3 Amazing Weekend Backpacking Loops in the Smokies

What’s better than a vacation on a tropical island, walking barefoot down a soft sandy beach, listening to the soft lapping of waves and seagulls, or spying breaching dolphins and curious seals in the surf? Ditching the beach crowds for your own private wilderness, and forgoing the ritzy resort hotel with its fuzzy bathrobes and redundant oceanside pools for a tent and a bed on the world’s best natural mattress—the sand. Camping on the beach doesn’t work like camping in the woods. Rather than a hole carved out among the trees, an entire swath of land appears, at least at first glance, to be ready for pitching a tent. And even in areas that are well known or designated as beach camping destinations, there are often no specifically marked spots for individual tents. Then just camp anywhere? Not quite. Just like when you’re pitching your tent in the forest and you look up to find dangerous tree branches or other debris, you’ll want to keep a few things in mind on the beach, as well. Know the Tides Deciding where to set up your camp is one of the most crucial aspects of beach backpacking. Brian Behrens Get intimately familiar with the tides in the specific area where you’ll be camping. They’re different depending on where you go, so use an app like “Tide Charts Near Me” to pinpoint your exact location. Know when high and low tides are, and how high they’ll be. It can be tempting to camp close to the water, or even at what you think is a safe distance. Depending on your location, the size of the beach, and the time of the year, the water can move a long way between high and low tides. Look out for things like debris and seaweed to get an idea of how high the water will come at high tide and camp well away from that point. Also be cognisant of any peninsulas or sand bars to make sure that, even if you’re above the waterline, you don’t end up unexpectedly marooned on an island. Make a Plan for Drinking Water On the hunt for freshwater. Brian Behrens Water, water everywhere? Just make sure there’s a little bit for you to drink, too. It’s not unlikely that, as much water as you’ll have nearby, you’ll be hard pressed to find anything potable. Know ahead of time where you might be able to find streams or other bodies of fresh water (keep in mind, they could be dry or weak at certain times), or be prepared to carry it all in—enough for drinking, cooking, and staying clean. Keep the Sand at Bay If you can keep the sand at bay, you're gonna have a better time. Brian Behrens Sand has a natural ability to infiltrate everything—our clothes, boots, tent, sleeping bag, and more. Keeping it in check can go a long way toward maintaining your sanity and enjoying your trip. Before you head out, make sure everything that you want to stay sand-free is sealed up. Plastic zip-top bags are an easy way to make sure the sand stays out of places you don’t want it, like in food, electronics, or clothes. Take your shoes off and brush the sand off your feet, pants, and hands before going near your tent to get inside. Bring a towel that you can designate as the sandy towel to wipe things off, like your feet before you crawl into your sleeping bag. Elevate your cooking materials off the sand as much as possible and be extra careful when walking around them that you don’t inadvertently kick anything into your cooking food. Plan for Hot and Cold Serenity found along the Olympic Coast's Shi Shi Beach. Brian Behrens Beach camping isn’t something you necessarily need hot weather for, but it certainly helps. Don’t neglect to bring the things you might normally bring to the beach: Sunscreen, sunglasses, light layers, and so on. However, even for trips where you’ll be spending your days in a bathing suit, be prepared for cold once the sun goes down. A windy, wet climate can mean chilly nights, so pack a jacket, warm hat, and warm sleeping bag (with the constant threat of moisture, a synthetic bag or one with hydrophobic down isn’t a bad idea). A Few of our Favorites Definitely do a little research before heading out to spend a night on your local beach. Setting up a tent is illegal in a lot of places, but there are a few sandy highlights worthy of anyone’s backpacking life list. Shi Shi Beach (Olympic National Park, WA) A satellite chunk of Olympic National Park abuts the Pacific on the western shore of the state—and it might be one of the park’s best parts. Shi Shi (pronounced ‘shy-shy’) is far from a secret—you’ll have plenty of company, as it's popular with day hikers—but its ease of access, incredibly picturesque beach camping, and readily available fresh water make it an ideal first-timers getaway. Kalaulau Trail (Kauai, HI) This is about as tropical as it gets. The 11-mile Kalalau Trail links Ke’e Beach and Kalalau Beach along the Na Pali Coast and takes you along steep sea cliffs, flanked by waterfalls and rainforest, and down to pristine sandy beaches. The best part? The sunset from your campsite on the shore will rival anything you’ve seen. State Line Campsite (Assateague Island National Seashore, MD) Keep an eye out for wild horses along these barrier island beaches and spend all day in the water or lounging on the long shoreline. Just be careful: there’s very little shade to be found on Assateague, so come prepared with shelter and sunscreen! Written by Ryan Wichelns for RootsRated.

“Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing—absolutely nothing—half so much worth doing as simply messing around in boats.” - Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows I first read those words when I was young, much too young to comprehend their whimsicality. Wind in the Willows was a staple in my family, but the river life was not. Drawn more to mountains and dirt, we were not raised as “water people.” But there they were, these famous words, scrawled inside my old and distorted journal. I had hastily added them two years prior, before my first trip through the Grand Canyon, down the Colorado River. And now, as we slept on the banks of the river at the Lee’s Ferry put-in after a long day of rigging rafts, toying with oar rights, and making last-minute beer runs, I flipped through my entries from my first trip down the abyss. On the eve of such an anticipated return to the river—a few of us even had a “redemption rapid” or two that we were eager to conquer more smoothly on a second go-round—the water was calm, the sky was clear, and the cold front was settling in. Not long after dark, the November frost had already begun to gather on our strewn out sleeping bags, foreboding for a cold three weeks. Peaceful mornings along the Colorado River. Brian Bates But no one cared about the cold. Because, simply said, there is nothing better than messing around in boats. If one is to spend three weeks confined to a single landscape, it’s tough to find one that’s better than the Grand Canyon. Camp life is slow and loose when pressed so close against a water so quick and untiring. Juniper smolders in the stoked light of the fire as the eddy lines dance and the river boils swirl and bubble nearby. There is a stillness to this canyon that is unrivaled; it is not a cathedral but a monastery; not remote, but entirely removed; and nothing seems colored, only forcefully stained. And rarely does anything on the Colorado River ever dry. The skin on your hands will painfully crack, you will find sand in your hair for months after your trip, and you will be forced to test your restraint and discipline as you ration both your supply of dry socks and of beer. But they will be the most perfect days of your life. The Gear Boats in a row. Brian Bates Obviously, gear is dependent on the season. The warmer, summer seasons, require a little less foresight. You will spend little time (if any) wrapped in a puffy down coat, and a pair of chacos and hiking shoes might be all you need. But in the winter, a dry suit is the most important piece of gear you can bring. Of the 21 days we spent on the river, perhaps only a small handful were spent on the boats without our drysuits worn. Even on the more relaxing days, it is best to start the day with the suit halfway on, tied around your waist, just in case you need to fully don the protection in a non-threatening yet substantially splashy rapid. Realistically, the average Colorado River Grand Canyon permit recipient does not own the large and seemingly endless assortment of essential gear, or at least enough of said gear for an entire group. That is where outfitters, such as our go-to company Moenkopi Riverworks, prove invaluable. For reasonable prices, outfitters can supply a group with rentals of anything and everything: from rafts to entire kitchen set-ups, groovers (toilets) to coolers, dry bags, and any small piece of equipment a boat could need. For an extra price, most outfitters will go as far as planning and packing every meal, organized by day with easy-to-follow instructions and menus. While experienced trippers may opt to pack their own food, we can vouch that not having the stress of planning, purchasing, and packing group food for three weeks is well worth it. The Rapids Scouting rapids along the Colorado River. Brian Bates They say a good run in Lava Rapid, perhaps the most destructive and terribly fantastic rapid in the canyon stretch, only takes twenty seconds. Similarly, it is a rough estimate that rapids only make up 10% of your time on the river, if that. But they are without a doubt at the front of everyone’s mind every morning at coffee and every night at the fire. Other large rapids, such as Granite (mile 94), Hermit (mile 95.5), and Crystal (mile 99) are separated by short moments of both relief looking backwards and anxiety looking forward, if all goes well. Big-water days, however, are the magnetism of the river. There are unlimited reasons to journey down the Grand Canyon, but it is undeniable that the hydraulics in this stretch are unrivaled by any other river in the American West. You can plan, study, and scout as much as you want, but once you dip your oars into the current and pull out of the eddy, anything can happen. The