Backpack, tent, sleeping bag, down coat—all of it was back home in Washington. I left it there when I came to St. Louis to visit my folks for the holidays, not expecting a college friend to invite me on an impromptu overnight backpacking trip in the Ozark Mountains. 

But I wasn’t about to turn down an old friend, and so the gear would have to sort itself out. I rummaged through my parent’s basement and found my dad’s old external frame pack from his Boy Scout days—1960s vintage. Then I dug up the foam pad and sleeping bag that had served me so well during my own stint as a Scout in middle school. After I scrounged an old nylon coat from the attic, the ensemble was complete. All I needed now was food, which I grabbed from a gas station en route to the trailhead—a footlong Italian meat sub, paired with a Clif Bar. 

From the trailhead, we hiked to an ice-choked creek and followed it upstream past a line of icicle-covered limestone cliffs. We picked our way across rocky glades of block-shaped rhyolite boulders and crossed a log bridge to our campsite beside a tiny waterfall. For dinner, I ate half the sub. The next morning, we watched the sun come up from an open bluff-top vista, and I ate the other half for breakfast. 

We had a blast. But in the eye of the outdoor recreation media, we were pariahs. 

“We will not run photos of hikers wearing jeans, and sneakers, nor clothing that is out of date (more than 5 years old),” read the photography guidelines for submissions to “Backpacker,” one of the nation’s most popular outdoors magazines. Even if I had submitted my Cathedral Canyon photos, they wouldn’t have stood a chance in the magazine. We violated every single rule. 

You don’t need to be wealthy to enjoy the outdoors. But national media outlets—fueled by an unquenchable thirst for advertising revenue—don’t want you to believe that. They want you to think that the only people who are truly “outdoorsy” are thin, athletic 20-somethings wearing thousand-dollar outfits and Instagram-worthy smiles. They’ve perpetuated a lie, and it’s hurting our sport. 

I’m as guilty as anyone. I’ve wasted countless hours wandering aimlessly through online gear stores. I’ve sifted through hundreds of listings for jackets, hats, tents, and sleeping bags, mistakenly believing that these items are the key to unlocking happiness outdoors. 

If only I had this rain jacket, or that backpack, I say to myself, imagine all the things I’d do… imagine all the places I’d go. 

It’s a misplaced idea. True, many outdoor pursuits do require a lot of stuff, and having good gear can make a trip more enjoyable. But generally, I already own that gear. It’s not brand new, but it works. And if I’m unhappy with my life as an outdoor recreationalist, it’s probably not because I don’t own the latest jacket. More likely it’s because I’m spending too little time in the mountains. 

After all, expensive gear by itself won’t bring you to the top of that Facebook-famous peak—despite what the manufacturers want you to believe.  

John Muir, for one, didn’t have the benefit of space-age insulation or waterproof, breathable fabric, and he never had a problem having fun outside. To prepare for a long backcountry trip, Muir simply “rolled up some bread and tea in a pair of blankets with some sugar and a tin cup and set off.” This is ultralight backpacking, before the dawn of Gore-Tex. 

Ultimately, the outdoors is for everyone. Come as you are with what you have, and leave with a better appreciation for the world we live in. 

Chances are, you’re going to encounter an outdoor gear ad in the near future. You’ll probably see a happy looking person with a lot of expensive gear. There’s nothing wrong with happy people, or expensive gear. Just do me a favor—don’t assume they’re related.

Paul Chisholm is currently training for a 50-mile trail race from his new home in the Black Hills of South Dakota. He wrote about Oregon’s Wallowa Mountains for the October 2019 issue.  

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From the Wallowa Lakes Trailhead ($5 parking fee or Northwest Forest Pass required), start hiking up the East Fork Wallowa Trail. The grade is gentle, and the trail passes through several meadows that open up to views of conical-shaped mountains carved from sedimentary rock.

Reach Aneroid Lake at 6.4 miles, which is a great spot to camp if you got a late start from the trailhead. It’s also a great spot to fish because the state stocks rainbow trout here every two years. Continuing up the trail, you’ll reach a broad alpine plateau overlooking Jewett Lake near mile 8, tucked in a depression at 8,300 feet. Jewett Lake is a spectacular spot to spend the night, though the lack of cover makes it an undesirable campsite in bad weather.

