Kathy carrying her 35-liter daypack in Sawcut Gorge, South Island, New Zealand

How big a pack do you need for dayhiking?

You need a 28- to 35-liter daypack to carry the clothing, food, and emergency gear necessary for all contingencies.

When dayhiking, people we pass sometimes ask us, “Where are you camping tonight?” They assume we’re backpacking, because our daypacks are large. What they don’t know is that their daypacks are too small.

Most hikers give more thought to going light than they do to all the circumstances they might encounter when hiking in the wilderness.

Being prepared means carrying enough gear to comfortably adapt to an abrupt change in the weather, to competently handle an injury, or to survive an unexpected night in the wilds due to a navigational error.

It’s not possible to go ultralight, carrying only a tiny daypack, and still take full responsibility for yourself in the backcountry. That’s true even in the desert, where the need to carry water more than offsets the additional clothing layers you can sometimes leave behind.

Your pack doesn’t have to be heavy, but it needs to be big enough to accommodate much more than a water bottle, lunch, and a fleece.

Don’t think ultralight. Think real light. It means going as light as possible—realistically.

That’s our opinion. What’s yours?

Like sandpaper, the gritty details of daily life grind down our memories’ sharpest edges. How else to explain the surprise and wonder we feel when repeating a momentous event that we thought we recalled vividly?

Kath and I have backpacked in the Grand Canyon more than a half dozen times. We’ve rafted the Colorado River through the Grand.* Its been just two years since we last hiked in the Grand (North Rim to Thunder River). And still we were startled to once again peer into this great gash in the Earth.

Hiking there last week was as grand and deep an experience for us as it was the first time decades ago. Perhaps more so. Our ability to notice and appreciate detail seems to be growing. (A sign of maturity?) But it’s also the canyon itself. The more scenic wonderlands we witness, the more we marvel at this one.

Kath believes ingesting the beauty of this mile-deep canyon by hiking it, she contracted the emotional equivalent of giardiasis. The bug lives on inside her, she says. The symptoms disappear, but not forever. Eventually they recur, nagging her until she comes back for treatment: another Grand Canyon sojourn.

What neither of us can comprehend are North American hikers—particularly those living in the West, within a couple days’ drive of northern Arizona—who assume the more distant a hiking destination is, the more compelling it must be. We know such people. They’ve trekked in Ladakh, summitted Kilimanjaro, but express no interest in the Grand Canyon. Overawed by the exotic, they ignore the nearby.

Despite the noise (see our previous post regarding scenic overflights), the backpack trip we completed last week in the Grand topped any we’ve ever done—anywhere. It was a mere three days, two nights, but every step was captivating. From Hermit’s Rest, we descended the Hermit trail to the Tonto trail. The first night we pitched our tent at Monument Creek. Next day, we followed the Tonto back across Hermit Creek and continued west to our second night’s camp at Boucher Creek (pronounced Boo-SHAY). Finally we ascended the Boucher trail up and out of the canyon, back to Hermit’s Rest. (See distance and elevation details below.)

Camping at Hermit Creek is vastly more popular than camping at Monument Creek. But we find Monument a more impressive setting: a broader drainage where the canyon’s soaring walls are visible.

Most people who carry backpacks down the Hermit trail also ascend the same way. But looping back via Boucher, as we did, makes the journey a little more adventurous and a lot more scenic.

The Tonto trail, which runs much of the canyon’s length, contours along the Tonto Plateau, just above where the Colorado River—architect of the Grand Canyon—surges through the sheer-walled, inner gorge. The most exciting section of the Tonto is between Hermit and Boucher creeks, where the trail hugs the edge of the precipice, grants frequent views of the river directly below, and affords constant vistas up and down the canyon.

It’s actually surprising the National Park Service (whose concern about visitor safety is, to put it mildly, extreme) keeps this airy section of the Tonto trail open to the public. We found it thrilling, but there’s little room for a misstep. As for the Boucher trail, the NPS describes it using the words “climb” and “exposure.” They exaggerate to dissuade the inept. Much of the trail is a steep, rough route requiring strength, endurance, and confidence born of experience. But there’s no climbing required and no exposure. A few sections qualify as scrambling, but they’re easy and short. We enjoyed the Boucher trail immensely. In comparison, the broad, dusty, Bright Angel trail, which accommodates tourist-laden mules, is dull.

