Off-the-Beaten-Path: The Weekender's Guide to Outdoor Adventure around Los Angeles

People like their seashores. They always have. The biophilia hypothesis even suggests we’ve got an intrinsic attraction to the coast, perhaps because of how fertile this threshold tends to be: Across human history, living’s often been easy here (relatively speaking), what with all the clams, fish, bird and turtle eggs, seaweed, and beached whales to feast on. Whether it’s an evolutionary deal or not, sand and surf certainly casts a powerful spell over us. Of course, this also means your average coastline tends to be thronged and shackled. Big harbor cities, resort towns, highways, swarmed beaches, jetties, and breakwaters and riprap: That’s often the look of the littoral in the United States. But there are places where the roughness of the shore, the roughness of the sea, or some farsighted conservation efforts have thwarted development and left a primeval frontier of terra firma and saltwater. For the backpacker or paddler, the wilderness coasts below—some of the most back-of-beyond in America—offer the rare chance to explore places where the land margin holds a magnificent mirror up to the inherent wildness of heaving swells and roaring breakers. Obligatory Alaska Disclaimer Any roundup of U.S. wilderness reckons with the scale of it in Alaska as compared to the rest of the country, and this here seacoast survey isn’t any different. We’re excluding the Last Frontier from the discussion, only because otherwise we’d end up devoting most of our attention to its vast reaches of remote strand. Cape Lookout National Seashore (North Carolina) Wild horses roaming Cape Lookout National Seashore. Doug Butchy The hurricane coast of North Carolina’s Outer Banks reaches a wild pinnacle in Cape Lookout National Seashore, separated from the more developed Cape Hatteras National Seashore to the north by the Ocracoke Inlet. The barrier islands of Shackleford Banks, South Core Banks, and North Core Banks, separated from the mainland by Back and Core sounds, serve up some 112 miles of undeveloped shoreline, and hikers and boaters have awesome opportunities for primal beach camping. Nine-mile-long Shackleford Banks, where vehicles aren’t allowed, is best for solitude. The isle includes a remnant of Outer Banks maritime forest—dark dune-sheltered woods of live oak, juniper, holly, and other trees drenched in Spanish moss and vines—as well as sun-blasted grasses, saltmarsh, and barren sand. Keep an eye peeled for some of Shackleford’s 100-odd feral ponies, the so-called Banker horses descended from animals brought over by the Spanish. (Don’t get too close: They kick.) Check the National Seashore’s website for details on camping, plan kayak safaris with the Down East Paddle Trail, and avail yourself of a NOAA nautical chart. The Everglades Coast (Florida) Paddling Everglades National Park. Miguel Vieira Sure, the Sunshine State’s got glammed-up resort beaches, gargantuan sprawl, and galaxies of golf courses. But it also lays claim to some truly gnarly wilderness, not least in southwestern Florida’s great mangrove rim edging the Gulf of Mexico and Florida Bay. Fed by the languid rivers and sloughs of the Everglades and the Big Cypress Swamp, this tropical outback comprises a morass of tidal swampland, backwater bays, maritime hammocks, and mangrove keys: one of the biggest roadless swaths—and certainly one of the wildest coastlines—in the conterminous U.S. The northern portion of the wilderness coast encompasses the Ten Thousand Islands from Cape Romano southeast to the vicinity of the shell isle of Chokoloskee. Southeast of that archipelago sprawl, the big mangrove swamps (or mangal) and brackish channels where the Big Cypress and the Shark River Slough of the Everglades drain to the sea. Lonely Cape Sable with its mangrove jungle, buttonwood parks, and coastal prairie forms the southwestern heel of the Florida mainland, wrapping around to the road’s-end outpost of Flamingo in Everglades National Park. From there to the east rolls another coastal backcountry: the scalloped, crocodile-prowled north shore of Florida Bay, roadless all the way to the Overseas Highway to Key Largo. Aside from a few buggy trails in the Flamingo vicinity, the only practical way to penetrate this convoluted seacoast is by boat. The 99-mile-long Wilderness Waterway makes a popular paddling or powerboat route, but a challenging one on account of mosquitoes, heat, wind, and the mazelike nature of the country. Molokai’s North Shore (Hawaii) The dramatic shoreline of Molokai’s North Shore. Forest Starr and Kim Starr Not only one of the wildest seacoasts in the country but one of the most jaw-droppingly spectacular in the world, the North Shore of Molokai between the Kalaupapa Peninsula on the west and the Halawa Valley on the east confronts the Pacific with the world’s tallest sea cliffs: These pali, as they’re called in Hawaii, rear better than 3,000 feet from the surf at their highest, and wall off pristine high rainforest. Several almost otherworldly valleys breach this 40-mile-long bastion of Molokai’s “Back Side,” including the Nature Conservancy-managed Pelekunu Valley and the Wailau