Tag: backpacking index

  • Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness

    Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness

    This trip was planned months ago, and we had missed getting permits for the original weekend. This date was our backup, but it turned out to be better now, when the Arizona summer has transitioned to more fall-like.

    My backpacking buddy Brad, his dad Val, and sons Grant and Max are on this trip. I’m like the designated photographer.

    The parking lot and trailhead is very exposed, with the sun blasting down at us. But soon, we descend under the canopy of cottonwoods and onto the watery trail. It’s in and out of the water, taking a break along the banks, or simply feeling our way over rounded pebbles on the bottom of the stream. Butterflies and dragonflies dart about.

    Progress is slow, and at about two-thirds of the way to our destination, Brad and I decide to speed-hike to camp. We see a family with their campfire and a few other campers. Brad and I look at each other, trying to figure out the next step. Do I set camp, or do we just go back and rejoin the rest of the group?

    Nightfall approaches, and we speed back. We find that they made only a little progress, and by this time, it’s about dark. We quickly make camp, start a fire, and prepare dinner. The site is on a small sandbar, not ideal, but cozy.

    The stars emerge, and we take in the serene setting, quiet except for the rushing water next to our site.

    Brad makes oatmeal for breakfast, and both Grant and Max decide to go hungry than to eat it. They’d rather have eggs and sausage.

    Backtracking seems easy, except when Max marches ahead and manages to miss the turnoff to the parking lot. We arrive at the car to find him missing. Brad heads back down the trail, and soon, they both emerge, Max wiped out from bushwhacking to find his way out.

    I’ll remember this timeless place, a place to bring my kids, to one day hike to our destination.

  • Saddlebag Lake to Greenstone Lake Backpacking

    Saddlebag Lake to Greenstone Lake Backpacking

    It’s been a year since we last went backpacking, and the kids have been looking forward to this trip. They are growing up, and they can have more freedom on this trip. The night before our trip, I put all the kids to bed an hour early, since we have an early morning start to a long car ride and hike.

    Early Saturday morning, we leave home at 6:30 and head up the highway, stopping briefly at the Eastern Sierra Visitor Center in Lone Pine. From there, we shoot up to the Mono Basin Scenic Area Visitor Center to meet up with the Denhams and have a picnic lunch. Months prior, looking for hiking partners, Yan had mentioned this trip to her coworker, Laura; we’re so happy that she and her family can make this trip.

    The hike in is a flat stroll along the southwestern shore of Saddlebag Lake. Before long, we’re at the far end of the lake. It seems shorter than what Yan and I remember when we brought Daphney on her first backpacking trip. We stop for a snack break by trailside boulders.

    We cross Lee Vining Creek on some makeshift log bridges and find a lakefront campsite. Jeremy and I scout around but decide that the scenic value of our location is unsurpassed. Greenstone Lake is flanked by sheer granite walls, and North Peak stands regal, looking down from the opposite shore.

    Yan and I try to remember where we camped the last time we were here—we had to cross a marshy area with Mark and Sarah. Somehow, this lake feels different. Later, when comparing pictures, I’ll discover that the area where we are camping now was previously underwater and the rock outcroppings were little islands.

    I set up camp while letting the kids roam free. Daphney collects and knaps rocks into round coins and triangular arrowheads. The other kids skip rocks in the lake. After a quick bath, we make dinner. It’s egg flower soup and spinach noodles.

    Bright stars dot the clear inky blue sky as light fades away. Our orange tent gives a pop of contrast color to the evening. I take star trail pictures.

    Jayden is the first to wake up on Sunday morning. At 5:00, he needs to pee, and once outside, he exclaims that the Milky Way is super bright. Sure enough, it is vertical, like smoke rising up from the right side of North Peak. There are but a few minutes to capture this, however, since twilight is around the corner.

    The peaks reflect in Greenstone Lake’s polished mirror. As the sun comes up, golden light sets the cliffs aglow. Ducks make ripples in the calm water. We have breakfast burritos.

    This trip is about letting the kids have more say, since the adults dictate so much of their lives. I ask them if they want to move camp and backpack to another lake for a change of scene or just stay put. Daphney, Jayden, and Nathaniel hold a conference and decide to stay. “We love this place,” they say.

