The Wind River Range is often referred to as a place to go for the best backpacking in the U.S. It has been a place on my radar since we put roots in the mountain west. This past July, Melody and I got to try our hand at our first true 'thru-hike', walking from the south end of the range to the north.
We drove toward the Big Sandy Trailhead in midafternoon on a Monday. The sage steppe land of northern Utah gave way to the sage steppe land of western Wyoming, and we saw our mountains off in the distance. With a background steeped in stormclouds and the valley lit up by the sun behind us, the range had on ominous presence. These mountains are infamous.
We stopped in Farson, a 1-gas station town, for our last fresh meal, 2 salads and a milkshake. We drove the dirt road outside of town for an hour and a half, arriving at the Big Sandy trailhead with a bit of daylight left to build our shelter and discover clouds of mosquitoes, our hosts for the duration of the trip. On the way to the trailhead, we saw herds of pronghorn antelope, camper trailers in undeveloped campsites, and the Big Sandy River, just begging to be fished. I would bring my fly rod on our 4 day trek, but wouldn't have time to do any real fishing until after we were done with our walk.
The Big Sandy trailhead was 'crowded', meaning the parking lot was full, but there weren't too many people to be seen. In general, most will head toward the interior of the range around a place called the Cirque of the Towers (very popular for rock-climbing), but our course would follow the Highline Trail for its entire 70 miles between Big Sandy and Green River Lakes trailheads. In the morning, we packed up in the twilight. I left a quick thank you note and tip for the car shuttler who would drive Santiago to wait for us at our exit point. We walked past horse stables, signed the trail register, and began an epic and challenging string of 4 days.
The first part of the southern Highline Trail is mostly wooded. The cool temps staved off the mosquitoes for only a morning moment, and as soon as we paused on the trail we were swarmed. We quickly sprayed any exposed skin with 100% deet, and put on mosquito nets over our hats. The mosquito nets and long-sleeved shirts were lifesavers. Looking through a net is actually not as bad as at it sounds, and it saved us having to spray our faces. We were only bit a handful of times each, and those were mostly taken on the bum during bathroom breaks. The general rule for the Wind River Range, to avoid all sorts of biting insects, is to go in late August, but our schedules necessitated a July visit.
Boulter Lake was the first of hundreds of lakes we would walk past. The East Fork River was the first of what would seem like a great deal of streams we would ford. Approaching all of these bodies of water would instigate an impulse in me to do one thing: fish. And fish I would not. Our first 2 days of walking took us over 20 miles each day, and we needed to maintain our pace. We continued up the East Fork River drainage for a ways, seeing Pyramid Peak in the distance, and Mt. Geikie, which would remain in the foreground for quite a while. Climbing away from the drainage, we topped out onto hills of subalpine grasses and wildflowers. Behind us, we could see the Cirque of the Towers. The peaks of the Wind River Range are rugged granite. Many of them are shear and would require mountaineering skills to summit. Even non-technical summits would be a day or more's work considering long approach hikes to be at their bases. They are great to look at.
A group of 3 equestrians caught up to us at this point. They were map-less and didn't know they had passed Boulter Lake long ago. I showed them how they could make a loop of their trail to return to Big Sandy, and we parted. For a good portion of the rest of the trail we followed cairns and GPS to stay on course. We passed many large lakes and reasonably kept our bearings. 3 groups of mosquito-netted Boy Scouts passed us on their way to another lake. The youngest group was first and seemed pretty chipper. We passed an older group walking, and then the oldest group, looking defeated. The older the kids in this troop, the less fun they seemed to be having. Leaving the scouts behind, we stumbled upon some old, abandoned cabins, probably used by trappers 100 or more years ago. What a view they had looking east into the interior of the mountains. We inspected the structures and continued on down the trail a quarter mile, and upon reading a trail sign, realized we had missed a junction a couple of miles back.
We actually missed a couple of junctions. This would be the beginning of doing what I should have been doing all along- checking the map more regularly and timing trail junctions. For instance, if we have 1.5 miles until our next junction, assuming a pace of 2 mph (slow, but unflatteringly realistic at times), we should hit that junction in 45 minutes. With the Wind River Range's plethora of trails, both mapped and unmapped, this ritual became a necessity. The quickest way to get back on our trail was to bushwack off trail. Luckily, we were not too far of course, and it only took 20 minutes to rejoin the Highline Trail. On our way, we forded a cute little stream surrounded by willows, and I saw a cougar sprint from a grassy clearing into the woods before us. Its feet made hurried, gentle thuds on the dirt. I shared this sighting with Melody but only on the last day of our hike. When we rejoined the Highline Trail at a 4-way trail junction, the sign seemed to point out into nowhere. I fired up the GPS once again to learn that this was definitely the correct way, but there was no trail. And there would be no trail, nor cairns, for a number of miles through forest and meadows, over and under logs, and across streams and ravines. I have no problem hiking off-trail; it is actually one of my favorite things to do. But when the itinerary calls for 20+ miles per day, a certain pace is needed, and that pace is not often met bushwhacking.