Valley, the beach mouth of which makes an unreal camping spot for coastal paddlers. Given the remoteness and the outer-coast conditions, kayaking the North Shore—a summertime activity—demands plenty of planning and preparation. Kauai’s Na Pali Coast (Hawaii) The sheer, razorback spurs of Hawaii's Na Pali Coast. Matt Wunderle A similarly sheer spectacle composes Kauai’s northwestern shore: the fabled Na Pali Coast, where slumping and erosion have turned the flanks of the island’s shield volcano into razorback spurs, toothy pinnacles, and grooved cliffs (which rise past 1,000 feet directly above the breakers, and beyond 4,000 feet just inland). This gloriously ravaged and roadless oceanfront extends some 15 miles between Polihale Beach in the southwest and Kee Beach in the northeast, the scenic apex being the pali-walled Kalalau Valley and its remote Kalalau Beach. The Kalalau and other Na Pali glens, their headwalls streaked with waterfalls, historically sheltered populations of Native Hawaiians, who used what’s now the Kalalau Trail to access these valleys when the ferocious surf of winter made ocean access too dicey. Hiking the 11-mile-long Kalalau today and camping overnight in the coves of the Na Pali is unforgettable, though you must tread carefully along the steep and switchbacking track, as it's downright dangerous in wet conditions. In summer, you can also kayak the Na Pali Coast, with the option of camping at the Miloli’i Valley, which is only reachable by boat. The Olympic Coast (Washington) Taking in just one of the thousands of gorgeous vistas along the sublime Washington Coast. Jeff Bartlett Spruce-topped seastacks, dark rainforest headlands, brimming tidepools, cobble coves, piles of whalesize driftwood, the gray rage of the North Pacific: the northwestern coast of Washington’s Olympic Peninsula offers backpackers some of the Lower 48’s rawest maritime wilderness. On this isolated outer coast, you may spot porpoises, harbor seals, and sea otters—maybe even a gray whale along its yearly Baja-to-Alaska-and-back odyssey. Two long roadless sections make up most of Olympic National Park’s seaboard: a southern reach between the mouth of the Hoh River and La Push on the Quillayute Indian Reservation, and a northern reach between Rialto Beach at the mouth of the Quillayute up to Shi Shi Beach. Major access points include Kalaloch and Rialto beaches and Ozette Lake in the coastal forest, from which boardwalk trails lead to Sand Point and Cape Alava. Long-distance coastal hiking here is rigorous: slogging on sand, grinding over cobble, skirting drift logs, and following muddy and jungly overland trails to round impassable headlands. A good topo map and tide chart are essential. The Oregon Dunes (Oregon) The seemingly endless sands of Oregon's coastal dunes. Michael Renfrow Given the overall ruggedness of the Pacific Northwest coast, it may come as a surprise to learn that the central Oregon seashore claims the nation’s largest tract of sand dunes. The so-called Coos Bay dune sheet stretches some 54 miles between Heceta Head and Coos Bay, much of it managed by the U.S. Forest Service as the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area. Now, Oregon has a famously scenic coastline with plenty of wild character—storm-battered capes and headlands, shrouded spruce ravines, rocky coves of boiling surf—but highways (mainly 101) hug it nearly all the way. In the Oregon Dunes, however, the road pulls inland for long stretches. Off-highway vehicles are allowed in much of the recreation area, but where they’re forbidden—for instance, between the sand mouths of the Siltcoos and Umpqua rivers—hikers can easily find solitude amid the dune wastes, the soggy (and often mosquito-swarmed) pinewoods of the deflation plain, and lush “tree islands” of sand-encircled temperate rainforest. Summer backpackers often find themselves socked in for days by Pacific fog that turns the dunefields into a chilly dreamscape. The Lost Coast (California) Alone along the sand and surf of California's Lost Coast. Matt Palmer The highest and roughest mountains directly flanking the Lower 48’s Pacific Coast lie in California. South of Eureka, the rugged King Range looms 4,000 feet not far from the tideline, forcing Highway 1 inland and thereby fortressing some 60 miles of mostly roadless shore called the Lost Coast. Between the King Range National Conservation Area in the north and the Sinkyone Wilderness State Park in the south, this is the West Coast in the raw: raging surf, offshore arches, beach rivers, redwood ravines, shadowy Douglas-fir/tanoak forests breaking into grassy ridgetops with sweeping ocean views. It’s not uncommon to see Roosevelt elk grazing within sight of harbor seals, sea lions, and spouting gray whales. The Lost Coast Trail makes one of the finest coastal backpacking treks in the country, though, as on the Olympic shore, you’ll be challenged by tides, weather, and tiring sand/cobble hiking. Much of the 25-mile northern segment between the Mattole River and Black Sands Beach goes right along the beach; the southern Sinkyone section, nearly 30 miles of it, spends more time inland and upslope. Written by Ethan Shaw for RootsRated.

