The Chelan Lakeshore Trail

On a recent trip to Washington State, we allowed a couple extra days for what we believe is one of the world’s premier backpack trips: the Chelan Lakeshore Trail. You’ll find a complete description of it in our book Hiking from Here to WOW: North Cascades. We hope the following field report will nudge you to pick up a copy.

Last winter left a deep snowpack in the mountain ranges of western North America. Trails that would typically be hikeable by late May remained snowbound this year. Lake Chelan, however, though wedged between lofty mountains, had been snow-free for several weeks prior to our arrival. And while unusually cool, rainy weather continued badgering western states and provinces, the conditions at Lake Chelan were ideal when we arrived: sunshine, blue sky, daytime highs of 25°C (82°F).

So Lake Chelan earns The Opinionated Hikers’ Seal of Approval for early-season availability. Yet there’s another, even more compelling reason to hike here: four-star scenery.

For the two or three days you’ll follow this trail—among stately pines, over exposed rock, past exuberant wildflowers*, in and out of lush drainages—the lake is constantly visible. So are the North Cascades rising abruptly from the far shore. Sometimes you’ll drop to lake level. Occasionally you’ll contour steep cliffs. Often you’ll rise over headlands granting a godly perspective of this 55-mi (88.5-km) long, inland fiord.

We’re continually surprised to discover Lake Chelan is not as well known as it deserves to be. On our way there, we stayed with friends in Kelowna, B.C., who’d never heard of it. After leaving Chelan, we stayed with friends in Seattle who’d never heard of it. “Where’s Lake Chelan?” they asked. It’s on the east side of the North Cascades, off Hwy 97, about 45 minutes north of Wenatchee.

The elevation of Lake Chelan is 1098 ft (335 m), which explains why it’s reliably snow free in early season. The peaks directly above rise to 5000 ft (1524 m). The water is 1486 ft (453 m) deep, plunging 388 ft (118 m) below sea level. Measured from the lake bottom to the height of land, it’s a deeper abyss than the Grand Canyon.

From the town of Chelan, drive to Fields Point Landing, on the lake’s west shore. Leave your vehicle in the spacious, secure (locked nightly) parking lot. Board the Lady of the Lake II, a tour boat that departs daily at 9:45 a.m. Disembark at Prince Creek, on the east shore. From there, follow the trail north 18 mi (29 km) to the hamlet of Stehekin (lodge, campground, store, cafe, bakery). Then catch the Lady at 2 p.m., returning down-lake to Fields Point. The round-trip boat fare is $40 per person.

On day one, we hiked 11.5 mi (18.5 km) to Moore Point. (That distance includes the 0.5 mi / 0.8 km spur down to the campground.) The total elevation gain on this undulating leg is about 1000 ft (305 m). It’s also possible to hike just 8 mi (12.9 km) and camp at Cascade Creek. From Moore Point, on the morning of day two, we hiked 0.5 mi (0.8 km) up to the lakeshore trail, then 7 mi (11.3 km) north to Stehekin.

It’s possible to catch the first boat, which departs Stehekin at noon. But why? We spent the morning doing lazy yoga on the old wharf at Moore Point. We reached Stehekin in time to slowly pick apart a locally baked cinnamon bun big as a frisbee. We caught the Lady at 2 p.m. We were back at Fields Point, loading our packs into our car, shortly after 5 p.m. A few minutes later, we pitched our tent and took hot showers at nearby Chelan State Park.

For more details about the Chelan Lakeshore trail (and other trails up-valley from Stehekin that afford several more days of fruitful exploration), purchase our book Hiking from Here to WOW: North Cascades. You’ll find it at Mountain Equipment Co-op, REI, Indigo/Chapters, Amazon.com, and right here at hikingcamping.com.

*The wildflowers we saw in early June, 2011, included lupine (purple), columbine (orange and yellow), penstemon (lavender), paintbrush (red), and Goat’s beard (yellow).

Greetings from southeast Arizona—land of furtive, illegal immigrants, brazen drug smugglers, grotty taco shops, sad, sun-beaten towns, swarming U.S. Border Guards, stealthy free-campers, and sky-island mountain ranges where the winter hiking is superb.

Thanks for continuing to check our blog despite our inability to post on schedule. We’ll continue trying to blog weekly. Sometimes, however, like the past two weeks, we simply won’t show up. It’s likely we’re in the backcountry, gaining experience that, eventually, we’ll blog about so you can benefit from it.

For now, we’ll resume offering suggestions on winter camping and hiking in Arizona’s lower, right-hand corner.