    With no rush to go anywhere, the morning is now a lazy one. With my three-weight rod in hand, I fly fish the pond created by the outlet of Greenstone Lake. Little brook trout are biting. Little Parachute Adams seem to work well. Jayden says he feels sorry for the fish, but he’ll eat one if I cook it. Daphney, however, says no. Since the kids are in charge, we catch and release.

    We encounter other wildlife on our hike towards Wasco Lake in the afternoon. A garter snake mesmerizes the kids as it swims along the shore and into the grass. Laura catches some native Sierra frogs.

    Back at camp, we make rice and Japanese curry with homegrown carrots. The kids devour that and then share a dessert: dried strawberries sprinkled over cheesecake pudding spread on crushed Oreo cookies. We watch the sun go down and the sky turn orange. The moon is just past first quarter.

    After oatmeal and more fishing, we make the long drive home.

    Myles says, “I love backpacking.” Next year, maybe he’ll actually hike, carry some of his stuff, and gain some trail freedom.

  • Hilton Creek Lakes

    Hilton Creek Lakes

     

    We’re always striving to give our kids opportunities to achieve something that feels bigger than they are. That’s what we did with two other families on this hike to Hilton Creek Lakes.

    *  *  *

    It’s a sunny Friday morning. We had driven up the day before and camped at Rock Creek Lake, a beautiful spot surrounded by pines and aspens that are just beginning to glimmer gold. The hike to Hilton Creek Lake #2 is five miles according to the map. We set out first, while Kendrick, Rakesh, Kara, Aaron, Noah, and Suri will join us later.

    The trail rises to a low ridge, offering sweeping views of the mountains to the east. Soon, we cross the John Muir Wilderness boundary and hop over a few creeks. At about a mile in, we wait, and after what seemed like a long time, the rest of the group catches up and shares lunch. The nearby stream provides refreshingly cool water, perfect for washing up.

    Then, we set off, climbing gradually toward the saddle north of Patricia Peak. To the kids, this stretch feels endless. To me, it too seems like we’ve been trudging up this slope forever. But as soon as we pass the flat section and start descending, the kids are off, flying down the trail. I quickly lose sight of them.

    At the junction, I find them waiting. I point them down the path to Lake #2, and they take off again.

    In less than a mile, the lake appears as if the pine trees parted like a curtain. The gray slopes of Patricia Peak and Mt. Huntington shimmer like silver on the surface. The kids are too  excited they forget to put down their backpacks.

    Quickly, we set up tents, make camp, and bathe.

    As the sun sinks below the horizon, the temperature drops quickly. We warm up with bowls of tofu miso soup and follow it up with a dinner of mild Japanese curry with carrots, onions, and white rice. After doing the first set of dishes, we have dessert of crumbled Oreo cookies and cheesecake pudding with strawberries. Then, it’s the chores of doing and hanging laundry. Soon, the stars take over the sky. The Milky Way glows brightly behind Mt. Huntington, giving the lake an eerie glow.

    I’m the first one up this next morning. A lone mosquito buzzes between the tent and the rain fly. Jayden confidently tells me it’s a male. As the first light touches the tallest peak, I step outside to capture the lake, its surface perfectly still, reflecting the world like a polished mirror. The little island in the lake, so close yet unreachable, feels almost magical in this quiet moment. On the opposite slopes, sunlight turns the trees and rock a golden hue. The kids also find this to be an enchanted place, running around, creating all sorts of games, exploring the natural world, making discoveries.

    After devotional thoughts for the Sabbath morning by Rakesh, we head up the trail, back to the junction, then higher to Lake #3. Today’s hike will be about a mile.

    The scenery shifts as we climb. We’re nearing the tree line, and the landscape feels both lush and stark. We find a sheltered campsite nestled between boulders and trees along the north shore, and once again, the kids dive into their world of make-believe.

    Dinner is simple but perfect for the cold: egg drop soup and ramen with dried vegetables and plant-based beef. In this weather, steaming hot soup is warming. I make camp style apple pie after experimenting with the recipe on previous trips to the Cottonwood Lakes and to Anvil Campground. The secret? Lots of cinnamon, extra brown sugar, and a bit of cornstarch to thicken everything. The kids love it.

    Later, I set my alarm for 10:25 pm, knowing the Milky Way will be perfectly vertical at 10:39. The lake is too choppy for a reflection, but with a long exposure, the water turns into a smooth, ice-like surface. I capture one of my favorite photos from the trip.

