Throughout my life, I have gone on dozens of solo trips into the woods and the wilderness—from bikepacking 100s of miles in Idaho, hiking through much of the Bob Marshall Wilderness, and roughing it in the backwoods of Montana. I have been taking trips like these since my teens, and I welcomed the challenge of being alone and self-reliant.
Backpacking the Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness
Like any skill, backpacking is always a work in progress, a never-ending honing of the brain and body. This became even more apparent for me during a trip in the fall of 2025, when I went on a single-night backpacking trip in the Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness. This roughly 62,000-acre Wilderness area in the northwestern Cascades of Oregon is filled with dense forests, steep canyons, and dormant volcanoes. It was unique from my usual haunts in that it is relatively well-traveled, being only 50 miles southeast of Portland, Oregon. I hiked part of the Salmon River Trail, which is particularly popular due to a beginner-friendly 2.5 mile start. I embarked on this trip thinking it would be an uneventful and relaxing night spent in nature. However, I would quickly realize the limitations of my supplies and my body.
The trail is indeed well-traveled—cleared of debris, brushed well on either side, and hard-packed. It starts as a gentle meander into the Wilderness along the Salmon River. The river babbles and crashes over large basalt blocks as red-tailed hawks and eagles float overhead on the warm canyon updrafts. The bushes and saplings along the trail are alive with Juncos and Siskins, who chirp and trill their shrill songs at me as I amble by. Ravens croak from the shadows of the tree canopy above. Amongst this panoply of nature’s song I continue to climb along the canyon wall, side-stepping every once and a while to let fellow travelers pass on their way back to the parking lot. I go around a small bend, and as I scramble down a small basalt outcrop in the trail, I see an older man sitting on the ground. He’s holding an old sock to his head, and blood flows freely from the wound there and into his eye. Every time he blinks, dark crimson blood splatters the basalt and dust below. Next to him stands a woman. I estimate she’s in her forties, and the look on her face and age difference tell me she’s likely the man’s daughter.
“Do you have a first-aid kit?”
I take my eyes off the blood soaked sock her father is holding and look in her eyes.
“Of course.”
I take off my pack and set it down, quickly grabbing the little yellow first-aid pouch I keep in the webbing on the outside of my pack. I’ve learned from experience to keep my kit somewhere I can get to it quick. I start unpacking the kit and get the story from the daughter. Her dad slipped on the basalt outcrop I had just scrambled down, and fell face-first onto the cobbles below. He’s wearing slacks, a leather belt, and non-slip black sneakers which are devoid of tread. Needless to say, her story doesn’t surprise me.
Thinking back to the wilderness first-aid course I took two years prior, I ask the the man if he lost consciousness or felt any nausea. It’s a no to both, and the man seems calm and alert. That was good. I tell him to remove the sock, and blood begins to flow much more freely from the quarter-sized gash on his forehead. He smiles sheepishly at me as if to apologize for the mess.
“I’m on blood thinners.”
As I’m about to apply pressure to the wound, I realize I don’t have any gloves, and I probably shouldn’t be touching a stranger’s blood with my perennially scraped up hands. I have him apply gauze to the wound and get the daughter’s help to secure it with a bandage. She asks me if I know where the nearest emergency room is, and I don’t, but I tell her that we’re close to town and even closer to cell coverage. Her dad seems in pretty good shape considering the fall he took, and we’re less than 20 minutes from the trailhead. I help her get him to his feet, and tell them to take it slow on the way back down. The man reaches into his pocket and, like many men from his generation, tries to hand me money to repay for my help. I firmly refuse, and watch them hike in the direction I had just come from until they turn the corner and are out of site. At my feet, the blood has already soaked into the dust and igneous rock. I turn south and continue deeper into the forest.
It’s another 5 or so miles until the fork in the trail I’ve been expecting. I plop down on a bed of pine needles to rest before I embark on the last uphill section to my camp for the night. As I eat my nuts and rehydrate, I watch a small chipmunk on pine tree three feet from me. It scurries down the trunk to look me directly in the eyes, chirps loudly, and twitches its tail in annoyance before running back to the safety of the branches above. It repeats this dance several times, kicking scraps of bark at me as it retreats.
