Monday August 12, 2025
- Starting Point: Aneroid Lake (mile 6.7)
- Ending Point: Glacier Lake (mile 20.4)
- Hiking Distance: 13.7 miles
Trails:
- East Fork Wallowa Trail #1804
- Polaris Trail #1831
- West Fork Wallowa Trail #1820
- Glacier Lake Trail #1806
I didn’t sleep well. I could hear the person in the tent barely 30 yards away from me shifting and snoring. So, I was tossing and turning all night long, still wondering about their bizarre choice to set up camp after 9 pm in such close proximity to me.
I drifted off for one of my short jags of sleep, but was woken again at 5:36 a.m. with someone shuffling past my tent. and since I hadn’t seen another soul near the lake when I’d arrived, I immediately assumed the footsteps were from the same hiker who rolled in after dark.
First, they arrived in the dark, and now they were departing at first light. Weird.
As it turns out, though, the early morning footsteps that woke me belonged to a different hiker altogether. When I emerged from my tent in search of my Ursack (and a stealthy place to pee), the late-night hiker still had their orange tent set up 30 yards away. Well, that was interesting. There may have been more hikers out here than I thought.
I quietly returned to my tent and noticed that its outermost layer was 100% soaked with moisture from the air. The combination of my warm breath and the cold air around the lake left a dense layer of condensation over my tent that I’d need to deal with later. One of my lunchtime chores today will be to lay my rain fly out in the sunshine to ensure it dries out. But for now, I planned to hop back inside the warm cocoon of a tent and scramble for my cozy down quilt.
A Suprise companion
Since I was awake, I toyed with hitting the trail and getting an early start like the hiker who’d recently walked by my tent. But then I remembered I wasn’t on a thru-hike out here. I didn’t need to make big miles on this trail. My next campsite is just 13 (or so) miles away, and the whole purpose of this trip was to try a leisurely backpacking trek to savor the Wallowas.
If I left camp at 6 am, I could be at my destination before 11 am. And that was just silly. So I snuggled deeper into my quilt and pulled out my paperback book to enjoy a calm, quiet morning of reading instead.
By 6:30, I could hear – and eventually see – the person in the orange tent moving around. A woman in a sun hoodie emerged to brush her teeth and make breakfast outside her tent. As soon as I realized it was a fellow woman hiker, her close proximity made a ton more sense.
I can 100% understand another solo female hiker rolling up to her campsite later than she expected and wanting the comfort of fellow hikers nearby. For some people, camping near others provides a sense of security. Especially if they realize their cohort is another woman. My assumptions about this hiker’s intentions (and close tent location) fully changed once I learned that the hiker was a woman. I immediately felt more settled and less anxious.
After two morning hours of relaxing around camp, I decided it was time for me to pack up and get going. But I was barely a minute or two down the trail when I spotted the junction for Camp Halton.
Camp Halton was created by a miner named Charles “Silvertip” Seeber, who moved to Aneroid Lake after his doctor diagnosed him with tuberculosis and recommended that he move to high, dry air. He built 10 hand-hewn cabins on the south end of the lake and rented them out to fishermen. Today, the historical cabins are owned by the Halton Tractor Company, and a caretaker is on site who rents them out during the summer season.
Past hikers had clearly mistaken the lower trail to Camp Halton as access to the lake. Multiple signs were posted to trees informing passersby that the trail to the camp was private property and NOT the “real” trail. Our route deeper into the Wallowas continued up the swickbacks above Aneroid Lake.
Tenderfoot Pass
The first three miles of the morning were mostly uphill to Tenderfoot Pass. Yet the views of the mountains were the perfect backdrop for the morning. Patches of snow clung to their northern slopes, even in mid-August. And shades of green seemed to carpet the valley below. Stunning scenery like this always helps the miles pass quickly.
Last night’s campsite back near Anerioid Lake was at about 7,500 feet in elevation, and I needed to climb about 1,000 more feet higher to get up to the first pass nof the morning.
I made my way into a lovely grass meadow, with a creek running back toward the lake, and encountered some signs that were a bit more difficult to decipher. The wooden signs near yesterday’s trailhead had been new and easy to read, but these weathered and gray signs were far more challenging to interpret.