Roaring Twenties whip you into shape in just the second day. Hance Rapid can have you pinballing down the endless stretch of waves. A failure to get far enough right in Bedrock will either pin you to rock mid-rapid, or send you through the washing machine on the left. Horn Creek Rapid can quickly turn into a ride on a rollercoaster-gone-wrong, and not straddling the gap properly between the wall and crashing holes in Upset will...well...it’s in the name. But the best stretch of big-water is the aforementioned Granite/Hermit/Crystal stretch: three of the five toughest rapids, all in a 5 mile stretch: you better wake up rowdy. Which is exactly how it went. Without scouting, simply relying on a brash cocktail of memory, a last-ditch guide book examination, and frantic shouting from boat to boat over the roar of the rapid, we hit the Granite/Hermit/Crystal stretch with full force. Bunched tightly in single-file order, each oarsman would periodically pop quickly to their feet and strain their neck: ground hogs on rubber boats peering down a smooth tongue into the chaos. Without warning, each raft would surge ahead of the group as it suddenly caught the top of the rapid and accelerate into the mess, either rowing furiously to follow the line or squaring up to the crashing waves. The boaters behind, in their natural state, would pop up to their feet again, watch their buddy navigate the rapid, make mental notes, and then find themselves swept into the wave train. No other day, and no other rapids—save for Lava—have such power to remind us that, while this river may be restrained upstream by the famous Glen Canyon Dam, it is still a surging, pounding, untameable beast. The Layover Days Descending into the abyss. Brian Bates And so while much is made—and rightly so—of the messing around in boats, it is the days off of the boats and removed from the river that make a Grand Canyon river trip remarkable. Just as you would not venture down the river without a guidebook to the rapids, it is equally worth it to invest in a thick guide book to all of the hiking and slot canyon rappelling to be found on dry land along the way. Three (or even four) weeks is an awfully long time to enjoy the Grand Canyon, and there is plenty of exploration to be found, shore-side naps to be snoozed, and books to be enjoyed while the world outside the canyon hurls on at a much faster clip, unnoticed and unminded to the boaters at the bottom. For climbers, there is an astounding amount of slot-canyons to explore and rappel. A favorite is the canyon at mile 44, President Harding Camp. The wash, while looking unmanageable from below, includes 7 rappels totalling over 650 feet of combined drop on the rope. Never explore a slot canyon without consulting the guidebook first, and never commit to dropping down even short rappels without the right gear and time to assume you won’t be able to retrace your steps backwards. One of the many extraordinary hikes is found while camping at either Racetrack Camp (around mile 134) or directly beneath the ensuing rapid. Start early and plan on a long trek with lots of uphill: once you start venturing up Tapeats Creek, you won’t want to turn back. Eventually you can veer left and follow Thunder River, up to Thunder River Springs, where the waterfall flows directly from a spring hidden deep inside the towering canyon walls. Turn around, or complete the loop through Surprise Valley and enjoy the famous “Patio” above Deer Creek. It is this writer’s belief to push for early mornings and longer efforts on the river. The more mileage you row on flat water days, the more layover days you are allowed at camp. More layover days means a more complete immersion into the river, the canyon, and the treasured life that defines this slow escape down the rabbit hole. Messing Around in Boats Rest day exploration along the Colorado River. Brian Bates With the ever-looming threat of development in the Grand Canyon and along the Colorado River, one of the most unspoiled stretches of the American West grows more and more treasured with age. Such wilderness is hard to find nowadays, and the raw immersion into a completely self-sufficient wilderness should be preserved (visit American Rivers to learn more). Because the experience is not just in the simple sight seeing of the canyon and river, it is in the actual doing of the thing: the actual rowing of the oars a couple hundred miles, the waking up at 6:30 for coffee and the falling asleep under the stars when it is dark at 8, the transformation of putting yourself out there where few others have been, where there are no crowds, where places are hard to get to. Because messing around in boats in these places is worth doing. Written by Brian Bates for RootsRated.