Since leaving Catalina State Park, just north of Tucson, we’ve yet to find a campground where we could settle in for a week or more. As we described in our previous post, Catalina is close to numerous trailheads as well as a wealth of urban amenities. It lofted our expectations too high.

For nearly a week after departing Catalina State Park, we free-camped. In good conscience we cannot tell you precisely where. We don’t want to anger permanent residents and land-management officials by initiating a steady stream of free-campers to any one location. We mention this only to encourage you to sniff out your own free campsites.

If you’re patient, savvy and discrete, you can find places surprisingly close to Tucson where you can sleep—free of charge—in your van, trailer or camper, and where you can comfortably remain all day without anyone taking notice of you—as long as it appears you’re simply parking. In other words, don’t deploy your folding table and chairs, fling your frisbee, fire up the barbecue, and act like you’re entitled to camp there.

The free campsites we found were quiet and beautiful. At both, we worked for a couple consecutive days on our book projects—jamming away on our computers, which are powered by the solar panel atop our trailer. And at both sites we were surrounded by saguaro cacti and enjoyed an expansive desert view.

Since our last free camp, we’ve stayed at three campgrounds:

Benson
We winced when we arrived in Benson. Actually we left immediately, drove to nearby Kartchner Caverns State Park, balked at the $25-per-night fee, shivered due to the higher elevation, then winced again upon re-entering Benson thinking “We can stand this for a couple nights.”

Hundreds of northerners beach themselves and their behemoth RVs in this depressing town every winter. Benson is crowded with “RV resorts.” The one we chose was small, cheap, cheerful. Others are sprawling and—to our astonishment—nearly full.

Why all these seniors choose Benson, we have no idea. Perhaps because it’s as sunny as other Arizona towns yet less expensive? Or is it the recently renovated Safeway that stocks Villa Dolce Gelato and hormone-and-antibiotic-free bison meat?

We stayed in Benson only because it’s central to some of the trails on our must-hike list. Yet our fellow Bensonites were obviously not hikers. And Benson itself is utterly nondescript. It was originally settled because of its proximity to several mines. The town is still staggering (forward?) because it’s beside a major railway and highway, and because all those seniors now moor themselves and their land yachts there.

From what we’ve observed, most RVing seniors who decamp to Arizona for the winter are absolutely satisfied if they have (1) reliable TV reception to keep them sedated during the chilly nights, and (2) lots of other RVing seniors to yak with while lounging during the perpetually sunny, toasty days. You could yak your life away in Benson. Many people are doing precisely that.

Cochise Stronghold
Hunkered into the east side of the Dragoon Mountains, the Forest Service campground at Cochise Stronghold is perfect. It’s small, embraced by the topography, beneath a canopy of trees, far from the lights and sounds of civilization. We wanted to stay several nights. But there’s only one trail there, and we recommend only a 6-mi (9.7-km) round-trip hike. As a basecamp for hiking elsewhere in the region, Cochise Stronghold is awkwardly located. Ambitious hikers will probably camp only one or two nights there, then regretfully leave.

Bonita Canyon
Chiricahua National Monument is astounding, for its bizarre natural features and for how accommodating it is to visitors—motorists, yes, but hikers even more so—thanks to the masterful work of the Civilian Conservation Corps. The Bonita Canyon campground, built by the CCC, is similar to Cochise Stronghold campground but slightly larger and a bit more comfortable (heated toilet blocks with flush toilets, for example, instead of unheated pit toilets). Entering the forested Chiricahuas after driving across the barren desert seems a miracle. Avid hikers will, if they slow their pace, enjoy three days of hiking in the Chiricahuas, so we suggest camping three or four nights at Bonita Canyon. The atmosphere at Bonita is so soothing that even non-hikers agree it’s a camping haven. As a base for hiking elsewhere in the region, however, Bonita Canyon is much like Cochise Stronghold: inconvenient.

Where Not to Hike
Being opinionated hikers, we occasionally warn our fellow hikers away from certain trails. Here in southeast Arizona, however, the U.S. Border Patrol has warned us away from certain trails, including some we’d been keen to hike. The reason? Though illegal immigration declined along with the U.S. economy, the percentage of illegals smuggling drugs has increased. Drug runners are desperate, therefore dangerous. Many are armed. Meeting an armed, Mexican, drug runner in backcountry Arizona is, to our minds, a more threatening prospect than crossing paths with a grizzly bear in the Canadian Rockies.

While returning to Benson from one of our hikes, we stopped at the Chipotle Mexican Grill in Sierra Vista. Several border guards were eating there. When they left, I followed them out and asked if they’d mind a few questions about hiking trails. They were glad to help but began by querying me.

