sat, 2,000 feet above the basin floor, the knife-edge of Sawtooth Divide culminated in a snow-capped peak towering 4,000 vertical feet over Emerald Lake. Shuffling to turn around, we gazed down at our newly planned campsite for the night and considered our options for getting back down.

We ended up following the flat of the ridge crest, and our relief when the trail appeared a few hundred yards down the ridge was immense. The trail cut comfortably across the steepest portion of the headwall before disappearing once again under snow, leaving us to glissade easily back into the basin. Finding ourselves back at the lake, Peter picked out a new tent site (sheltered, but lacking a commanding viewpoint). By the time we climbed the trail out of the basin the following day, still miles from the trailhead, I was already planning my next trip into the Trinity Alps.

Need to Know

Information

The Trinity Alps Wilderness is free to enter with a self-issued trailhead permit. An additional fire permit (free) is required for campfires (check current fire restrictions) and available at the Coffee Creek Guard Station.

Getting There

From the north or south, follow California Hwy 3 to Coffee Creek Road. Follow Coffee Creek Road 18 miles to the Big Flat trailhead. The road is gravel, but suitable for low-clearance vehicles.

Best Time to Go

Summer or fall. The trail to Caribou Lakes melts out in mid-June, while the trail to Sawtooth Divide may remain snow-covered until mid-July.

Maps and Books

There is a Forest Service map available and Green Trails offers their Trinity Alps Wilderness Map. The Hiking California’s Trinity Alps Wilderness guide has detailed descriptions for numerous hikes within the range.

Editor's Note: This article by contributor Michael Graw originally appeared in Issue 31 of TrailGroove Magazine. You can read the original article here for additional photos and content.