​You’ll get sand everywhere.
For all of eternity.
It’s worth it.
Just go.

Our trip started with speeding ticket. Out in the middle of seemingly nowhere when I was legit trying to follow the speed limit. Somehow, I missed a sign. Herc was NOT pleased with the cop approaching my window. All sorts of ferocious woofs and growls coming from the peanut gallery: "Who the heck do you think you are trying to give things to my mom?! Did I say you could approach the vehicle?? Scram! Skedaddle!" 

Beyond that little incident and the fact the Cool Whip was appalled that she had to carry a pack, we had a wonderful adventure.  White Sands National Monument is a beautiful dog friendly area to explore.
 
White Sands Monument is just outside Alamogordo and the Holloman Air Force Base. It is about six hours from Phoenix. I considered adding Organ Mountains to our trip, but I opted for City of Rocks State Park. But whether you add more pit stops or not, this unique desert spot is worth the trip.
 
The dunes are made of white gypsum, a fair bit different from the classic brown sand of say Great Sand Dunes National Park. Sunrise and sunset are particularly good times to see the dune as they take on the colors of the sky.
 
Activities at White Sands include the following and more:

• Hiking – Dune Life Nature Trail, Playa Trail, Interdune Boardwalk, Alkali Flat Trail, Backcountry Camping Trail
• Sand Sledding – Bring your plastic snow saucer or purchase one at the visitor center
• Picnicking – There are shaded tables and grills with nearby restrooms in the parking areas
• Backcountry Camping – There are no drive-up sites or rv camping options, but you can still spend a night in a tent

Visiting White Sands in February treated us to minimal people and great weather. But, like planning a backpacking trip at Petrified Forest National Park, you’ll want to keep an eye on wind speed and temperature. There will almost always be wind. 10-15 mph is normal, but use caution when speeds hit 25 mph or greater.
 
The temperature at White Sands can also get a little extreme. Summer temps average 95 during the day and 55 at night. Winter cools down to 60 as a high and lows down to 23. 

And yes, be sure to check for any planned missile range testing. White Sands National Monument is surrounded by White Sands Missile Range.  Missile range tests occur about twice a week. The monument and part of highway US 70 may be closed for an hour or two during this time.

Camping at White Sands requires a permit. You cannot make a reservation or acquire a permit for a White Sands backcountry campsite until the morning of your overnight adventure. Verify hours of operation before you plan to arrive, then stop at the Visitor Center  to obtain your permit.
 
Rangers assign the 10 available camping spots on a first-come-first-served basis. Camping fees are $3.00 per person aged 16+ and $1.50 for those 15 and younger. You’ll pay this fee AND the general entrance fee (waived if you have the national park pass) at the fee station.
 
You must leave your site by 1:00 pm the next day and you must request a new permit in person if you wish to stay another night. 

Yep, you gotta scoop ALL the poop. Always practice Leave No Trace principle. Check with a park ranger at the Visitor Center for a Wag Bag if you didn’t bring your own waste disposal container. Or, as one crafty ranger recommended to me, you can use the bags they provide at the pest waste stations around the park (one of which happens to be located right in front of the visitor center). These pet waste bags are quite large and sturdy, by poop bag standards, not skimpy ones that tear if you pick up more than one poop nugget.

You checked the weather, acquired a permit, loaded up on poop bags, took one last potty break at the toilets by the trailhead parking lot, and now you’re ready to head out on your adventure—woohoo!
 
The backcountry camping trail is a 2-mile lollipop loop that goes up, over, down, and around many dunes. With the ever-changing nature of the dunes, there is no regular trail on the ground you’ll follow. Instead, you follow orange trail markers staked into the ground.
 
Once you reach your first marker on the trail, do not continue moving forward until you see the next marker. Continue this way for the remainder of the backcountry trail. Remember, you’re in a giant sandbox with no other landmarks to guide you, so it’s easy to become disoriented and lose track of your direction.