At 8.6 miles you’ll make a right onto the Polaris Trail and ascend to panoramic views atop Polaris Pass at mile 12.6. Hopefully you’ve got a good pair of hiking poles because you’re about to enter switchback purgatory—over 50 switchbacks drop you 2,000 feet to the East Fork Wallowa River below.

Frazier Lake, near mile 15, sits at the foot of a string of waterfalls cascading down a granite cliff and has several good campsites. But if you hike 2.5 miles farther to Glacier Lake, you can camp amongst the bonsai-like trees of the Wallowa’s alpine zone. Take your pick—you can’t go wrong.

When you wake in the morning, you’ll likely encounter the reason many people avoid the Wallowas in October—temperatures drop well below freezing at night, and mornings can be frosty. But instead of hiding in your tent, embrace the crisp autumn air by brewing a pot of coffee and wrapping yourself in your sleeping bag on the lakeshore. Watch the morning mist drift across the surface of the water as the first warm rays of sun peak over the horizon. Just don’t linger too long—you’ve still got some walking to do.

From Glacier Lake, the trail climbs to Glacier Pass at 8,500 feet before descending into the popular Lakes Basin area. The trail twists and turns for roughly 6 miles through the Lakes Basin, passing too many emerald lakes and spectacular campsites to list separately. The trees are sparse in this boulder-strewn landscape, and the glacier-scoured granite is speckled with numerous ponds and potholes. Several loop trails snake through the basin, making it a great place to explore for an afternoon after you’ve set up camp.

Eventually, you’ll have to leave the Lakes Basin and descend to the West Fork Wallowa Trail near mile 26. Follow the river down valley for roughly 6 miles of easy walking back to the trailhead.

Day Hiking Oregon’s Largest Nature Reserve

If the mountains aren’t your style, then drop into the lowlands and take a walk in Oregon’s largest nature reserve. The 51-square-mile Zumwalt Prairie explodes with lupine, camas, and balsamroot wildflowers in the spring and preserves one of the most intact bunchgrass prairie ecosystems in North America. From the Duckett Barn, set out on Patti’s Trail—a 2.3-mile loop that passes through shallow drainages and swaths of native prairie. In warmer months, butterflies can be found in abundance here foraging amongst the wildflowers. Look for the regal, orange and black Milbert’s tortoiseshell butterfly or the readily identifiable yellow and black wings of the western tiger swallowtail. Songbirds and raptors—like the western meadowlark and ferruginous hawk—are abundant, too, and are one of the main reasons this property was initially purchased and set aside by the Nature Conservancy.

From Enterprise, drive on Highway 82 south for 3 miles and turn left on Crow Creek Road. Drive 5 miles and turn right on Zumwalt/Buckhorn Road. Drive 14 miles and turn right on Duckett Road. Drive 1.4 miles and park at the Duckett Barn, which has a parking lot and an information kiosk.

Ice Lake Weekend Hike

Not feeling up for a 32-mile loop? Consider the 14.6-mile roundtrip hike to Ice Lake. You’ll still get the alpine lakes, fall color views, and high craggy peaks for a fraction of the effort.

From the Wallowa Lake Trailhead, head up the West Fork Wallowa Trail through lush forest for 2.5 miles. Turn right on the Ice Lake Trail and cross the gurgling torrent on a rustic wooden bridge. Switchback up the mountain for 4.8 miles, passing sparkling waterfalls. To minimize your impact, set up camp at least 200 feet from the shore of Ice Lake, set beneath the 9,826-foot granite summit of the Matterhorn, one of the tallest peaks in the Wallowas. 

Scrambling up the Matterhorn is a popular, non-technical climb, but be sure you have enough time and the right weather for it—the climb takes at least 4-5 hours roundtrip from Ice Lake. The view from the wind-scoured summit is worth it, extending across northeast Oregon to the dry ridges of the Blue Mountains and the jagged defile of Hells Canyon.

When you’ve had your fill, retrace your steps the next day to return to the trailhead. 

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After self-registering at the trailhead kiosk, begin walking up the drainage. The first three miles of the hike are fairly easy. The trail follows Box Canyon Creek uphill, and the gurgling stream provides a fitting soundtrack as you alternate between hemlock-fir forest and fern-choked meadows.

Just before the 3-mile mark, the trail begins to switchback up the steep slope to the lake. Here the route crosses many rocks and roots, and you’ll feel like you’re climbing a staircase. It’s a push, but several small waterfalls line the trail—nice spots to take a break or dunk your head in the water. The trail also crosses several small streams, and the smooth, algae-covered rocks in the stream bottoms can be slippery. A pair of trekking poles or a sturdy hiking stick is warranted.

