The short answer: more than was realistic. We’d intended to bike up over Bunker Hill, in northwest Montana’s Yaak Valley, and then continue along the Pacific Northwest Trail to Mount Henry and beyond, through some of the region’s most remote country. But after talking to the Pacific Northwest Trail (PNT) thru-hiker, and listening to our screaming calves, it became clear our ambition was losing a race against daylight. The even shorter answer: “let’s keep boondoggling.”

A few years ago, I was sitting in the Yaak River Tavern—one of two competing watering holes that make up this town in the far northwest corner of Montana—when I struck up a conversation about the area’s lakes with one of the patrons. “Oh, it’s just about 20 miles of boondoggling to get there,” he helpfully replied.

It was the first time I’d heard “boondoggle” used as a verb, but it wouldn’t be the last time I’d hear that term, or a variation of it, to describe adventures around the Yaak. Perhaps it’s the thick, trackless timber—the old-growth inland rainforests of the Yaak Valley were one of the flashpoints of the infamous Timbers Wars of the 1980s. Bushwhacking and misadventure are baked into the language.

As Erin and I discovered on our exploratory biking and fishing trip to the Yaak, the riding is legit, with miles of rough, seldom-used trails accessing larch-ringed alpine lakes and loam-filled forests. I’d hiked many of the trails in the region in years past and thought they’d make excellent bike trails, thanks to dreamy soil and long, open ridgelines. Of course, holding imaginary handlebars is a lot different than the real thing.

From a base camp on a bend in the Yaak River, which was quiet even on a long holiday weekend, we’d started our exploration in the Northwest Peak Scenic Area, just south of the Canadian border—as close as us Americans were going to get to BC for the foreseeable future. Hike-a-biking across talus slopes and negotiating narrow, root-strewn sidehills, we connected old roads with short stretches of singletrack that accessed high-elevation lakes. At the first of these lakes, we encountered a couple of chatty locals hiking out with the day’s catch.

“There’s so much boondocking to be done up in these mountains,” claimed the husband. Reminded of that years-ago bar-stool conversation, I instituted it as a mantra for the weekend: do you even boondoggle?

The mantra served us well the next day on the PNT. Faint even by the standards of backcountry Montana, the trail here was more of a suggestion than singletrack, like a thumbnail pressed into an orange peel. After several hours of granny-gear grinding interspersed with hiking, we topped out on Bunker Hill. Acres of gray snags greeted us, as did the tiny lookout tower on Mount Henry well beyond our reach.

Realizing we’d never make it there and back before dark, we settled on a backup plan, shortening our loop with an exit out Fish Lakes Canyon. But we forgot all thoughts of an aborted mission on the descent, where the only thing checking our speed was the need to keep an eye out for grizzlies.

After negotiating the bramble-choked talus slopes of Fish Lakes Canyon, we arrived back in Yaak, desperate for post-ride beverages. Seeing the activity at the Dirty Shame Saloon spilling into the street, and preferring to keep our misadventures to the trail, we didn’t stick around.

The next day, rain awakened us—quite literally, as we had to jump out of the tent to unfurl the rain fly. Things had been uncommonly crispy for a region that’s essentially inland rainforest. Along with much-needed moisture came a wind storm that, as we came to find out, stacked matchsticks of timber on the trails.

That day’s ride, the last of the trip, was otherwise unusually straightforward for the area. A dozen miles west of town, an hour-long gravel grind accesses Redtop, which drops 2,000 feet in two miles and has clearly seen some bike-friendly trail maintenance. After several days of bushwhacking and bike-carrying, we relaxed into an easier riding rhythm, surfing loose duff and shouting “tree!” when the lead rider encountered a downed log.

That is, until one downed log turned into three, then four, then an entire stretch of trail buried. In the Yaak, trees define everything, from the sounds—the ghostly sigh of snags, the disconcerting creaking of leaning trees—to the soft duff of the trail and the glorious shade. They define the economy and the way neighbors, next door but miles apart geographically and maybe politically, interact.

They force you under, over, around, and sometimes well off track. They always have the final say, and sometimes what they say is: how much were you planning on riding, anyway?

Originally published as “Twenty Miles Of Boondoggling—Backcountry Mountain Biking In The Yaak Valley” in the May-June 2021 print edition.

To complement a roadtrip to Montana’s Yaak Valley, Aaron Theisen’s recommends these 5 trails on the way.