Ascending the Boucher trail (much easier and more fun than descending it), the way forward is not always obvious, which makes it intriguing. The terrain changes rapidly and abruptly, from constricted gullies, to broad benches, to narrow ledges on nearly-vertical walls. Ultimately the trail provides a startling, aerial perspective of the Hermit Creek drainage and much of the trail we hiked on days one and two.

An adrenaline rush at a walker’s pace? Yes. Certainly in the Grand Canyon. Definitely on the Boucher trail. The misconception that “hiking is boring” is perpetuated by the lazy and incurious who’ve waddled into a soporific forest, seen nothing of note, and haven’t ventured beyond pavement since. Granted, some trails are boring. And some hikers are bored even amid stimulating scenery, so they either zone out or chat nonstop with companions. But the Boucher trail has the power to grab most hikers by their sternum straps, bringing their distracted minds to heel in the here and now.

Hikers who reside in Canada and the northern U.S. will appreciate that the optimal time to backpack in the Grand Canyon is late fall / early winter (November) and spring (March through mid-April), when the weather at home is no longer, or not yet, conducive to hiking. Last week, the nights were chilly (near freezing) on the 6900-ft (2104-m) canyon rim. But the daytime highs ranged between 70° and 80° F in the canyon at 3000 ft (915 m). It was even warmer, of course, on the canyon’s 2300-ft (701-m) floor, near the river. Perfect for hikers. By late spring (May), it’s too hot for most of us to comfortably backpack in the Grand Canyon.

A cautionary tale…  Two years ago, while we were backpacking off the Grand Canyon’s North Rim en route to Thunder River, I (Craig) stupidly ignored my own symptoms and succumbed to heat exhaustion. By doing so, I ruined our trip and risked my life. It was mid-May. The temperature was 100° F at 6 p.m. on the slickrock Esplanade within the canyon.

By 7 p.m. we’d completed about three-quarters of the 4800-ft (1463-m) descent. Suddenly, nausea and dizziness forced me to slow, stop, sit. Minutes before, I’d been hiking briskly. Now I was prostrate on the trail, vomiting. What motivated me to continue, and what saved my life, was that we were within 30 minutes of where the Thunder River originates, blasting out of the canyon wall.

I staggered and stumbled the final distance. Kath pitched our tent on a ledge beside the torrent. She doused me with frigid water late into the night. The vomiting continued till morning. I spent the next day alternately dozing in the shade and shivering beneath a small cascade, letting the icy water lower my core temperature. I ate nothing, because I couldn’t, but I sipped electrolyte-rich Emergen-C.

Though I was terribly weak, we knew I’d soon be too weak to hike out, so we packed and began slowly ascending at 7 p.m. We continued into the dark. We made it to the Esplanade at 10:30 p.m. By then I could nibble on a PowerBar.

That night, our second in the canyon, was gorgeous—clear and still—but difficult to appreciate. I seemed to be recovering but now Kath was feeling weak. She vomited. We were both unnerved knowing this was a medical emergency and our self rescue required another day’s effort we were unsure either of us could muster.

We packed and were hiking before our enemy, the sun, pounced on us again. The water we’d cached on the way down was now more vital than we’d imagined possible. What we didn’t drink we poured over our heads and down our backs. We ascended at a plodding pace unfamiliar to us. For me, it was “the march of repentance.”

Upon arriving at our car on the North Rim, we were exhausted, grateful, wiser. We’d written about heat exhaustion, warning others to avoid it, but now we fully understood how stealthy and overwhelming it can be. Kath—who never sleeps while I drive because she’s constantly studying maps and guidebooks—slept for most of the six-hour drive to my parents’ home in Scottsdale, Arizona. I continued feeling strangely, deeply fatigued for several days, which suggests I’d been dangerously close to heat stroke.

So this year, we hiked into the Grand Canyon much earlier: the end of March. It was ideal timing. True, the upper reaches of the South-Rim trails can still be snow-covered in March (requiring hikers to use traction devices on their boots for the initial descent), but the Hermit and Boucher trails gave us a snow-free welcome.

