Trip Overview

Permits & Passes

We reserve our wilderness permit in advance through recreation.gov. (Olympic NP requires permits for all overnight backcountry trips.) Olympic NP is different from Rainier in that you don’t have to pick up your wilderness permits in-person; you can simply print at home, throw it in a ziploc, and carry it along.

You also need a park entrance pass. We use the America the Beautiful Pass, which covers entry to all national parks for a year.

Bear canisters are required for food storage in Olympic National Park. You can borrow one for free at the Wilderness Information Center or bring your own. We bring a “bear vault” model suitable for two people and two nights.

Packing & Planning

We use the same packing list as last weekend, covering shared gear (tent, stove, bear canister), personal items, and a few fun extras. Feel free to use it as a reference:

Route Map

Here’s our planned route on Gaia GPS:

Our Itinerary

Friday, October 3rd

• We leave Seattle late morning, catch the ferry, and drive to Sol Duc trailhead
• We hike less than 2 miles to Canyon Creek campsite (#1)
• We set up camp and relax

Saturday, October 4th

• We hike about 6 miles to Lunch Lake
• We set up camp at Lunch Lake
• We explore the area, enjoy the scenery, and chill

Sunday, October 5th

• We hike back down to the car at Sol Duc trailhead
• We head home—stop for a fun road meal
• We go home and coodle our cats 🐱

Safety & Communication

We share our itinerary with family and have a plan in place:

• If we don’t return by Sunday night, a family member scrambles the jets
• Permits are secured
• We bring a bear canister and follow food storage guidelines
• Emergency contacts are set

Deets & Pics

The plan is to spend two nights (October 3–5, 2025) in the “Seven Lakes Basin” backcountry, starting at the Sol Duc trailhead. The Prius takes a scenic ferry ride with us from Seattle to Bainbridge Island en route to Olympic National Park (which happens to be unstaffed due to the federal government shutdown). This is a good moment for Catherine to wrap up the workweek over some nautical hot cocoa:

Our first night is at Canyon Creek campsite, less than two miles from the trailhead. We pass Sol Duc Falls and gobs of exotic/enormous mushrooms along the way:

Camp is damp and sprinkly Friday night—the infamous Pacific Northwest “spit” that seeps into everything. We’re grateful for campsite #1, as #2 sits much higher up the hill. Canyon Creek itself sounds like the inside of my meditation app: that perfect white noise of water over rocks, the kind that makes your shoulders drop and your mind go quiet.

I put up the door flap on the Big Agnes tent with the aid of some trekking poles and guyline to give us a little semi-outdoor vestibule:

Friday night, Catherine enjoys her new sleeping quilt; it’s less restrictive and just as warm as her Western Mountaineering sleeping bag.

We fall asleep to Canyon Creek’s lullaby.

We wake up to this guy crawling up the side of the tent:

Banana slugs remind me of the Santa Cruz Mountains and Big Basin, where my family brought me to car-camp in little tent cabins as a kid.

Saturday is our “athletic” day—6+ miles of mostly uphill to Lunch Lake. The park begins revealing its true splendor as we climb above the “ok-to-have-a-campfire” altitude line. The air gets crisper, the views more expansive.

It is of course impossible not to miss our cats and unwillingly superimpose the image of their furry faces over every scenic vista. But they’ve got their robotic feeder / water fountain / fresh litter box for company.

It’s like those Santa Cruz Mountains from back home, but on steroids. Same Pacific Coast, just…much closer to Canada.

A buck nonchalantly greets us on the banks of Lunch Lake:

Saturday dinner at dusk transforms Lunch Lake into something magical. We rehydrate powdered mashed potatoes and mix in dried pulled pork—chef’s kiss. The lake mirrors the sky perfectly, glassy and still. Then the moon rises: 94% full, enormous, painting silver ripples across the water. As we clean up, fog begins rolling in like a slow-motion wave. In this moment, every ounce of packs-on hiking effort feels worth it.

Sunday morning = aeropresses at Lunch Lake, the Eastern Cascades stretching resplendent before us.

The wind is powerful Sunday morning, so we break camp quickly to begin our descent. The miles go significantly faster with gravity on our side now. Along the way we encounter some even-more-exotic mushrooms:

We’re idly chatting when a black bear materializes just off the trail to our left:

Twenty feet away, maybe less. We freeze mid-sentence. The bear keeps foraging, completely unfazed—a neighbor tending its wild garden. Olympic’s black bears are small and intent on their berries, paying us no mind. Still, my heart pounds.

Some hikers carry bear bells—their jingling echoes through the forest. I should get some. I bought bear spray before this trip but left it behind; Olympic has “not recorded a single bear attack in the history of the park” per their FAQs. I’ll probably return it.

Looking Back & Forward

Here’s last weekend’s trip report if you missed it.

A Note on Stewardship

This trip happened during a federal government shutdown, which meant Olympic National Park was unstaffed. No rangers at the entrance station, no visitor center operations, no interpretive programs. Yet the park remained open, accessible, and breathtakingly beautiful.

It’s a reminder that these places exist beyond politics—beyond the dysfunction that too often defines our government. The Seven Lakes Basin doesn’t care about budget negotiations or partisan gridlock. The bears keep harvesting berries, the fog keeps rolling in over Lunch Lake, and the trails remain open to anyone willing to put in the miles.

But here’s the thing: these places need our protection. They need funding for trail maintenance, wildlife research, and visitor education. They need advocates who understand that public lands aren’t just recreation—they’re our shared inheritance, our connection to something larger than ourselves.

Every time we visit a national park, we’re voting with our feet. We’re saying these places matter. We’re investing in the idea that some things should remain wild, untamed, and accessible to everyone. Even when the government isn’t functioning, the land endures. And so must our commitment to protecting it.

So get out there. Apply for those permits, pack your bear canister, and go see what’s waiting for you in the backcountry. Leave no trace.