Porkies 2026, Day 5: Back to the Big Carp

Last time: Escape from the mice - or check out all of my backpacking and adventure logs

Mouth of the Big Carp near sunset

Wednesday May 27, 2026: We woke up in our hotel room around 8 am, after only 7 hours of sleep. Nonetheless, we both felt clean, refreshed, and mouse-free. We'd arrived here after midnight last night, after hiking out from the Mirror Lake 4-bunk cabin in the dark, escaping from too-familiar mice.

We swapped some dirty clothes out of our packs, dumped trash, and checked out. Our next stop was not west towards the park. Instead, we headed east to downtown Ontonagon for breakfast -- why eat mush and tea when a big diner breakfast with coffee is waiting just down the road?

We first tried to stop at the "UP North Cafe", but accidentally ended up in a juice bar instead (a juice bar? In Ontonagon??). The cafe turned out to be closed, so our next stop was the one we should have gone with first: Syl's. This turned out to be the right choice, and my breakfast of eggs, potatoes, bacon, toast, and coffee was exactly what I wanted.

The Lovely Sarah, with lovely coffees

Now we were ready to return to the woods. That was our decision in the light of day, with coffee in our tummies. Staying in a hotel was nice, especially since it let us get away from the too-habituated mice of Mirror Lake 4-bunk. But we were here for the backpacking and remote relaxation, and we weren't going to give up now.

We drove almost all the way around the park on South Boundary Road and parked at Pinkerton Creek trailhead. This would be our alternate route in to today's cabin, at the mouth of the Big Carp River. The hot weather had finally broken, with a high in the low 70's today, and we enjoyed the relatively cool air as we picked up our packs and headed out.

Pinkerton Creek trail was as easy as ever, perhaps the easiest backcountry trail in the park (I'm leaving the West River Trail out of that category, since it's largely built up with boardwalks and decks). There was one unbridged "stream" crossing -- really a tiny trickle at this point -- and everything else was bridged, boardwalked, or flattened.

One of my favorite parts of the Pinkerton Creek happens at the point where it comes to the edge of the bluff above the Little Carp River. Here the trail takes a sharp turn to the left, while a bench gives you a chance to sit and enjoy the view out over the river. To the right, a volunteer trail leads... somewhere. Perhaps down to the river (by a long route)? Maybe it's an older routing of the trail? I don't know. But that volunteer trail runs through a collection of beautiful and strangely curvy cedars, all perched precariously at the top of the bluff. They make a striking scene.

Curvy trees on the Little Carp river bluff

The Friends of the Porkies have a visiting artist program: Artists apply to stay in "Dan's Cabin", named after the late great Friends of the Porkies founder and photographer Dan Urbanski. There they can study the park and make art for two weeks. The 2026 Friends of the Porkies newsletter included an image from one of these artists-in-residence, John Dempsey, that showed exactly this location. It was immediately recognizable to me.

(Oddly, the title of the piece is "Juncture of the Pinkerton and Lake Superior Trails" which is not quite this location -- but close. Perhaps just an error? Maybe "close enough"? But seriously -- click the link, find the image, and compare it to the one above. They're the exact same place, right?! I can even match up individual trees in the pictures!)

We sat and enjoyed the overlook and curvy trees for a while, then packed up and headed onward. Soon,  we came to the intersection with the Lake Superior trail, and crossed the spectacular wooden bridge across the Little Carp River. This is another favorite spot on this route, so even though we had already rested just a few tenths of a mile earlier, we stopped here and enjoyed lunch. We sat on the rocks next to one of the many waterfalls and looked for spawning fish, which we had first seen here in May 2021, but never again since.

As we watched, sure enough, there went a fish! It flopped its way up a waterfall, failed to make it, and splashed back down. I couldn't see any fish in the pool above the waterfall. They must have just been starting.

Pinkerton creek (with no fish). I'll show you fish later, I promise.