    The morning is rushed for some, lazy for others. I’m up early again, capturing the sunrise over our campsite. The first light streams through the pines, bathing Mt. Huntington and the valley below in gold. Breakfast is oatmeal, coffee, tea, and hot chocolate. The kids, as usual, have no concept of time, and that’s exactly how it should be. They’re zipping around, exploring, playing, and bonding.

    But soon, it’s time to leave. I suggest we traverse along the contour line rather than hike down to the junction and back up to the ridge. Everyone agrees. What I don’t anticipate is the difficulty of crossing the boulder field—especially with Myles strapped to my front, making it hard to see where I’m stepping. The kids wonder if we’re the first ones to walk through this part of the mountain. Some boulders are the sizes of cars. To everyone, this will be the best part of the adventure. To me, it’s scary. I’m reminded of how terrified I was while boulder-hopping with Daphney in the backpack on the way to Golden Trout Lake.

    When we finally rejoin the trail, I’m relieved. We pause for lunch by the creek we met on the first day. The slopes across the valley are even more vibrant now, the aspens glowing yellow in the afternoon sun.

    When the road emerges from the vantage point of the trail, the kids scream in excitement. Down they fly. Before long, we’re back at the trailhead.

    *  *  *

    What a sense of accomplishment! And as a bonus—they’ve spent the whole time running wild, carefree, exploring the natural world with a sense of wonder.

  • Kearsarge Pass

    Kearsarge Pass

    Kearsarge Pass | Center Basin | Forester Pass | Shepherd Pass | Shepherd Creek

    Part 1

    At last, Brad and I are standing at the Onion Valley trailhead on this very overdue trip. Way overdue. We had talked about doing such a trip off and on over the years—for nine years, to be exact. Only now has it materialized.

    Dates were nailed down six months ago when I reserved permits, although for a different trailhead. Then, after grabbing reservations for this trailhead two weeks ago when they became available, a computer glitch in the reservation system caused us to lose our spots. Only from last-minute cancellations were we able to get new ones.

    It’s 9:47, and the morning sun is shining bright, blazing through a sky that seems too clear, a giant blue expanse that offers little protection. Sunscreen was slathered back at the Shepherd Pass Trailhead parking lot, where Symmes Creek breaks its downward plunge and fans out toward the plains. We had gotten up early this morning and both ordered the Iron Man Scramble with breakfast potatoes (not hash browns, as they were out) at the Alabama Hills Café and Bakery. As we waited for breakfast, first light kissed Mt. Whitney and the Needles. After cleaning up and packing and bypassing hitchhikers and bumping along the rutty dirt road, I backed the Toyota Tundra into a spot at the exit trailhead. Nearly on time, Lone Pine Kurt picked us up and shuttled us to Onion Valley, and now, here we are.

    Buckled up and checking all our gear, we hit the trail. Turning back isn’t an option—our car is waiting at the other end. Soon, we pass by the junction to Golden Trout Lake, triggering memories of those tough off-trail scrambles to get to our destination, especially with Daphney on my back and Yan six months pregnant with Jayden.

    The climb had been steady, but we’re not used to this altitude. Before long, we skirt by serene Gilbert Lake where we stop for lunch and get some water. Then, we bypass the spur to Heart Lake and instead, peer down on it from a rocky bluff above. The approach to Kearsarge Pass is relentless, with little shelter from the dwarf conifers clinging near the tree line. A handful of trail mix and a gulp of water push us through the final stretch.

    Kearsarge Pass! Cresting the rim and taking in the view on the other side is nothing short of breathtaking—meadows stretch out like a green tapestry, dotted with lakes that gleam like scattered gemstones. Peaks and pinnacles rise to meet the sky. Golden-mantled ground squirrels know this is a popular rest spot, and they scurry around looking for crumbs.

    We cruise down the trail and meander through the lakes, and we pick out a site overlooking the second Kearsarge Lake. Lunch is finished off, and we set up camp.

    Tent pitched, we take a moment to clean up and explore. I pull out my 3-weight fly rod and hit the water. The brook trout can’t resist the olive elk hair caddis fly. Nearby, a fellow camper chases away a curious black bear.

    Dinner is a warm and hearty red curry over white rice. Brad preps the red bell pepper and Brussels sprouts (tiny cabbages, as we like to think of them). We top it all off with peach cobbler for dessert. In this setting—golden light reflecting off Kearsarge Pinnacles, the air crisp with that unmistakable Sierra freshness—it feels perfect.