“Do you carry a gun when you hike?” one of them asked. “No,” I said. “You probably should,” he responded. Our conversation was off to an alarming start.

Here are the trails they said we should avoid—even on a dayhike—because they’re frequented by Mexicans illegally entering the U.S. on foot:

Sycamore Canyon
The canyon actually crosses the border, not far from Nogales, which makes it a virtual highway for illegal immigration.

Atascosa Lookout
“One of our agents was shot and killed there,” one of the border guards said.

Joes Canyon
Another natural funnel for Mexicans seeking illegal entry to the U.S.

Chiricahua Peak
Judging by the map, it’s an invitingly gradual hike along a mountain crest. According to the Border Patrol, it’s equally inviting to illegal immigrants.

Miller Peak Wilderness Area
The border guards told us not to backpack there. They thought dayhiking was reasonably safe but said we should be out and gone by evening.

“I’ve been in those mountains at night,” said one of the guards, “and you can hear illegals all around you. The forest just comes alive after dark. They hole up during the day and move on after sunset.”

I wanted to ask why they thought we could safely dayhike there, but I’d already detained them too long. Besides, the Miller Peak area is where Kath and I had hiked all day prior to meeting the border guards that evening.

No doubt there are several other hiking trails in southern Arizona that are unsafe. Ask before you hike. Our experience is that the Border Patrol is the only source of accurate information. We visited a Forest Service office where we were told, “Oh, you should be fine hiking in Joes Canyon. I haven’t heard of any problems down there.” Then we met the border guards who adamantly said “Stay away.”

Southern Arizona is swarming with border guards, so you’ll likely encounter one in circumstances where you can ask for information.

Where to Hike
In addition to the southern Arizona trails we previously blogged about, here are several more we enthusiastically recommend. The Border Patrol told us we could hike them without concern, and our experience corroborates that.

Wasson Peak
West Unit of Saguaro National Park
8-mi (12.9-km) round trip
1837-ft (560-m) ascent
A mildly engaging approach to a summit that affords a startling view of Tucson, the Santa Catalina Mountains, Picacho Peak, Avra Valley, the Central Arizona Project Canal, the Tucson Mountains, Kitt Peak, Mt. Wrightson, and much more.

Tanque Verde Ridge
East Unit of Saguaro National Park
14-mi (22.5-km) round trip
2900-ft (884-m) ascent
Though the trail climbs over Tanque Verde Peak and continues into the Saguaro Wilderness, we suggest turning around shortly before Juniper Basin, which is at 7 mi (11.3 km). You’ll follow an airy ridgecrest the entire way. Views are constant—of sprawling Tucson and sprawling Mt. Lemmon.

Cochise Trail
Cochise Stronghold, Dragoon Mountains
6-mi (9.7-km) round trip
1100-ft (914-m) ascent
Enter a hidden world of salmon-tinted granite stones leaning in to one another: huddling, whispering, consulting, strategizing. This is the stronghold from which Cochise and his warriors battled the invading U.S. Army for a dozen years.

Ramsey Canyon / Huachuca Crest
Huachuca Mountains, Miller Peak Wilderness,
14-mi (22.5-km) circuit
3000-ft (914-m) ascent
Exotic birds, thus birders as well, annually flock to Ramsey Canyon. But few birders wander far up-canyon beyond the visitor center. On this ambitious circuit you’ll go all the way to and along the crest of the Huachucas, where the westward view is vast.

Chiricahua National Monument
Chiricahua Mountains, Chiricahua Wilderness
round trips, one-way hikes and circuits of varying lengths
elevations ranging from 6870 ft (2094 m) at Massai Point to 5400-ft (1646-m) at the Visitor Center
Truth is stranger than fiction. And the stone-hard reality of the Chiricahuas is stranger yet. Here you’ll see naturally-created statuary in an infinite variety of complex shapes. Equally fantastic is the trail network leading you into and among the rocks. The Civilian Conservation Corps built it in 1934. It still serves today. The engineering is brilliant. The craftsmanship superb. We marveled as much at the trail work as we did at the natural formations.

Rincon Peak
Rincon Mountains, East Unit of Saguaro National Park
16.4-mi (26.4-km) round trip
4242-ft (1293-m) ascent
The trail climbs through a chaos of gorgeous, granite boulders: cream and rose. It pierces a forest of God-like ponderosa pines, alligator junipers, and Douglas firs. Then it gradually ascends a mountain so high (8482 ft / 2585 m) and isolated (rising abruptly from the desert) it grants a commanding view of every major mountain range in southeast Arizona. The night after we summited, I dreamt—for the first time in my life—of piloting an airplane.