​As you’re cruising along the trail, you’ll eventually see the campsites noted on the trail markers. Each campsite is in an open valley among the dunes. Once you find your campsite number on a trail marker, look for another marker at the base of the dunes. This is where you’ll set up camp, keeping your tent within five feet of that stake on the valley floor. 

ALWAYS keep your dog leashed while visiting White Sand National Monument, even at the backcountry site. There are plenty of lizards and other animals about that you don’t want your dog to disturb, plus you need to be able to find their poop to pack it out.
 
What to bring:

• Water. There is NO water out in the dunes. Not even a stream. Make sure you bring plenty for your and your dog. Even if the temps are cool, it takes some effort hiking across the dunes.
• Poop bags. Yup, I’m mentioning them again. Don’t be THAT person leaving poo around for others to stumble upon. Don’t bury it either. With all the wind blowing things around, it will resurface in no time.
• Warm gear. The wind can cool you down a lot during the day and it gets quite a bit cooler at night. Make sure your pup is comfortable. Bring a warm coat and a blanket or sleeping bag for your pup to snuggle into at night. Other than during our hike out to the campsite (mid-afternoon in February), Cool Whip and Hercules wore their fleece jackets the entire time.

 
Now get on out there and have some fun!

What do you do when it starts pouring rain right after you pull into your campsite?

​Like your-tent-isn’t-even-set-up-just-pulled-in.

You turn your vehicle into your tent. Redistribute a few gear bags; blow up some sleeping pads and spread out sleeping bags; kick back and relax.

Now what? What is the first thing you do the moment you have a millisecond of unoccupied time?
Did you just reach for your phone?

In any moment of un-critically-occupied time, we seem to grab our phones. Drinking coffee. Waiting in the checkout line. Sitting at a stoplight. Stuck in your vehicle during an unexpected downpour.

I check for notifications and open my social media accounts. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I’m already scrolling through photos, double-tapping at random.

And when I’m stuck in my car during an unexpected downpour with no cell service… I think about notifications I might be missing.

But WHY?!? What could be so insanely critical that I had to know about it right that instant?
​
Nothing. Especially nothing I was going to find on social media.

So, I took the forced downtime to do anything but browse social media or actively use my phone with my hands. I journaled. Napped. Read. Listened to downloaded podcasts. And, ironically, this is when I came across How to Unplug with Danny Kim, episode 100 from Wild Ideas Worth Living. It covered exactly what had been running through my brain a couple of hours earlier: Do we need to unplug, and, if so, how can we?

Honestly, to answer that, I’d just be repeating what I heard on that podcast, so go give it a listen for yourself.

Trust me, it’s worth listening to. Because once the sun did come back out and I inadvertently found cell service while hiking, I resisted the urge to jump on Insta. I heard a few notification dings, turned my phone on silent, and challenged myself to only use my phone for pictures until I left City of Rocks the next day.

And I succeeded. Partially because I still didn’t have cell service throughout most of the park, but also because I wanted to change my relationship with social media:

Less shallow gratification seeking.
More fun sharing.
​
Less comparison.
More inspiration.

City of Rocks State Park in New Mexico is the type of place that blows my mind—small but mighty. A seemingly random, relatively small space that stands out in stark contrast to the surrounding landscape.
​
You’ll roll into the area on some quiet highways and paved roads, passing Faywood Hot Springs, a small resort with—yes, you guessed it—hot springs. City of Rocks doesn’t even appear until you’re practically right at the front entrance of this massive cluster of giant boulders melting into each other. This monolithic structure is volcanic rock. Wind and water etched the formation over time, leaving smooth, rounded surfaces.

As always, I recommend making the visitor center your first stop. The rangers on duty can give you up-to-the-minute details along with the usual maps and souvenirs. I let them know I had two dogs and asked if there was anything I should be aware of aside from keeping them on leash throughout the campground.

They let me know they had spotted a mountain lion nearby the day prior and that elk and bear were in the area, so I should keep an extra close eye on my pets.

