Tuesday, May 13, 2025

Oppressive Heat and Impressive Scenes


From a backpacking standpoint, the last couple months have proved rather profitable. Steph and I recently took a pair of trips with friends - first with Paul and Joan to visit some archeological sites in southeastern Utah, and then with Justin and Emily to a pair of beautiful slot canyons in the Escalante region.

But it'd been a solid six months since we'd backpacked by ourselves, and Steph's brand-new packraft was just begging for a test-run. So we snagged a Canyonlands permit and prepared ourselves for a classic "triangle trip" - hike down to the river, paddle a a section, and then hike up a different trail back to the car. 

We parked our car on Saturday morning at a little-used trailhead that isn't even afforded the dignity of a proper parking lot. We stuck our thumbs out, and in short order, caught a ride a couple miles down the road to our starting trailhead. By time we hit the trail, the sun was beating down, and the heat only grew more intense as we dropped in elevation. We descended a steep series of stair-steps before reaching a wash bottom. There, we found occasional scraps of shade, but mainly broiled in the oppressive midday sun as we trudged toward the Green River. 



Oh, the river. That sweet, sweet river. We immediately belly-flopped in a small lagoon, allowing the cool water to cool our core temperatures. We both laid there submerged for about ten minutes, pure bliss overcoming us. In all my years of backpacking, I've very rarely experienced such a sudden transformation in circumstances. 

By and by, we inflated our boats and set off downstream. The heat proved much more manageable on the water, particularly because we took a mid-afternoon swim break and guzzled water continuously. It wasn't good water per se - the Green carries too much sediment for that - but it did the trick, as long as you didn't mind drinking brown water with an unmistakable dirt flavor.  

And the scenery! Lovely green cottonwoods in full leaf lined the shore, and occasional plump cumulus clouds framed our photos. It's impossible to capture the scale and depth of such a scene with a camera. The river made a huge loop, nearly doubling back on itself as it meandered southward - and with it, our little boats.

We paddled for a couple hours, eventually pulling ashore on a convenient rock ramp. We stowed our packrafts and filled every water container we owned, in preparation for a long, dry walk across the shadeless White Rim formation. Thankfully, by this time in the evening, shadows had grown long, and the walk was actually quite pleasant. Before long, we made a simple camp under the stars and gulped a little supper before turning in for an all-too-brief night of sleep.

Photo: Steph Seitz

We began hiking by headlamp the next morning, trying to beat the heat. God blessed us with a conveniently-placed cloud for the first part of the walk. Eventually, we left the White Rim formation and snaked our way up an increasingly-bouldery canyon. And then, the big climb. A giant slide of rubble between two huge rock towers marked our exit from the canyon. As we climbed up, we found an excellent, well-marked trail - an unexpected and much-appreciated surprise! While steep, we both found the climb far easier than expected. Atop the central plateau once more, we enjoyed some incredible views before meandering a toasty but easy mile back to the waiting car.

Photo: Steph Seitz

This was my first packrafting trip of the year, and Steph's first packrafting trip ever. Though we spent barely 24 hours in the backcountry, the world of work and ringing phones receded deep into the background. An excellent, adventurous weekend. What more could we ask for? 





Saturday, December 14, 2024

2024 - In Review


On the evening of Groundhogs Day 2023, I plopped down on an ottoman in my living room surrounded by half-packed boxes and plastic totes. I was preparing to quit my job, move out of my apartment, and hike the PCT. And I was sick of the packing-up process.

So I took a break. I spent a few minutes researching PCT snow conditions. Though it was only February, it was already clear that 2023's snowpack would shatter every record on the books. I started googling hiker blogs from previous high snow years in order to understand how numbers on a snowfall map would translate to actual hazard at different times in the melting process.

I came across one particular 2019 PCT hiker's blog. She'd successfully completed several Sierra passes before a close call with a snowmelt-swollen creek spooked her into skipping the rest of the Sierra, at least for the time being. She kept a fairly detailed day-by-day journal, and it contained quite a bit of valuable information on the hazards I could expect to face.