Spring hiking in the Grand Canyon is not only more comfortable and safer, it’s the optimal time to appreciate the desert’s botanical diversity, which far outstrips that of mountain environs. From a distance, a green hue washes across the Tonto Plateau. Leafy, blossoming trees give the drainages an oasis appearance. Flowers—purple, lavender, white, yellow, red—add bursts of vivid colour to the infinite canyon-rock palette of reds, browns, oranges, mauves, tans, mustards, maroons…

Many trails plunge below the Grand Canyon’s soaring-beyond-comprehension cliffs. We’ve hiked most of them: Bright Angel (from the North and South rims), South Kaibab, Hermit, Tonto West, Tonto East, Boucher, Grandview, and Tanner. We’ve also hiked into Havasupai Canyon—a tributary of the Grand, far to the west. All are marvelous, inducing a constant “how can this be?” state of mind. Yet some are even more engaging than others. Here are our recommendations:

Backpack Trips

(1) From Hermit’s Rest, at 6650 ft (2027 m) on the South Rim, descend the Hermit trail. Intersect the Tonto trail and follow it around to Monument Creek. Next day, retrace your steps on the Tonto, then continue past Hermit Creek and along the Tonto Plateau to Boucher Creek. On day three, hike the Boucher trail back up to Hermit’s Rest. Circuit: 26.7 mi (43 km). Descent and ascent: 4500 ft (1372 m).

(2) From Monument Point, at 7200 ft (2196 m) on the North Rim (west of Jacob’s Lake), descend to the Esplanade. Cross it, then continue down to Thunder River. Camp in Upper Tapeats Gorge, at 2400 ft (732 m). Return the same way. Round trip: 18.4-mi (29.6-km). Descent and ascent: 4800 ft (1464 m). From camp, it’s 2.2 mi (3.5 km) farther to the Colorado River at 1950 ft (595 m).

Dayhikes

(1) From Grandview Point, at 7399 ft (2256 m) on the South Rim, descend the Grandview trail to Horseshoe Mesa. Continue to the end of the mesa’s left (west) arm, at 4923 ft (1501 m). Return the same way. Round trip: 8.4 mi (13.5 km). Descent and ascent: 2476 ft (755 m).

(2) From the South Rim, at 7240 ft (2207 m), descend the South Kaibab trail to the Tonto trail. Go west, contouring to intersect the Bright Angel trail near Indian Gardens. Ascend the Bright Angel to the rim at 6860 ft (2091 m). Ride the Park shuttle bus between trailheads. One-way trip: 13.6 mi (22 km). Descent: 3440 ft (1049 m). Ascent: 3060 ft (933 m).

(3) From Hermit’s Rest, at 6650 ft (2027 m) on the South Rim, descend the Hermit trail. Turn west onto the Dripping Springs trail, then hike the Boucher trail generally north to 5429 ft (1655 m) on Yuma Point. Round trip: 8.2 mi (13.2 km). Descent and ascent: 1579 ft (481 m).

(4) From Hopi Point, at 6095 ft (1858 m) on the South Rim, hike the Rim trail generally west, past Mohave Point and The Abyss, to Monument Creek Vista. Ride the Park shuttle bus between trailheads. One-way trip: 2.8 mi (4.5 km). Elevation change: negligible.

Details
Visit the national park website (www.nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/overnight-hiking.htm) to read more about the trails, view a map showing backcountry campsites and trail distances, and download a backcountry-permit request.

If you intend to camp on the canyon rim before or after your backpack trip, stay in Mather Point Campground. Generators are prohibited on the Pine Loop, so campsites there are quieter. Reserving a site is necessary in summer but not during spring or fall.

*Rafting the Colorado River is a thrilling adventure. Kath has done it three times, Craig once. We urge you to do it, too. Sure, it’s expensive. It’s also priceless. If you’re a hiker, choose a company offering a trip catering to hikers. It will afford numerous opportunities for two- to four-hour dayhikes into fascinating, tributary canyons that you’d never otherwise see.

Backpacking Boots: Salomon “Cosmic 4D GTX” vs. Asolo “Synchro GTX”

Dayhiking Boots: La Sportiva “Thunder II GTX” vs. Asolo “Spyre GV”

A couple years ago, having worn numerous brands and models of hiking boots, I settled on Asolo. I’d worn several models of Asolos and all met my essential criteria: light yet rigid. Light boots contribute to endurance. Rigid boots prevent tired feet.* Unfortunately, light-yet-rigid is a rare combination. So I’ve continued hiking in Asolos.**

Here are a few more reasons why I wear and recommend Asolo boots:

• Asolo has a huge and growing range of boots to choose from. This ensures almost anyone can find a pair of Asolos that fits them well and matches their needs as well as their budget. So far, my favourite Asolo model is the “Synchro.” That said, feet are like fingerprints. Mine are unique. So are yours. Personal experience is the only way to be sure which boots are best for you.

