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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Bill Way and the NEWTS 

It began with a simple outdoor adventure. In about 2013, Bill Way’s friend (who happens to be Out There’s own Derrick Knowles) asked if Way would hike with him to find an obscure trail he’d seen on a map of the Colville National Forest. The goal was to determine whether the trail might make for a good mountain biking route.  

“What Derrick found on an older map was the end of the Taylor Ridge Trail,” says Way—a feeder to the Pacific Northwest Trail on the Kettle Crest. Three miles of this trail, known as the “Tom Creek” section, had been washed out about 20 years ago “in a tremendous rainstorm.” Trail maintenance had ceased at that time. 

With some difficulty, they found the trail. To Way, a retired teacher who lives outside Colville, it was clearly full of potential for mountain biking, with the restored segment and potential future road access resulting in a 20+ mile, shuttleable ride with exciting shifts in elevation, big trees, and water access.  

First, though, would come a significant amount of work. Way formed The Northeast Washington Trailblazers (NEWTS), a nonprofit dedicated to promoting non-motorized outdoor recreation and establishing trails and routes in northeast Washington. It quickly grew to over 100 members. Way served as president for four years and is currently on the group’s board. Taylor Ridge was the instigator for the group’s formation. Once the members held meetings, though, other projects came to the fore and were also undertaken, notably including work on the Colville Mountain Trail and the Sherman Creek Wildlife Area.  

Much of the trail’s work is facilitated and coordinated through Kristin Ackerman, the Eastern Washington Regional Coordinator of the Pacific Northwest Trails Association. “Bill is great. He’s a champion. I wish we could clone him,” Ackerman says. “We’ve seen him handily outwork younger, less experienced volunteers. In and out of the field, Bill is an invaluable member of the trail community.” 

The work of volunteers and partnering organizations like the NEWTS, says Ackerman, is “super critical” when it comes to a functional and expanding trail system. “The recreation departments, especially in the Forest Service, they’re not getting as many resources as they need to take care of all of our trails.” 

Current NEWTS president Matt Monbouquette (owner of Colville bike shop Adventure Peddler) says he’s working to “fill Bill Way’s very large shoes…Bill’s leadership has been the cornerstone of the organization for a long time. His passion for the outdoors and creating new places for people to recreate is inspiring.” 

“The Taylor Ridge Trail is really the crown jewel of the NEWTS organization,” Monbouquette says. “Due to the persistence of Bill and the NEWTS group we did work on the trail with the blessing of the Forest Service, and now the Forest Service is sending work crew/trail parties to the trail to work on it annually. That is really our biggest achievement and the main focus of the organization the past few years.” 

Way cautions those interested in similar efforts to be prepared for physical work and to recognize that things probably won’t move quickly. “It just takes a long time sometimes,” he says, given that working on trails you’re likely partnering with trails organizations, the Forest Service, state or national parks, and/or the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, all with rules and regulations to follow. For those who’d like to tackle their own projects, Way recommends contacting an organization like the Washington Trails Association for advice—or, of course, a group like the NEWTS (Northeast Washington Trailblazers on Facebook, or email newasts [at] gmail [dot] com).  

For his part, Way finds that the effort and patience required for stewarding public lands are well worth it. “It has taken quite a bit of my time sometimes, but it’s been very rewarding to see things come together. It’s given me connections to people that have maybe similar interests but maybe I wouldn’t have known. I’ve learned a lot about how to get things done,” he says. “Plus, I love to go out and hike and bike and ski on the trails, too.” 

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The federal government owns nearly 30 percent of Washington’s land; in Idaho, that figure is more than doubled. Which is to say, we, the public, own some of the most beautiful real estate in the country, from sagebrush steppe to subalpine meadows. And while much of it is remote backcountry requiring serious sweat equity, vast swaths border backroads and two-lane highways.  

The three scenic drives below sample some of the region’s off-the-radar but on-the-road public lands. Fill up your gas tank and prepare to take a drive through your property. 

TELFORD/CRAB CREEK (Eastern Washington) 

Driving Distance: 96 miles 

Although the Bureau of Land Management can be more familiar to farmers than recreationists, the agency administers nearly half a million acres of land in Washington, much of it in the channeled scablands of the central and eastern part of the state. Scoured to the basalt bedrock by Ice Age floods and buried by the exhalations of ancient volcanoes, this is a harsh landscape—especially to those who visit in the high heat of summer. 

But up-close exploration reveals a surprisingly colorful scene, where delicate ground-hugging flowers dot a trackless landscape of sagebrush. It’s also, surprisingly, thriving with wildlife. Drive on the edges of daylight and you’re likely to see hawks and owls perched on fenceposts and coyotes crossing the road. 

From Davenport, drive south 13 miles to the charming farm town of Harrington—a good spot to top off on gas and snacks—and then head west on Coffee Pot Road. Out here, the grid-like lines of farm roads contrast with countless pothole lakes that range from sizeable bodies of water, popular with anglers, to fish-less dimples in the surrounding landscape.  

For hikers, the best of the bunch is Twin Lakes. To reach it, continue on Coffee Pot Road 14 miles, then turn right onto Highline Road. After 2 miles, turn right at an unnamed road, marked by a sign denoting public access to Twin Lakes. Continue 2 miles to the parking area. 