​Of course, when they met Cool Whip and Herc later they realized we didn’t have quite as much to worry about than if they’d been small, snack-sized dogs. ;)

You can’t pick a bad spot in this park, but our friendly ranger did offer a couple of recommendations to help us stay out the wind that day. Just one of the many reasons to make time to talk with the local rangers. It’s their job to know these parks, so they can provide information on things you didn’t even think to consider.

​Campsites are $10.00 per night. You can make reservations for some campsites but others are first-come-first-served only. I wasn’t visiting during peak season and I didn’t need electrical hook-ups, so I relied on the FCFS options. Each site has a picnic table and campfire ring. There are garbage cans tucked throughout the campground as well as several pit toilets. The visitor center also has flush toilets and showers if you want to feel fancy.

Once the aforementioned rain cleared, we scurried all over the park. The whole place is dog-friendly aside from inside the buildings. There are trails to hike but we mostly stuck to scrambling around on the boulders because there seemed to be endless nooks and crannies to explore.
​
Whether this is a destination or a pitstop on a larger adventure, I highly recommend it. We spent one night here after visiting White Sands National Monument and I’ll definitely stop again if I’m cruising through southern New Mexico. 

Pole Creek Trail started as an easy but steady climb. Climb being a bit of an aggressive term as it was a wide, well-worn path. It felt like we were on a casual stroll through a wooded park, going uphill ever so slightly.

I journeyed back to our backpacking trip in Banff the year prior, where the trail was most decisive in its choice to start with some solid elevation gain. No meandering casualness about it. A precursor to the trail and days to come. 

Regardless of the start, Banff was epic and I had no doubt our adventure Titcomb Basin in the Wind River Range would be as well.

We had arrived at Trails End Campground Sunday afternoon to snag a good campsite so we’d have minimal travel Monday morning to start our hike. Campsites were first come, first served. But we need not have worried as it seemed like no one else was around, despite two marginally full parking lots.

Each of the 8 sites housed a fire ring, picnic table, and bear locker. The pits toilets were well-maintained, and there was a water spigot at the Elkhart Park - Pole Creek Trailhead (right next to the campground). Unfortunately for us, the spigot was not working at the time of our adventure, but in theory, it would be a convenient feature.
​
Throughout the evening and into the night, more adventure seekers wandered in. I was glad we’d nabbed a spot early; the campground was full when we rose Monday morning. 

Our rough goal for the first day of backpacking was to reach Hobbs Lake at roughly 7.5 miles. Up in Banff, we realized we preferred the days with moderate hiking that allowed more time for relaxed exploring (i.e., enjoying time without packs on our backs). This adventure to Titcomb Basin wasn’t meant to be a sufferfest.

On the way up it seemed as though we saw just as many horse prints (and poo!) as we saw human tracks. From the trailhead to Hobbs it seemed like we saw more people than we did during our entire trip in Banff. A fair bit of that traffic included day hikers heading to Photographers Point, 4.5 miles up the Pole Creek Trail. We stopped here for lunch because, as the name implies, it is a great spot to take in the view.
​
While the foot traffic died down after that point, we did stop to chat with one pair trekking homeward who recommended we stop at Eklund Lake for our final night. This would put us just 5 miles from the car, which would make for an easy final day. We tucked that tidbit away for later in the week.

At Eklund Lake, we took the Seneca Lake Trail to continue our route. You can continue on Pole Creek to hit the Highline Trail as an alternate route to Titcomb Basin, but that was more mileage than we wanted for this trip.
​
Upon reaching Hobbs around 3 pm and found a grand set of campsites, four of them clustered together—perfect for our crew. The made for an easy decision to stay the night here versus continuing to Seneca Lake or Little Seneca Lake. We were halfway to Titcomb Basin. Shortly after we set up camp, the clouds started sputtering raindrops, a perfectly timed cue to enjoy a nap before dinner. Everyone dispersed and zipped into their tents just as the clouds really let loose.