We packed up (again) and continued east on the Lake Superior trail. It was mostly dry -- not a given on this stretch -- but there were an enormous number of downed trees. Some of these were familiar from previous years, but others were new. Some of the older blowdowns had well-established volunteer trails around them, and now those volunteer trails were covered by their own blowdowns! We had to go over, under, or around each tree, making this otherwise flat mile harder than expected.

Adding to that, the bugs were really starting to show up. So far it seemed to be non-biting houseflies, but they were all over both of us, our clothes, and our packs. The bug nets had finally come off of our hats and over our faces.

After battling the blowdowns, we came to our home for the next two nights (pending any further mouse drama): the Big Carp 4-Bunk. I had stayed here on my 2024 solo trip and loved it, but Sarah had not yet experienced its charms. In fact, she was a bit skeptical -- understandably, because the Lake Superior trail runs right next to its windows. But as soon as she saw the cabin, its many windows and its beautiful setting next to the river, she too fell in love with it.

We opened up the windows to air it out, and also looked for the log book. It was nowhere to be found, even after both Sarah and I searched the entire cabin. Huh.

Trillium along the trail

We sat out front, bug nets engaged, and watched the river flow right past our front yard. Mergansers paddled around in it, playing and finding food as we watched. After enjoying this bucolic scene for a while, we got up and started collecting and cutting up firewood. There was already some wood in the cabin, but with the wonderfully cool temperatures (brought on by a north wind coming right off the lake), we expected to have fires for the next two nights. One of the advantages of backpacking the Porkies in May is that there's an entire winter's worth of down and dry firewood just sitting around. By the time September rolls around, the pickings are mighty slim. We were wildly successful, so much so that we filled up the cabin's "wood room" and left a lot more unprocessed firewood sitting outside.

After all that work, we were ready for dinner. Tonight we had a different plan: We had brought two smaller meals, one for each of us. These were officially "2 person" meals, but their calorie counts were so low that we needed to eat a full one each just to stay well fed. Sarah chose Mountain House Chicken and Dumplings, a known winner. I was excited to try Mountain House Chicken Fried Rice, which looked fantastic. Alas, after all was said and done, it got added to the "Never Again" list in my backpacking notes. A severe disappointment, but at least it was calories.

Next we moved out on the cobble beach near the mouth of the river. We brought our camping chairs and Kindles, ready to sit and relax. The flies found us first, though. The lakeshore seemed to be swarming with houseflies, not biting but absolutely covering our pants. But... ouch! What was that? There did seem to be one or two of the most cursed of UP bugs mixed in: the biting flies (aka stable flies, aka black flies). I got bit once or twice and had to keep waving away all of the flies, which would then immediately settle back down on me. I still managed to get in some good reading time, but I was severely distracted by fly maintenance.

Another interesting tree photo, this one from the Big Carp outhouse. Really.

Once I was tired of dealing with the bugs, we headed inside. As I looked around the cabin, I thought about how we'd just been chased out of the woods by mice, and I didn't want to deal with them at all. There were no obvious holes in the floor, as there had been at Mirror Lake. But more often, mice seem to sneak in through the cracks around the cabins' big wooden doors. At Lily Pond, I had blocked up the door with paddles, which we didn't have here. What could I use instead?

That's how I ended up back out on the beach, collecting flat, sharp-edged rocks and carrying them back up to the cabin. Once we had decided that we were inside for the night, I carefully wedged the sharp edges of the rocks between the door and its frame, stacking additional rocks as needed to form a tight seal. Take that, mice!

Satisfied, I set about making a fire in the woodstove. The already chilly north wind had only gotten colder as the sun set, and we were both ready for a warm fire -- a big difference from the last several days. I sat next to the stove as I nursed the fire, reading a book while I was waiting. It was cozy and peaceful.

We both read far into the night, enjoying the warmth of the fire and secure in the knowledge that our cabin was sealed safely away from both the elements and the mice.