Last night we had a wonderful experience in Canmore, at the Alpine Club of Canada, where we talked with a group of enthusiastic hikers. Meeting so many fellow hikers at once was a rare and touching opportunity for us. Though their backgrounds were diverse, all openly expressed their passion for the outdoors, and—what most impressed us—all were genuine, direct, humble, sensitive, compassionate, and supportive of us and each other. No doubt they nurtured these qualities in themselves before their interest in hiking developed. But it seems the time they’ve spent in nature has strengthened their admirable attributes. Even if hiking isn’t entirely responsible for what we felt and witnessed last night, it clearly draws such people together. We’re grateful to be part of this tribe.

Click on “comments” (below) to see what others are saying, then join the discussion.

The Opinionated Hikers on Patrol for You

During our recent backcountry research trip in the West Kootenay region of British Columbia, we spent as much time checking trailhead access roads as we did hiking. A lot of what we learned was discouraging. If you keep reading, however, you’ll find we also have encouraging news.

You’re unfamiliar with the West Kootenay? Take time to view an inspiring slide show (http://www.hikingcamping.com/photos-west-kootenay.php) comprising many images from remote but spectacular high-alpine country in the Purcell and Selkirk ranges, which isolate the region.

The West Kootenay is on your agenda? Here’s what you need to know…

Several trailheads described in the 2007 edition of our guidebook Where Locals Hike in the West Kootenay (http://www.hikingcamping.com/hike-west-kootenay.php) are no longer accessible. Some roads are now unmaintained—either overgrown or prohibitively rough. Others have been closed due to forest fires or bridge failures, or decommissioned because resource extraction (forestry, mining) has ceased. In particular, please note the following:

(1) Monica Meadows (Trip 3) and Jumbo Pass (Trip 4) will be inaccessible until a new bridge spans Glacier Creek in the fall of 2010. For details, phone the Ministry of Forests, Kootenay Lake District: (250) 825-1100.

(2) The Lemon Creek road is now impassably overgrown, and the Lemon Creek trail is no longer maintained. So hiking to Glory Basin via Nilsik Creek (Trip 21) or Lemon Creek is inadvisable. Glory Basin is now accessible only via Kokanee Glacier Park Road and the Gibson Lake trailhead, as described in Trip 24.

(3) The Keen Creek road to Joker Millsite trailhead suffered damage and is now impassably overgrown. None of the authorities we spoke with expect the road to re-open. This places Helen Deane and Joker Lakes (Trips 17 and 18) beyond dayhiking distance. To reach these destinations, you must backpack starting at Gibson Lake trailhead (Trips 22, 23, 24).

(4) The Enterprise Creek Valley was severely burned during a 2007 wildfire. The road is now closed due to threat of debris torrents, so the trailheads for Blue Grouse Basin (Trip 19) and Enterprise Creek / Tanal Lake (Trip 20) are inaccessible.

(5) The trailhead for Sphinx Mtn (Trip 30) is inaccessible because the access spur (off the Gray Creek Pass Road) has been decommissioned.

(6) The trail following Sharp Creek upstream to New Denver Glacier (Trip 13) in Valhalla Provincial Park has been, and will likely remain, unmaintained.

NEW & IMPROVED

(1) In Kaslo, hike the 3.5-km Kaslo River Trail starting at the end of Railroad Ave. It leads upstream to a beautiful, beet-coloured bridge spanning the river. Ask local shops for the brochure/map.

(2) From Kaslo, at the junction of 5th Street and A Avenue (near the post office), drive Highway 31A northwest 23.7 km to the the K&S Rail Trail info kiosk near the Robb bridge, which spans the Kaslo River. From there, hike the rail trail upstream 2.5 km to Retallack. Just beyond the lodge is a short but enchanting Cedar Loop. Retrace your steps to the Robb bridge.

(3) The Kaslo Viewpoint Trail starts near the end of Prospectors Street in Kaslo. The short, steep ascent (155 m in 1.5 km) climbs the forested skirt of Mt. Buchanan to a spectacular vantage of the town, Kootenay Lake, and the mountains beyond. From the junction of 5th Street and A Avenue (near the post office), drive Highway 31A northwest. Pass Highway 31N. At the stoplight where left is 31A to New Denver, turn right onto Washington Street, left onto Water Street, then right at the T-junction. 100 meters farther, go left onto Park Street. Ascend to a T-junction where you’ll see the signed trailhead (right). On foot, immediately bear right, and at 3 minutes fork left.

(4) In Nelson, the Pulpit Rock Trail (Trip 48) has been vastly improved. It used to be a steep, rough route. Now it’s a broad, comfortable, gently-switchbacking path with a dedicated, trailhead parking area.