It poured. A heavy, drowning rain perfectly enhanced by swift blasts of wind. This had not been in my forecast for the week. Not until possibly our last day or two. But, as we all learned later, the Winds have their own weather routine once you wander far enough into their domain.
​
One should generally assume there will be an afternoon storm every day around 3 pm, give or take a bit, depending on the mood of the skies. We survived with just minor leakage in one tent and a renewed respect for the epic power this landscape held. 

​Dinner was devoured under blue skies.

Overnight rain left us with damp rain flies the next morning, but we only had about 5 miles to cover so there’d be time for them to dry out at Island Lake. Even with the afternoon storms.

Trekking up to Seneca Lake and then on to Island Lake brought more elevation than the prior day. This is what we’d been expecting; I was happy to labor up. The views were outstanding, especially following the trail along a granite cliff overlooking Seneca Lake.

However, my favorite portion of the trail was between Little Seneca Lake and Island Lake. It was nice to head out of the woods and see more of the wide-open views. Plus: Wildflowers!
​
And then we crested our final ridge until our hike into Titcomb Basin and caught our first glimpse of Island Lake—what a stunner! 

We rambled down the valley, dotted with pine trees and boulders until we happened upon a good campsite where two men looked to be just finishing their packing. They highly recommended the spot and we enjoyed a lively chat until they headed out. The best part was learning that they’d been friends for 38 years! Goals!

We set up just in time for the afternoon rain (much less tumultuous than the prior day) then spend the rest of the day exploring the valley and Island Lake.
​
Day three held our only day hike. The actual hike into Titcomb Basin. It felt luxurious to be able to have a base camp and leave the tents in the same spot for more than one night. We enjoyed a lazy morning and set out for Titcomb Basin around 10 am, packing lunch and rain jackets, just in case. The morning had been chilly, but as the sun came out and the hike warmed us up, soon it was t-shirts and tank tops.

Titcomb Basin was quite rad between the lakes and the peaks that tower behind and around them. There were very few people hiking up there even though tents and backpackers heavily speckled the Island Lake valley. It was like we had Titcomb Basin to ourselves.

That was until we ran into several gentlemen at the base of the last lake. They were coming down from the peaks and had all sorts of crazy stories about the weather and conditions. Unfortunately, the start of the afternoon rains cut our socializing short. So, we pulled out the rain gear and hiked our way back.

The rains cleared by the time we returned to Island Lake so we spent the remainder of the day exploring the waterfall that emptied into the lake. This is what made the trip to Titcomb Basin 100% worth everything for me. Even considering the thunder, lightning, sleet, and snow that filled our evening later.

In the morning we shook off the snow, packed up with frozen fingers and feet, and hustled up out of the valley. As we stopped for lunch, tired and damp, we decided to power through the remainder of the miles (12.1 total) to Elkhart Park Trailhead so we could get hotels and hot showers that evening. We also stopped at Wind River Brewing in Pinedale WY for a celebratory burger and beer, which I’d highly recommend.

​I’d only found out there was backcountry camping in Petrified Forest National Park one month prior to our excursion. I instantly began looking up any bits of information I could find. Are dogs allowed? What trails are available? When is the best time to go? What is the permit situation?  ​​

National Parks aren’t known for being dog friendly, but PFNP is the most dog friendly national park I’ve come across. Pups are welcome (on leash) on all of the trails along the 20-mile drive through the park as well as anywhere in the backcountry wilderness.

And by anywhere, I truly mean anywhere. In this backcountry, there are no trails. No trails as in you can go anywhere you want to go as long as you camp at least one mile from the trailhead.

The catch? No access to water. I'd have to pack in all that I needed. Not horrible, but not awesome, considering I’d be packing water for myself and two 70-lb dogs. With no access to water and no landscape features to offer shade, I definitely had to be extra cautious of the weather for the hounds.

I was running out of time for the cooler temps of spring, so I thought I’d have to wait until late fall when the highs would dip back under 80. But wait! What is this little gem in the forecast?! 78 degrees on Saturday?! Gasp! That’s in three days! Oh boy, a last minute adventure! This has my name written all over it. I checked the weather in disbelief three times a day until I arrived at the park Saturday morning. The only thing that changed was the addition of an extreme wind warning. Oh joy.

