An Overnight Adventure in the Allegheny
Refining My Approach
With three recent trips now behind me, I’ve learned a lot—not just about the trails, but about myself and my setup. Each hike has brought new lessons, some obvious and others unexpected, forcing me to rethink how I pack, plan, and pace myself. Weight is always a concern—after all, I have to carry it—but it’s not the only priority. Comfort and small extras that enhance the experience are just as important. Whether it’s something to sit on at camp or some cool lighting to enjoy when twilight embraces the forest, those thoughtful additions make the trip more enjoyable.
But being out here demands practicality, and refining my approach has become a balancing act. I can’t bring everything I want, so every choice matters. Each piece of gear has to serve a purpose—ideally more than one—and earn its place in my pack. The goal is to find that sweet spot: keeping things light enough to move comfortably while holding onto those extras that make the trail feel less utilitarian and more like an adventure worth savoring.
Each trail is a chance to test ideas and adapt to what works. These experiences are about more than just following a path—they're about constantly refining my approach to backpacking, making each trip more delightful and satisfying.
Planning My Trip
The Morrison/Rimrock Loop Trail checked all the boxes: it’s in a National Forest, has reliable water sources, and—true to my preference—it’s a loop. These factors made the logistics simple. I spent hours with maps from the Forest Service, U.S. Geological Survey, MyTopo, and AllTrails. I also sifted through reviews, photos, and videos to gauge trail conditions and locate water sources. This time, I had the maps printed at Staples using their blueprint paper. They turned out great—much better than my home printer—and saved me a bunch of money. My Suunto MC-2 compass is my primary tool for navigation, reliable and straightforward. I’ll also have my Apple Ultra 2 watch as a backup, with features like backtracking that might come in handy if I need them.
This trail is actually made up of several connected trails, and after studying the maps, I created my own route. I combined sections of the Morrison, Rimrock, and Blackbear trails while marking areas where I plan to explore off the beaten path.
Food and calorie intake were something I thought carefully about. Balancing weight with nutrition was a new puzzle for me. Beyond choosing what food to bring, I had to consider how it would be prepared—raising questions about bowls, pots, utensils, stoves, and fuel. Since my new Grayl Titanium UltraPress can double as a water filter, cooking pot, and cup, it simplified the setup considerably. Freeze-dried meals that only require hot water became the obvious choice.
Water should be plentiful, with seven spring-fed streams flowing into a large reservoir. If needed, I can always head to the reservoir. I suppose we’ll see just how reliable these springs really are, because I did not call the ranger’s office and ask.
To prepare for cooler weather, I swapped my sleeping bag for one rated at 15 degrees, which is lighter than my old 40-degree bag. After packing and repacking more times than I care to admit—and considering whether to just bring everything—I finally landed on a setup that feels right. Or at least, a setup I’m too tired to change again. Every item went through careful scrutiny—some swapped, others cut entirely. In the end, my pack weighs 37 pounds, a solid improvement. I’m optimistic this weight will strike the right balance between comfort and utility on the trail.
The shifting weather forecast made planning tricky. Early projections showed lows in the 30s with highs around 50, but by the time I set out, the forecast called for lows in the mid-40s and highs in the high 60s, with a good chance of rain every day. For fire starting, I’m testing out a Zippo EFK—something new for me—with a trusty Bic lighter as backup. I’ve also packed a small amount of fatwood shavings and Wazoo Firecards.
Packing for swings like this is all about layering. I needed warm but lightweight layers for mornings and evenings, breathable clothing for warmer afternoons, and a rain jacket—even if it stayed in my pack. Each item had to earn its place—whether it was purely practical or added a bit of enjoyment to the experience. It was about striking the right balance—comfort, practicality, and a few luxuries that would make the trail feel a bit more like home.
As for campsites, I’m taking a more relaxed approach this time—wherever the forest whispers 'This is the spot,' that’s where I’ll set up. Unlike on my previous trips, I’m not pre-marking camp locations. This time, I plan to go off the beaten path and camp wherever it feels right.
With every detail planned and my pack finally settled, I felt ready to set out. The careful prep and familiar rhythms of getting everything in order brought a sense of calm. But as much as I rely on planning, I know the trail always brings its own surprises. With each trip, I’m reminded that no amount of preparation can fully predict what’s ahead. And that’s part of the draw—each adventure begins with a plan, but it’s the unknown that brings the excitement. With my gear on and the morning light filtering through the trees, I took the first steps of Day One.
Day One
The Beginning
The forest stood before me, dense and formidable, its secrets waiting to be uncovered. It was a day meant for beginnings, and something in the air, as it brushed against my skin, brought a sense of peace—like coming home after a long time away. The sky was a deep blue, making the leafless trees look magnificently tall, as if the sky would never end. With each step, I was drawn deeper, bound to a landscape that felt both wild and watchful. Little did I know what kind of adventure awaited me this day!
The forest was beautiful—just amazing. As I walked the trail through the hardwoods toward the spot where I planned to venture off on my own path, I checked my maps and surveyed the lay of the land. I felt confident I could reach my goal.