(5) You’re an experienced backpacker, competent scrambler, and capable cross-country navigator? Send a note to <nomads@hikingcamping.com>. Ask us about the traverse between the Woodbury and Silver Spray cabins in Kokanee Glacier Provincial Park. We’ll send you complete, detailed directions for this three-day trip.

(6) Trailhead access for Haystack Mountain (Trip 32) has improved. New bridges in the Sanca Creek drainage allow you to safely drive all the way to the Kianuko Provincial Park trailhead—17 km from Highway 3A (east shore of Kootenay Lake). This puts the summit within much closer reach.

Last week, in mid-January, we were hiking a long, slender ridge in Spain’s Costa Blanca Mountains. Spiny bushes clawed at our calves. We saw ancient villages far below, each looking as if it were pinned to the earth by its dominating church tower. And in contrast to the corrugated topography, the horizon was a straight line formed by the Mediterranean Sea. It all seemed so exotic we wondered how we got there.

But we knew the answer. It’s because we share a passion for mountains that runs deeper than conscious thought. We each felt it long before we met. These independent forces within us grew stronger when we and they merged. Our honeymoon backpacking trip in the Colorado Rockies inaugurated a shared life of wilderness exploration. Ever since, we’ve been researching and traveling to the world’s most spectacular vertical terrain. Gradually our work and our passion also merged. Recently this has allowed us the flexibility to seek mountains we can hike in winter, when our home range, the Canadian Rockies, is frigid and laden with snow.

So here we are, among peaks and canyons appreciated only as the backdrop for Europe’s most popular beach-resort cities. We’re convinced they deserve to be equally famous as a refuge for hikers fleeing winter. We realize that probing the Costa Blanca Mountains has been an essential leg in our endless journey: a devotional practice we think of as “the way of the hiker.”

For five weeks, we’ve confined our forays to an 80-square-km (31-square-mi) radius. It’s rare for us to be content on such a short tether. But the Costa Blanca Mountain scenery continually surprises and engages us. Beautifully engineered, smoothly paved roads easing into the barrancos (canyons) and switchbacking up the tossals and puigs (summits) grant vehicle access everywhere we want to hike. And hiking is nearly always possible thanks to a profusion of routes, paths, ancient trails and unpaved roads.

In a range topping out at 1559 m (5115 ft), the trailheads are remarkably high, often between 400 and 800 m (1312 and 2625 ft)  And the trails themselves are marvels. They enable us to stride where we’re astounded not only by what we see but by the fact we’re able to walk there. In North America, negotiating terrain this steep and rugged usually necessitates skill and courage and makes us yearn for James Bond jetpacks. Here—miraculously—we’re simply walking.

Compared to North American ranges, another distinguishing trait of Spain’s Costa Blanca Mountains is that civilization is always evident, which enriches the hiking experience. Stone terraces and walls, ranging from 1,000 to 6,000 years old, are everywhere. We often pass the ruins of ancient, stone fincas (farmhouses) and walk through groves of olives or almonds. Occasionally we skirt 20th century homes built in traditional style, perched on promontories commanding telescope-worthy views.

The Costa Blanca Mountains, as the name implies, rise sharply from the shore. They’re on a blunt peninsula, about two hours’ drive south of Valencia, inland from Denia and Benidorm. The latter is a characterless mass of high-rise apartments and hotels that makes Las Vegas seem charming. But if you can do what for most people is unthinkable—turn your back on the sea, the sand, and all that cement—you’ll soon be driving among vast citrus farms and through quaint villages.

In January, the tangerines, oranges, lemons and grapefruit are ripe. Yes, we became fruit banditos. But in our defense, we were careful not to prey on only one farmer. We stopped here and there, picking only enough to fill our pockets. According to local custom, we spat seeds and tossed peels out the windows while we drove. The fragrance of a fresh, Spanish tangerine is sublime. The taste is euphoria inducing. And flinging organic refuse feels liberating.

Winter, by the way, is the only time to hike here. In summer, the 40°C (104°F) heat makes hiking not just uncomfortable but muy peligroso (very dangerous). In winter, you can expect daytime temperatures to range from 6 to 22°C (43 to 72°F). Cloudy days are common, but rain is scarce. This winter was Europe’s harshest in decades. Snowfall in Great Britain was so heavy and widespread, on satellite maps the country appeared solid white. Yet we hiked nearly every day in the Costa Blanca Mountains. Twice we did it in shorts. Once we encountered a patina of snow. Occasionally we were buffeted by strong, gusty winds. Mostly the ground was dry underfoot, the weather agreeably warm.