More notably though, this hiker could write! And in her writing, an evident love for Jesus oozed through. This sincere faith took me by surprise. Committed, visible Christians are a tiny minority on trail. I've only met a handful in my decade-plus in the hiking community. Intrigued, I sent her an encouraging message. We soon struck up a lively correspondence while I hiked the PCT and she hiked the 1,200-mile Pacific Northwest Trail.

We kept in occasional touch through the following winter and spring. And when I happened to be in her neck of the woods (Montrose, Colorado) in June of 2024, I swallowed hard and invited my erstwhile pen-pal out for a day hike.

You can probably guess the rest. An in-person friendship developed into a relationship, and by the end of the year, I found myself packing all my possessions into boxes yet again. But this time, I was moving to Montrose to be closer to Steph.

Photo: Steph Seitz

Wait. Who?

Like me, Steph has roots in the Midwest. Somewhere in the mid-2010's, she became aware of the PCT, and started plotting a thru-hike not long thereafter. She took a couple years to develop her skills, save up money, and prepare for a major life change. And in April of 2019, she found herself departing the southern terminus of the PCT, walking northbound to Canada. Along the way, she picked up the trail name Calzone.

A couple years after that pivotal PCT journey, Steph moved from Indiana to western Colorado, where she's lived ever since. Almost ever since, that is. In 2023, she once again found herself on a long trail, this time in Glacier National Park. She hiked the 1,200-mile Pacific Northwest Trail westbound to the Pacific Ocean on Washington's Olympic Peninsula. The PNT has a well-deserved reputation for being wild, underdeveloped, and arduous. On the PNT, Steph found herself reprising her PCT experience, while also being stretched and challenged in new ways. 

Consequently, Steph is perfectly comfortable exploring a seldom-used trail deep in the wilderness, bushwhacking up a canyon overgrown with poison ivy, or casually cooking in her tent while lightning crashes down all around us. Birds of a feather flock together, I suppose!

There's so much more to Steph than just her outdoor exploits, and I trust a fuller portrait will emerge here over time. But I get all tongue-tied when describing someone this special, so here my exposition ceases, lest I fall into the trap of excessive saccharine adjectives.

An Achievement

Anyways, that's the big story of my year! It's so big, in fact, that it overshadows an accomplishment ten years in the making: I went backpacking at least once in all twelve months of 2024. Normally, I miss a month - usually December, sometimes January or February - but this year, I hit 'em all! While the goal was admittedly silly and arbitrary, it helped motivate me to get out there. Sometimes just that little extra push is all I need to go have a splendid time. 

Speaking of splendid, let's start with some splendid stats and cheap jokes!

Gear:

  • Tents: 3
  • Tents panic-purchased from the Houghton, MI Walmart at 8pm on Labor Day: 1
  • Weight of that 'backpacking tent': 27 pounds :)
  • Extra-large tents stakes panic-purchased after my tarp transformed into a prairie schooner during a Mojave rainstorm: 6
  • Sleeping pads used: 2
  • Sleeping pads despised: 1
  • Uncomfortable sleeping pads I finally came to terms with after using for a month and a half: 1
  • Poncho-tarps: 2
  • Miles that my original poncho-tarp had on it when it suddenly gave up the ghost: 9,000
  • Pairs of shoes: 3
  • Sleeping bags found in the middle of the wilderness that were larger and heavier than my backpack: 1
  • Power banks: 2
  • Power banks that suddenly shorted out and died in the middle of the wilderness: 1
  • Reasons not to rely on an all-electronic navigational strategy: 1
  • Packrafts: 1
  • Packrafts that won me someone's heart: 1

Trips:

  • Thru-hikes: 1
  • Named trails that I don't consider a 'thru-hike', but others might: 1
  • Number of crossings of Isle Royale on foot: 2
  • Weekend backpacking trips: 12
  • Packrafting trips: 4
  • Solo trips: 9
  • Trips with friends: 6 (this may be a new record!)
  • National Parks: 5 (not counting the Black Canyon, which is more of an 'after-work' National Park)