The sign banning fires was still relatively new and legible, but above it sat a directional sign that had been so worn down by the elements that I had no clue what it was supposed to indicate. Luckily, I’d created a GPS track for my intended route on my phone, so I didn’t inadvertently take a wrong turn onto the Bonney Lakes Trail at the mystery junction.
Behind me, I could now clearly see Aneroid Mountain pointing up toward the blue sky like a pyramid. The name Aneroid seems like an odd name for a peak, but a good friend of mine who knows my passion for toponymy (the study of how places got their names) recently gave me a copy of the 6th edition of Oregon Geographic Names by Lewis MacArthur.
According to this book, the lake and peak both received their names from Hoffman Philip, when his party was investigating the Wallowas for the U.S. Fish Commission in 1897. He used an aneroid barometer to determine the lake’s elevation and named it accordingly. Previously, the lake was known as Anna Royal Lake, which I must admit is much nicer and less scientific-sounding than its current name.
Up ahead of me, the slope leading to Tenderfoot Pass was still covered by a broad field of snow, with a tinge of red that seemed to lightly coat its surface. The first time I saw this peculiar sight, I assumed it was evidence of a predator killing its prey in the wilderness. But in reality, the color is a far less gruesome natural phenomenon known as “watermelon snow.”
The pink-red watermelon color appears on snow as a result of cold-loving algae, like Chlamydomonas nivalis. The algae spores go dormant in the snow during the winter, but as the snow melts, the sunlight and UV trigger the algae to begin blooming and produce this red pigment to protect themselves from the sun during the summer months.
Imnaha
After crossing over Tenderfoot Pass, I silently applauded myself for remembering to pack a sun hoodie for this trek. I was above most of the trees now, and the sun’s intensity seemed to be beating down on me.
I passed another unreadable sign for the North Fork Imnaha Trail, which stretched south along a lower river valley below Mount Nebo and the Imnaha Divide. I was now bumping up against a local ingenious history of the Wallowas, with names that weren’t as familiar as the ones I’d grown up around in the western part of the state – like Multnomah, Clackamas, or Umpqua.
The word Imnaha was first recorded in 1814, when William Clark (of the Lewis & Clark exploratory duo) wrote the name down in his journal. Imna is purportedly the name of a Wallowa leader, and it was customary to use the sound ha after a name to indicate the territory that a particular chief controlled. Thus, the name Imnaha was meant to refer to the land that Imna protected.
Around 9:30 am, I finally saw my first fellow hiker as I continued toward the ascent to Polaris Pass. Thus far, it seemed as if I had the trails and wilderness area to myself. I hadn’t seen a soul since I departed Aneroid Lake. But now, I could make out the silhouette of a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a backpack as he crested one of the slopes above me.
As I continued up the trail, I was able to close the distance between us until I saw him stop on the trail. He hadn’t halted to take in the views or capture the sights with his camera. Instead, he seemed to be talking to another hiker, who was gesturing animatedly and pointing down the slope near a section of the trail that had been washed out.
I caught up to the duo while the man in the hat was still standing on the trail, and that’s when I could see the issue. Two deep troughs cut through the trail ahead of us. The erosion only removed about 20 feet of trail total. But the two ruts were at least 8 feet deep, with a sharp vertical drop.
SAR Is On the WAy
As I approached the duo, I overheard the woman caution him to exercise extreme caution when crossing the washed-out trail. She was part of a group of five hikers who’d made their way across the gap, but not without injury. Some of the group scrambled down the deep troughs, but getting back up to the trail was almost impossible because the dirt was so chalky and crumbly that it seemed to disintegrate right under you.
Meanwhile, one of the women in their party decided to go off-trail to detour around the wash-out, but that only led to her falling down the slope. She busted open her head, and the wound was so deep that they’d just called search and rescue (SAR) to assist in getting her off the trail and to a hospital.
With this warning in mind, I carefully surveyed the obstacle before carefully picking my route down into the first trough and heading downhill toward the safest-looking place to cross. The man in the hat (who introduced himself as John) followed me as we slowly scrambled our way to safety on the opposite slope.
When I climbed back uphill toward the injured woman, I could see that her friends had already done some basic first aid to stop the heavy bleeding from her head wound. Nevertheless, I asked if they needed any help. Perhaps I could put my Wilderness First Responder training to use.
Shannon (the injured woman) and her friends eagerly agreed to my offer. Two of them worked in a hospital, but they insisted that neither of them had any medical training. One was an accountant and the other was in hospital administration.