Backcountry permits are free, but visitors have to register at one of the visitor centers so the park is aware of your general location. There are five zones available in the backcountry: four in the northern end of the park and one in the southern end. I acquired a permit and was assigned Zone 2, which is where the Onyx Bridge is located and the location of the route I’d found from Backpacker magazine.

​To hike in the northern zones, most backpackers park at the Painted Desert Inn, which is on the edge of a cliff overlooking the painted desert. The trail starts just to the left of the Inn, easy to miss if you’re not paying attention.

The hounds and I cruised down the trail, switchbacking to the valley floor, a route I knew I’d enjoy slightly less on the way back up. Before us was an immense spread of reds, oranges, grays, and browns, colors I would not have appreciated earlier in my life. But here and now I was in awe, even with the bold sunlight bleaching out the view.

CW and Herc were antsy to explore, so off we went. We hustled across a somewhat grassy expanse to Lithodendron Wash, a broad, meandering path of sand, silt, and debris that could be tricky (sticky!) to cross after a good bit of rain. The hounds sniffed and snorted up, down, and around the various hills and mesas while I sought out a refuge from the wind for our home base. Even though it didn’t feel overly hot, I wanted to set up the tent in order to provide shade for the remainder of the afternoon.

After 4 miles of exploring, I found a secluded nook tucked in the hills. The hounds napped and I read. Closer to sunset we emerged for more adventures.  I set a GPS point for the tent to ensure I could find it again, then we explored until the sun disappeared. The world was silent. No coyotes yipping, no birds calling out. But the colors from the setting sun made the land seem alive. ​

Petrified Forest National Park
Entrance fee: $20
Dog friendly: On leash, all trails
Backcountry access: Free permit, no trails, camp 1 mile from trailhead, no water access

Who pooped in the van? ​

Never ever is that a question you want to have to ask.

Do you remember that Dane Cook skit when someone sh*ts on the coats? It’s from a little while back. Okay, a ways back. Whatever. Just Google it. “I think someone may have sh*t on or around the coat area.” Remembered forever.

We were in a rental adventure van, bouncing along on a dusty washboarded road just east of the Sierra Nevadas. We had been scurrying about a field of granite boulders in search of arches. Which we found. But they are not highlight of this story. The poop isn’t the highlight of the story either. Well, maybe it is. It was, at the very least, a somewhat pivotal moment.

Herc hadn’t pooped in two and a half  days. He has not-pooped on an adventure before, but usually just for a day. There I was in the middle of day three, exploring out beyond the popular areas, circling and circling and mumbling about poop. “C’mon Hercy, time to do some pooping. How about this bush? It looks perfect for backing your little booty into! No? What about this one? Yes, I know we passed it three times already and you peed on it twice, but I just need you to poop. I’ve seen you eat all of your kibbs, so I know you have stuff to deposit!” After an eternity -- rough estimate -- I aimed us for the van and wondered if there were any vets in Lone Pine. The leash caught on something. Ugh, what now?! I spun around to see Herc leaving a giant number two. Finally! I’ve never been so excited to see poop! “Herc you are such a good fella! I am so proud of you! Good boy! Good boy!!” We pranced back to the van and started our bumpy journey to basecamp.

Sniff sniff.
No.
Someone must have farted.
Sniff sniff.
More farts?
Sniff.
Damn.

Really hounds? It’s only Friday and we’re in this van until Wednesday.

Cool Whip had the most smug look on her face. For once, she was the innocent one. Herc just looked out the window.

Back at basecamp I shook out the bedding, sprayed disinfectant everywhere, and aired out the van. Thankfully an easy clean up; I knew it could have been worse. Much, much worse. I cracked open a beer and settled into my camp chair. We were “home” and that made everything okay.

I was surprised how quickly I felt at home in our rental rig and location. One night for each was all it took to feel that cozy sense of belonging. Skipping down the sandy road to see our vibrant van seemingly pop out of nowhere amongst the rocks brought on an internal hug.