Highest/Lowest/Fastest/Slowest:

  • Miles hiked: 1,100
  • Miles packrafted: 50
  • Highest point (literal): A random lake in the San Juans at 12,600'
  • Lowest point (literal): Amboy Crater, 100' (Desert WTH)
  • Longest day, in miles: 28 (Desert WTH. It involved some night-hiking)
  • Highest point (metaphorical): Meeting a random internet pen pal for a dayhike in the San Juan mountains ... little did I know!
  • Lowest point (metaphorical): Watching my tarp sail away from above me in the midst of a driving rainstorm 
  • Longest waterless stretch: 35 miles

Experiences:

  • Hitchhikes: 9
  • Hitchhikes required to get to the beginning of the Ouachita Trail: 6 (I do not recommend this!)
  • Visited friends/family on trail: 5
  • Solar eclipses: 1
  • Eclipse glasses given away: 10
  • Snowstorms: 1
  • Atmospheric river events: 3
  • Old friends randomly bumped into on trail: 3
  • Cute mini-flash-flood things: 1 
  • Found a fresh burro carcass laying in the middle of my only water source: 1
  • Received the Triple Crown award: 1

Camping:

  • In an AT-style shelter: 5
  • Had an AT-style shelter all to myself: 4
  • Under a sweet rock overhang: 3
  • In a mine shaft: 1
  • In a bathroom: 0 (shocking, I know!)
  • In a ditch: 1
  • In a motel room: 3
  • In a campsite shared with complete strangers: 3
  • In a tent: 30%
  • Cowboy camping: 70%

Previous years in review: 2023, 2022, 2021, 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2014.

My 2024 actually began on New Years Eve. I flew into Tucson the previous day, and spent an absolutely delightful day with friends Ralph and Sue. After much laughter, deep conversation, and a touch of introspection, they dropped my off near Saguaro National Park to begin the 800-mile Desert Winter Thru-Hike (WTH).

I awoke to the sound of distant fireworks at the end of that first day, as December turned to January. I spent the next several weeks on familiar terrain in the Sonoran Desert, before transitioning into the Mojave at the end of the month.

February brought a series of drenching rains to the desert, bone-chilling wind, and even a bit of snow. Aided by some truly wonderful friends, I staggered to the end of the WTH... and promptly scampered to Florida to relax on a beach with my family for a few days!

In March, I took advantage of record-breaking temperatures to hike and packraft a section of the North Country Trail in Michigan.

April brought my other long-ish walk of the year, a hike of the Ouachita Trail in Oklahoma and Arkansas. I had a perfect bluebird afternoon to watch the total solar eclipse - what a treat! I wrote up the experience in TrailGroove Magazine, in case you'd like to read it.

At the beginning of May, I headed from Michigan back out west to Utah, kicking off a flurry of long-awaited desert trips. First was a packrafting trip down the Green River...

...followed by another packrafting trip in the lower canyons of the Escalante...

... and then a quick visit to one of my favorite sections of narrows in Capitol Reef National Park.

As the calendar changed to June, I finally checked off a long-standing goal, visiting the remote and inaccessible Maze district of Canyonlands National Park - via packraft, of course! That trip was shared with my good friend Paul.

Immediately thereafter, I headed up to the San Juan Mountains for a short but very beautiful overnighter. And a few days later, Steph and I went for a rather consequential dayhike and paddled around a lake in the packraft afterwards.

July brought only one trip, another quick overnighter in the San Juans where I bumped into my good friend POD on the trail! 

In August, Steph and I headed up into the Uintas, exploring a few trails that were new to both of us. The weather forecast was dire, but aside from a stinging hail storm at the top of one of the passes, we managed to dodge most of the rain.

September was a profitable month. Things started out with a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Isle Royale with my sister Nichole...

... included a midweek jaunt to a normally popular set of lakes in the San Juans, where I took my coldest swim of the year...

...and continued with a lovely desert excursion into some of the upper canyons of the Escalante with Steph.