Next time: Rest day on the Big Carp

Miles hiked: 3.5

Total miles: 19.7

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Day 5's route in orange

Porkies 2026, Day 4: Lily Pond to Mirror Lake, and a hotel

Last time: A rest day of hiking at Lily Pond - or check out all of my backpacking and adventure logs

Lily Pond, a little moody

Tuesday May 26, 2026: We slept in "late" -- 8:30 am -- after our night of failed stargazing. The night had been pleasantly cool, but the morning had warmed up enough to promise an even hotter day ahead of us.

Today we would leave Lily Pond and head just a few short miles to Mirror Lake. Over oatmeal and tea, I filled one of the last pages in the log book. I was responding to a weird collection of recent entries, all very proudly giving bad advice. My (correct!) advice included:

• Keep food inside the cabin -- don't hang a bear bag! (What do you think all those walls are for?!)
• You can keep wood inside the cabin, too -- there's a whole section of each cabin called the "wood room" for that exact purpose! (I never did figure out what those folks thought was bad about bringing in firewood.)
• Filter all water, even from the legendary spring across the lake (the log book was filled with stories of people trying to find it -- and some had even succeeded -- but many expected it to be filter-free).

Not wanting to arrive at Mirror Lake too early, we read and lazed around until noon. After that we packed up and headed out on a remarkably flat and easy (by Porkies standards) section of the Little Carp River trail, covering the last 2-ish miles to Mirror Lake. The trail was only mildly muddy, and that was firming up from the warm and dry weather.

Along the way, I kept my eye out to my left -- west -- for those high points I'd noticed yesterday. In my copy of Jim Dufresne's Porkies trail guide (I have an older 3rd edition), I recalled reading about a trail heading up to a lookout point on one of these "mountains". For several trips, I'd kept an eye out for such a trail, but never noticed so much as a game trail in that direction.

As I was keeping my eye out, an enormous roaring sound came over us. It sounded like a jet, flying low and fast from the southwest. Then another one, from the same direction, and a few seconds later a third, from the northwest. They were so loud that I dropped my hiking poles and covered my ears, while frantically trying to see anything up in the tree-blocked sky. Then just a few seconds later, everything was silent again. The memory of the jets rang in our ears.

Sarah and I looked at each other with confusion. What had just happened?! The thought of fighter jets scrambling overhead cast a pall over the rest of our hike: Why were they needed?

A few hours later, we found a story about a similar event from last year in the Mirror Lake 4-Bunk cabin's log book. That helped me feel a bit better -- at least this wasn't unprecedented. Several day later, in a hotel room, we searched and found a number of other stories of similar events from across the years. Apparently there's a lot of unrestricted air space across the UP and northern Wisconsin, making it a good place for fighter jet training exercises. I had never encountered such a thing before.

Mirror Lake 4-bunk

We continued onward, and soon enough found our way to the Mirror Lake 4-Bunk cabin. This is a true old-fashioned log cabin, backing up against one of the Porkies "mountains" and fronting on the lake. On my last visit I thought the cabin felt dark and shaded. This year, in spring, it felt much more exposed, with a brighter and more pleasant interior.

We got unpacked and then set up our camp chairs down near the lake. As we sat down to read, we could hear campers at the South Mirror Lake sites loudly talking with each other, all in a similar style to the backpackers from yesterday on Summit Peak. Sarah looked at me and said "There sure are a lot of bros in the woods."

On the upside, there was also a loon somewhere out there on Mirror Lake, and it soon started making its haunting call over and over. I can never get enough of loon calls (or loons themselves -- they're gorgeous!), so I sat back and soaked it up, relaxing from the hike and the shock of the fighter jets.

But, as you may have gathered, sitting in one place for a long time is not one of my strengths. Soon enough, I got the itch to get moving again. My target was those high points along the end of the Little Carp River trail. I packed up a light daypack, turned on my GPS, and headed back down the trail -- and then, as soon as I saw the hills rising up above me, I headed off-trail.