Aaron Theisen has contributed to a number of mountain bike magazines, including “Freehub,” “Mountain Flyer,” and “Dirt Rag.” He wrote about biking at Beezley Hill for the November-December 2020 issue.

For more biking stories, visit the OTO archives.

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Located just south of Libby, Montana, Leigh Lake is nestled in the shadow of Snowshoe Peak, the tallest mountain in the Cabinet Mountains Wilderness. Experienced mountaineers sometimes use the Leigh Lake trail as a jumping-off point for the class four scramble to the summit of Snowshoe Peak, elevation 8,738 feet. The trail to the lake is well maintained, although rugged and is an excellent introduction to the beauty of the Cabinets.  

Summer is a brief affair here, as evidenced by the way snow often lingers along the shore beneath the peak despite warm daytime temperatures. Early summer visitors may find floating mini-icebergs in the lake, which sits at 5,000 feet, giving would-be swimmers a strong hint about the potential water temperature.

Don’t let the relatively short distance and low elevation gain fool you into thinking this hike is without challenges. The Cabinet Mountains Wilderness trails are generally known for their short distances and rugged character. The Leigh Lake trail measures less than 2 miles from the trailhead to the lake, but the terrain is rocky and includes a tricky stream crossing at approximately the 1-mile mark. Trekking poles are recommended for extra balance along this trail. 

Once at the lake, hikers will find plenty of rocky seating areas to relax and take in the view. The entire lake basin is surrounded by running water making its way to the lake, with numerous waterfalls cascading down from the higher reaches of the surrounding peaks. Binoculars are advised, both for viewing the waterfalls and for spying on the lake’s wildlife. Mountain goats are frequent visitors to the lake and surrounding cliffs. While the main trail dead ends at the lake, it is possible to do a little scrambling below the steeps to find good vantage points on the lake and also view numerous alpine wildflowers.  

Leigh Lake is best suited to day trips, particularly on weekends where crowding may become an issue. Given the area’s proximity to Libby, visitors might find it easiest to stay in a developed campground or even in town and then explore more of the area’s trails during the same visit. For those who enjoy backpacking, it’s important to note that no camping is permitted within 300 feet of the lake, and the campsites are small and rocky. Group size is limited to eight heartbeats for all trails within the Cabinet Mountains Wilderness Area.   

Round-trip distance: Approximately 3.5 miles  

Rating: Moderate  

Elevation gain: 1,000 feet  

Map: USGS Snowshoe Peak  

Getting There:  From Libby, travel south on Highway 2 for 8 miles. Turn right on Bear Creek/Hoodoo Flats Road (NF 278). Continue 3 miles, then turn right onto NF 867. Travel 4.6 miles to NF 6213. The road dead ends at the Leigh Lake trailhead after 2.3 miles.  

Holly Weiler is hoping to be back to explorations around the Inland Northwest by the time this hits the press but has kept busy despite travel limitations by using trail-work tools to tame garden weeds at home.  

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2. Carry out human waste and toilet paper —even on day hikes. “We strongly encourage people to bring bags… The reality is that even when you’re hiking for a day, you can’t always control when nature calls,” says Chris Bentley with OWNF, the land agency responsible for the Alpine Lakes Wilderness.  Human-waste bags are available for purchase at your local gear shop or online. 

3. Stay on designated trails—especially on trails that receive a lot of traffic. “Wandering off trail inevitably leads to unofficial trails, and those cause erosion issues,” says Bentley. “Also, sensitive plants in alpine high step area don’t bounce back like they do on the rainy west side.” 

4. Plan for contingencies and hazards—even if you’re only out for a few hours. “I can’t tell you how many horror stories I’ve heard of people showing up with flip flops and a 20-ounce bottle of water, ready to do a 10-mile hike. That’s totally unwise,” says Bentley. He stresses the importance of hiking with the 10 essentials and being equipped to spend the night out if something goes wrong. 

5. Be honest about your skill level—even if you really, really want to do a specific hike. “Just because you’ve heard from a friend that there’s a beautiful view doesn’t mean that you are prepared to take that journey to get there,” warns Bentley. The most common rescue situations happen when people who aren’t prepared try a hike that’s beyond their ability and they get injured, tired, or sun stroke. “We do have instances of people losing their lives because they were not prepared.” 