 

One final trip September trip straddled into October - a three-day jaunt along the Ruby Crest Trail with my good friend Blue Moon. 

November brought a delightful long weekend with Steph in the Needles district of Canyonlands...


...and I rounded out the year in December with a quick excursion down to the San Juan River.

Grieving Grandpa

This blog exists primarily for my grandparents - and my grandpa in particular - to keep up on my adventures. Grandpa was (and is) my biggest single inspiration to get outside. He was a life-long runner, competing in the same 25k race every year for decades on end. Yet somehow he never ran a marathon. Until he retired, that is. Grandpa ran his very first marathon at the age of 70-something. And when he crossed the finish line in triumph, he was shocked to learn that he'd qualified for Boston. So he ran Boston. And a couple other marathons. All north of his 70th birthday. An impressive accomplishment, to say the least.

Grandpa and Grandma visited me on the Appalachian Trail in Virginia in '13. One of my favorite memories.

In mid-October, Grandpa suffered a stroke, and died a few days later. While we obviously miss him terribly, we take comfort that he's now with his savior, Jesus. Moreover, when Jesus returns to Earth someday, Grandpa will be given a new, glorified and perfected body, in which he'll be able to run without heel spurs, hip issues, or any of the other travails that plagued him in the last few years of his life. Grandpa, this one's for you.

What's Next

For the first time in a few years, I don't have any long-distance hiking plans for 2025. That doesn't imply a sedentary year - it just means that shorter trips will have to scratch the backpacking itch. And that's okay! The constant drip-drip-drip of adventure means even more to me than any long-distance adventures could. I've got a whole new suite of local terrain to explore in western Colorado. And I've got an incredible companion with whom to share it with.

A year of great mourning and great rejoicing. God is faithful. Onward to 2025.


Saturday, October 5, 2024

Isle Royale: Quick Tips for Modern Ultralighters


When planning our Isle Royale trip, my sister Nichole and I found very few helpful resources. Sure, there are plenty of words on the internet, but many of them are written by either (a) travel bloggers/National Park bucket-listers who might not specialize in backpacking per se, or (b) Isle Royale lifers, who hike extensively on the Isle, but whose backpacking experience with other landscapes/environments/land managers is limited. 

In either case, most resources out there assume a more 'traditional' hiking style: 70-liter backpacks, leather boots, plenty of creature comforts in camp, and single-digit daily mileages. That's absolutely a valid way to enjoy the outdoors, but it's not for everyone. In particular, many thru-hikers and thru-hiker-adjacent backpackers prefer to spend many hours per day on their feet, covering long distances and seeing vast swaths of terrain. Their backpacks are relatively lightweight, and their camps are often spartan, rather than luxurious. In a word, they backpack in an ultralight style.

I've been to Isle Royale exactly once, and thus can't claim any sort of expertise. Nevertheless, I share this information because the Venn Diagram of 'Isle Royale hiker' and 'ultralight/thru-hiker' has such a minuscule overlap. I wish someone had written this article before I visited to dispel some of the misconceptions I had about the Isle, and to make explicit the unique features of the experience that Isle Royale lifers often leave unstated.

Scenery and Ecosystem

If you're looking for a useful analogue, I'd describe Isle Royale as a less-vertical and more-remote version of Vermont. Think extensive exposed bedrock, thin soils, and a mixture of coniferous and deciduous trees. There are tons of moose, a few wolves, and brilliant starry skies - probably the best I've experienced east of the Hundredth Meridian. 

While some of the actual forest walking can be kind of meh, we found fairly frequent vantage points on the ridge trails that run the length of the island. And the lakeside trails are spectacularly beautiful. Overall, the scenery exceeded the modest expectations I held for it.

Entry Fees

Entry fees are charged on a per-person, per-day basis. On say, a week-long trip, that can get pricey in a hurry (our trip - two people for nine days - would have cost $144). The mechanics of paying that fee is also a pain in the rear.