• All my Asolo boots have maintained much of their original rigidity throughout their life.

• Save for one model, which Asolo no longer manufacturers***, all my Asolo boots have been very durable. They pack out before they wear out, which is good. Boots are “packed out” when their ability to cushion your feet has deteriorated to an unacceptable level. The uppers and even the soles might appear to be in fine condition, but if your boots no longer cushion they’re transferring too much impact pressure to your feet, ankles, knees, hips, and lower back. There’s a limit to how long even a high-quality boot can go before it packs out. But if a boot’s uppers wear out before the soles are packed out, the materials are inferior, the workmanship was shoddy, or you’ve subjected them to inordinately rough use

• Most of my Asolos have had Gore-Tex liners. They’ve been highly water resistant but not waterproof. No reasonably light Gore-Tex boot is waterproof, regardless of the manufacturer’s claims. I’ve learned this by hiking in many different brands of boots. None has been waterproof. My Asolos have been no more or less waterproof than any other boot I’ve worn. If you’re hiking in constant rain, through wet vegetation, Gore-Tex simply delays the inevitable: wet feet. (Perhaps if you wear heavy, full-leather “backpacking” boots, you’ll find them waterproof, but I’m unwilling to sacrifice lightweight for a dubious assurance of dry feet.) It helps if you treat your boots with Nikwax or Grangers, but eventually water will still seep in. So until I discover a genuinely waterproof boot, I won’t consider waterproofness an essential criterion. I’ll simply keep hiking in Asolo boots lined with Gore-Tex and occasionally treat them, temporarily boosting their ability to keep my feet dry.

So I’m committed to Asolo hiking boots. Yet I’ve recently had the opportunity to compare my Asolos with two other justifiably popular brands of hiking boots: Salomon and La Sportiva. Before settling on Asolo, I used to purchase various brands of hiking boots whenever I found them significantly discounted. While hiking in Arizona the past couple months, the Asolo “Synchros” I’d been wearing since last year finally packed out. I didn’t have other Asolos with me because I’d forgotten to bring a spare pair when departing Canada. But I did have access to new pairs of La Sportivas and Salomons that I’d previously stashed at my parents’ home in Arizona. So until I could buy another pair of Asolos, I thought I might as well test my loyalty. Here are the results.

Backpacking Boots

Salomon “Cosmic 4D GTX”
gender: men’s only
retail price: $250
weight: 3 lbs 3 oz (depending on size)
shaft: 6 in

commentary: The Cosmic is an all-synthetic boot, so it’s ideal for hiking in water, for example the Zion Narrows, Paria Canyon, or Aravaipa Canyon. It’s the best “water walker” I know of. (Constantly submerging leather or leather/fabric boots in water undermines their integrity.) The Cosmic is light enough for dayhiking yet substantial enough for backpacking. I like the Contagrip sole because it provides reliable traction. I also like the Cosmic’s high shaft, which protects against ankle injuries. The boot is reasonably waterproof. But for most hiking conditions, I find the shank too flexible. Also, the Cosmic is not as heavily cushioned as I prefer; I can feel small rocks underfoot. Finally, because the Cosmic’s synthetic uppers are very thin, the laces cut into my feet when I pull them tight for a snug fit.

bottom line: good boot for hiking or backpacking in wet canyons but not optimal for most hiking conditions

Asolo “Synchro GTX”
gender: men’s only, see below for comparable women’s models
retail price: $225
weight: 2 lbs 14 oz (depending on size)
shaft: 5.5 in.

commentary: After two pairs of Synchros, I have no criticism of them. They’re superb boots. The Synchro is light enough for dayhiking yet substantial enough for backpacking. It’s rigid and retains its rigidity. It’s well cushioned. It’s quite durable. The proprietary Asolo soles have never failed me: traction is excellent. The Synchro’s shafts are high enough that they feel secure and protect against ankle injury but not so high that they restrict movement. The Synchro is as waterproof as can reasonably be expected. If the Synchro interests you but you’re unable to find it, consider these similar Asolo models for men: “Flame GTX” or “Revenge GTX.” For women, Asolo makes two boots comparable to the Synchro: “Atlantis GTX” and “Attiva GTX.”

bottom line: The Synchro remains my favourite hiking boot, and I confidently recommend it.