The locations I’d originally pinned on a map as potential basecamps were all occupied when we arrived. I, of course, panicked a bit. Had I not prepared properly? Had I grossly misjudged our options? What if I couldn’t find any parking spots? Unnecessary worrying. The more I explored, the better options I found. More seclusion. Better views. Nicer roads. Patience is key, Kris. This is what I must remember.

Our camp was tucked well into the boulders with a circular entryway so I’d never have to back in awkwardly. By parking in just the right spot, we could settle around the campfire with a bit of privacy. Which really meant the dogs would not get worked up by any vehicles that wandered through. Peaceful, calm, and undisturbed.

And surrounded by these magical, wonderful boulders bubbling out of the earth with rounded corners and gently creased folds. Surfaces textured just enough to grip your feet without roughing them up. An epic geological playground. Each day we scrambled over and meandered around these boulders, weaving in and out of the granite hallways. Never the same route twice; though we did find a few favorite destinations for the rising and setting of the sun. A welcoming coziness in this jumble of rocks. 

For a long time New Mexico was simply a state I had to pass through going to and from Minnesota/Arizona. It did not impress me. Sure, there were a few nice views from I-40 on the western side of the state, but nothing that really called to me to explore. I’d also experienced some pretty freaky weather cruising across the state: sudden snow, torrential rains and wind, and the thickest fog I’ve ever driven through. Oye. This latest trip through, however, changed the vibe for me. 

​At our last gas station stop in Arizona I opened Google Maps and scanned New Mexico for traces of green within an inch of I-40 (meaning park or forest areas where we wouldn’t have to detour too far off our route). All sorts of options showed up.

Valley of the Gods was beckoning. The red desert. The open sky. A call I cannot resist.

I made plans. Rearranged them. Then altered them once more. There is always a detour somewhere, so I knew these plans were in no way solidified.

​I used to get thrown off by changes and alterations, but at some point, after finding myself exhausted, stressed, and overwhelmed for the umpteenth time, I learned to let it go. Embrace it. Run with it. Use it as a launching point for the next moment of adventure. I was, after all, out and about with my hounds, which is ultimately my end goal in every situation.

​Thus I found myself on the road a day ahead of schedule, making my way north to VOTG

After six hours and one million dog hairs floating around my car, we arrived. Seventeen miles of dusty red dirt. Camping pull-offs every half-mile or so. The valley was our oyster.

The red dirt greeted us with a dusty coating. The sun welcomed our faces with warm, outstretched rays. The hounds immediately took to sniffing out the best spots...to pee. Everyone has their own priorities, I guess.

Our home base was tucked away down a side road -- a dirt road off another dirt road. There wasn’t much traffic on the main road, but this gave us an extra layer of privacy and seclusion. Keeps the hounds at a medium level of overexcitement.

Herc likes to gets huffy and puffy when other folks pass by: Hey! Hey you! Who are you?! What are you doing so close my mom? Why are you somewhere close enough that I can see you?! Move along! Scram! Skedaddle! Aroooo!

Cool Whip, on the other hand, just wants to know if they brought snacks to share: Hellooo! I see you are a human. Humans have snacks. What snacks do you have to share with me?! Hey, you get back here and give me your snacks!!

I set up camp facing my favorite group of monuments. A perfect view from the tent and the big rock I intended to use as the kitchen area. With evening fast approaching, we spent the last bits of daylight exploring our road and the local ravine.

The subtle hustle and bustle of the valley dropped to almost imperceptible hum. The breeze slowed. No other vehicles passed by. Essentially all I could hear when listening hard with the blood rushing through my ears. I imagined everyone else in the area was in a similar situation: silently staring up into the sparkling night sky. Heaven.

As dawn began sprawling across the land, the hounds started rustling about in the mess of blankets and sleeping pads. The usual start to our morning routines. I layered on everything I can find and we bustled out into the brisk morning air. Our breath puffs floated around us. Herc snorted about, checking for any traces of midnight visitors. Cool Whip sought out the closest bathroom bush, knowing that breakfast preparations start as soon as all potty pit-stops are complete.