An important disclaimer: I have a long history of bushwhacking through the Copper Country. It's something I've always loved to do, not least because there are so many abandoned mines and long-forgotten sites scattered about the countryside. So a quick disclaimer: This is a story about doing something where I have years of experience and took lots of precautions (including a GPS, a manual compass, a map, basic survival equipment, and a lot of knowledge). It's easy to get seriously lost even a little distance off trail -- don't try this on your own!

This was relatively easy as far as Copper Country bushwhacking goes. For one thing, there wasn't much brush this early in the year. Many parts of the hills were totally clear under the dense shade of huge stands of ancient hemlocks. The terrain itself was steep uphill, of course, but that's just to be expected. I first skirted around the base of one hill, hiking beneath vertical walls of bedrock. At the base of one of them -- could it be? -- it sure looked like the remnants of a mine exploration. Or maybe it was just the rock cracking through millions of years of freeze-thaw cycles, I couldn't be sure. On the off chance that it was a bear's den, I decided not to poke my nose in too close.

"View" from the western hill, looking towards Correction Line

Next I bushwhacked to the top of the eastern hill, finding exactly no viewpoints -- not even something that might have once been an overlook -- and no hints of old trails either. The upper reaches were densely shaded by hemlocks, except for a thicket of young maples where a fallen tree had opened some daylight. Neither left any chance of a view over Mirror Lake. I came down on a saddle between the two hills and followed a razorback ridge leading up towards the top of the western hill. This hill was more deciduous, with some leaves not yet unfurled, which left a tiny sliver of a view. I could see late afternoon sunlight hitting the tops of another line of hills... wait, I thought I was supposed to be seeing Mirror Lake? That's when I realized I was looking north, to the high hills along the end of the Correction Line trail. It was a lovely glimpse (and I bet those hills would be fun to climb, too!), but not what I was looking for. I slowly made my way back down, following a tiny stream, thought I caught a glimpse of an old mining road, discovered that I was seeing nothing at all, and finally found my way back to the Little Carp River trail.

Approximate route - bushwhacking in red

I must admit that while I was just now reviewing the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park guidebook description for the first time in many years, I discovered that all that Jim actually says is "The trail then rounds the base of a 1,600-foot high rocky knob that hikers can scramble up for a view of the Mirror Lake area." I suppose I technically found that. Was there a mention of an old trail in earlier editions? Who knows!

Although not exactly what I expected, I did thoroughly scratch my old bushwhacking itch. I also got enormously sweaty. The weather had warmed up, and bushwhacking is hard work! About 1 mile of my 2 mile hike had been entirely off trail.

I was also reminded that, as much as I love my lightweight trail running shoes for backpacking, they are not good for bushwhacking. That calls for traditional hiking boots, with stiffer soles and thicker sides.

Back at the cabin, feeling sweaty, tired, and refreshed at the same time, I took a shower with our solar shower. I washed my face and my feet, got thoroughly wet, and also felt thoroughly better. To dry off, I took a short walk around the cabin area and enjoyed the slow start of the sunset over Mirror Lake.

Mirror Lake near sunset

And now the story gets weird.

Next it was dinner time, which was Peak Refuel Chicken Pesto Pasta, which was merely OK. Shortly after dinner, around 9 pm, I was standing at the cabin's counter, cleaning up the water pot and moving things back into the mouse-proof cupboards. As I did, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned and looked and saw two shiny eyes looking up at me from a crack behind the countertop. Yep: a mouse.

Then things got weirder. The little critter, almost vibrating in my headlamp light, ran out onto the countertop and just stood there, looking at me. I waved at it, and it moved back about one step. I shouted at it, and it scurried back behind the counter, but kept looking out. Was it vibrating with fear... or in anticipation of the goodies that humans bring with them?