Dayhiking Boots

La Sportiva “Thunder II GTX”
gender: available in men’s and women’s models
retail price: $155 to $160
weight: 3 lbs 2 oz (depending on size)
shaft: 5 in

commentary: The Thunder is an adequate boot for most conditions: reasonably rigid, moderately durable, fairly water resistant. For the price, it’s a good value. It is, however, a slightly heavy boot. Too heavy for dayhiking. I also find the Thunder’s shaft a bit too low. Too low for backpacking. It doesn’t feel as if it’s providing adequate protection against ankle injury. Cushioning was initially very good but seems to diminish quickly. The toe cap is substantial, perhaps a bit too big, which adds to the boot’s weight. Achieving a snug fit in the Thunder is difficult. I have to pull the laces extremely tight, which is uncomfortable. And the eyelets are so wide (far apart from one another) that it’s impossible to adjust the fit near the toes. Half the time the boot is securely tight but slightly painful. The rest of the time, the boot is pain-free but so loose it feels sloppy. And twice the laces on these boots broke, which is partly due to La Sportiva’s cheap laces, and partly due to the boot’s wide eyelets. For dayhiking, I’d prefer a lighter boot. For backpacking, I’d prefer a higher-shafted boot.

bottom line: I could live with this boot if necessary, but I feel no enthusiasm for it.

Asolo “Spyre GV”
gender: available in men’s and women’s models
retail price: $124 to $195
weight: 2 lbs 12 oz (depending on size)
shaft: 5.5 in

commentary: The Spyre is very light. I feel fast wearing it. Yet it’s quite rigid. The sole isn’t plush, but cushioning is sufficient. It’s easy to adjust the fit on this boot. I can tug the laces tight, achieving a sense of security, without feeling any discomfort. In terms of waterproofness, the Spyre is typical of all Gore-Tex/leather/fabric boots. The shaft of the Spyre is high enough to protect against ankle injury, so while this boot is clearly intended for dayhiking, I would wear it on an ultralight, one-night backpack trip. For multi-night backpack trips, however, I’d prefer a slightly beefier boot. My primary criticism of the Spyre is that it’s not the most durable boot. Lacking a substantial toe cap, the toes of this boot soon get nicked and scraped. Bear in mind the Asolo “Temple GV” (available in men’s and women’s) is very similar to the Spyre but has a full toe cap. The lack of toe protection, however, doesn’t bother me, because I’ll pack these boots out long before the toe wears out.

bottom line: A superior dayhiker. Carrying a heavy daypack, I’ve hiked 18 miles in them without once thinking about my feet, which means these boots were up to the task. Wearing my Asolo “Spryes” I recently dayhiked about 14 miles in the Grand Canyon: down the South Kaibab Trail, across the West Tonto Trail, then up and out the Bright Angel Trail. I’m still completely happy with these boots.

*Most people have not hiked extensively enough to know what’s necessary in a hiking boot. Few retail salespeople have the training or experience to properly advice customers on what’s necessary in a hiking boot. What sells is what feels good in the store. Flexible boots feel great in the store. And manufacturers produce what sells. So most boots are flexible, not rigid. But your next pair of hiking boots should be rigid.

Rigid boots decrease how much your foot flexes on the trail. The more your feet flex, the faster they tire and the more sore they’ll become. You don’t want to hike with tired, sore feet. To prevent that, you need rigid boots. So next time you’re boot shopping, hold a boot with the heel in one hand, the toe in the other. If it bends easily, it’s very flexible. Don’t buy it. And if you think a boot is too rigid, bear in mind that it will soon become less so once you’ve hiked in it. All hiking boots quickly lose some of their original rigidity.

**Asolo manufactures several lines of boots. The Asolo boots I’ve worn are from their “Matrix,” “Energy,” and “Fsn” lines. Last year, Asolo began marketing a “Power Lite” line, which in my opinion is too flexible. “Radiant” is Asolo’s latest line of boots, which I’ve yet to see in person.

***Asolo gladly replaced those boots. That’s my only experience with their return policy, but it would appear to be excellent. Previously, I’d been disappointed with the Fascist return policy of companies like Vasque.

CONCLUSION: I’ll never again leave home without a new, or nearly new, pair of Asolo hiking boots. Anyone want to buy a pair of lightly used Salomons or La Sportivas?