No matter what the regulations actually say, the truth is that everybody just buys an America the Beautiful pass beforehand - to the point that rangers aboard the Ranger III ferry just assume you have one and ask to see it. Don't mess around; just get an eighty dollar America the Beautiful before you even leave home so you don't have to worry about things. Senior/Access/Fourth Grade passes are also accepted.

Transportation

Speaking of a pain in the rear! The only way to get to Isle Royale is via ferry or seaplane. Seaplane is at least twice the price of the ferry options. I won't bother detailing all the intricacies of the ferry system, as the NPS website lays it out well, and the details probably change somewhat regularly. I'll just note the following:

  • Access from Michigan seems more common than access from Minnesota
  • All ferries are operated by private concessionaires except the Ranger III, which is operated by the NPS.
  • Only the Voyageur II makes stops at multiple ports on the Isle. 

We opted to take the Ranger III, as we preferred that our money go to NPS rather than a private concessionaire. The Ranger III also involves the longest boat ride (6 hours), allowing us to to feel the size, grandeur, and isolation of Lake Superior and Isle Royale. We were very happy with our choice. YMMV.

The Ranger III is an old boat from the 50s. Act fast once you board; the free coffee runs out quickly!

Seasons

Isle Royale is outright closed from November 1 to April 15 each year. Even when it's technically open, ferries may not be running yet. The high season is June-early September. Per our conversations with rangers, September used to be a quieter time, however that has changed in the past few years. Only once the ferry schedule dwindles (mid-September) do the crowds thin out.

By all reports, the bugs are quite terrible during the summer months: mosquitoes, black flies, the works. Full body armor (long pants, long shirt, headnet) is recommended, along with DEET. For this reason, we waited until early September to visit, and blessedly had zero bug issues. Next time, I'll definitely choose September again. Bugs could have completely ruined our experience, had we visited during the summer months.

Backcountry Permits

Permits are required for overnight backpacking on the island. We got ours aboard the Ranger III ferry en route to the island, so we were free to start hiking the moment we disembarked. Very convenient!

While the Park requires you to submit your planned itinerary as part of the permitting process, they expect and allow you to deviate from said itinerary in whatever way you want. Hooray! All campgrounds are first-come, first-served, and there are no quotas. It's up to backcountry users to share sites and double up as necessary. The Park asks that you drop your permit back off when you finish your trip, noting any changes you made. In practice, I don't really think that happens.

A couple of the campgrounds near Rock Harbor have maximum-stay restrictions to prevent people from chilling there for a week or something. So if you plan a zero day, double-check and make sure there's not a one-night-maximum at your chosen campground.

Camping

Most hikers will stay in a designated campground every night. These campgrounds contain 4-30+ sites, a pit toilet, and a water source. Some campgrounds also contain a few fully-enclosed lean-to shelters with bug protection. The campsites vary widely in size. Some can only accommodate 2-3 tents in close proximity, others have multiple 'lobes' that can host a pair of groups.

A typical privy.

All campsites are first-come, first-served. And they do fill up during the high season. Even in early-mid September, we shared a campsite with people most nights. If you're looking for solitude, Isle Royale's developed trail network is not the place for you. 

Dispersed camping is legal in most of the island (with a separate permit, which the ranger aboard our ferry just issued to everybody on the boat), however you must camp at least a quarter mile from any trail. But Isle Royale is so thick that this is usually impractical. It'd take you forever to bushwhack a quarter mile, and once you get there, it's unlikely that you'll find clear and level ground to set up a tent. There's one specific scenario where I can see the utility of dispersed camping (more on that later), but if you're sticking to the developed trail network, just plan to stay at the campgrounds.

Camped on top of each other, 15 feet from our neighbors (who generously agreed to share their site).

Daily Pace

Strong backpackers, hiking full days can cover 10-20+ miles per day - probably similar to your AT mileage in New England (minus trail legs, plus easier terrain). There's not a ton of elevation gain and loss, but trails can sometimes be rocky. In general, the closer to Lake Superior, the more difficult and rocky we found them. It's usually bedrock, rather than loose nasty stuff. But walking on bedrock all day will certainly take a toll on your feet.