Everyone knows about packing out your trash, or what to do when nature calls in the wilderness. These are number one and number two (literally) in the leave-no-trace playbook for those of us who care about preserving outdoor spaces for future generations to enjoy. Well, okay, apparently not everyone knows. We see trash (and pick it up) all the time, just like you do. We’re as baffled as you are when we see some yahoo flick a cigarette butt out the window of their car. Do some people simply not care? Further education is clearly needed. For those of us in the know, though, minimizing our own impact goes beyond these two obvious line items. If you’re already doing the easy stuff, here are a few often-overlooked ways to tread lightly in the great outdoors. 1. Travel on durable surfaces. Hiking the Ice Lakes Trail in Colorado's San Juan National Forest. Paxson Woelber This one should be easy: walk on the trail. Don’t cut switchbacks, which creates both erosion problems and ugly “social” trails. If you have to go off-trail, tread carefully; avoid fragile alpine flora or cryptobiotic desert soil. Of course, we all see evidence that many outdoor users aren’t doing this. We see all those social trails near lakes and campsites, and trampled vegetation near crags and scenic overlooks. For all trail traffic, including mountain bikers: think about durable surfaces, and whether your boots or bike tires are leaving a discernible mark on the terrain. If you’re leaving ruts because of wet or freeze-thaw conditions, ride somewhere else; no matter how many slow-motion edits online seem to imply otherwise, it’s not okay to skid your tires and sling “brown pow” or pioneer off-trail alternate lines. This goes for photographers, too, despite the temptation to stomp off-trail to that perfect vantage point. Sure, the adage may say: “Take nothing but photographs, leave nothing but footprints.” The photos are fine… but why leave footprints where you don’t have to? 2. Park your car on durable surfaces, too. Parking at a snowy campground in Glacier National Park. D.Taylor in Idaho What do you do when you arrive at a trailhead, and the parking lot is full? Do you just pull off the road wherever it’s convenient? In some environments this may be acceptable, but in many it’s not. If simply walking on cryptobiotic soil or alpine meadows has a negative impact on those surfaces, imagine what parking your 4Runner on them does. Additionally, if that parking lot is in a neighborhood, imagine how thrilled the neighbors will be if you’re parking on their lawn. I’ve seen more than a few parking lots in National Parks absolutely overrun with cars parked all over sensitive terrain and their inhabitants absolutely trampling that terrain on the way in and out of those cars. We don’t think the answer is more parking and bigger parking lots, especially when the mission of the National Park Service is to protect and preserve these beautiful places; we think preservation includes an awareness of where you pilot your vehicle in the first place. 3. Respect permit limits, closures, and quotas. View of Yosemite Falls from Glacier Point, Yosemite National Park. Mitchel Speaking of full parking lots, some areas have chosen to counteract overuse by instituting lotteries, permit systems, and daily quotas. Sometimes that parking lot is full because, frankly, that’s how many visitors per day are a sustainable number without degrading the resource. Sometimes, areas are temporarily (or permanently) closed so they have a chance to recover. Some places, as we’ve noted in the past, are being loved to death. We know it sucks when you arrive at the start of your day’s objective and it’s closed, or when you don’t win the lottery for that bucket-list trip, but the outdoors isn’t yours alone. We’re in this together, and we need to work together to protect the wild places we love. There are plenty of incredible places out there; be flexible with your plan, have a backup, and don’t fall into the trap of thinking that the only places worth visiting are on “10 best” lists and inside National Parks. 