Check out the Recreate Responsibly website for more information about outdoor recreation safety.

Read more about the hiking in the Central Cascades region in this story from our July-August 2020 issue, “Loving Leavenworth.”

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After admiring, camping alongside, and inundating myself in the Pacific Northwest Trail’s dozens of backcountry waters, I’ve devised my own rating system for the benefit of Out There Venture’ lake enthusiasts: The Way There, Big Rocks, Snackability, and Wildlife. 

Ball Lakes and Pyramid Lake (Moderate) 

The Way There: These lakes are nestled high up in Idaho’s Panhandle National Forest. Luckily, they aren’t too difficult to access. From the Kootenai National Wildlife Refuge headquarters, you’ll drive a total of 20 miles on paved road, then gravel USFS roads. At the trailhead, follow Pyramid Lake Trail #43 for less than 1 mile to Pyramid Lake. Keep going on uneven, rocky switchbacks to reach Upper Ball Lake around the 2-mile mark. Lower Ball Lake is just a half mile further. 5 miles out-and-back with 1000 feet of elevation gain.  

Big Rocks: Large granite faces rise to the west of all three lakes, with steep trail routed through scree fields. While on trail, enjoy views of the Selkirk Mountains’ high summits and deep canyons.   

Snackability: Experienced hikers can reach Lower Ball in about an hour, so bring along your favorite lightweight refrigerated items, like fruits and cheeses. Apparently, there are fish, too, so bring your rod if you’re planning to camp.  

Wildlife: A pair of bald eagles roosted at Upper Ball in 2018. Otherwise, bring your bear spray. The area is home to mountain lions, black bears, and occasionally grizzlies.  

Bagley Lakes (Easy) 

The Way There: Adjacent to Washington’s Mt. Baker Ski Area are several small alpine lakes. From Mount Baker Highway, park at Bagley Lakes Loop trailhead. This mostly flat and gentle 1.5-mile loop will take you around two lakes. Driving a few miles to the end of the highway, park at Artist Point for a half mile out-and-back to Huntoon Point, which on a clear day boasts astounding views of Mount Baker, Mount Shuksan,and Baker Lake.  

Big Rocks: Mount Baker is one of the most prominent peaks in the Cascades and the second most active volcano, behind Mount Saint Helens. Table Mountain, the glacial peak to the immediate southeast of the trailheads, drains into Bagley Creek, which connects the two lakes.  

Snackability: Enjoy the food at Heather Meadows Café or bring your own. Picnic tables and parking lots are plentiful.  

Wildlife: Be on the lookout for mountain goats and elk. 

Seven Lakes Basin (Difficult) 

The Way There: After obtaining your Olympic National Park backcountry permit, from Highway 101, travel 12 miles up Sol Duc Hot Springs Road. Take Sol Duc Falls Trail to the waterfall, then Deer Lake Trail to the first densely wooded lake. Take the High Divide Trail another 3 miles to the Seven Lakes Basin Trail—you can’t miss the lakes. Continuing to Heart Lake will allow you to loop back on the Sol Duc River Trail, for a total of 19 miles and 4,000 feet of elevation gain.  

Big Rocks: The High Divide Trail offers breathtaking views of Mount Olympus, the crown jewel of the park. 

Snackability: If you’re day-tripping, carry some lightweight, high-calorie food, like bars or sandwiches. You’ll find plenty of water along the way, but remember to bring your filter.  

Wildlife: You’re likely to see more than a few black bears in this area. Carry bear spray as a precaution, but they’re likely too preoccupied with summer berries to care about you at all. Olympic National Park is in the process of removing non-native mountain goats, which were introduced in the early 20th century for game hunting. If you see one, keep your distance. 

Editor’s Note: For more information and directions to trailheads in Washington State, the Washington Trails Association website, www.wta.org, is a great resource.

For more stories about lake destinations around the Inland Northwest, visit OTO’s Lake Guide content archive.

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A pair of bald eagles moved from ponderosa, to fir, to possibly a spruce, which rose up from corners of the lake as trout lookout towers. After a few explosive wing flaps during liftoff, they would glide, bodies as still as the glassy water that mirrored them. I followed their flight path on the water’s surface—distorted, yellow, hooked beaks trailed by rippled streaks of deep russet and white.  