The forest was thick with Mountain Laurel, a rugged bush with hardy branches. As I pushed forward, weaving through the vegetation became harder and harder. I stopped frequently to check my bearings, the undergrowth so dense I could barely see a few feet ahead. I kept going until I realized I was literally fighting my way through insanely thick brush. I paused, taking in my surroundings, and realized the forest had completely engulfed me. The embrace was so tight that I couldn’t help but say aloud, “I got myself into a real pickle.”
The Mountain Laurel formed a towering wall, standing several feet above me. I checked the map, but all I could see were treetops. Using the map, compass, and what little I could glimpse above, I felt confident I was where I thought I should be. All I could think was how much I wished I had a machete. I hoped the forest would eventually thin out or offer a clear path, but that hope didn’t last long. The brush only seemed to grow thicker, more unyielding with every step. It was clear: this forest wasn’t about to give up its secrets without a fight. I labored forward, pushing through one branch after another as each one scraped against me.
Two hours passed, and I had barely covered half a mile! At this point, I knew I was in real trouble—or at least, I could be. My goal was still a mile and a half away, with only a few hours of daylight left. There was no way I’d make it before nightfall. And if I tried to backtrack, I’d be fighting my way out in the dark. Though I couldn’t see far or move easily, I knew exactly where I was—north of the ridge top, heading west. If I turned north, it would take me steeply down to the valley, where two trails would offer relief from my entrapment. This is what I decided to do, and as I would soon learn, getting to that valley would be a struggle of will and a journey all its own!
There isn’t much to say about the journey to the valley. It was an intense fight, each step a struggle against the unyielding forest. At certain points, I used fallen trees as bridges, carefully balancing to cross stretches of dense undergrowth. Twice, I’m pretty sure a bear had cleared a short path for me—both times ending abruptly, leaving me once again tangled in the thick brush.
Once I reached the steep decline, things got sketchy—I fell. Thankfully, I fell in the best possible way, since I was already bracing for it. I could have easily twisted or even broken something, but I was fine. Getting up, however, wasn’t so easy. I was on a steep slope, tangled in dense brush with branches entwined around my arms and legs.
Thirty yards more, and the forest opened up before me into a gorgeous wilderness setting. I turned to look back at the dense wall I had just fought through, hardly believing the struggle I had emerged from. I needed to sit, reflect, and eat—so that’s exactly what I did.
Descending to the valley was definitely the right call. It gave me the time to reevaluate my situation. Things hadn’t gone as planned. The Mountain Laurel was an obstacle I hadn’t anticipated; never did I think I’d be so hindered by a bush! My goal to reach the off-path location and uncover the secrets hidden there would have to wait for another day. The forest seemed determined to hold on to what I sought.
Now I needed to figure out exactly where I was and how to find the trail. I emerged from the undergrowth pretty close to where I thought I would, and finding the trail was an easy walk.
As I stepped onto the trail, a sense of relief washed over me. After hours of pushing through branches and carefully watching my step, the open path felt refreshing. My pace picked up, and I was invigorated by the beauty the forest was revealing with each step. I knew I needed to find a camp spot soon, as I’d already lost so much daylight. As much as I wanted to keep going, I knew that darkness would soon be upon me.
I kept my eyes open for a suitable campsite as I walked, searching for a secluded space near a water source. Then I stumbled upon an incredible spot. The forest floor was blanketed in soft pine needles and vibrant, emerald moss that seemed to glow in the fading light. Small, spring-fed streams crisscrossed through the ground, their gentle trickling sounds adding to the serenity. The air here was cooler and carried the faint, earthy scent of damp wood and fresh water. It was the perfect spot for my hammock tent, nestled against a thirty-foot cliff face that rose above like a natural fortress. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the ground, and I could feel a deep sense of calm settle over me. This spot was a haven, offering rest and quiet after a long, challenging day.
After settling down and reflecting on the day, I looked at my map and realized I wasn’t where I thought I was! At first, I was in disbelief, but then I saw my mistake. Near the stream where I emerged into the valley, two trails fork—one following the valley floor, the other climbing up to the ridge of the opposite hill. I’d planned to head west, on the trail, assuming I was further east. But I wasn’t as far along as I’d thought, which meant I was on the lower valley trail instead of the ridge trail. Not a big deal, but it definitely surprised me. I would find out the next day I wasn’t off by much. The funny thing is, as I was relaxing— I realized I didn’t go up any inclines and it made me get my map out. Ah, it was a long day, and it wasn’t over yet!
I got the fire going just before dark, but I knew I’d need a lot more firewood to last through the night. I gathered everything I could find nearby, piling it up before taking a break to hang my bear bag. On the way back, I spotted some nice deadwood that looked like it would burn for a good while, so I added it to the pile.
Now for my review of the Zippo EFK. If this is the only thing you have to start a fire, you’re out of luck. The spark it gives off is a joke—you’d have an equal chance of starting a fire by snapping your fingers and saying hocus-pocus. The tinder that comes with it does work well with a Bic lighter, though, and that’s about the only good thing I can say about the Zippo EFK.