4. Avoid creating new campsites. Campsite on rocky cliff. ih Well, aren’t we a buzzkill! While social media can seem like a competition to see who can pitch their tent in the most ridiculous place (we love @youdidnotsleepthere), existing campsites are usually there for a reason. Limiting the number of sites at a given location helps limit human impact to those designated places. If there are two camp spots at your favorite backcountry overlook, and you create a third, you’ve increased the visible impact by fifty percent! You might be disappointed that the designated sites at that pristine alpine lake are two hundred feet from the water instead of two feet, but there’s a reason for it. You don’t have the right to overrule the land manager by making a new one! It’s easy to convince yourself “if I just put my tent here for this one night, I’m not really creating a campsite,” but you’ll leave signs of your visit; the visitor after you is likely to repeat your indiscretion, and the visitor after that, and what’s done cannot be undone. 5. Don’t build fire rings, and consider skipping the campfire entirely. Utah camping without a fire. Zach Dischner Look, we know that your Instagram shots are soooo much cooler with the glow of a campfire, and we all know a boutique, hand-painted hatchet is the ultimate accessory for the modern lumbersexual. We’ve also seen campsites surrounded by stumps where small trees used to be, the surviving tree stripped of every branch within arm’s reach. It should go without saying that you should definitely skip the campfire if your region is experiencing a drought, you should respect any and all burn bans in place and, if you absolutely must have a fire, you must also make certain it’s completely out before moving camp. It almost sounds silly to type out, but every year major wildfires are started by careless campfire management. Roasting marshmallows over a canister stove may not be as sexy, but it’s also less likely to incinerate your favorite wilderness. We recently published an article about campfire safety, but there are also some excellent articles about whether campfires are necessary at all (we recommend this one and this one). Think about it. Do you really need to have one? 6. Wash your gear, wash your kayak, and don’t transport firewood. Packraft on the Anaktuvuk River, Alaska. Paxson Woelber It’s important to understand that our impact on outdoor environments goes beyond what we can see, and beyond what is immediately apparent. A variety of pests and invasives—the hemlock woolly adelgid, the emerald ash borer, zebra mussels, water hyacinth—can be transported from watershed to watershed, and from forest to forest, sometimes with heartbreaking results. We’re slowly watching our Eastern Hemlock trees die off, one by one, as the Adelgid spreads throughout the Appalachians. These ghost trees are solemn reminders that, sometimes, we leave behind more than footprints if we’re not careful. You’ve probably seen signs at campsite kiosks and ranger stations instructing visitors to avoid transporting firewood and so forth. Not only should we be following these rules, we should make sure our fellow outdoor enthusiasts are aware of them, too. 7. No dams… and, seriously, stop stacking rocks! Rock piles creekside along Middle Fork Trail, Washington. +Russ Rock-stacking has become a major trend, and it absolutely has to stop. Cairns to mark a trail are fine, and are sometimes necessary, but we’re not talking about cairns. We’re talking about the bizarre proliferation of stacked rocks in certain parts of the world. No, you’re not enhancing the beauty of the natural environment. No, the wilderness doesn’t need improvement, especially if you consider ubiquitous signs of human meddling to be an improvement. It’s more of an eyesore. As for dams, we see lots of river rocks being moved to create swimming holes, capture hot springs, and the like. This has a real impact on certain types of aquatic creatures, specifically the extremely interesting (and highly endangered) hellbender. Seriously, just leave the rocks where they are, and enjoy nature as it is. Scree slopes and rocky creek beds are not your personal Lego set. Last Word We’re not going to tell you exactly how to enjoy the outdoors; maybe you like to listen to Swedish death metal on your trail run; maybe you like to yell “wooo” at the end of a long downhill on your mountain bike, and more power to you on both counts. Outside activity does, however, require an awareness of the world around you, and of the impact your visit has on it. We think that awareness should go beyond just burying toilet paper and carrying out your Snickers wrappers, and we hope you agree. *We highly recommend some level of Leave No Trace training, not only for those new to the outdoors but for experienced outdoor enthusiasts. Learn more about Leave No Trace here. * Written by Jeff Bartlett for RootsRated in partnership with BCBS of Tennessee.