Near the top of the grade, the views begin to open up. To the north you might spot the 6,547-foot summit of Hibox Mountain. In early fall abundant huckleberry, willow, and mountain ash along the trail turn brilliant shades of gold and crimson, bathing the hillside in color. Just after the 4-mile mark, you’ll reach the rocky, hemlock-rimmed shores of Rachel Lake.

On a clear day, the pristine waters sparkle beneath the stony outcrops of Rampart Ridge, which towers over the lake. The color of the water oscillates between turquoise and deep blue, depending on the light. This lake is notorious for its swarms of mosquitoes in summer, but by September the chill of autumn should have thinned their ranks considerably. If you feel the need to drop some weight, the view from the pit toilet near the lake is one of the best.

If you’re doing the trip as a day hike, Rachel Lake is a great spot to have lunch and take a swim. If you’ve got one, inflatable sleeping pads make a great float toy for lounging. For overnighters, there are several good campsites along the lakeshore, though campfires are prohibited to protect the fragile alpine vegetation. There are a few campsites along the trail a mile or so below the lake if you’d like to have a fire.

If you’re still feeling good, you can continue further up the trail to Rampart Ridge, which gives you a stunning 360-degree view of the central Cascades. From Rampart Ridge, two trails diverge—one goes to Lila Lake and the other goes to Rampart Lakes. Both of these worthy destinations lie approximately 1.5 miles from Rachel Lake and provide convenient back-up options for camping if the sites along Rachel Lake are taken. When you’ve had your fill, return to your car the way you came in.

Before you leave the area, be sure to make a stop in Cle Elum, Pick up some beef jerky from Owen’s Meats, then hit up Mule and Elk Brewing for a pint of Cooper Lake IPA. 

Getting There

Location: Central Cascades

Round-trip distance: 8.5 miles

Rating: Moderate

Getting there: From Spokane, drive west on I-90 for about 220 miles and exit on Kachess Lake Rd. Turn right and drive 5.4 miles to a fork. Take a right and drive another 3.5 miles to the trailhead parking lot on the left (Northwest Forest or Interagency Pass required). Several free dispersed campsites line the road to the trailhead—good options for car camping before or after your hike. Avoid leaving valuables in your car at the trailhead, as there have been multiple reports of car break-ins from trailheads in this vicinity. 

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Garmin and SPOT are the two major brands of satellite messaging devices. Both companies have devices that allow for two-way communication, so you can text back and forth with a cell phone user. Additionally, SPOT offers a simpler device that doesn’t do two-way communication but does have remote tracking, a distress signal, and a standard “OK” message. These devices typically run from $100 to $500. In addition to the upfront cost of purchasing the device, they also require a monthly subscription fee, which can be $10 or more per month.

Satellite messaging devices can be a helpful safety tool. But they can also create complacency among their users and encourage people to take bigger risks. When they are triggered needlessly, they create unnecessary headache for local emergency services. Nothing can replace good outdoor sense. Always remember to file your trip plan with a trusted individual, stay within your limits, and make good decisions when you are in the backcountry—otherwise, you may find yourself contemplating a cold night shivering in a latrine. 

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The weather forecast called for bad weather later in the evening—rain in the valley, snow in the mountains. But I was eager to run the 36-mile Copper Ridge Loop, a classic North Cascades backpacking route that most people hike over several days. This was possibly my last chance of the season. I checked the forecast, predicted the time it would take given my pace, and decided I had enough time to make it work.

The first miles clipped by. After an hour and 4 miles of running, I was atop Hannegan Pass, the site of an unregulated first-come first-served Forest Service campground. In another mile I passed into North Cascades National Park, and turned left at the junction to ascend Copper Ridge.

I climbed, rising steadily above the trees. From the ridge, I had a 360-degree view of the glacier-carved peaks of the Cascades—Indian Mountain to the east, Hannegan Peak to the west, and the jagged, vertigo-inducing spires of the Pickett Range further to the south. Green forests from the valleys blended into oranges, reds, and yellows up high, where the trees gave way to the fall colors of alpine vegetation—willows, huckleberries, and heather. Above 6000 feet, everything was covered in a thin, frosty film of white.