Never are the Costa Blanca Mountains crowded, but in winter you’ll feel they’re your private reserve. Usually we encountered no one. The tranquility was glorious. On weekends and holidays, we shared the popular trails with others: some locals, several expat Brits, a few Germans or Dutch. We met one Canadian couple who’ve been coming here to hike every winter for years. We were the second and third Canadians they’d ever crossed paths with in the Costa Blanca Mountains.

Affordable accommodation is another winter advantage. Summer is when Costa Blanca rentals are booked out and rates soar. Of course, the closer you are to the water, the higher the price. Inland is undesirable to most people but superior if you’re here to hike. You’ll be in or near an authentic Spanish village, far from the crowds, traffic, and commercial onslaught, and much closer to the trailheads. Keep elevation in mind, however. You want to stay where the nights are not too chilly. That means at or below about 200 m (656 ft).

We rented the lower portion of a home in Orbeta, a neighbourhood on the edge of Orba. We hesitate to recommend it, however, because we want it to be available when we return, because we’re definitely returning.

Oh, alright. Here you go. The owners are Lesley and Ron Griffin. Their email address is <lr.griffin@terra.es>. Their phone number is 34 965 583 494. They’re kind, gracious hosts. Their modern, immaculate apartment is ideal for two people: a fully equipped kitchen, a spacious living room with a mountain view, one bedroom, an elegant bathroom, and a private terrace above an almond grove. Visit http://www.ownersdirect.co.uk/spain/s10840.htm for photos and details.

So, precisely where in the Costa Blanca Mountains should you point your boots? We used three hiking guidebooks. All were exasperating. Not just bad, but horrific. We would have flung them off a cliff in a screaming rage if we didn’t have the ability, born of experience, to read mountains and maps. The criminally inadequate books we urge you not to purchase are Costa Blanca Mountain Walks by Bob Stansfield (Cicerone); Costa Blanca: 50 Walks by Gill Round (Rother); and Costa Blanca by John and Christine Oldfield (Sunflower). They’re outdated. The writing is awkward, ambiguous, full of assumptions that readers cannot decipher. They give no compass directions, relying instead on “left” and “right,” and rarely state elevations. They’re detailed about frivolous matters, and vague when detail is critical. None gives complete, precise directions to the trailheads.

Europe is a bird’s nest of roads and tracks. So the primary reason you need a hiking guidebook here is to help you find the trailheads. Using the Cicerone, Rother, or Sunflower books, each time we arrived within 500 m (547 yd) of where they seemed to say a hike should begin, we’d have to play Sherlock for another 30 minutes to determine the most efficient way to strike out toward our objective. A guidebook should save you from having to ferret out this essential information. Actually, a guidebook should go beyond accurate detail. It should inspire you. But the Cicerone, Rother, and Sunflower books are not guides. They’re suggestion books. Buy maps instead.

Petrol stations, including the one in Orba, sell 1: 20 000 topo maps. You’ll want “Terra Ferma: Marina Baixa Serra d’Aitana” for the west half of the Costa Blanca Mountains, and “Marina Alta Serra de Bernia” for the east. With a compass, the patience and confidence to occasionally suss out a meager trail, and the ability to recognize landforms and stay oriented, you’ll have a great time here.

If you’re a keen hiker, plan a three-week trip to the Costa Blanca Mountains. We were there five weeks and would gladly have stayed longer. Below are the hikes we enjoyed most and enthusiastically recommend. For now, all we can offer is a brief summary of each. Use this info to locate the trails on the topo maps mentioned above. (You might also find maps online.) To see photos of these hikes, go to the Photos/Videos section of our website and click on Spain.

Mozarabic trail – Val de Laguart
4.5-hr loop / 14 km (8.4 mi) / gain 800 m (2625 ft)  / highpoint 600 m (1968 ft)
West of Orba, drive CV 721 to Fleix (438 m / 1437 ft). Find the trailhead sign in front of the school. A Moorish trail constructed 500 years ago switchbacks gently into the canyons 250 m (820 ft) below. The loop, which also crosses Barranco del Infierno, entails three sharp descents and ascents.

Serra Bernia
4-hr loop / 8.5 km (5.3 mi) / gain 315 m (1033 ft) / highpoint 850 m (2790 ft)
From CV 750 north of Jalon, take the first right onto CV 749 (signed for Pinos). Drive the fascinating, serpentine road 8 km to Pinos. Continue ascending to Casas de Bernia (625 m / 2050 ft). A good trail circles the ridge, contouring just below the sheer cliffs of this massif. Like Montgo, Bernia is frequently visible and recognizable throughout the Costa Blanca region.