One big caveat: if you are hiking full days (say, into the late afternoon or evening hours), it's likely that every campsite will be already be full when you arrive. Most Isle Royale hikers do single-digit miles per day and enjoy a long, leisurely camp. Even campgrounds deep in the backcountry oftentimes completely fill up by 2pm. If you're rolling in at 5:30, expect to have an awkward conversation with someone about sharing their campsite. And forget even imagining that you're gonna snag a shelter. Those get snapped up by late morning, often mere minutes after the previous occupants have left.

Water

The rangers will tell you that there's no water on Isle Royale except at the designated campsites. This is hogwash. There's water everywhere, depending on your standards. We encountered some form of water (even if it was a bit swampy or had some tannins) every few miles, even during a prolonged period of dry weather. It's still better than CDT cow water, after all! Use your map to find these sources. Two or three liters of capacity is probably sufficient for most folks. 

When possible, we drank Lake Superior unfiltered. I can't advise that of course, but if you're willing to live on the edge, dip-and-sip is a glorious experience :)

Bears

Isle Royale is not bear habitat. That said, wolves are intelligent critters, and have begun to raid campsites on the eastern part of the island (Rock Harbor vicinity). In 2024, the park instituted an emergency food storage order, requiring hikers to use the provided bear boxes at certain campsites. Honestly, the order's verbiage is really confusing, but it ended up not being very burdensome at all. Check the NPS website for the latest in future years, and give them a call if you're confused about the regulation.

Foxes are also common pests at some of the campgrounds. Secure your stuff; don't leave anything outside your tent.

Navigation

Basically everyone uses the Trails Illustrated map for Isle Royale. The trails are well-marked, and with few exceptions, almost impossible to lose. All junctions are signposted with mileages as well.

As normal, the TI maps aren't great. They smooth over a lot of switchbacks for unknown reasons, so they're basically only useful for getting the lay of the land and calculating mileages between campsites. If you're doing heavy-duty navigation stuff, you'll want a map that's (1) more zoomed in, and (2) actually shows trails accurately. The USGS quads are fine for this. I found the trails on Open Street Map (e.g. the Mapbuilder data in Caltopo) to be far more accurate than TI's impossibly-straight lines.

The Social Scene

While we both definitely enjoyed Isle Royale, we came in with the wrong expectations, and that put a damper on the trip. We'd heard that Isle Royale was so wild, and the ranger giving the orientation talk aboard the ferry only reinforced that impression. But we both felt it was complete bunk.

We expected solitude and quiet trails. Instead, we met a steady stream of people on most trails each day, and usually ended up doubling up on campsites, often mere feet from our neighbors. We had one blessed day where we saw nobody while hiking all day on an obscure trail with a burly reputation, but even then, the campground was mostly full in the evening, and there was a line to use the privy the next morning.

So - if you're a social hiker and love making connections with other like-minded people, Isle Royale is the place for you. Everyone you meet will have gone through significant effort just to get to the island. They'll ask where you're staying for the night. They might share their previous experiences on the Isle and the love for the place that keeps them coming back. You'll have the chance to swap beta, names, and stories. If that's your thing, you'll love Isle Royale.

If you're looking for solitude, you won't really find it here. Not even its isolated location in the middle of a Great Lake can counteract Isle Royale's National Park status. People flock to it. Unlike most National Parks, there aren't really any day users outside the immediate vicinity of Rock Harbor or Windigo, but the entire trail network, for the most part, sees a steady stream of backpacker traffic.

If you're hiking in thru-hiker style (long days on your feet), expect to get a lot of comments - both positive and negative - from fellow hikers about your itinerary. At one point, we started inventing campsites ("Foghorn Bay") to reference, because we were tired of everyone offering their opinions on our actual itinerary.