I gave Shannon a once-over to assess her injuries. She had plenty of superficial cuts on her palms and knees, but she was conscious, fully alert, and oriented. That was a good sign. Her primary concern now was whether she had injured her eye in the fall. As she told me this, I had to actively stop her from trying to peel the bandage off to show me the wound.
Shannon’s friends did a great job. They sat her upright under the shade of the sole tree around us, and they had a sleeping bag out to keep her warm. Someone had dressed her head wound with enough pressure that the bleeding seemed under control. And they’d already called 911 (which sent their call to Boise, Idaho, before the 911 operator transferred them to the Wallowa County Sheriff’s Office to launch a SAR recovery).
Honestly, there wasn’t much for me to do other than to prepare them for the next steps (lots of waiting) and instruct them on how to prepare and mark a nearby landing zone when the helicopter arrived.
Nevertheless, they all seemed extremely grateful that someone with a little knowledge of wilderness medicine was able to reassure them all that they were doing everything right. After 10 minutes, I bid them all goodbye and wished Shannon luck as I returned to the trail. I suspect I’d hear a helicopter flying overhead sometime in the next hour or two to get her.
Polaris Pass
As I left Shannon and her group behind, I was grateful to have my Garmin InReach Mini with me. They didn’t need any help with their rescue, but at least I knew I had a resource if I fell and suffered a similar injury to Shannon. That’s one of the biggest risks of being a solo hiker. I wouldn’t have four friends with first aid kits to take care of me in a pinch.
During the remainder of the climb up to Polaris Pass, I followed John up the gentle switchbacks and took in the views. Once at the top of the pass, it was like two different worlds unfolding before us. The side we’d hiked up was green and lush, while the opposite side had gnarly snow-covered peaks. What a beautiful resting spot for a snack at 8,000 feet of elevation.
So many switchbacks
The remainder of the route up to Polaris Pass was very well-maintained and hiker-friendly, but everything on the opposite side of the pass was a different story. Instead of a dirt path back down, the descent back toward the next valley was covered with loose rock and scree.
Ugh! This is my least favorite surface to hike on, and the slope was steep and loose enough that I felt as if I needed 100% of my focus. One misstep and I’d be sliding downhill with no way to stop.
Once I got below the upper slope of rocks, though, the trail transitioned back to green grass, and I gave a deep sigh of relief. I’d navigated the rocks without injury and was back on good trail again.
Unfortunately, the mental challenge of the descent was not yet over. The remaining 4.5 miles of the trail toward the river valley were a mind-numbing series of switchbacks. It reminded me of the “99 switchbacks” route on Mount Whitney, only these switchbacks were much longer between the turns, so they felt as if they were endless.
Nevertheless, I was glad I’d chosen to hike this circuit into the Wallowas in a clockwise direction. Hiking up to Polaris Pass this morning felt like a breeze compared to what hikers heading in the other direction had to endure with these switchbacks and rocks.
As I continued to descend, my stomach began to grumble, and I started to look for somewhere suitable to stop for lunch. By now, I was to the point of the trail where wildflowers grew as high as my knees, and almost the entire trail was exposed to the sun.
Eventually, I found a spot of trail with an evergreen tree with broad enough boughs that I could tuck myself into the shade for a bit of a rest. After dropping my pack and digging my food back out for lunch, I laid my tent’s still-wet rain fly out on the slopes beside the trail and leaned back to take in the views!
West Fork Wallowa River
After a leisurely lunch, I returned to the remainder of the switchbacks and noticed that the sun seemed to feel even warmer and more intense than ever. I didn’t know if it was the drop in elevation or whether it was just an unseasonably warm day. Either way, it was turning into a hot afternoon.
Somewhere around mile 9.5, the Polaris Trail finally merged with the West Fork Wallowa Trail and then the Glacier Trail, which would take me to today’s destination at Glacier Lake.
When the trail crossed the river, there was no bridge or logs to use to keep my feet dry. But I didn’t mind fording the creek in calf-deep water. The cold creek felt so delightful on this hot afternoon, and I didn’t even bother taking off my shoes. It was warm enough today that they would undoubtedly dry out as I hiked.
Up ahead, the trail paralleled the cascading river, and a snow drift still clung to the rocky slopes above the water. This formed a snow bridge that I’d have to skirt the edges of on my ascent toward Frazier Lake.