The Opinionated Hikers on Patrol for You

We’ve been hiking all over the Colorado Plateau for 28 years. The guidebook we wrote—Hiking From Here to WOW: Utah Canyon Country—describes “90 trails to the Wonder Of Wilderness” in this astounding region. Books have space limitations, however, so there were many WOW trips we could not include. One of them is The Maze—the most remote district of Canyonlands National Park.

Faced with the need to cull, we excluded The Maze from our book because reaching it by foot is too rigourous a journey for the vast majority of people, and because vehicle access necessitates high-clearance 4WD and requires you to endure a long, rough road.

Having just returned from the Maze, however, we want to supplement our book with this field report, which we hope will inspire anyone with curiosity, energy, a yen for canyon country, and a stalwart 4WD vehicle to explore this high-desert enclave.

Why visit The Maze? Because…

• It’s extremely isolated and therefore very lonely. You’ll probably see others at the Maze Overlook and on the ascent/descent route, but you can easily find solitude if you backpack beyond.

• It’s weirdly, mysteriously, uniquely beautiful. Before seeing it, you think, “Ah, come on, can it really be that different from all the other canyons I’ve seen?” The answer is “yes.”

• You can hike to 16, little known yet spectacular arches within The Maze.

• The Harvest Scene Panel, a mere 2-hour hike from the Maze Overlook, ranks among the most fascinating rock-art sites on the Colorado Plateau. It was painted by the Archaic People who roamed canyon country 8,000 to 2,000 years ago.

• It’s possible to feel a piquant sense that you’re truly exploring here. Not just following bootprints on an established trail, but delving into the unknown.

• The long, forbidding approach to the Maze Overlook trailhead, as well as the scarcity of water within the Maze, enhance the experience by requiring commitment, heightening your anticipation, and later boosting your sense of accomplishment.

• Before or after The Maze, you can dayhike into nearby Horseshoe Canyon to see the justifiably famous Great Gallery pictograph panel, which, like the Harvest Scene Panel, was created by the Archaic People.

The unpaved road into The Maze departs Highway 24 just 0.5 mi (0.8 km) south of the paved spur leading to Goblin Valley State Park. The initial 46 mi (74 km) to Hans Flat Ranger Station is an easy drive in almost any 2WD car. Shortly beyond, high clearance is necessary. A bit farther is a 2-mi (3.2-km) section of steep, rocky, narrow, switchbacking, 4WD-only road known as “the Flint Trail.” After descending the Flint Trail, it’s another 13 mi (21 km) on a rough (but never steep or dangerous) road to the Maze Overlook, where the on-foot descent into The Maze begins. Total distance from Highway 24 to the Maze Overlook: 75.5 mi (122 km). Because you must check-in at the ranger station, and because the road beyond, even when in good condition, prevents swift progress, allow a full day to reach the Maze Overlook.

Overall the road is not seriously challenging. You don’t need a diploma from 4WD School (4wdschool.com) as long as you’re piloting a capable, high-clearance, 4WD vehicle. Though short, the Flint Trail is the crux. Care and vigilance, more than skill, are what you need to safely negotiate it. Be prepared to make a couple three-point turns within a few feet of sharp, vertical drops. Here, as well as elsewhere en route, you’ll want a spotter: someone who can get out and confidently direct you through obstacles where the driver’s seat does not grant the optimal view of where to steer the tires for easiest passage.

A few intrepid backpackers start hiking at Hans Flat, explore The Maze, then hike all the way back out. Between the ranger station and the Maze Overlook (14.5 mi / 23.3 km), they follow the North Trail, about half of which is on the road. The distance seems trivial until you realize it’s entirely dry. Carrying sufficient water to keep you hydrated until you reach the first spring in The Maze? Later repeating that grueling task on the return trip? We don’t recommend it. If the weather’s hot, you’ll risk heat exhaustion, possibly heat stroke. And the scenery isn’t worth it. The beauty and allure of The Maze is evident only after you arrive at the Maze Overlook. So driving to road’s end is undeniably preferable.

Upon arrival at the Maze Overlook (5160 ft / 1573 m), one more hurdle remains: scrambling to the canyon floor (4580 ft / 1396 m). Some might call it “climbing.” Your perspective depends on your experience, and therefore confidence, on steep rock where you must use your hands to prevent an injurious fall. Departing the Maze Overlook, you’ll initially be hiking, but the cairned descent route soon requires you to scramble/climb where the bulbous folds of Cedar Mesa sandstone are too vertical to walk.