Your calendar isn't lying: Spring really is just around the corner. The time has already changed, bringing with it another hour of sunshine—and plenty of opportunities and excuses to get outside. Wildflowers, waterfalls, and wildlife all await on the myriad trails that beckon this time of year. Some of the area's higher-elevation hikes may still be buried under residual snow, but plenty of trails in low-lying areas remain open and accessible. So whether you're looking for a thigh-burning climb, an urban trek, or an up-close glimpse at the green spaces around Portland, here's where to go—and what to know—for the best spring hikes in Portland. Where to Find Wildflowers and Gorge-ous Views Dog Mountain is among the most popular hikes in the Columbia River Gorge, due in large part to its stunning wildflower displays. Bill Automata Dog Mountain is home to some of the most impressive wildflower displays in the Columbia River Gorge every April, May, and June. At their peak, the blooms absolutely explode off the mountainside, bathing Dog Mountain in fields of yellow balsamroot and purple lupine. (The wildflowers typically hit their peak on Dog Mountain in May and June, but given Portland's warm winter, flashes of color might appear sooner.) Despite two options for reaching the top—one of which is semi-helpfully marked "less difficult"—there's no easy way to bypass the difficulty of climbing 3,000 feet in roughly three miles. The work is worth it, though; in addition to fields of beautiful wildflowers, hikers will enjoy incredible views of the surrounding Columbia River Gorge. Insider tip: For all its intensity, Dog Mountain is among the most popular hikes in the region. Head out early (or on a sunny weekday) to avoid parking headaches and the biggest crowds. Walking Behind Waterfalls There are many wonderful waterfalls along the "Trail of Ten Falls". Amit Patel Spend a few minutes on the Trail of Ten Falls in Silver Falls State Park, and you might wonder if you've stumbled into J.R.R. Tolkein's Middle Earth. Thick, lush forests surround hikers throughout the 8.7-mile loop. Spectacular canyon views await behind seemingly every turn. Bucolic creeks bubble throughout. You'll be surprised when Frodo and Sam don't wander by at some point. And that's to say nothing of the waterfalls. (And, yes, there are really 10 of them along the way.) Hikers are treated to close-up views of these impressive waterfalls—more than five of which are at least 100 feet tall—and can walk behind four. Head's up: Silver Falls State Park is the most popular state park in Oregon. Make the trip on a weekday or show up early on a weekend to avoid parking headaches the biggest crowds. Warming Up With a Waterfall Dry Creek Falls rewards hikers with an unusual waterfall in the Columbia River Gorge. Bill Automata It's almost unfair to mention any waterfall hike immediately after shouting out the Trail of Ten Falls, but the short jaunt to Dry Creek Falls is well worth any hiker's time. If the thought of climbing 3,000 feet at Dog Mountain or making the 80-minute drive to Silver Falls State Park aren't doable, get your legs into gear with the quick, 4.4-mile out-and-back to an impressive, if oft-overlooked, waterfall in the Columbia River Gorge. A fair grade makes the 2.2-mile hike to the falls feel a lot shorter than it really is, and the thick forest lining the trail adds to the enchantment. At the end of the hike, the single-stream cascade at the heart of Dry Creek Falls flows down 75 feet in front of an unusual display of moss-covered columnar basalt. There are plenty of better-known waterfall hikes elsewhere in Oregon, but most demand more from hikers, and few offer the same, beautiful payoff. Wetlands and Wildlife in the City The Oaks Bottom WIldlife Refuge is a popular hiking and trail running destination not far from Ross Island. wittco.gmbh Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge isn't the most well-known or back-breaking hike on this list, but the 2.3-mile trail introduces hikers and trail runners to a piece of Portland they might not otherwise enjoy. Today, the lush wetland is a popular destination for an early-morning or after-work adventure, but it was very nearly razed to make way for an industrial park before the City of Portland acquired the refuge in 1969. Restoration and protection efforts paid off. Today, roughly 40 years after that decision to preserve the wetlands, Oaks Bottom is awash in wildlife. Beavers, nutria, salamanders, frogs, mallards, blue herons, and other migrating birds