    The fish are jumping, and I show Brad how to cast. He quickly gets it, and we spend the evening in a rhythm of catch-and-release.

    As the night deepens, the waxing gibbous moon rises above the opposite shore. The sky fades from blue to purple, and stars start to sparkle against the darkening canvas.

    Part 2: Center Basin »

     

  • Cottonwood Lakes

    Cottonwood Lakes

    The kids are getting more and more trail time. Two years ago, we did one uphill mile each day, with two miles hiking out. Last year, we did two miles with a lot of elevation gain. Now, we’re going to tackle more than five miles. The last week has been all about getting ready, both physically and mentally. Daphney and Jayden have been gearing up with backpacks loaded down with books, tackling hilly laps to build their endurance.

    Our journey begins with an easy drive up to Horseshoe Meadow, where we fuel up with a simple dinner in the car. The backpacker’s campground is just half full—perfect for a quick overnight before the big hike.

    Early in the morning, we hike up the trail, which starts out flat. It leads us into a verdant meadow near a wilderness school, and here, we try to fly fish. Kevin and Barry hook some golden trout, but I find them to be very picky.

    As we push past the meadow, the trail climbs steadily into the high basin. The first Cottonwood Lake reveals itself—a sparkling sheet of water rimmed by brilliant green. The sun backlights the meadow grass, turning it into a glowing, undulating wave. We take a breather, soaking it all in before trudging through the marsh toward the next lake.

    Daphney and Jayden are exhausted. This is the longest they have hiked in one day. We wait among some boulders as Kevin and Nico and Barry march ahead to scout for a campsite.

    We settle on a broad field of grass and scattered rocks, with Mount Langley towering over Cottonwood Lake #3. Dinner is farro lentil soup, perfect for warming up as the cold sets in.

    After dark, the Milky Way emerges, stretching diagonally across the southern sky like a band of jewels, its center clearly recognizable.

    We hang out around camp in the morning. After breakfast, we do laundry. The kids run around and play in the wide-open field. They discover the joy of wading in the stream, splashing around until lunchtime. Beef-flavored noodle soup fuels us for an afternoon trek to the higher Cottonwood Lakes, where we sightsee and fish. Old Army Pass looks daunting, but we meet a few groups descending that trail from Mt. Langley.

    Overnight, the incessant wind gives way to calm, leaving the lake as still as glass. In the early morning, Mt. Langley stands tall against a cloudless, brilliant blue sky.

    After a leisurely breakfast, the hike out is smooth and easy. All that prep and training—every mile, every climb—has paid off. The kids are already asking for the next adventure.

  • South Lake to Long Lake

    South Lake to Long Lake

    Anticipation

    Excitement builds. Daphney and Jayden can’t wait. Last year’s backpacking trip felt like a proud accomplishment. This will be a trip bigger than the last, and this will be Myles’s first such trip. It’s Friday evening of Labor Day weekend. Yan and I are doing some final packing. “We’re going to wake up at midnight to get ready,” they say. I have them set their alarms for 5:00 am so we can hit the road early.

    On Saturday morning, the kids wake up before me. They have waffles. For lunch at the trailhead, I heat two frozen baguettes I had made earlier and parbaked. The car is loaded, and we head out right on time.

    Menacing clouds follow us along the drive north on the 395. We arrive in Lone Pine and take a rest stop at the Eastern Sierra Interagency Visitor Center. The wind nearly rips off my car door as I dash out. The ranger, in monotone, says, “There’s a wind advisory throughout this area until tomorrow.”

    We make it to the South Lake parking lot in good time, half an hour before schedule. My friend Kevin is already there on the lookout for us, bundled up and braving the elements. I find one of the last remaining parking spots. Our picnic lunch takes place inside the car while it rains and hails. The kids don’t seem concerned; they love rain anyways.

    Bishop Pass Trail to Long Lake

    Kevin and his son Nico join us at the trailhead. Myles is in my front baby carrier, and everyone has their own backpack. The path heads south, taking us along a gentle uphill by the east bank of South Lake. Several switchbacks later, we reach the John Muir Wilderness boundary. Daphney and Jayden demand rest stops—a lot of them, such that the stops seem longer than the actual time spent hiking.