Atop the ridge I met another runner going the other way, returning from an out-and-back run to the Copper Ridge Lookout. 

“Just taking advantage of the good weather while it lasts!” I said as we crossed paths.

“Hey man, this is it! Last day of the year!” he called back exuberantly.

I passed two backcountry campsites (reserveable in person at one of the park offices) on the ridge before reaching the now-unstaffed lookout cabin at mile 10. 

Now I could see down the Chilliwack River, far into Canada. Jagged mountain peaks surrounded me in all directions. I wanted to linger, but a chilly breeze pushed me onward. I was wearing only a long-sleeved t-shirt and a thin pair of running shorts, so I relied on movement to keep me warm.

My running shoes crunched through crispy patches of snow as I picked my way along the ridge. At 11.4 miles the trail passed Copper Lake, the last campsite on the ridge. As I skirted the east flank of 7142-foot Copper Mountain, I soaked up one last alpine vista before descending 3000 feet to the valley below.

It felt like a different world. I had left the wind-scoured tundra, where hundred-year-old trees might be four feet tall, and entered the land of giants. Old growth firs and cedars, many five feet or more in diameter, stood sentry over the bottomlands. Centuries of fallen timber and rock lay beneath a shaggy carpet of emerald-colored moss.

I forded the river and began the slow ascent back to Hannegan Pass. Near the 24-mile mark, I crossed the Chilliwack on an aerial tramway, pulling myself across the river in a cable car.

Now I was getting tired. The sun was sinking low, and the temperature was dropping. The trail steepened. As I clicked on my headlamp, my pace slowed to a walk.

That’s when the first raindrops began to fall. It started as a light drizzle but soon became a drenching rain. Clearly, I had not beaten the weather.

As I climbed the pass, the rain turned to snow, blowing horizontally in the stiff wind. By the time I crested the pass, I was thoroughly soaked. My hands and ears were numb. I had only four downhill miles to go, but after running 32 miles and ascending nearly 10,000 feet, the task seemed Herculean.

I checked the campsite for backpackers who might be able to help me out, but finding no one I took refuge in the outhouse.

I considered spending the night there. It was sheltered, and I could continue in the morning.

But the temperature was already well below freezing, and I was wet. If a lot of snow fell overnight the trail could become difficult.

I pushed on, summoning my reserves to run the final miles. I moved quickly, aware that I was losing body heat. But I was also wary of injuring myself on the slippery rocks.

It was nearly 9 p.m. before I reached the trailhead. Coincidentally, a pair of climbers were also returning, chatting away as their ice axes clanked against their crampons in the darkness. I tried to call out and let them know I was there, but my voice didn’t carry in the wind and rain.

As I neared one of them, she let out a scream, nearly toppling over with surprise. I mumbled an apology before pushing past the couple to my car.The trail was one of the most visually stunning I’ve ever seen. But next time I think I’ll give myself a few more hours.

Backpacking the Copper Ridge Loop

The Copper Ridge Loop in the North Cascades is a classic backpacking route with epic climbs (over 8,000 feet of elevation gain), mountain lakes and streams, stellar alpine scenery, and even a self-propelled cable car river crossing. The loop can be hiked as a multi-day backpacking trip over several days, or, if you’re short on time or enjoy a good sufferfest, hiked or ran in one long day. 

Round-trip distance:36 miles

Season:July-October

Rating:Difficult

Permits:A backcountry permit, available at a National Park office no more than 24 hours in advance, is required for overnight camping in North Cascades National Park. A Northwest Forest Pass is also necessary for trailhead parking. in person at a National Park office no more than 24 hours in advance.

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Like a sailor of yore gazing at the Big Dipper from the bow of his ship, I perceived this connect-the-dots message as an omen—more than an omen: an imperative. It had to be done.

I began texting potential accomplices. Responses ranged from “that’s a lot of miles” to “that’s a lot of beer.” It took some cajoling, but a few relented. Before long, I had assembled a dream team of the most athletic beer drinkers east of the Cascades. The Spokane Beer Chase was officially on.

Now, a quick caveat. Our collective Venn diagram of personal schedules necessitated a Sunday date for the event, which meant that several breweries were closed. Steam Plant Brew Pub was closed too, due to ongoing renovations. Square Wheel Brewing, while technically in the city limits, was ridiculously far away. That left 10 breweries, which was at least manageable from the standpoint of a human liver.