The Grayl Titanium UltraPress is a great piece of gear to have on hand. As anticipated, it worked like a charm. It filtered all my water, the titanium shell boiled water for my freeze-dried meals, and it even served as a coffee cup. The only drawback was that using it as a cup was a bit of a hassle—I felt the need to sterilize it over the fire before putting filtered water into it.
As darkness spread through the forest, the quietness became almost palpable. Watching the last light filter through the trees, I felt as much a part of the landscape as the rocks and roots beneath my feet. Other than the crackling of the fire and the gentle babbling of the brooks, there wasn’t a single sound. I found this unusual and couldn’t help but wonder why. My best guess was that the vastness of the wilderness gave the animals plenty of places to roam—just not where I happened to be.
The fire was pleasantly ablaze, and with my notebook in hand, I was jotting down my thoughts from the day when a sudden noise caught my attention. It was a distinctive woot sound. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, so I listened intently, but the forest fell silent again. A while later, as I was still writing, another sound broke through the quiet. It was different but felt the same, echoing through the trees. It took me a moment to realize what I was hearing—other backpackers, maybe a mile away, wooting off and on until their voices faded, and the night returned to silence.
That is, until something came down the trail in the pitch-black. I could hear it from about a quarter mile away, giving me time to douse my light and smother the fire. I was far enough off the trail that whatever it was might pass by without noticing me. But with the wind blowing the smoke toward the trail, I waited, ready for whatever might come my way. As the sound drew closer, I saw lights and heard low voices—two of them. At about fifty yards away, I realized it was two girls night-hiking, and they must have smelled my campfire smoke. I called out to let them know someone was camping nearby, probably giving them a good scare in the process. They passed by, and the night settled down once again.
This was a hell of a day. I had a lot of fun, but I was ready for bed.
Day Two
The Ending
The morning began with a refreshing breath of crisp mountain air, cool and clear. I could feel the chill settle into my skin, sharpening my senses and waking me fully to the quiet beauty around me. It was the kind of cold that energizes you, making every breath feel clean and invigorating. The thought of a hot cup of coffee was too tempting to resist, so I set up my gear, watching the steam rise as the water heated. The warmth of the cup in my hands was a perfect contrast to the cold morning, and as I took that first sip, I felt entirely at peace, surrounded by the solitude of the mountains.
I sat for a while, simply savoring where I was. The wind whispered through the treetops, creating a soft rustling that seemed to blend with the steady babbling of the nearby brooks. I let the sounds wash over me, feeling a deep sense of contentment in the stillness. There was no rush, no need to move—just the quiet harmony of the forest and the sense of being exactly where I was meant to be.
This sense of oneness with nature was abruptly interrupted when the two girls from the night before came back down the trail. We waved at each other, and they continued on their way. I took that as my cue to start packing up. Once my gear was mostly stowed, I sat down to jot a few more notes. Just then, another backpacker came down the trail. We exchanged hellos, and as he moved on, I decided it was time to get the rest of my gear together and head out.
This trip was originally planned to be three days and two nights, but I decided to make it an overnighter instead. Many reasons and reflections led me to this decision. I had thoroughly enjoyed the journey so far and felt grateful for everything I’d seen and experienced. I was excited for what this second day would bring and eager to make the most of it.
With my pack on and feeling great, I set back out on the trail, fully immersed in the beauty around me. This forest was more than just trees and paths; it was alive in every sense, surprising me at every turn. Clear springs seemed to burst from the ground at random, forming little streams that wound their way through the mossy floor, each one bringing a refreshing coolness to the air. Occasionally, I’d stumble upon small waterfalls, their gentle cascades adding a soft, melodic backdrop to the quiet forest. The ruggedness of the land was breathtaking, with rocky outcrops and roots weaving through the earth, creating a landscape that felt both ancient and wild.
The wind moved through the treetops, whispering softly as it kissed the branches, filling the forest with a gentle rustling that made the world feel vast and timeless. The forest floor was carpeted with soft pine needles, making each step feel cushioned, as if the earth itself wanted to make my journey easier. I felt a deep sense of peace in this place—a calm that settled into my bones, reminding me of why I loved being out here. This was nature at its most raw and beautiful, and I felt lucky to be a part of it, even if only for a short time.
As I headed back to the trailhead, I caught sight of the ridge trail I’d thought I was on. I couldn’t believe how close I’d been—just another two minutes, and I would have spotted it. I walked back to the spot where I’d ventured off on my own path, glancing at the Mountain Laurel along the way. From this angle, it looked so unassuming, hardly the dense, unyielding wall I had fought through. Looks can be deceiving. I vowed then and there that I’d be back—next time, with a machete in hand, ready to claim those hidden places and secrets the forest seemed so intent on keeping. I wasn’t finished with this land yet.
As I arrived back at the trailhead, there was one last thing I needed to do. I hadn’t made it as deep into the land as I’d hoped, and if I’d stayed another day, I surely would have reached the Rimrock Overlook. Luckily, there was a road that led right to it. So, with a sense of unfinished adventure, I decided to drive there and take in the view I wasn’t going to miss.
The Rimrock
Wow, this place is awesome. Huge boulders. Amazing views. It’s no wonder this spot is so popular—truly something you have to experience in person. Thanks for following along on my journey. Until next time, be well.
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