By this time Sarah was up and looking at it too, clearly not excited about this too-bold, clearly-habituated-to-humans mouse. I checked around and found one of the omnipresent mouse traps left in these cabins. Using a small bit of a peanut-butter rice cake, I carefully baited and set the trap and put it on the counter. The mouse made a beeline for the trap, sniffed, and then... showed that it knew exactly how to get food off of a trap without setting it off. It sat there, eating its treat, and staring directly at me.

That's when the second mouse appeared. It crawled out from behind the counter and scurried right up to the trap, also sniffing and looking for a treat.

I looked underneath the counter and saw a surprisingly large hole chewed right through the floorboards. This was clearly where the mice were coming in. I went outside and found a chunk of cinderblock used in some previous construction and used it to cover the hole. But it was too late: The two mice were here, they were smarter than the traps, and they definitely weren't going away.

Sarah and I held a council of war, with the enemy watching us from their perch on the counter. We could keep fighting the mice, but it didn't look likely to succeed (and who knew how many other ways they had of getting in). Neither of us enjoyed the prospect of a night filled with mice pattering around and most likely investigating us in our bunks. Plus, I could already tell that I wouldn't be sleeping at all.

So we decided to leave. Call us wimps if you want, but we're well past proving that we are badasses (or even OK-asses). There was no way we were going to be comfortable in the cabin, and we had a way out, so we took it. The car was just a few miles away at the top of Summit Peak, conveniently relocated during yesterday's hike.

We packed quickly by headlamp light, undoing all of the work we'd done just a few hours ago. We were ready to go by 10 pm, with bug nets and headlamps on our heads. 

The almost-full moon guided us as we headed to the South Mirror Lake trail, the shortest route to Summit Peak. The trail, which had been widened into a small road to aid construction in 2021, was a wide, rocky, and muddy mess, one that I will not voluntarily choose to hike again if I can avoid it. Near the SML campsites, we noticed a pile of telephone poles, probably hauled in along this very road, probably to replace the quickly decaying bridge over Mirror Lake's outlet into the Little Carp River.

As we briskly hiked in the dark, we kept up a constant patter of conversation -- partly to keep us awake (although adrenaline was helping with that), partly to alert bears to our presence. We talked about plans and options -- where would we go? The closest hotel was an AmericInn in Silver City, which seemed like a good first choice. Would we come back into the woods tomorrow, or just cut the trip short entirely? We decided not to decide until we had a night's sleep behind us. 

After what felt like a ridiculously long amount of time, we huffed our way up a long hill and stopped for a water break just below the top. Sarah wondered out loud how long we had to go before we could turn up toward Summit Peak. I checked our location on my phone-GPS and saw that were were just a few feet away from the turnoff to the Summit Peak side trail. Sure enough, just at the top of the hill, we found signs pointing us towards Summit Peak and its lookout tower.

The Summit Peak side trail starts quite flat and wide, but eventually turns into a steep and rocky climb. This trail really began to wear on us, but we pushed on, knowing that we were within a fraction of a mile from the top.

We finally reached the top at 11:30 pm, 1.5 hours and 2.7 miles after we had left the cabin. It felt like much more. But it also felt like a real accomplishment -- I've done some night hiking before, but definitely never night-backpacking.

We got in the car and drove to the Silver City AmericInn, where the parking lot appeared to be completely full. Nonetheless, the night receptionist found a room for us... slowly and deliberately... but we were in a clean and comfortable room by 12:30 am. I was pleasantly surprised: As basically the only hotel for miles and miles, the AmericInn could have been a lot more expensive and a lot less nice, but it was in fact quite reasonable on both counts.

We each took a shower, and were in bed by 1 am.

Next time: Our heroes return to conquer the wilderness, but not until they have a nice breakfast

Miles hiked: 6.9, including 2 miles of bushwhacking

Total miles: 16.2

If you liked this post, check out this list of all of my backpacking blog posts.