We mustered that fateful Sunday at Waddell’s in north Spokane. We were under a social media blackout, since one of our posse was supposed to be spending the day with his in-laws. He didn’t want his excuse of a “really important race” to get blown up by photos on Facebook. After enjoying a satisfying round, our group of half a dozen runners and bikers began the 3-mile journey south to Bellwether Brewing. Upon arriving, we quaffed beer number two, and were off to Iron Goat.

Our mood was jubilant as we crossed the Monroe Street Bridge. The foaming waters of the Spokane River rushed beneath our feet, and the sun was shining brightly above us. Nothing could stop us.

Nothing, except perhaps lethargy. Our schedule necessitated that each stop should last less than 20 minutes. It was easy at first, but gradually became more difficult. From Iron Goat, we ran to the Steel Barrel, a taproom that hosts a trio of start-up breweries (Little Spokane, Young Buck, and TT’s). And from there, it was on to River City.

By that point, we were all feeling a bit low. The dense concentration of downtown breweries kept the beer-to-running ratio relatively high. We had stopped drinking full pints at each stop, opting instead for half-pints and 4-ounce tasters whenever possible. But despite our best efforts, we were all starting to feel like we didn’t want to run anymore.

Any racer knows the feeling. Some call it “bonking” while others call it “hitting the wall.” My crew was fading, and they needed a pep talk.

“Great deeds,” I announced, “are never accomplished by simply sitting in a room and drinking beer. They are accomplished by sitting in a lot of different rooms and drinking a lot of different beers.”

I think the message resonated. We left River City with renewed energy. Soon we had checked Black Label (brewery number eight) and No-Li (number nine) off our list. One of our crew got tired and called her boyfriend to pick her up, but the rest of us remained resolute.

Perry Street was our last remaining contender. To reach it, we’d have to run up the South Hill. Darkness had settled over the city. We ran under the I-90 overpass, and a stranger asked us for cigarettes. We declined his request. On the way up the hill, one of our crew stumbled and took a fall, badly scraping his knee. No matter—at this point, nothing could keep us from our goal.

With a sense of triumph, we entered Perry Street and ordered our last pint of the day. My buddy’s knee was pretty bloody, but the injury did little to temper our enthusiasm. We had done it, successfully linking each star in the Spokane brewery constellation. We had seen new neighborhoods, drank new beers, and forged new bonds. Now I’m looking at a map of Seattle. That one might be a bit tougher. P

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From the trailhead, travel switchbacks up the slope, passing through alpine meadows that open to views of the surrounding peaks. Just over a mile from the trailhead you’ll pass the intersection for Pyramid Lake, a popular day-trip destination. Set beneath a wall of solid granite, Pyramid Lake is a worthy detour. It’s only a half of a mile from the intersection, so you might as well take a look. Boulders on the lakeshore make great lunch spots, and magenta wildflowers carpet the ground near the lake’s outlet.

Returning to the main trail, continue up the switchbacks to Pyramid Pass, ignoring the signed trail to Trout Lake. You’re in the Selkirk high country now, which isn’t actually that high since the tallest peaks barely crest 7,000 feet. But the stark, granitic landscape gives the feel of much larger mountains. Soil is at a premium here, and whitebark pine and subalpine fir carve out a precarious existence between cliffs and boulders. The ecology of the place makes it feel like you’re much higher. Be thankful for easy access to this alpine wonderland, so close to the trailhead!

Continue following the trail over Pyramid Pass. At the intersection with the Long Canyon Trail, stay right. Three miles from the trailhead (not counting the side trip to Pyramid Lake), you’ll top out on Parker Ridge. Snow can linger here late into the summer, so use caution when crossing steep patches. In a heavy snow year, it’s a good idea to bring a traction aide (like MICROspikes or Yaktrax) until mid-July.

From the crest of Parker Ridge, you’ll have a 360-degree panorama of the surrounding landscape. 7,653-foot Smith Peak dominates the skyline to the west, while the craggy face of 7,288-foot Lions Head is a bit further away to the southwest. Pika can often be found here, scampering among the boulders and chirping loudly to sound the alarm of an approaching hiker.

At mile 4, you’ll reach the turnoff for Long Mountain Lake. Descend switchbacks for half a mile down to the granite-rimmed lake and pick one of the many rocky campsites shaded by gnarled whitebark pine along the lakeshore. In recent years, the subalpine fir and whitebark pine surrounding Long Mountain Lake have been damaged by eager campers seeking firewood. In this fragile alpine environment, where trees grow slowly, it’s better to skip the evening campfire.