The young ranger at Hans Flat said, “You might want to bring 20 feet of rope to lower your packs.” The guidebook we used said the same. Both implied that only one short section of the descent posed minor difficulties and that most people, after roping their packs down, easily friction-walk through it. But you’ll find our commentary below considerably more detailed, accurate and helpful.

It’s true that some backpackers drop from the Maze Overlook, into The Maze, without roping up. They use a rope only to lower their packs in one place. But that one place requires closer to 100 ft (30 m) of rope if you want the pack-lowering exercise to be simple, easy and quick. A 20-ft (6-m) rope isn’t nearly adequate.

The scrambling, however, is exposed. Most people should, and will want to, rope-up in a couple places, then have someone in their party belay them while they down-climb. It’s unlikely an adept scrambler will fall here. But the scrambling does require agility and cool, and the consequences of falling—particularly in such a remote location—are serious. The chief benefit of roping up, of course, is increased self-assurance. That alone is usually sufficient to prevent a misstep.

We recommend you bring a 120-ft (36-m) length of climbing rope, light harnesses for the climber and belayer (or enough one-inch webbing to make swami belts), several carabiners, and some prusik cord. Assessing the descent, you might decide you don’t need the climbing equipment. Fine. But if you want it, and you don’t have it, game over.

Dayhikers—if they twice rope-up and establish belays—might take an hour to descend from the Maze Overlook to the canyon floor. Backpackers might take an additional 30 or 40 minutes if, at those two points, they also use the rope to lower their packs.

Dayhikers should remember they’ll face an approximately 45-minute ascent from the canyon to the Maze Overlook at day’s end. Having already grappled with the terrain while descending, they’ll surmount it quicker on the way out.

Excluding numerous, minor, scrambly steps on the descent route into The Maze, you’ll encounter six places that—whether or not you view them as impediments—are distinctly recognizable:

• A 9-ft (2.7-m) sheer drop into a small, slickrock bowl. It’s relatively easy thanks to contemporary moqui steps. Once the most capable scrambler in your group is down, he/she can spot everyone else.

• A concave, slickrock ledge that narrows and is increasingly slanted until you pass the midpoint. Our acrophobic friend walked it with only a little support from the rest of us.

• A keyhole pouroff where you must lower yourself to a barely-visible platform below. From there, a slender catwalk leads left to a tiny alcove. Below that you must down-climb a vertical 12 ft (3.7 m). Hand and footholds are solid, but most people won’t attempt it without a sitting belay from the alcove. It’s also possible to anchor a rope above the keyhole and belay someone from the top of the pouroff to the bottom of the down-climb. The acrophobe in our group turned back above the keyhole pouroff.

• A short but very narrow crack. Most people will wiggle down through it without hesitation.

• A longer, sharply descending crack devoid of hand holds. Working down through it is awkward, uncomfortable, time consuming, but most people won’t feel the need to rope up, because falling doesn’t seem as likely as getting stuck. Below the crack are a couple steps that are airy, exposed, but most people will take a deep breath, compose themselves, and stride over them.

• A slickrock plunge: gradual at first, then vertical. Though contemporary moqui steps lend substantial aid, most people won’t attempt it without being roped-up. A boulder immediately above serves as a solid belay anchor.

Let’s back up. Did the word “dayhike” surprise you? Perhaps you’re thinking that after such a long drive into The Maze, it would be crazy not to backpack. But dayhiking is viable here. The Maze Overlook is a gorgeous place to car camp. If you enjoy the ascent/descent enough to do it repeatedly, and if you allow yourself at least three full days, you might love dayhiking here. The 9-mi (14.5 km) loop to Chimney Rock is one of several dayhiking options. Backpacking is preferable, however, because it allows you to explore much farther and grants you the sense of being a temporary resident of The Maze.

Whether you plan to backpack or dayhike, bring the Trails Illustrated 1:40 000 topo map titled “Canyonlands National Park, Maze District, NE Glen Canyon NRA, Utah, USA.”

Remember that you’ll be in a national park, so you’ll need a backcountry permit for car-camping at the Maze Overlook as well as for camping down in The Maze. Phone the park office well in advance to make reservations.

Fill your vehicle’s gas tank at Hanksville immediately prior to departing pavement. Driving slowly in 4WD is inefficient, so you’ll be getting poor gas mileage. You don’t want to see your gas-gauge needle dropping to “E” when you’re way out in the wopwops. You’ll probably want a full jerrycan as well, just in case.