    The final uphill push brings us to a shallow notch, and beyond that, we glimpse a body of water. Long Lake at last! We emerge through the trees, walk past a large grassy area, and crest a pile of boulders. Here, we pause to take in the expansive view of Long Lake and Mt. Goode. This scene looks vaguely familiar, from the last time I was here twelve years ago. The winds continue to howl; we quickly cross the stream and wander up the trail to find sheltered sites.

    Near the waist of the lake, a large granite outcrop provides windbreak. We set up on two small sites that are tucked between the rocks and trees. I crack fresh eggs for the egg drop soup. The spinach noodles with home-pickled Napa cabbage cook in the other pot. This is the perfect meal for such a cold and windy evening.

    We watch the clouds race along like shape-shifting horses galloping across the gray expanse. Soon, some of the clouds glow bright red as the sun fleetingly peeks at them.

    The evening routine is the same: wash dishes, have dessert (mango sticky rice), brush teeth, and tuck in. It’s 8 o’clock, and we’re all in bed. At 2:30, I wake up and see shadows of tree branches on our tent; I figure that the sky must have cleared enough for the moon to shine through. The winds continue to rattle our tent and branches around us. Through the night, Myles requires constant feeding from Yan.

    Rest Day at Long Lake

    The pre-dawn sky is decorated with puffs of orange and golden fleece. Mt. Goode stands sentinel, guarding the far end of the lake, and along the Inconsolable Range, Picture Puzzle with its forked peak pierces the sky. The fleecy clouds turn pale as they tumble across the brightening sky.

    We have burritos filled with hash brown potatoes and vegetarian taco meat. Kevin and Nico pack up to leave. After goodbyes, we backtrack the trail and lazily explore the north end of Long Lake. Back at the large grassy area, the kids find a burrow—probably from a marmot or other rodent. They build a canopy of branches cemented with mud from the nearby pond. It’s a shelter for “MitMot.”

    Overlooking the large field and under the shade of some pine trees, I find a large flat area for a tent. I decide to move campsites. I retrace my steps back to the large outcrop and roll up the tent, with all the bags and pads still inside. The entire package goes on my head and I haul it down the trail, back across the stream, and up to the new site. It’s beautiful, and the view is panoramic. The family returns with me to retrieve the remaining things we had left at the other campsite.

    We have dried apricots, nuts, crackers, and cheese for lunch. I bring the kids to the trailside inlet pond and kite a #16 elk hair caddis fly at the end of my line. The fish are watching. In the blink when the fly hit the surface, I get a strike. The kids brim with excitement. We have three brook trout to add to lunch. I gut them, and Jayden helps me with the salt and pepper. From my herb pack, I slice garlic and stuff the fish with fresh thyme and minced chives. The butter sizzles. Soon, we’re picking at crispy-skin trout with our chopsticks.

    In the afternoon, the winds die down and the sky clears. We hike in to explore the headwaters of Long Lake. The kids find a little snow field to play in. After snacking along the lakeshore, we return to make dinner: broccoli cheese soup and spinach tortellini with extra-virgin olive oil and grated Parmesan cheese. Then, we have cinnamon apple with crunchy granola crumble for dessert.

    By 7 o’clock, we’re tucked in. Knowing that our tent is facing south and that the moon will rise later tonight, I set my alarm for 8:50, as that’s when astronomical dark night begins. Feeling anticipation, I wake up a few minutes before that and step outside. The landscape around me is illuminated by starlight, and the Milky Way glows brightly above Mt. Goode. I had forgotten to bring the ball-head attachment, so I rig a makeshift tripod setup and take several shots.

    Final Day in the Wilderness

    The rest of the family wakes up after sleeping for eleven hours, likely off and on. I am the first to emerge from the tent. The sky is calm and clear. Evening dew had crystalized, and each footstep makes a light crunch in the frost. Long Lake is a mirror, reflecting the first light on Mt. Goode and Hurd Peak.

    For breakfast, we have brown sugar-topped oatmeal enriched with dried coconut, blueberries, slivered almonds, and flaxseed. Afterwards, we stand by the lake, watching the sunlight slowly creep down the steep face of Hurd Peak and hit the lake. Then, in less than a minute, the entire lake and grassy field glow bright. The frost vanishes in the next instant. As the kids stare at the pine branch and mud canopy, MitMot emerges from the burrow. It turns out to be a ground squirrel.