either stop at the refuge or call it home. And, as if to underscore the urban-rural tightrope the refuge walks, hikers will catch glimpses of the downtown skyline—just a 15-minute drive away—at various points along the hike. An Urban Experience Approaching the station. Chris Phan The 4T Trail unveils the best of Portland over nine fascinating miles, and it doesn't demand much of hikers just getting their legs back after spending the winter indoors. Along the way, the trail showcases the innovative mass transit for which Portland is known, takes hikers through lush forests just minutes from downtown, and delivers one impressive view after another. The 4T Trail, accessible year-round, gets its name from the four "T's" at the heart of the unusual excursion: Hikers start on a trail that spans Washington Park, Council Crest, and Oregon Health & Science University (OHSU). Washington Park hosts innumerable Portland attractions, not the least of which is a dense forest that makes it easy to forget you're in the midst of a busy urban core. Council Crest, meanwhile, is the highest point in Portland and delivers knockout views of both Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens on a clear day. From there, hikers take the tram—specifically, the Portland Aerial Tram—from OHSU, down to the rapidly-growing South Waterfront Neighborhood. The tram's platform promises views of the downtown skyline, the Willamette River snaking through Portland, and Mount Hood rising behind South Waterfront condos. Hikers then hop aboard the trolley—rather, the Portland Streetcar—at the base of the tram. The streetcar heads into downtown Portland. The loop is complete once hikers depart for the train and take the blue or red MAX light rail line back to Washington Park. Fun fact: The Washington Park MAX stop is the deepest transit station in North America. Written by Matt Wastradowski for RootsRated.

My partner Jacob and I don't have children. We have a dog, Shylie—our 10-year-old wolf-like black-and-tan mutt. We are insane parents. Shylie gets filet mignon on her birthday. She has an Instagram account and a blog. We’ve designed Shylie-themed t-shirts, calendars, and bumper stickers. We sing to her all day, every day, that she’s the best dog in the world. This dog is adored. Shylie's bred for dogsledding, but she's spent her whole life on the beach, in Santa Cruz, California. Jacob and I are aware that she has only a few good years left, so we decided this summer, before she gets too old, to show her what she's made for: the mountains. A big yawn from Shylie. Kara Guzman For two long weekends each month, we've gone backpacking near Lake Tahoe, in the Desolation Wilderness, 200 miles northeast of San Francisco. It's dog heaven: pine forests and wildflower meadows full of chipmunks and dozens of alpine lakes to jump in. We already knew that Shylie loves running at altitude, in cool mountain forests. We’ve taken her mountain biking near Lake Tahoe dozens of times (since unlike Santa Cruz, the trails are dog-friendly and don’t have poison oak). But Shylie’s never gone backpacking before. As much as we love this dog, we’ve never spent four days and nights around the clock with her. Days of quality time with her humans, and of all places, in the mountains? It was a no-brainer. We knew she would have the time of her life. Shylie faithfully follows the author on the barren climb to Middle Velma Lake. Jacob Meyberg What we didn’t realize was that the 100-square-mile Desolation Wilderness, with its roughly 130 lakes and patchwork of creeks, is perfect for dogs. We don’t carry water for Shylie since there are freshwater stops less than a mile apart on almost every trail. Plus, she loves to jump in, shake, and cool off. Out here, the old dog plays like a puppy. At dusk, when we pitch our tent at one of the hundreds of lakeside campsites, she freezes in a play stance, with her butt in the air. Then she’s off, careening around the campsite like her tail’s on fire. It turns out the Desolation Wilderness is perfect for Jacob and me, too. We had snowball fights in July. We taught ourselves to fish for trout. We swam naked to granite islands in ice-cold lakes all to ourselves. We were surprised by a hailstorm on an 80-degree day and huddled for cover with the dog under a warm, sun-baked boulder. We hiked portions of the Pacific Crest Trail, and as according to custom, made trail nicknames. (Mine was ‘Squiter Heaven.) Shylie briefly tolerates a portrait with a juniper tree overlooking the Desolation Valley. Kara