Load your vehicle with plenty of extra food and water. Rain or rockfall could make the road temporarily impassable. Getting stranded is bad enough. Stranded, hungry and thirsty is much worse.

“Have you hiked the West Coast Trail?”

It’s a question we often hear, and it always annoys us because the implication is that it’s Canada’s premier backpack trip, which it definitely is not.

It’s revealing that we don’t hear this question from experienced hikers. They know the WCT isn’t stellar, so it doesn’t spring to mind during conversation. The people who eagerly ask about our WCT experience do so primarily so they can tell us about theirs. That’s usually because the WCT is the only backpack trip they’ve ever completed. They chose it because a coastal trail strikes them as exotic and because this one’s been overhyped.

Once they learn we’re not WCT fans, they seem relieved they don’t have to rave about it. They admit it didn’t live up to its billing. “Too crowded, too muddy, too much clearcut forest visible just beyond the narrow margin of mature trees,” they say. “And having to hike the WCT as a one-way through trip,” they add “is an expensive hassle.”

From now on, after our inquisitors admit the WCT was an accomplishment they’re proud of but wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as they’d hoped, we’ll ask if they’ve heard about the East Coast Trail.

If they haven’t, and they’re curious about it, here’s what what we’ll say…

The 260-km ECT is in Newfoundland, along the Atlantic Ocean, north and south of St. John’s. Yesterday was our fourth consecutive day on the trail, and we think it’s vastly superior to the WCT.

The Newfoundland coast is more dramatic than Vancouver Island’s because it’s more consistently vertical. Beaches? They’re rare here. But the plummeting cliffs, towering sea stacks, open headlands, and rocky terraces appear to go on forever. And the trail is always surprisingly close to the edge. Often a single seaward step would land you in the frigid water if you’re not vigilant. It makes for exhilarating hiking.

Yesterday, on the 23-km section between Shoal’s Bay Road and Bay Bulls (our favourite so far), we hiked past a blowhole called “The Spout” that erupted in a 15-m geyser every two minutes. Later, we watched a submarine-sized whale cruise by. In between, we feasted on blueberries.

These weren’t the begrudging, pluck-one-here, pluck-one-there blueberry patches we’re accustomed to in the west. This was a cornucopian profusion of berries in which every casual grasp resulted in a full palm: eight to twelve luscious, purple orbs. “Picking” doesn’t even describe it. We were milking these bushes.

And during that entire, glorious day we encountered no other hikers on “our” section of the ECT. We had it all to ourselves on glorious, September Sunday.

Much of the ECT is in stunted, boreal forest granting frequent views of arches, pinnacles, sheer fissures, deep caverns, and countless waterfalls leaping from land to sea. But long stretches of the ECT cross rolling swaths of “tuckamore”- a melange of tightly-knit, ankle-to-knee-high coastal vegetation allowing you to see to the entire horizon. The 11-km section from Petty Harbour to Cape Spear (North America’s easternmost point) is mostly tuckamore, which gave us the odd but pleasing sensation we where traversing alpine/maritime meadows.

The ECT is extremely varied. The section from Shoal’s Bay Road to Bay Bulls is wild, lonely, rugged. From Petty Harbour to Cape Spear, the trail is less remote, more tame. Near St. John’s, the ECT is downright urban, comprising elaborate catwalks and staircases. One of these sections begins at the harbour city’s north end, in the historic neighbourhood called “the Battery” and climbs to the top of Signal Hill. Another ascends generally north from Quidi Vidi (a tiny bay). Both are invigorating, very scenic, and can be appreciated in a one-hour, out-and-back hike.

Notice we haven’t said anything about “backpacking.” That’s because we’ve been dayhiking the ECT-an option you don’t have on the WCT.

You can backpack the ECT, if you’d prefer. We’ve passed beautiful campsites with spacious tent platforms hidden in the forest. But it’s possible to dayhike the entire ECT, spending each night at a seaside inn or B&B. Or you can stay several nights in the same lodging and pay your host to shuttle you to and from whichever section of the ECT you choose to hike each day.

The ECT is to coastal scenery what the Canadian Rockies are to mountain scenery. Though very different than New Zealand’s world-famous Abel Tasman Track (north coast of the South Island), the ECT is equally rewarding. If you’re an avid hiker, the ECT should rank high on your life list.