The trail became rockier as it climbed toward Frazier Lake, and I kept my eyes peeled for signs of John. During our break on Polaris Pass, he said this lake was his intended destination for the evening. I never did see him, and there didn’t look like any established campsites at the end of the lake. It looked a bit marshy for my taste.
Glacier Lake was only two miles beyond Frazier Lake, but these final miles were my slowest of the day. The trail was in good condition and was only climbing at a modest rate. Yet, the mid-afternoon sun felt brutal as it pounded down on the top of my head.
It was probably only mid-80s, but the sun seemed to be reflecting off every one of the gray granite rocks and amplifying the temperature. I knew my face was getting sunburned as I trod uphill, yet I didn’t seem to have any energy even to reapply sunscreen during the final hike up to Glacier Lake. The Wallowas were kicking my butt today.
Glacier Lake
Once I finally crested the turn toward Glacier Lake, though, all my energy seemed to return. The views were so stunning, I could hardly believe my eyes.
There were plenty of established sites here, and plenty of hikers already set up too. I saw John setting up his tent under the shade of a tree, so I guess he pushed past Frazier Lake, and I had to agree with his choice. Compared to the swampy look of the lower lake, this was paradise.
The only downside to camping at Glacier Lake was that the mosquitoes were out in full force when I arrived. I’d avoided them at Aneroid Lake yesterday, but they definitely found me at Glacier Lake.
Even though there seemed to be a lot of other hikers up at this alpine lake, I had no problem finding myself a fantastic spot on a ledge above the lake with unreal views.
As I lay inside my tent, protected from the mosquitoes, I pulled out my paper map to make my plan for tomorrow. I was hoping to get up early to make it over Glacier Pass and then detour over to Eagle Cap, which is the highest point in Union County.
There are three county high points located in the Wallowa Mountains, but this was the only one that sat on my 42-mile loop. I’d have to save Sacajawea Peak (the Wallowa CoHP) and Red Mountain (the Baker CoHP) for a later trip.
I also spent a minute or two reviewing today’s stats while I was at it. I thought today’s leg of my trip was going to be pretty easy with just 13.7 miles of hiking. But I’d completely discounted the 4,000 feet of vertical gain and 3,500 feet of vertical loss. It’s never an “easy” day when you have 7,500 feet of vertical to contend with! But at least the scenery was fantastic.
Suprise dinner guests
I emerged from my tent a bit before dusk to fight the mosquitoes long enough to filter water and cook dinner. Tonight was going to be another standard refried beans dinner, and I was staring at the lake views, waiting for everything to rehydrate, when I heard a noise near my tent.
I turned around to see if someone was walking toward me, and that’s when I got the biggest surprise ever! A white furry mountain goat was picking its way among the rocks near my tent!
I really hoped to see some mountain goats during this trek. It’s one of the reasons I planned to camp at Glacier Lake this evening. Glacier Lake and Ice Lake are the two alpine lakes in the Wallowas where the goats seem to like wandering.
An hour later, a new group of goats with a baby made their way around the lake over toward my tent. Wow! There were a lot of goats out now that the hour was getting toward dusk. This was clearly their “active” time of the day.
This second visit prompted me to hang my Ursack as high in a tree to avoid any losses to nosy thieves overnight. It would really suck to finish this trip with no food because the goats got to my food cache.
SUNSET VIEWS
Even though I didn’t think this memorable campsite at Glacier Lake could get any better, there was still one more surprise in store before bedtime.
The sunset’s reflection on the lake and a nearly full moon rising in the night sky were something I will never forget. The Wallowas really are a magical place. All those stupid switchbacks were worth a hassle, for sure!
Highlights
- The views from the top of Polaris Pass were so different and unique based on which valley I was looking toward, and something I wasn’t expecting.
- Having the mountain goats come visit at Glacier Lake was my fauna highlight of this trip
- Glacier Lake’s sunset might be my most memorable sunset of the entire year.
Challenges
- Encountering the washed-out trail and Shannon (the injured hiker) on my way up to Polaris Pass reminded me that safety is not something to take lightly. A small fall can have hug impact.
- The gazillion switchbacks were so frustrating. I felt as if I was barely making any progress during that long descent.
- This afternoon’s brutal sun was surprising. I’d come out here mentally prepared for cold, not heat.