Packrafts and Hammocks

When I hike Isle Royale again, I'm going to do things very differently. Next time, I'm bringing my packraft. Getting on the water not only gets you away from most of the people, but also allows you to see arguably the island's most beautiful features - its gorgeous inland lakes. Many of them have trail access, and many others are connected by portage trails. Packrafting allows you to do the backpacking thing and the canoeing thing in a single trip, opening up nearly limitless route possibilities. You'd have to be certifiably insane to take a packraft on Lake Superior (though some of the coves and harbors can be pretty glassy on those rare calm days), but the inland lakes are perfectly suitable for a flatwater boat.

Getting on the water would also make it a snap to dispersed-camp, as you wouldn't be anywhere near a trail. The underbrush is thick enough that you'd probably want a hammock setup rather than a tent. Heavier, yes, but well-suited to the environment. A 'packraft and hammock' trip would be remote, beautiful, and unforgettable. 

Resupply

The stores at both Rock Harbor and Windigo are tiny. They've got a minuscule number of snacks (for example, they're missing potato chips) as well as a bunch of freeze-dried meals. More to the point though, the prices are outrageously, outlandishly expensive. Without exaggeration, a full resupply would probably cost you nearly $100/day. I supplemented my food bag with a few emergency peanuts at the Windigo store and that was fine, but I certainly wouldn't want to buy five days of food there. For reference, I have much experience with the art of the gas station resupply on long trails, so when I say it's impossible... it really is impossible.

The Windigo store will apparently hold a box for you, for a modest per-day fee. The process to get the box there (via the Voyageur II ferry) seems really rickety and I'm not sure I'd really trust it (because if your box doesn't show up, you're toast). As of this writing, the NPS site says to send it General Delivery to Grand Portage, MN. But it's unclear whether they just leave your box on the Windigo dock for the animals to ravage, or actually hand it to the store in Windigo for safekeeping. Nor is it clear how they decide which day's boat to send it on.

One other possibility, which worked well for one couple we talked to, was to entrust a box to the store at Rock Harbor upon your arrival to the island, and ask them send it on to the Windigo store on the Voyageur II when it makes its rounds.

Things also get goofy regarding verbiage. Do NOT supposed to label your package 'food', but instead use a euphemism like 'supplies' or 'provisions' or something. Perishable-package restrictions and all that nonsense, ya know.

Honestly, the whole process just didn't seem dependable enough for my taste. Even though we were walking right past the Windigo store at about our halfway point, we opted to just tote eight days of food from the get-go and forgo a resupply. Nothing we saw on the island really changes my mind. Next time, I'm probably just gonna carry a heavy food load again.

Trail Conditions

For the most part, the trail network on Isle Royale is in good shape. It's not all classic NPS-grade frontcountry trail, but things are rarely gnarly. Except for on one little-used trail, we stepped over nary a blowdown the entire time. We found a few trails to be a bit overgrown, but generally not horrendously so.

Isle Royale loves its bog bridges. For those with fear of heights, these can occasionally cause some discomfort, particularly when the bog bridges are elevated above the surface of the swamp by a couple feet. They're generally in good shape, but are only a foot wide, so you end up doing the supermodel walk.


Suggested Itineraries

I don't have any, and I think it's a gross violation of LNT to put that kind of thing on the internet. A few considerations, however:

  • Almost every itinerary will use at least some part of the Greenstone Ridge Trail. For the most part, the Greenstone is easy cruising. It's easy to assume that something called "Greenstone Ridge" will be rockier and tougher than the lakeside trails you've been following to date, however, the opposite is true.
  • The Ishpeming Point fire tower is completely treed in and closed to the public - not worth it at all! By contrast, the Mt. Ojibway fire tower is unforgettable and worthy of a visit. The Feldtmann Ridge tower is also reputed to be cool, though we did not visit it.
  • While all parts of the island we visited were fairly busy, the worst of the chaos was found at the string of campsites between Rock Harbor and Moskey Bay. Once we got into the interior, the dudes carrying multiple gallon jugs of water and Bluetooth speakers disappeared. 

Final Thoughts

Isle Royale is an amazing place, and it's a pity that the community of Isle Royale backpackers tends to be so insular. Hopefully this guide will help provide some useful context for backpackers from other backgrounds to enjoy the most unique National Park in the Lower 48.