We were sore, sick of damn old mosquitoes, and getting cranky that we didn't have a trail to follow. Melody and I started to make jokes about the trailblazers- "Oh, the Highline Trail, hmmmm, I wonder what extra-curricular activities they were engaging in when they made this trail, hmmm??" Sometimes, the trail itself spoke to us. "So here's a cairn at a lake," says the Highline Trail. "Now, the trail goes right through the lake, and there are cairns on the lake bottom to guide your way. For a dry option, you can hop from lily pad to lily pad to get across. I'm the Highline Trail, and I'm a piece of shit!"
This is perhaps our toughest day psychologically. And that's good, because in retrospect, it went well. We had thoughts of hiking out prematurely, wondering if we hadn't over-scheduled our days, but finishing at a different trailhead seemed more trouble than it was worth. We were just warming up, anyway. We ended up beating our mileage goal for the day and camped at Lake Vera. We passed tens of lakes that day, any one of them worthy of a postcard photograph. The streams we saw are fed by springs, snowmelt, and glaciers. The lakes are fed by the streams, and their outlets feed other lakes and meet to make bigger rivers which eventually empty into the great Green River on this side of the Continental Divide. It was a magical thing to be camping nearer to that legendary water's source.
The morning of our second day was like any backpacking morning. Wake in the dark, break down the shelter, eat cereal and powdered milk, pack, and move. This ritual is comforting and enjoyable because it leads into a day of simply walking. Walk, eat, drink- that is all to do. The cool of the morning was good to hike in. It was nice to put on dry socks, but our feet were soon soaked by the waters of a multitude of stream crossings. Much of our walk the first couple of days was below timberline, just west of the main crest of the Winds, and we were able to get acquainted with some trees. Most of the conifers were lodgepole pines and spruce. There were also a great deal of whitebark pines. All of the stands were affected by some sort of beetle rot, oozing yellow sap, bearing orange needles, and bark reddened, dying. New shoots came up from the ground to replace the old trees, but they seemed to be fighting a losing battle.
The day brought clouds, then thunder, then rain,, and sunshine yet again. We were treated to a morning storm, an afternoon storm, and an evening storm. The cadence was perfect as we had just enough time between storms to dry off before being soaked again. Keeping moving meant we kept warm. The trail meandered over small passes between lake basins, and we had lunch at Horseshoe Lake where our fatigue began to set in. The second day is always the toughest physically, muscles all warmed up from the previous day's march and now being pushed beyond their limits. It could only get better from here.
At the Chain Lakes, I talked with a fly-angler who had packed in on his horse. I had been filling my water bottle at the boggy shore and had not even noticed him at first. Any presence of human beings had become a novelty. He caught a few small fish, he said, nothing spectacular. I managed to spook some nice sized brook trout wading through a narrow stream which emptied into the lakes. Hiking along the Chain Lakes seemed to take a while, and it was a welcome part of this day, the sky temporarily cloudless, lighting up the scene that in that moment was the most peaceful place on earth. When we arrived at the Pole Creek Lakes, we were walking on one of the most popular parts of the trail that is used to access Titcomb Basin, but even so, we saw no one. There were obvious campsites clear of brush next to the good-sized creek where I could fish for trout. It was a pity to have to move on. To cap off our day, we climbed toward the main crest of the range to Lower Cook Lake at 10,175 feet. Mt. Lester loomed to the north and the subpeaks of the Wind Rivers hemmed us in to the east. The land dropped off steadily to the water below, putting our camp near a small cliff. The area was very thinly wooded with spruce trees, and the sky seemed to shift from grey to blue and back by the minute. As always, we prioritized making shelter, hanging a bear bag, and cramming food into our bellies. But the serenity of the situation, even with a thunderstorm brewing above, was not lost on us as we gazed at the granite mountains reflecting the red of the western sunset, laying high above a pure blue lake, drifting off to sleep.
-Grasshopper
We drove toward the Big Sandy Trailhead in midafternoon on a Monday. The sage steppe land of northern Utah gave way to the sage steppe land of western Wyoming, and we saw our mountains off in the distance. With a background steeped in stormclouds and the valley lit up by the sun behind us, the range had on ominous presence. These mountains are infamous.
We stopped in Farson, a 1-gas station town, for our last fresh meal, 2 salads and a milkshake. We drove the dirt road outside of town for an hour and a half, arriving at the Big Sandy trailhead with a bit of daylight left to build our shelter and discover clouds of mosquitoes, our hosts for the duration of the trip. On the way to the trailhead, we saw herds of pronghorn antelope, camper trailers in undeveloped campsites, and the Big Sandy River, just begging to be fished. I would bring my fly rod on our 4 day trek, but wouldn't have time to do any real fishing until after we were done with our walk.