Coffee is delicious. Coffee in the outdoors is a little extra delicious. Coffee in the outdoors on a crisp morning is the most delicious. The coffee that morning did not disappoint. In a classic Kris-type move, I had stopped at REI less than 24 hours before departure to gather the remaining “necessities.” This particular cache contained a new drip filter for my morning brew. Easy, lightweight, and small -- win!

Filled with adventure fuel, we set out to explore. We roamed and rambled. Stopping anywhere that called to us.

And that became our routine: Adventure and explore, soak it all in, refuel, adventure and explore more.

​Hiking a trail with a specific route and checkpoints to reach has its appeal for sure. There is a definite point of completion and success. But there is something equally enticing about having the freedom to roam. Success is obtained by simply being there.

By the time we arrived at the Shadow Lake campsites I was hungry and tired. Add in lacking signage for tent sites and bear hangs (which we later realized was due to the direction we arrived from), and water that required boiling for consumption…I was grumpy as heck. 

Thankfully for my adventure companions, I just needed a little food to calm me down. But that didn’t solve our minor annoyance with having to boil water. Horribly rough lives we lead out in the woods (insert overly exaggerated eye roll). With no easy access to the lake or streams from the campsites, we were left with the spigot available for backpackers (a sign indicated boiling before consumption). 

​The guys went exploring around the Shadow Lake cabins nearby. We couldn’t imagine they boiled all of the water needed for guests – there had to be another way to access drinking water. Luckily a friendly employee clued the guys in on a drinking water spigot along the side of one of the cabins. Woo! A nice bonus to help us set out on the right foot in the morning. 

Back at Egypt Lake we had chatted with Sam, a solo hiker taking the same route we were following. He left Egypt Lake camp in the morning before our group got rolling, but it was nice to connect with him again at the Shadow Lake camp. He fit in well with our crew, sharing ridiculous stories over dinner and around the "campfire". (No fires allowed, but we still wound up sitting in a circle as though there was one!)

We set out as a group on Day 3, climbing up and out of the woods. At 7,500 feet we reached Gibson Pass. A solid hike pleasantly rewarded by stunning views (as if there is any other sort of view out there?!). 

The downward trek from Gibson Pass was dotted with three groups hiking up – two on foot and one on horseback. We connected with the horse crew right as we came upon a large fallen tree blocking the path. It would have been quite tricky but doable for us to shimmy over. The horses, on the other hand, seemed stuck…until one of the men hopped off his horse and appeared at the tree with a saw. Ha! Perfectly prepared! 

Another highlight from the passing groups was receiving a suggestion for stopping at Upper Twin Lake. “Right before you cross the bridge, take a small path to the left along the shoreline. You’ll wind up in a perfect location for lunch.” 

And perfect it was. We settled in for a couple hours of relaxation. Sam decided he was going to finish his hike out to the road that afternoon. He'd gotten somewhat serious cut on his hand and he was ready for a real shower -- understandable. We said our goodbyes and then we set out for camp shortly after. 

As it turned out, Lower Twin Lake was equally as perfect as Upper. It had just one slight advantage: it was our campsite for our final night!

TW7 was easily THE best camp of our trip. Tent sites set back in the trees. A dining area snuggled up to the shoreline. And this view...oh what a place of wonder!

We soaked up every last ounce of sun and wild we could experience. 

After a quick pack-up of campsites, we meandered along the short hike to Egypt Lake for breakfast with a view. The water was pristinely calm, showcasing a flawless reflection of the mountains surrounding the lake. And what glorious mountains they were! The peace and calm offered a meditation of sorts, a chance to shake off the prior day and start anew. 

It was going to be a 10-mile day. After leaving Egypt Lake, the trail almost immediately started going uphill. The ascent of Day 2 was more of a stair climb compared to the gradual ramp up of Day 1. I was partial to the stairs, the definite motion of going up. It gave me a straightforward sense of accomplishment. 