Day 4's route in teal, not including bushwhacking

Porkies 2026, Days 2 & 3: Section 17 to Lily Pond, and a "rest" day

Last time: Lots of mousetraps - or check out all of my backpacking and adventure logs

An unnamed waterfall on the Little Carp

Sunday May 24, 2026: I slept heavily but only in spurts, waking up every few hours and then rolling over into intense dream-filled sleep.

When I finally woke up for good, it was to a sunny and warmer day. The rain had cleared out, but the world still looked wet.

Inside, I found the mouse trap that had gone off last night, along with its unfortunate occupant. I carefully took it outside and threw the poor mouse deep into the woods.

We had our usual breakfast of oatmeal and tea. Today's hike wasn't going to be too long, so we decided to make it a leisurely morning in the cabin. We leaned into that leisure by playing a game of Clue, conveniently left in the cabin by some previous occupants. It quickly became clear why the box says "3 or more players" -- not 2 -- but it was still a fun experience (it was Mrs. White in the Library with the lead pipe -- I won, just a turn ahead of Sarah).

To waste a little more time, I did something else I've always meant to do: I climbed the Big Hill. The landscape along this section of the Little Carp River rises in distinct levels, each one an incredibly steep hillside topped by a remarkably flat terrace. Section 17 cabin sits on one such terrace, and another just behind the cabin rises a few dozen feet above it. Behind that is the big hill, which rises 40 or 50 feet, and above which I'd never climbed. So I did. I took hiking poles and struggled my way up the seriously steep hillside -- so steep that I dared not lean even slightly backwards, lest I topple over and roll all the way down. The top held no view and no surprises, and also no further terraces -- I had reached the top! Then I struggled my way back down (even more slowly), mission accomplished.

Section 17, a lovely little cabin.

We finally packed up and headed out around 11 am. Section 17 was, as always, a pleasantly isolated cabin and an easy starting point. It's likely one that will figure in many future adventures.

Like yesterday, there were bugs, but nothing major and nothing biting. Throughout the day, even after we arrived at Lily Pond, we both kept our headnets pushed up on our hats, ready to go if needed, but rarely deployed.

As we passed Greenstone Falls cabin, the same three people as yesterday appeared to be sitting around the same smoky fire. From my point of view, it looked like they hadn't moved all night.

The Little Carp River trail was still muddy as we headed east. Once we had passed the turnoff to the Little Carp River road, it became clear that few people had taken this route recently. Even this early in the season, brush was beginning to encroach on the trail, and blowdowns hadn't been cleared.

Dutchman's Breeches, just outside the cabin

On the positive side, the trail was absolutely lined with wildflowers. Spring Beauties were at their peak, and Trout Lilies were just starting to open. Dutchmen's Breeches were also in full bloom, and Violets of several colors were beginning to pop.

After a bunch of ups-and-downs and just one really big mud slog, we reached a long downhill to the Little Carp River. This was our only unbridged river crossing of the day, and we were actually looking forward to it -- we were getting heated up in the warmer weather, and were ready to wade through the cool river water.

The twin campsites at the crossing -- LC-3 and LC-4 -- provide a great place to stop if nobody is camping in them, and indeed nobody was today (the trail goes directly between the two sites, which are otherwise wide open, so I can't imagine they're very popular). Sarah switched into her sandals, I kept my trail runners on, and we waded across the pleasantly cool river. We both waded back and forth a few times, enjoying the calf-deep water. Eventually, I sat down right on a rock in the river to enjoy the cool water on my feet.

Me, in the Little Carp River

After that, we sat down on the far side and enjoyed rice-cake peanut-butter sandwiches for lunch. We hadn't seen anybody on the trail since the group hanging out at Greenstone Falls cabin, but that changed at the river crossing. While we ate, four different groups came through -- every one of them coming from the east, opposite our direction of travel -- and most of them looked rather dismayed at the unbridged crossing (is it really a secret? They're marked right on the maps!). Everyone chose a slightly different way to cross the river, including one unfortunate soul who tried to rock-hop across in boots -- and got them flooded instead.