The Big Sandy trailhead was 'crowded', meaning the parking lot was full, but there weren't too many people to be seen. In general, most will head toward the interior of the range around a place called the Cirque of the Towers (very popular for rock-climbing), but our course would follow the Highline Trail for its entire 70 miles between Big Sandy and Green River Lakes trailheads. In the morning, we packed up in the twilight. I left a quick thank you note and tip for the car shuttler who would drive Santiago to wait for us at our exit point. We walked past horse stables, signed the trail register, and began an epic and challenging string of 4 days.
Boulter Lake was the first of hundreds of lakes we would walk past. The East Fork River was the first of what would seem like a great deal of streams we would ford. Approaching all of these bodies of water would instigate an impulse in me to do one thing: fish. And fish I would not. Our first 2 days of walking took us over 20 miles each day, and we needed to maintain our pace. We continued up the East Fork River drainage for a ways, seeing Pyramid Peak in the distance, and Mt. Geikie, which would remain in the foreground for quite a while. Climbing away from the drainage, we topped out onto hills of subalpine grasses and wildflowers. Behind us, we could see the Cirque of the Towers. The peaks of the Wind River Range are rugged granite. Many of them are shear and would require mountaineering skills to summit. Even non-technical summits would be a day or more's work considering long approach hikes to be at their bases. They are great to look at.
We actually missed a couple of junctions. This would be the beginning of doing what I should have been doing all along- checking the map more regularly and timing trail junctions. For instance, if we have 1.5 miles until our next junction, assuming a pace of 2 mph (slow, but unflatteringly realistic at times), we should hit that junction in 45 minutes. With the Wind River Range's plethora of trails, both mapped and unmapped, this ritual became a necessity. The quickest way to get back on our trail was to bushwack off trail. Luckily, we were not too far of course, and it only took 20 minutes to rejoin the Highline Trail. On our way, we forded a cute little stream surrounded by willows, and I saw a cougar sprint from a grassy clearing into the woods before us. Its feet made hurried, gentle thuds on the dirt. I shared this sighting with Melody but only on the last day of our hike. When we rejoined the Highline Trail at a 4-way trail junction, the sign seemed to point out into nowhere. I fired up the GPS once again to learn that this was definitely the correct way, but there was no trail. And there would be no trail, nor cairns, for a number of miles through forest and meadows, over and under logs, and across streams and ravines. I have no problem hiking off-trail; it is actually one of my favorite things to do. But when the itinerary calls for 20+ miles per day, a certain pace is needed, and that pace is not often met bushwhacking.
This is perhaps our toughest day psychologically. And that's good, because in retrospect, it went well. We had thoughts of hiking out prematurely, wondering if we hadn't over-scheduled our days, but finishing at a different trailhead seemed more trouble than it was worth. We were just warming up, anyway. We ended up beating our mileage goal for the day and camped at Lake Vera. We passed tens of lakes that day, any one of them worthy of a postcard photograph. The streams we saw are fed by springs, snowmelt, and glaciers. The lakes are fed by the streams, and their outlets feed other lakes and meet to make bigger rivers which eventually empty into the great Green River on this side of the Continental Divide. It was a magical thing to be camping nearer to that legendary water's source.
The day brought clouds, then thunder, then rain,, and sunshine yet again. We were treated to a morning storm, an afternoon storm, and an evening storm. The cadence was perfect as we had just enough time between storms to dry off before being soaked again. Keeping moving meant we kept warm. The trail meandered over small passes between lake basins, and we had lunch at Horseshoe Lake where our fatigue began to set in. The second day is always the toughest physically, muscles all warmed up from the previous day's march and now being pushed beyond their limits. It could only get better from here.
At the Chain Lakes, I talked with a fly-angler who had packed in on his horse. I had been filling my water bottle at the boggy shore and had not even noticed him at first. Any presence of human beings had become a novelty. He caught a few small fish, he said, nothing spectacular. I managed to spook some nice sized brook trout wading through a narrow stream which emptied into the lakes. Hiking along the Chain Lakes seemed to take a while, and it was a welcome part of this day, the sky temporarily cloudless, lighting up the scene that in that moment was the most peaceful place on earth. When we arrived at the Pole Creek Lakes, we were walking on one of the most popular parts of the trail that is used to access Titcomb Basin, but even so, we saw no one. There were obvious campsites clear of brush next to the good-sized creek where I could fish for trout. It was a pity to have to move on. To cap off our day, we climbed toward the main crest of the range to Lower Cook Lake at 10,175 feet. Mt. Lester loomed to the north and the subpeaks of the Wind Rivers hemmed us in to the east. The land dropped off steadily to the water below, putting our camp near a small cliff. The area was very thinly wooded with spruce trees, and the sky seemed to shift from grey to blue and back by the minute. As always, we prioritized making shelter, hanging a bear bag, and cramming food into our bellies. But the serenity of the situation, even with a thunderstorm brewing above, was not lost on us as we gazed at the granite mountains reflecting the red of the western sunset, laying high above a pure blue lake, drifting off to sleep.
-Grasshopper