Montgo
5-hr loop / 15 km (9.3 mi) / gain 560 m (1837 ft) / highpoint 752 m (2467 ft)
From Ondara, drive to Denia. Continue through the commercal zone to Placa Jaume I. Turn right and ascend to the Ermita de San Juan, where the national-park entrance is signed. The sheer walls of the isolated Montgo massif rise directly from the sea. This and Bernia are the area’s most popular hikes.

Serra del Penyal – Caballo Verde Ridge
5- to 6-hr loop / 15 km (9.3 mi) / gain 560 m (1837 ft) / highpoint 847 m (2625 ft)
West of Orba, drive CV 718 to Fleix, then continue to Benimaurell (532 m / 1745 ft). It’s the last and highest village in the beautiful Val de Laguart. A Mozarabic trail ascends through terraced orchards to the ridgecrest. Here, a narrow but easy-to-follow trail follows the crest east to Penya Alt and Penya Roch. Villages are visible below both sides of the ridge. Midway along, you can peer into the Barranco del Infierno and see far up the Mediterranean coast.

Barranca Almadich
5- to 6-hr loop / 15 km (9.3 mi) / gain 560 m (1837 ft) / highpoint 800 m (2625 ft)
Drive CV 720 to Benigembla, between Orba and Parcent. Having tried two access roads, we think the best way to begin the loop is from the Mirabo road, west of the bridge. A trail leads south toward Cocoli summit. From the head of the gorge, pick up a trail leading 5 km along the top edge of Almadich Canyon’s 300-m cliffs. It eventually descends past a communications tower to Benigembla.

Penal Gros – Serra de la Forado
3.5-hr loop + 1 hour viewing ruins / 8 km (5 mi) / gain 220 m (722 ft) / highpoint 854 m
From the village of Alcala de la Jovada, walk east to the 13th century Moorish village of L’Atzuvieta. Continue following the unpaved road through terraces toward desolate Forado ridge. Ascend to, then follow the ridgecrest. Val de Gallinera is visible below. Near the summit of Penal Gros, the ruins of an ancient castle are visible on the mountain’s far slope.

Monte Ponoch
5-hr circuit / 12 km (7.5 mi) / gain 730 m (2395 ft) / highpoint 1181 m (3875 ft)
Start 6 km north of Finestrat (255 m / 837 ft). Initially hike to Collado de Pouet, below the southwest side of 1410-m (4625-ft) Puig Campagna. The gradual ascent of Ponoch continues, affording views of nearby Sanchet and ultimately granting an aerial view of the coast.

Pena Divino
3.5- to 5-hr round trip / 14 km (8.7 mi) / gain 207 m (680 ft) / highpoint 1157 m (3796 ft)
From Sella, drive 5 km north on CV 770. Immediately before a bridge, turn right onto a decaying-but-still-paved road. Continue 6.5 km to road’s end at Font Pouet Alemany (950 m / 3117 ft). Pena Divino, a 1-hr round-trip hike, affords a vast panorama. It also allows you to survey three major Costa Blanca peaks at close range: Sanchet, Ponoch, and Puig Campagna. Continue walking the unpaved road 4 km to crest the summit ridge of Mt. Aitana (highest peak in the range) and overlook the Guadalest Valley.

Bocairent – Cami de L’Escaleta
3-hr circuit / 12 km (7.5 mi) / gain 280 m (918 ft) / highpoint 675 m (2215 ft)
This historic mule trail once served the textile factories of Bocairent—a medieval town that in the 13th century had 80 looms working full time. It descends into a ravine, climbs over two minor summits, then returns to the village.

Barranco de Cau
3.5-hour loop / 9 km (5.5 mi) / gain 375 m (1230 ft) / highpoint 600 m (1968 ft)
Just east of Jalon, on CV749, across from the garden center, turn south on Camino Partido Cota. Follow it 0.9 km to an unpaved parking area at 225 m (738 ft). On foot, continue up Camino Partido Cota on what appears to be a driveway. Just beyond the house (right), proceed onto a trail. Near the mouth of Barranco de Cau, the trail ascends past a ruin. It soon becomes a Mozarabic trail climbing to the high plain of Casas del Cau. The first peaklet is an excellent viewpoint and a worthy destination for a short, round trip. The loop continues across the plain to the head of the barranco, then gradually descends it back to where you started.

Both provinces are relatively flat, and that’s how we’re feeling about them so far: no emotional highs or lows. It’s a matter of perspective, of course, so we should explain ours.