Guzman Another highlight during our Desolation excursions this summer have been the meals. Jacob’s parents gave us a food dehydrator, and I’ve been using my backcountry cookbook. In my pack, I lug a bear canister stuffed with homemade dried goodies, like duck soup, carrot salad, and even masoor dal. One night at Dick’s Lake, we had peanut chicken stew under the stars, watching bats eat mosquitoes. While the food heated on our tiny stove, Jacob hand-fed Shylie her kibble, which I portioned into plastic bags for each meal. The nights are cold and windy in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, so Shylie sleeps in our tent, where she pins me like a wrestler as she snuggles my sleeping bag. Then each morning, we climb a new granite peak and count all the lakes. Occasionally, Shylie surprises a grouse on the trail, and it heaves its plump, brown body into flight, drumming its wings before gliding to a branch. Yellow-bellied marmots—chubby gopher-like rodents that look like teddy bears—squawk as they poke their heads from the rocks, like a real-life game of Whack-a-Mole. Each day, there are new flowers, too. This summer the Desolation Wilderness was simply blooming with wildflowers, after the first wet winter in a five-year drought. Each weekend, the landscape’s colors have shifted and I'm constantly delighted, as we hike from one terrain to the next. My partner Jacob checks out a snowbank while Shylie looks for chipmunks Kara Guzman Shylie, meanwhile, constantly sniffs for chipmunks. When she hears the tiniest squeak, she surges up rocky cliffs or down steep ravines, like a kamikaze pilot. Some of the trails are made of sharp, granite shards, which are tough on Shylie’s paws, but the terrain doesn’t phase her. She’s at home in the mountains. She runs twice as far and as fast out here compared to anywhere else. She's finally doing what she's meant to: She’s exploring the wilderness with her "pack." And in a way, so am I. When I can go consecutive days without seeing a screen, I’m happy. That little voice in my head, the one that worries about stupid things, disappears. My focus narrows to the view at hand and the trail ahead. Part of me though, hears the ticking clock. It knows this paradise won’t last, and these weekend escapes with the dog are numbered. Shylie hangs her tongue after climbing to the top of the Bayview Trail. Eagle Lake is seen from above. Jacob Meyberg The cruel trick of loving a dog is how fast they age. I’m dreading the future, when Shylie’s eyes are too cloudy to see and her hips too creaky to chase. And—I don’t even want to write it—I’m dreading that horrible veterinarian appointment, when we say our goodbyes. If my crazy love affair with this dog has taught me one thing, it’s to be conscious and aware of every single moment. I’ve literally spent days gazing into the dog’s eyes, wondering what she’s thinking, what that voice in her head sounds like. I mean, is she barking in there? After months of observing Shylie, I’ve realized that she is the ultimate Zen master. She’s not thinking at all. When she’s outside, she’s listening for chipmunks. She’s sniffing coyote markings on a tree. She’s picking a line across a granite scree. She’s scratching her back on a pile of pine cones. She’s tasting the snowmelt. Take note. This is what life is about. The author follows Shylie on the descent to Granite Lake. Jacob Meyberg TIPS: Backcountry camping permits cost $5 per person per night. Campers must pick a “zone” for their first night, then are free to camp anywhere on their next night. Reservations can be made online, but most of the popular zones are filled through September. A limited number of walk-in spots are available for each zone. Same-day walk-in permits are available at the four Forest Service Permit OfficesForest Service Permit Offices throughout the Lake Tahoe area. The line starts forming around 7 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays, so get there early. According to the rules, dogs should be on-leash in the Desolation Wilderness, but most owners don’t follow those rules in the backcountry. However, if you’re going to take your dog off-leash, it should be well-trained, and know the “come” and “leave it” commands. Some wildlife can be dangerous to dogs, such as porcupines and ticks, etc. Many of the trails in the Desolation Wilderness are rocky and tough on dog paws. We’ve used Musher's Secret wax with some success. (Our dog likes to lick it off.) Others use booties for their dogs. Written by Kara Guzman for RootsRated.