The glistening waters of Long Mountain Lake are a worthy destination in their own right. But 7,670-foot Parker Peak, the tallest named peak in the American Selkirks, is only 5 trail miles away. Consider making a visit if you have a day to kill. The view from the top extends through the rugged heart of the Selkirks all the way to the border town of Creston, British Columbia. 

When you’ve had your fill, return the way you came. There are a lot of options for further exploration in this area, including trails to Ball Lakes, Trout Lake, and Long Canyon Creek, so you might find yourself returning sooner than you think!

Location:Selkirk Mountains

Round-trip distance: 10 miles

Rating:Moderate to difficult                        

Getting there: From Spokane, drive to Bonners Ferry. Continue north on US-95 for 14.8 miles. Turn left on ID-1 for 2.1 miles. Turn left on Copeland Hill road and drive 3.5 miles to the t-intersection with West Side road. Turn left and drive 4.5 miles. Turn right on Trout Creek road and drive 9 miles to the trailhead. Trout Creek road is rough and heavily washboarded, but accessible to 2WD passenger cars. Parking is on the left (south) side of the road, while the trail begins on the right (north) side. P

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The Rattlesnake Trail leaves directly from Panjab Campground. Ford Panjab Creek (can be spicy in high water) and immediately switchback up the ridge. The trail climbs nearly 2,000 feet in 2 miles—a slog, for sure! But you’ll get views of the surrounding canyons from the open ridgeline, which is carpeted in a sea of arrowleaf balsamroot in early summer.

After 2.5 miles, you’ll emerge into a wildflower-choked meadow upon a flat-topped ridge—the sort of open parkland the Blue Mountains are known for. In early summer, melting snow gives way to glacier lilies, Jacob’s shooting star, lupine, and scarlet gilia. It’s not a bad spot to catch your breath. Best of all, you’ve finished the biggest climb of the hike. It’s all gravy from here!

Hear something gurgling? If it’s not your stomach, it’s Alnus Spring, a few hundred feet north of the trail (a topo-enabled GPS is helpful for finding it). As you continue down the trail, you’ll pass near Red Fir Spring, south (downhill) of the trail and out of sight in the trees. 

These springs make the ridges of the Blue Mountains great places to camp. Elk like to hang out near the springs, too, since they’re the only place to get water during the hot summer months. You can catch them grazing in the meadows near the trees at dusk and dawn.

Continuing south from Red Fir Spring, you’ll take the middle trail at a four-way intersection near mile 6. The gently rolling trail stays atop the ridge, poking in and out of little patches of forest until it reaches a half-mile side trail to Oregon Butte near mile 9.5.

Oregon Butte is the tallest point in southeast Washington, and the 360-degree view from the summit is well worth the trip. Gaze down into the crumbly, 3,000-foot-deep basalt chasm carved by Third Creek, and then up to the hulking, 9,000-foot silhouettes of the Wallowa Mountains 50 miles away. There’s a fire lookout here that’s staffed during the summer—feel free to visit, but remember, you’re a guest in someone’s home.

Continue following the ridgeline west for 3 miles to Teepee Campground. From the campground, take the trail heading north, which drops you into Turkey Creek. Now you’re in a whole new world—gone are the dry, sun-baked ridges, replaced by a fast-flowing stream and dark, spooky forest. If you’re lucky, you might glimpse a Lewis’s woodpecker, a brilliant pink and green bird that hangs out in these parts from April through October.

Four miles from Teepee Campground, you’ll hit the Panjab Trail. Stay left, and hike a mile and a quarter along the creek back to the road. To complete the loop, walk (or shuttle) 2 miles down the road back to your car. 

Getting There

From Spokane, drive south on Highways 195, 26, 127, and 12 to Tucannon Road. Turn left (east) on Tucannon Road and drive 32 miles. At the fork, stay right on Forest Road 4713. Drive 0.3 miles to the kiosk at Panjab Campground (not to be confused with Panjab Trailhead, 2 miles farther down the road). There is no formal trailhead for the Rattlesnake Trail. There are several pull-offs near the kiosk where you can park; alternatively, if you have a Discover Pass, you can park in the dirt lot across the road on state property.P

[Photos by Paul Chisholm]

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