“Alright alright alright.”
I get up and head west to the more rugged section of the Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness and most grueling part of my hike.
Cramping and Camping
The next two miles climb about 1,600 feet in elevation and have little reprieve in the form of switchbacks. About a mile from camp, my legs begin to cramp, something I haven’t dealt with during hikes. I’ve dealt with them plenty on the bike, but in those situations you can usually coast and shake them out. I push on in a semi-hobbled state, eager to set up camp; but, the trail only gets steeper and more exposed as it pushes out of the canyon toward the ridge above. Half a mile from camp, my legs fail and I let myself fall to the side of the trail. I sit in an awkward L-position, the backpack supporting me. My quadriceps have lost the fluidity with which they usually work, and have instead become thick ropes of tension. I lay there for a while drinking water, eating mango slices, and massaging my legs. Eventually, the ropes in my legs regain some of their elasticity, and I am able to hobble toward camp. I run into further issues though, as the trail in reality does not match the trail pictured on my map. There is an unmarked fork in the trail that seems to be the correct way, but I’m not sure. I explore one direction of the fork for a few thousand feet and realize it won’t take me to camp, and I am forced to backtrack in the correct direction through a confusing maze of crisscrossing paths. In the end, I find my way to camp, but not before adding an additional half mile to my weary legs.
The rest of the evening is uneventful. The Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness is peaceful and full of wildlife. There is not another human in sight, and my muscles recuperate once they’ve had dinner and a good nights rest. I continue along a ridge line in the morning, every bit of elevation threatening to cramp my legs again. In the end, I make it back to the parking lot in relatively good shape. As I drive north back home to Portland, I reflect about what happened on the trail, and how much worse it could have been. The old man I helped could have had serious head trauma, been unconscious, or unable to move. I didn’t even know where the nearest emergency room was, let alone having enough supplies to stop a larger bleed. While the cramps I experienced were unlikely to lead to serious problems, they indicated an underlying issue with my hydration and electrolyte balance. The unsteady walk I had due to the cramping could have also led to a sprained ankle or nasty fall. Being several miles of rough terrain from the car, these circumstances could have quickly become more dire.
Throughout my adolescence and young adulthood, I have always depended on my luck. Likewise, my luck has remained faithful to me. I’ve been lost, crashed dirt bikes, run into grizzly and bull moose, and drunk bad water. Every time, I made it out unscathed and with a good story to tell. As I get older, I feel my luck starting to wear thin. Although my trip to the Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness went well and was far from my worst trip, I felt for the first time that I was unprepared for the events that unfolded. In an effort to learn from my mistakes and share those lessons with you, I’ve compiled some considerations for your next backpacking trip below.
Know Your Route
On my way toward camp after helping the old man with a head wound, I shook my head and thought about all of the things he had done wrong. Sure, accidents can happen to anyone, but they happen a lot less when you correctly prepare. The old cliché that knowledge is power particularly applies in remote environments. If the man and his daughter had stopped to evaluate the route they were about to hike, they would have hopefully made different choices.
The first and most important thing to know is the route and area you are going into. What is the terrain like—is it steep, flat, or undulating? What type of surface is the trail—sand, gravel, or hard-packed dirt? The Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness is a rugged swath of land, and although the Salmon River Trail is considered beginner friendly, several sections of the trail feature basalt outcrops worn smooth by countless hikers. Had the man and his daughter known this, I doubt the man would have been out there wearing treadless tennis shoes.
Before going on a trip, especially one where I only have myself to rely on, I meticulously plan my route using official US Forest Service (USFS) or Geological Survey (USGS) maps. You can download geo-referenced pdfs from official government websites onto your phone or other device and access them using a number of apps. I prefer Avenza and have been using it for years. I was glad to have a geo-referenced map specific to the Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness on this trip, because it allowed me to still find my way to camp despite the trail being badly marked and obscured by side paths. However, I could have planned better myself, and then I would have known where the nearest emergency room was.