The trail climbed back up out of the small river valley, and soon we were at the intersection with the Lily Pond trail. We continued north towards Lily Pond itself. In this section, I was enchanted by what I described to Sarah as the "early spring light": On this clear and sunny day, the sun shone through the not-yet-leafed-out trees onto the brown leaves on the forest floor. In these segments of the trail, normally beshady under dense leaf cover, the woods were instead light, bright, and mostly brush-free. It gave a very specific feel to the scenery, one that I associate only with early spring and late fall in the UP.

Lily Pond cabin soon appeared around a bend in the trail. This cabin is set right next to the trail, on a small wedge of land between the pond itself and the Little Carp river. In fact, people are often confused about how exactly to follow the trail around the cabin, and end up taking a side trail to the outhouse instead. We would meet more than one of those hikers over the next two days.

For anyone who wants to know what the lock looks like. The combination is on the bottom.

This cabin actually had a combination lock on it -- basically a regular padlock with numerical tumblers at the bottom. As usual, we opened some windows, grabbed the log book, and headed to sit on the amazing bridge across the river outlet. This bridge features a bench built right into the middle, with a gap in the railing to facilitate viewing (or fishing?) opposite it. On this gorgeous and pleasantly warm day, it was a perfect spot to rest. We looked out over the impossibly blue sky, reflected in the pond. We enjoyed the fresh green grasses growing up out of the water. We watched a pair of Trumpeter Swans going to and fro, apparently building a nest. We listened to a chorus of frogs -- spring peepers, and many others -- making an awful lot of noise.

We had also brought down some camping apparatus. I grabbed some water from the pond and set it to running through our gravity filter. I added a few chlorine tablets -- after all, Lily Pond is a beaver pond -- and as the log book said, "beaver fever is no joke!" We also filled our solar shower -- basically a black water bag with a nozzle -- and set it out to warm in the sun. This would eventually let us wash our hands and faces more pleasantly.

And then, it became too hot in the direct sun, so we moved up to the cabin's shady "front yard" and sat in our camping chairs instead.

Camping chairs in the front yard

The log book, incredibly, was the exact same one that had been in the cabin on my  three previous visits. Its binding was falling off and there were only a few pages left, but it still went all the way back to 2021. Clearly, not enough people were writing logs (or using the pages for kindling). Indeed, there was almost no useful information -- but the lack of recent stories about mice did help calm my mouse anxiety a little.

After a lovely afternoon of relaxing, it was dinner time. Today's choice was Peak Refuel Beef Pasta Marinara, chosen for its high calorie count. It was big, filling, and pretty good.

We spent the evening reading and chatting. Soon enough, it was bedtime, with no need for hot tea or fire -- the day had been noticeably warmer than yesterday. Before bed, I carefully blocked the cracks around the bottom of the door with canoe paddles, a trick I'd learned from a log book (probably this log book) a few years ago.

Miles hiked: 2.8

Total miles: 3.8

Day 3 continues below!

The beautiful Lily Pond bridge

Monday May 25, 2026: We slept well, with no signs of mice or other critters. Breakfast included our traditional two cups of tea, more for caffeine than for warmth. Speaking of which, it was clear that the day was going to be a warm one, continuing the upward trend.

Today was our rest day at Lily Pond, the first actual "2" in our original 2-2-2 plan (three cabins with a rest day in each). To celebrate our ability to rest, we'd decided to hike a whole bunch.

Our original plan looked something like this: From Lily Pond, tomorrow we would hike to Mirror Lake (very short), and then the next day we'd haul ourselves to the mouth of the Big Carp (rather long). Based on the mud we'd seen so far, we figured that we would be slogging our way through miles of muck on our way to Big Carp.

So we changed our plans. Today we would return to the Little Carp River trailhead, drive our car around to Summit Peak, and hike back in to the cabin. Then when we were ready to leave Mirror Lake and head to Big Carp, we would instead hike right back out to Summit Peak (short!) and drive to Pinkerton Creek trailhead. From there, we would take the easy and well-maintained Pinkerton Creek trail in to Big Carp, avoiding the miles of mud along the Correction Line and Big Carp trails.