Eee-eee-eee- krakEEii! Weak piping notes broke their majestic quality. As patriotic Americans, or at least those who have watched “The Colbert Report” intro too many times, we expect eagles to release a scream that reverberates off canyon walls, beckoning us toward battle. That familiar Hollywood call actually belongs to the red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensis), while the bald eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) sounds more like a cross between a gull and a kitten. The duo took turns leading the other to the next roosting spot, punctuated by eccentric chirps. From my chosen sunning rock, I dipped my swollen feet in the lake, letting out an audible sigh as the water enveloped and lifted the grime from in between my toes. Ice bath ecstasy.  

I was camping at Upper Ball Lake, in the Idaho Panhandle National Forest, closing in on the halfway point of my 1,200-mile trek on the Pacific Northwest Trail (PNT). From its start on the Continental Divide in Montana, the PNT loosely follows the Canadian border westward, crossing through three national parks, seven national forests, and some of the most biologically diverse and geologically stunning places in North America.  

There’s something satisfying about ending a day’s hike on water’s edge. Perhaps it’s the practicality. You can fill up your bottles, even take a “bath.” And the big blue splotches on the map are easy-to-find landmarks.  

Pinecones, twigs, and other arboreal offerings float like magnets, coming together in debris rafts before separating once again, passing you by on the way to some fate of decomposition. Human neighbors are few, save for the whirrr… plop of a casted line from an unseen angler nearby. Evidence of others appreciating the shoreline with you include a leaning, scratched-up tree marked by generations of black bears and an abandoned fire ring with the ashes of scavenged, then burned, branches. Alpine lakes are the true mountaintop guru—the gift after an arduous journey that begets more questions than answers. 

That evening’s mystical teacher, Upper Ball, is the highest of three glacially carved bowls beneath the aptly named Pyramid Peak. A massive headwall drops into steep talus slope before reaching the northwestern shore, where Volkswagen-sized boulders balance delicately like giant cairns. I camped on the south side, where I watched the granite glow gold, then pink, then blue, before it was silhouetted in moonlight.  

Rising early the following morning gave me the chance to see the lightshow in reverse: indigo, to sherbet, and finally a scalding brightness that signaled a hot, difficult day of hiking ahead. Leaving the lake began the PNT’s most notorious bushwhack, which included 12 miles on exposed knife-edge ridgelines, steep hillside descents, and a perilous downstream walk on Lion Creek, where the bogs are more overrun with moose than big cats. I scrambled, cursed, fell, and desperately belted out Journey lyrics for levity, all the while hiking at half the speed of my usual pace. Eventually I reached some tread that was worthy of being called a trail. From there, another 11 miles to reach the campground at Upper Priest Lake.  

While Upper Priest isn’t exactly “alpine,” it’s a backcountry alternative to the more crowded Lower Priest to the south. My campground for the night was a beach of small, round pebbles, which I shared with some kayakers who had paddled up the 2-mile thoroughfare that divides the sister lakes. Over donated beer, Vienna sausage, and astronaut ice cream, we agreed that the quieter scene in front of us was preferential. A common loon (Gavia immer) wailed in a sprinkle of rain that gradually muted the echoing tremolo. Through my open tent door, I observed the sun set again in a fuchsia mist over tomorrow’s passage, the Salmo-Priest Wilderness.  

Most PNT thru-hikers, including myself, travel westbound toward the terminus at Cape Alava, Wash., the most western point of the lower 48. Besides the net elevation loss and avoiding an early autumn Rocky Mountain snowfall, I believe that we naturally aim ourselves for the water. Alpine lakes, wide river confluences, the Pacific. Our journeys on foot should end where we cannot take another step. At these breaks between landscapes, we’re forced to take a seat, rest, and soak our ears in the acoustics of a wet world. Those interludes remind us why we take the next step. 

Originally published as “Backcountry Lakes: The Ambition of Water” in the July-August 2020 issue.

Blair Libby grew up around the West Coast and is currently pursuing an M.S. in Environmental Studies at the University of Montana, where his research focuses on traditional ecological knowledge. This summer he’ll be self-publishing and hand binding a collection of essays about his experiences while hiking the PNT.

For more infomation about the PNT, see this story from our May 2010 issue, “Hiking and Camping on the Pacific Northwest Trail: Three Great Routes for Crossing the Inland Northwest on Foot” by Callae Frazier and Dale Tessin.

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