In Washington, the highest of the high country can be snowed in deep from October to June. And that’s true even in a warm winter like this one. But no matter where the mercury falls, there’s a place to lace up your boots—whether you’re craving a quadburner or a riverside ramble, a quick morning jaunt or an all-day, road-tripping adventure. Here, our suggestions for five great winter hikes in Seattle. 1. Baker Lake Trail Mount Baker, Baker Lake —the views of one from the other are spectacular, and with a low trailhead elevation of around 1,000 feet, the route stays snow-free almost all year round. This hike is a Northwest grab bag: old-growth Douglas fir draped with lichen, cedar snags charred by an 1843 forest fire, shoreline campsites, old wooden bridges, and the dramatic backdrop of a glacier-clad volcano. (Bonus: in winter, with leaves on the ground, Mount Baker is all the more visible.) With a shuttle, you can go 14.5 miles one way; with gumption, you can finish the whole thing. 2. Hoh River In the Hoh Rainforest, it's easy being green. Scott Costello During the summer, the Hoh Rainforest is one of the busiest places in Olympic National Park, with some of the largest trees on earth, big herds of Roosevelt elk, and mosses that drip off every conceivable branch in a spectrum of greens, from lime to emerald. Come winter, the rain can be incessant but crowds are gone—and the beauty doesn’t change. The trail is mellow and well-trodden, following the Hoh River upstream for pretty much as far as you want to go, or until you hit snow (it’s how mountaineers access 7,979-foot Mount Olympus). Five Mile Island, a lush landmark in the middle of the river, is a perfect turnaround, and the total elevation gain is under 1,000 feet. 3. Middle Fork Snoqualmie River The way across the Middle Fork. laffertyryan If you can spare a couple hours, the Middle Fork —30 miles from downtown—is the Seattle outdoor version of instant outdoors gratification. Just after crossing a beautiful wooden bridge, this trail goes both downstream and up—and we say up’s the way to go. The woods are silent, the river is loud, and the mileage clocks in at six. Along the way, you’ll see the humpbacked ridgeline of Stegosaurus Butte, where you might see climbers on its slabby walls. Some of the creek crossings can be tricky this time of year, so pack a trekking pole or two. 4. East Peak Rattlesnake Trail, from Rattlesnake Lake Looking down on Rattlesnake Lake from Rattlesnake Ledge. Layne Shepherd Most people who come to Rattlesnake , a steady switchbacking climb, end up at the precipitous cliffs of the lowest ledge to have a snack and then descend again. Those two miles, with 1,100-odd feet of elevation gain, are great for a quickie (for you and, on nice weekends, what seems like half of Seattle). Granted, with the whole Cedar River watershed and Mount Si in front of you, it’s worth a pause. But those in the know continue on another 2.4 miles past a few more ledges along a ridge to East Peak, more than doubling the climb. If the weather’s clear, you can peek through the trees to see Mount Rainier. 5. Ozette Triangle Just one highlight of the Ozette: the seastacks off Cape Alava. Scoring a summertime permit to camp in this part of Olympic National Park isn’t easy, but hiking the loop in a single day is not just doable—it should be on every Northwesterner’s bucket list. In just 9.4 miles, you can meander paths lined with huge ferns, cross boardwalks over seas of skunk cabbage, check out an old homestead, find Makah petroglyphs, and traverse a wild coastline dotted with tidepools and lorded over by bald eagles. The best part? No matter how much snow remains in the alpine, it doesn’t matter to you. You’re headed to the beach.   Written by Evelyn Spence for RootsRated.