Creeping down the rockpile, however, felt like an eternity! Testing the larger rocks for stability and trying to not slide on smaller crumbles and sand – it was a slow and steady journey to the base. After focusing so intently on my small steps down, I didn’t take in the magnitude of this rockpile. Not until I reached the base and turned around. Eyes went wide; mouth opened in awe. This is what I was out here to see. 

Leaving the rocks, the trail took us back down into the the trees toward Haiduk Lake. Two-thirds of the way in we saw our first sign of bears: several piles of bear scat along the trail. I tried to reassure myself by noting that none of the piles was ultra fresh, but I still caught myself looking behind me more than I care to admit. 

Bears were instantly forgotten though the moment the view opened up to the glacial waterfalls filling Haiduk.

What.
A.
​Stunner. ​

In our awe-induced stupor, we lost track of the trail and opted to follow the lakeshore until we were back on track. Two steps into the chest-high brush was the exact moment we remembered the bear scat. Singing and overly vocalized chatter immediately commenced.

As we tumbled out onto the trail our singing abruptly ended at the sight of seemingly fresh bear tracks in the mud. Excitement. Awe. Wariness.

"Wow, fresh tracks!" "Whoa, look at the size of that print!" "It may be heading away from us, but we should probably still skedaddle on out of here..."

From Haiduk, the trail took us into a mossy floored pine forest and eventually followed along the river leading to Shadow Lake. Along the way we passed the Ball Pass Junction Campsite, which was still closed due to the fires. It had a bit of an eerie feel to it, and whether that was due to the knowledge of it being closed, or because it was seeming out in the middle of nowhere, I'm not sure. I just know I was quite pleased to leave it behind us and I made a mental note to skip that site if I return to this trail again.

Shadow Lake almost felt like a false summit to me. Only in that I was exhausted, hungry, and ready to ditch my pack for the evening. As much as I wanted to sit on the bridge admiring the view for more than a short break, I was definitely antsy to reach camp. One more mile to go...

We rolled up to Sunshine Village and I was filled with antsy enthusiasm. The type that makes you continually feel like you're about to pee your pants. Even after you just peed twice to make sure you really didn't have to pee. Am I nervous? Am I excited? Do I really just need to pee??

​All of the other hikers pulling up seemed to be taking the shuttle bus up to the top of the gondola. I started to second guess our plans to start our hike directly from the parking lot.

Two of us wandered up to the ticket desk for a local opinion of our plans.

Them: "We highly recommend taking the shuttle up."

I felt like I had to pee again.

​Us: "Okay, we'll hike up."

Flashback to the two weeks leading up to our trip when I felt like my life was going to hell:

Cool Whip had surgery to remove skin cancer tumors and wasn't healing well. My car (our road trip vehicle!) was in the shop and they couldn't get it to run. Our backpacking route was closed due to the wildfires. Add in that I'm not a people person (I'll choose my dogs over humans any day) but I was about to spend a week with four people who I sort of knew but who didn't know each other…it all sounded like torture! 

​I confided to my mom that I didn't want to go.
Mom: But Banff is your happy place!!
Me: I know, but everything is just hitting so hard all at once!
Mom: Go. Or you'll always regret it.

So of course I went, cuz moms are always right.

And of course we did indeed choose to start our hike directly from the parking lot. Because that's the type of group we were becoming. Go big or go home. And obviously none of us had decided to stay home. 

The hike was tough for us, not gonna lie. Not difficult like it was tricky footing or scrambling across rockslides, but some folks were new to backpacking, and some were new to the elevation (not even counting the elevation we were gaining during the hike). We started later than planned, and no matter how close we seemed to be getting to the top, it always seemed to be just over the next crest, just out of reach. It felt like a long day.

By the time we rolled into the Egypt Lake Campground, we were beat. 
But we had made it.

We roamed through the campsites looking for three that were positioned near each other for our little caravan and dropped our packs as fast as we could shake them off. 

As we sat by the river, refilling our hydration packs before dinner, we finally had a chance to sit back to take it all in -- the calm but epic beauty surrounding us.

Worth it.