What kind of plants and animals are you likely to encounter? What threats do the flora or fauna present? It is important to check official sources for updates in your specific area. The USFS website will list road closures, landslides, wildfire status, and more for forests within their jurisdiction. For instance, I learned a woman was killed by a cougar in the Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness in 2018 on the same trail I used to hike out the next day. This is why I always carry bear spray whether I’m in “bear country” or not. It can deter big cats, unleashed dogs, and violent humans. In all, researching the conditions of your trail allow you to prepare against getting lost, having incorrect gear, or doing hikes beyond your physical capabilities.
Know Your Gear
Know the limitations of your gear, and how to use it. Now, I could write an entire article on this alone, but the important points are to match your gear to the activity and expected circumstances. If you are going to be clambering over slick rock, wear shoes with excellent grip and pants that allow a full range of motion. If you’ll be making frequent water crossings, a pair of sandals or waterproof boots and a solid walking stick are a must. In addition, everyone should carry a first-aid kit anytime they are hiking, regardless of where the trail is or what condition it’s in. Most kits sold in outdoor sporting stores will have what you need, but feel free to add anything else that is specific to medical conditions you may have (like extra prescription medicine) or hazards you expect to encounter. I know I will be packing nitrile gloves in my kit from now on, in the event that I have to come into contact with someone else’s bodily fluids again.
Of course, a first-aid kit is useless if it doesn’t have what you need or you don’t know how to use it. If you spend a lot of time outdoors, I recommend taking a Wilderness First-Aid course. For occasional recreationists, go through the items in your kit and watch some videos on how to treat the most common injuries, such as heat/cold stress, sprained ankles, cuts, sunburn, etc. Even having taken a first-aid course, I felt clumsy helping out the man. Like anything, practice makes perfect, and I will be scheduling another hands-on course soon.
The same goes for carrying bear spray. It is an extremely reliable deterrent against a number of threats, but only if you use it correctly. Follow the directions packaged with the canister. I also recommend buying a practice canister, which contain inert materials and allow you to practice drawing, aiming, and spraying without exposing you or others to noxious pepper spray.
Know Your Body
Knowledge of your own body, its peculiarities, and its limits is vital to staying safe. This can be difficult knowledge to acquire, because our bodies are ever-changing, and we often don’t know our limits until we reach them. However, if you have never been hiking, have certain health conditions, or are just generally unfit, it is a better idea to start hiking trails that you think are below your skill level, and gradually move on to longer distances and more technical trails. Even if you are fit, different activities stimulate different muscles, and you may find backpacking more difficult than you anticipated. In my case, I underestimated the trail and overestimated my abilities. In 2025, I mostly did bikepacking trips, and the novelty of backpacking after a hiatus, plus the steepness of Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness terrain, contributed to the muscle cramps. The other mistake was mismanaging my water intake and electrolyte balance. If I had listened to my body and taken more hydration and stretching breaks, I could have avoided the worst of the cramps.
Communication is Key
If all else fails, you need to have a backup plan. This is where communication becomes vital to letting people know how to help you in an emergency. Tell someone you can trust where you will be going, when to expect you back, and what to do if they don’t hear from you in the specified time frame. I put this information down in writing as well, and write down the numbers for the Ranger’s office, search-and-rescue, and local sheriff’s office. I give specific directions that if I’m not heard from by a certain time, to call those numbers. For your part, communicate what you plan to do if you are lost. Stay put, relax, and make it easy for people to find you. I was able to get a cell signal in my section of the Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness, but the use of an SOS device can give additional piece of mind, allowing you to send your location to emergency services if you need help as soon as possible.
The majority of times, backpacking is a fun and safe way to explore the outdoors, relax, and learn about yourself. But even seasoned backpackers make mistakes that can snowball into bigger and more dire issues. It is important to plan accordingly and know what to do in the event of an emergency. My trip into the Salmon-Huckleberry was overall a great experience, but the problems I encountered made me reconsider how prepared I actually was. In the future, I plan to learn from these mistakes, and I hope by sharing what I happened I can help you be more prepared as well.
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