    We pack up and bid farewell to the mountain peaks, Long Lake, the trout, MitMot, and our beautiful campsite. One the way back, we only stop once. We have a pre-lunch snack at the junction to Treasure Lakes. Soon, we pass the John Muir Wilderness boundary, retrace our steps along South Lake, and emerge from the aspen thicket to arrive at the parking lot.

    Making Memories

    This trip will no doubt turn into those big mileposts that mark the passing of time. At first, I wasn’t sure how momentous these trips are, but two days ago, as we arrived at Long Lake, Jayden asks me, “Are you going to filter water using the red pump you used last year?” Hearing that, I knew that for the kids, this trip will be at least as memorable as the last, another early waypoint in their journey of life.

  • Mosquito Flat to Marsh Lake

    Mosquito Flat to Marsh Lake

    Anticipation  |  To Marsh Lake  |  To Long Lake  |  To Mosquito Flat

    The trail rises gently out of Mosquito Flat. In contrast to the scorching hot week in Loma Linda, the air, scented with pine needles and sagebrush, is cool. I tell the kids a story about hiking in Kings Canyon to distract them from the mild uphill. Just before the trail junction to Ruby Lake and Mono Pass, everyone takes a break by some shaded boulders.

    We arrive at beautiful Mack Lake. It sits a little below the main trail. There isn’t an obvious route to this lake, so we push on ahead. The spur trail to Marsh Lake takes off at a right angle to the left, and we follow it along the lake’s northern shoreline. Prior to the trip, we had agreed to meet in this general area.

    There’s a green tent with a lakefront view, among the trees, just beyond the large rocky hillock. A young couple emerges from around the bend. No, they haven’t seen anyone else here, not Damien and his party. I ask them to keep a lookout for anyone else that might be looking for us, particularly if they have baby carriers.

    Tyler and I scout for a campsite. We follow a use trail along Rock Creek, the outlet of Marsh Lake. The patch of brush opens up. The creek tumbles down a small rockfall and into a deep clear pool, then it meanders along a meadow. This is perfect. There are spaces for a few tents, and we decide to settle here.

    The routine is pretty much the same as that of other backpacking evenings. Set up the tent. Unroll the sleeping pads and inflate them. Fluff up the sleeping bags. Pump water. Bathe.

    Bathe. This time, because of the kids, I bring extra gas canisters, which a hiking buddy Mark calls “comfort fuel.” Everyone washes up, the kids with comfort fuel, and Yan and I directly with stream water. Biodegradable soap for bathing is used away from the stream, then there is soapless bathing directly in the flowing water.

    The routine continues. Laundry. String a line. Thread the wet clothes through. Make dinner.

    Tonight, it’s broccoli cheese soup with orecchiette pasta, dried vegetables, and freshly grated Parmesan. We try to catch fish but there were no strikes; there were several women who fished earlier, standing right by the bank with beer in hand, spooking all the fish in the deep pool. Even without freshly caught trout, dinner hit the spot.

    Dishes. Post-dinner stroll. Pictures. Heat water. Make cider. We enjoy a hot spicy cider with double chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Then, the kids play inside the tent under a solar lantern while Yan and I take in the moment: comfortable rock for a seat, the babbling creek, the sound of kids giggling, and a deep blue sky lit by millions of lanterns so far away.

    « Preparations for Little Lakes Valley
    Marsh Lake to Long Lake »
  • Onion Valley to Golden Trout Lake

    Onion Valley to Golden Trout Lake

    Little did we know that the trail to Golden Trout Lake was straight up the side of a water and across some sketchy house-sized boulders stacked on a slope. From the map, it didn’t look far at all, very doable, I thought.

    Yan, pregnant, and I, with Daphney on my back, adventured into this wilderness, where the trail was either very faint or non-existent. With the help of Barry and Erik, we make it there and back. Golden Trout Lake was deep and crystal clear, and I enjoy learning some fly fishing tips.

  • Greenstone Lake

    Greenstone Lake

    When permits are hard to come by, the Saddlebag Lake area is always a good fallback.

    We spent the first night in a developed campground, and then we ventured in along the south side of Saddlebag Lake. The first major lake just to the left of the trail is Greenstone Lake. Mark arrived there first, and he found us a beautiful spot up on a bluff. Daphney enjoyed taking toddling steps in the lush grass.

    This is a great intro-to-backpacking location.