Winter’s arrival in Seattle may mean gray skies, chilly temperatures, and shorter days—but the cold season doesn’t mean a shortage of fun for those of us who love adventures in the outdoors. From snowy peaks to holiday festivities, now that it is December some of the area’s best perks are ready to be taken advantage of in the months ahead. Here, our top recommendations for winter adventures in Seattle, from an icy plunge in Pontiac Bay, to snowshoeing in the North Cascades, so you can get the most out of the season this year. 1. Night ski at Snoqualmie Pass. Just an hour’s drive from downtown, The Summit at Snoqualmie is Seattle’s most convenient way to get a quick fix of powder. And if you want to really maximize your time on the slopes, visit at night: It will mean less time in line, so in just a few hours you’ll feel as if you’ve gotten in a full day. The Summit stays open until 10 pm, so it's also a great way to get in a mid-week adventure after work. 2. Go for a run in your holiday best. We know you've been waiting all year to bring out your holiday rally. RVWithTito.com Nothing makes a footrace festive like the collective jingling of bells tied to the feet of fellow runners. Join for Jingle Bell walk/run, Run Run Rudolph 5K, or Street Scramble at the Market, and you’ll get in the holiday spirit while dashing through a sea of Santa hats. 3. Chow down at Winter Feast. One of Seattle’s favorite outdoor markets, the Fremont Market, held every Sunday, is a perfect place to pick up last-minute holiday gifts. Come December 13, you’ll be able to sample the local grub, too, as 20 food trucks will be parked near the  Burke-Gilman , serving up delicious dishes at the annual Winter Feast . 4. Soak up the lights at Leavenworth. Holiday lights add some extra festive flair to Leavenworth. Travel Weaver LLC Leavenworth is not only a kitschy Bavarian-themed tourist town but also the launching pad for weekend excursions full of climbing, hiking, or biking in the summer, and snowshoeing and cross-country skiing in the winter. Come see it during Bavarian Icefest, held MLK weekend, January 17-18, and the village will take on an extra-festive flair. You'll be able to make snow sculptures, sled, and see fireworks from the village decked out in lights. 5. Take the Polar Bear Plunge. Take 2016 head-on by throwing yourself into Lake Washington’s frigid winter waters at the annual January 1 Polar Bear Plunge. There's a few options for how to do it: Run into the 49-degree water in the company of hundreds of other crazies at the official event at Matthews Beach, warm up by jogging the Resolution Run 5K through Magnuson Park before jumping off the park’s boat launch, or take the challenge even further by rounding up some friends to submerge yourselves in Puget Sound’s 43-degree water at Golden Gardens or Alki Beach. 6. Cycle Chilly Hilly. Chilly Hilly will take you up, down, and around Bainbridge Island. Alejandro Gil A decades-old tradition, Chilly Hilly is a much-loved annual race that circles the perimeter of Bainbridge Island. Jump on the ferry with your bike, and join over 5,000 other cyclists for the tough 33-mile ride on February 28. There may be a lot of hills to climb, but stick with it and you’ll be treated to Puget Sound views, a fun vibe, and hot chili and baked goods at the finish line. 7. Warm up at an outdoor fire pit. When you find yourself longing for summer’s sweet campfires, do yourself a favor and head to a restaurant or bar equipped with an outdoor fire pit. Westward ’s fire pit overlooking Lake Union has the best views, Quoin  boasts the best atmosphere, and the Shelter Lounge will let you satisfy your cravings when you inevitably want to start roasting s’mores. 8. Tromp in the snow. Snow play makes you happy. Molly O. While Seattle doesn’t usually get snow in the city, there’s usually ample of it to be found in its nearby hills. Strapping on a pair of snowshoes or cross country skis and exploring the evergreens blanketed in white is a Pacific Northwest experience that can’t be missed. Head to the North Cascades, Snoqualmie Pass, or Lake Wenatchee State Park and you’ll quickly find yourself in a winter wonderland. 9. Sample the brews at Winter Beer Fest. So many beers, so little time! traveljunction One of the best things about getting outside in the winter is sipping on a dark, spicy seasonal brew at the end of the adventure. But with so many local breweries to choose from, how to know which one to choose? Come to Winter Beer Fest on December 4-5 at Magnuson Park and you’ll be able to sort out the conundrum by sampling varieties made by more than 50 Washington breweries. 'Tis the season for tasting, after all. 10. Visit a state park—for free. From Bridle Trails to Saint Edward to Wallace Falls , Seattleites are lucky to have a lot of beautiful state parks nearby. They’re well worth the price of admission (the Discover Pass is required to park in the lot) any day of the year, but the deal is especially sweet when that price is free—which it will be this winter on January 1, January 17-18, and March 19. Consider it a present to yourself and put one (or all) of those dates on the calendar. Written by Samantha Larson for RootsRated.