While living in western North America-from Arizona to Alberta-we’ve explored it extensively. To us, big mountains, deep canyons and dramatic coastline are the norm. And for the past 15 years, we’ve lived in the embrace of the Canadian Rockies. Our home is on a mountainside. Soaring crags are visible out the window. So it’s understandable that we’re unmoved by the gently rolling, forest-clad expanses of eastern Canada. A sense of obligation, not satisfaction, is what we feel as we near the end of the first week of our journey. And this doesn’t surprise us. We knew the topography here wouldn’t be spectacular. We told ourselves we’d have to appreciate the details of subtler scenery. And we have.

Walking the leafy streets of south Halifax, we found the tidy, colourful homes unpretentiously charming. The vast, granite outcrops surrounding the lighthouse at Peggy’s Cove kept us happily roaming, much like Utah canyon-country slickrock does. The impeccably-preserved fishing-and-shipbuilding town of Lunenburg (a UNESCO World Heritage site) is an artist’s palette: each home a splash of vibrant colour sharply contrasting with its neighbours and making western Canadian communities seem bland and timid. Cape Chignecto, a peninsula in the Bay of Fundy, is a brilliant example of a community provincial park, where despite only modest scenic assets, locals have successfully created and promoted a worthy destination for hikers.

Feasting on fresh lobster and scallops with Canmore friends who have a home on Prince Edward Island has been the social highlight of our journey so far. Visiting Province House, in Charlottetown, has been the heritage highlight. This is the building in which the concept of a united Canada was first proposed. The structure itself is quintessentially Canadian: noble yet humble. No pomp and circumstance. No armed guards. No Plexiglas ticket booth. No entry fee. No lineup. Just a respectable edifice staffed by friendly, knowledgeable experts ready to engage in meaningful discussion about Canadian history. The film they show at Province House is one every Canadian should see. It’s a re-enactment of the birth of Canada. Though it was dutifully informative, we found it deeply moving. Afterward, Kath picked up a Canadian flag in the foyer and proudly wore it tucked into her daypack while we walked the streets of Charlottetown.

So coming here has already been worthwhile, despite all the monotonous motoring. Rarely is the ocean in view. It’s usually walled off by pretty-yet-unremarkable forest. And because there’s so little topographical relief, you have to be alert at each highway sign. There are no geographic reference points by which to gauge your location. In the west, there’s almost always a dominant, impressive landform in sight, so this constant “Where the heck are we?” feeling is strange to us and disheartening.

We thought Nova Scotia’s northern reaches — Cape Breton Island — might lift our spirits. But the vaunted Highlands are neither high nor distinct. They’re bushy, thickly treed, flat topped, rarely rocky. Nothing like the spiny, fearsome ranges of Scotland. And here, as in the rest of the province, the roads veer inland, so the ocean is visible only occasionally and briefly. After hiking the Skyline trail, our strongest memory of it will be the wind: so pugnacious, most people turned back rather than follow the culminating boardwalk along a ridgecrest overlooking the sea on one side and the Cabot Trail highway on the other.

You intend to hike in Nova Scotia? Here are two more Cape Breton suggestions: (1) The disturbingly-named Meat Cove (far north tip, just east of Cape St. Lawrence), where a tiny, remote community welcomes hikers by providing a free trail-map with descriptions of several long footpaths above the Atlantic Ocean. (2) The coast trail at South Point (north of Ingonish, just south of Neils Harbour), where you can wander on fingers of rosy granite above the surging sea.

On to Newfoundland — a seven hour, overnight ferry trip from Sydney, Nova Scotia. Next stop: Gros Morne National Park.

Kaaterskill Falls, Catskill Mountains, near Palenville, NY

We’re celebrating our 20th anniversary as Canadians by visiting the eastern half of our adopted country. We’ll tell you how we feel about hiking in Nova Scotia and Newfoundland compared to hiking here in the Canadian Rockies. We’ll also drop south of the border into New York and New Hampshire, where we’ll hike in the Catskills and the White Mountains.

Hiking is a political act. It’s a statement: “The hills are ours. The land is ours. We are free. We can walk when and where we please.”

Few of us think of it this way, because most of us live in countries where swaths of wild or at least undeveloped land are held in public trust as “national forest,” “national park,” “state park,” “crown land,” or “provincial park.” We assume hiking is, and will remain, our right.

But will it?

It’s easy to imagine circumstances in which the sanctity of public lands is undermined, the integrity of wildlife habitat is increasingly violated, and our freedom to hike is curtailed.

Consider that peak oil and climate change are colliding. What scarcities will result? How will society withstand them? Will we maintain the collective will not to plunder every resource-rich crevice on Earth?

We do know this: The freedoms we exercise are the ones we’re least likely to lose.

So it’s in our shared interest to remember that hiking, like voting, is a political act; to remind others of this; and to inspire them to come hiking with us.