An 8-mile loop circumnavigates the lakes through aspen groves and wildflowers, although a short out-and-back hike in either direction will provide a good survey of the terrain. 

Back on Highline Road, continue north 4 miles, then turn left and follow Seven Springs Road for 2.7 miles to Swanson Schoolhouse Road. Turn right, and in a mile reach the Swanson Lakes Wildlife Area. From the wildlife area headquarters, a short ADA-accessible trail provides good wildlife viewing opportunities over Swanson Lake, a prime pit stop for migratory birds and waterfowl.

Back on Swanson Schoolhouse Road, continue west for 7 miles to Highway 21. Turn right and drive north 8 miles to Wilbur on US 2. From here it’s 29 miles back to Davenport, bordered for long stretches of the drive by more BLM land on either side. 

PURCELL MOUNTAINS (Northwest Montana) 

Driving Distance: 76 miles 

Overshadowed—quite literally—by the granite spires of the Selkirks to the west, the Purcells, which form the northernmost border between Idaho and Montana, are off the radar of many recreationists. Although most of the Purcells in the U.S. escaped glaciation, the Northwest Peak Scenic Area boasts chiseled cirques and expansive vistas. 

This is logging country—the “Timber Wars” of the 1980s began in this forest—but there’s still plenty of pristine wilderness to explore. And one side effect of that logging activity: The roads are in great shape. 

From Moyie Springs, east of Bonners Ferry, leave US 2 on Forest Road 435. Part-paved, part well-maintained gravel, FR 435 (Deer Creek Road) steadily works its way from thick forests of lodgepole pine to a subalpine landscape of snow-cowed spruce and fool’s huckleberry interspersed with small meadows. After 19 miles, crest Canuck Pass. Here, the 1200-mile Pacific Northwest Trail crosses the pavement.

To the north of the pass, Trail 35, Ruby Ridge, is open to motorcycles but receives little use. To the south, Trail 44, Keno Ridge, is non-motorized only. Numerous signs will remind you this is grizzly country and you should practice bear-aware recreation. 

Wander in either direction at your leisure, then return to the road. Descending east off the pass, FR 435 enters Montana and, now referred to as Spread Creek Road, becomes all gravel as it intersects the Pacific Northwest Trail again.

From this second trailhead, hikers can take a mile-long hike to Canuck Peak. Although the low, forested summit lacks its own grandeur, Canuck Peak offers nice views of the scalloped slopes of Davis and Northwest peaks to the east. Continuing on FR 435, return to pavement on the Yaak River Road, 15 miles from Canuck Pass. 

The 22-mile drive south along the paved Yaak River Road passes through wide meadows and ghost towns that are now simply a name on a map. 7 miles before reaching US 2, Yaak Falls spills over the angled layer cake of exposed billion-year-old bedrock. A roadside pullout provides easy access to the falls and makes an essential pit stop before the 20-minute drive back to Moyie Springs. 

OKANOGAN HIGHLANDS (Northeast Washington) 

Driving Distance: 70 miles 

Where the broad expanses of the Okanogan Highlands begin to creep up on the westernmost outliers of the Rocky Mountains in northeast Washington lies arguably the quietest pocket of the quietest corner of the state. Ever since gold prospectors poured into the area in the 1860s, the eastern Okanogan Highlands have invited exploration. Yet far fewer heed the call these days compared to during gold rushes. Crowds are scant, even by Northeast Washington standards. 

From Republic, drive west on Highway 20, noting the transition from ponderosa pine forest to arid foothills as you crest Wauconda Pass. At 20 miles, turn right onto Bonaparte Lake Road (FR 32). Bonaparte Lake, along with Beth, Big Beaver, Little Beaver and Lost lakes, forms Five Lakes Recreation Area.

Crowning the area is Mount Bonaparte, at 7,257 feet, the third-highest peak in eastern Washington. Although not a giant by Cascades standards, Bonaparte towers more than 3,000 feet above the surrounding orchards and wheat fields. It’s a pine, fir, and larch-adorned island in a sea of working farmlands.

At the summit, a hand-hewn lookout, built in 1914 and on the National Historic Register, sits next to the highest working lookout in eastern Washington. The Forest Service campground on the south end of Bonaparte Lake provides a great base for exploring the more than 20 miles of trails that crisscross Bonaparte’s massive flanks. 

From just north of Bonaparte Lake, bear left on FR 050 toward Lost Lake and the Strawberry Mountain Trail. This easy hike winds less than a mile each way through dense Douglas fir and western larch for an unbeatable view of Mount Bonaparte and its namesake lake. Clear days offer up the Cascades, with a foreground of far-reaching farmland.

Combine this hike with the Big Tree Botanical Loop, which can be accessed from Lost Lake Campground, to see a pair of western larch that were old growth when Columbus spied the Americas. 

Back on Bonaparte Lake Road, continue north for 6 miles (the road switches to FR halfway) to Beaver Lake and Chesaw Road. Turn right and continue 4 miles to Toroda Creek Road. Turn right again and drive through the ghost town of Bodie to close the loop on Highway 20. Aside from the decrepit state of the buildings of Bodie, things look much the same as they did in 1860.

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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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