Trout Lily along the Little Carp River trail

We've made mid-trip changes like this on many previous trips, so much so that it's almost becoming a tradition. There's a comparison that we made while discussing this change, which I think you (dear reader) may find relevant. On Isle Royale, another of our favorite backpacking spots, there are (currently) no reservations whatsoever. Campsites are all first-come, first-served. This gives enormous flexibility: You can choose to hike and camp absolutely any route you like, completely changing your plans on the fly, staying extra days at pleasant places and moving on from others. This is a lot of fun, but the race to claim the "best" campsites can be anxiety inducing, especially in the busier seasons.

In the Porkies, on the other hand, all campsites are reserved. There's absolutely no flexibility to change your campsites on the fly. But there's an advantage that Isle Royale doesn't have: The ability to hike out to your car, get in, and drive to a different trailhead. That sort of flexibility is a handy way to react to the conditions as we find them.

We hiked right back out to the car, reversing yesterday's hike, and wearing only one gloriously light daypack. The muddy trail was starting to firm up a bit from the last few sunny and dry days.

As we hiked up the long hill at the Little Carp River road and turned into the parking lot, we met many dayhikers. They came in ones, twos, and entire families, and every one of them looked miserable -- even the ones hiking downhill. Sarah noted that this always seemed to be the case at that trailhead. I think it may be because the Little Carp River trailhead promises "quick" and "easy" access to waterfalls -- by Porkies standards, at least -- but in addition to the surprisingly bumpy terrain, they were also encountering Porkies-level bugs and mud. All par for the course in the Porkies, but not fun if you're a dayhiker who is new to the park.

Serviceberries blooming at the Summit Peak overlook

We threw out our trash bag, saving us a few ounces for the rest of the trip, and got in the car. We drove over to Summit Peak and parked in the upper parking lot. As we got out of the car, two groups of men were loading their packs into vehicles while loudly (and in one case, shirtless-ly) reviewing their trips, and fantasizing about what food they would be eating next. I do mean loudly. We got away from them as quickly as we could, taking lunch with us up to the first overlook on the Summit Peak walkway. At the overlook, looking towards the west, I noticed several high points that would fall along tomorrow's route from Lily Pond to Mirror Lake and made a mental note to check them out. After that we hiked up to the top of the Summit Peak viewing tower, because, why not? It was a perfectly nice view over a sea of green, as always.

We took a quick peek down the Summit Peak side trail, a possible route back to our car in future days, and then headed back to Lily Pond on the Beaver Creek trail. In the end, we had hiked 5.5 voluntary miles on this "rest" day!

Bridge on Beaver Creek trail

By this point, the sunny day had fully heated up -- I think the high was 81, the highest high so far on this trip. Back at the cabin, we each took a quick rinse under the solar shower, which was warm but not hot. A clean face and hands felt great after today's sweaty hikes.

We spent the afternoon sitting variously on the bridge or in the shade near the cabin, reading, and relaxing. Dinner, when it came, was a new one: Mountain House Pepperoni Pizza. I'll admit that I was skeptical of this one, but we have a rule: Try the mysterious new freeze-dried meals on days when we've worked hard -- meaning, days when we're willing to eat anything if it has calories. This mystery meal turned out to be remarkably good, easily earning an entry in the "Good enough" column of my backpacking spreadsheet (incidentally this is the highest category that freeze-dried meals can attain). Dessert consisted of freeze-dried cookie bites and some gorp, like always.

The evening was beautiful, sunny, and cooler. We both felt good enough to attempt another adventure: Canoeing out on Lily Pond. We have canoed at Mirror Lake before, and in a few non-Porkies locations, but never right here. In previous years, the cabin had one questionable canoe and a decrepit rowboat. This year, there were two brand new canoes sitting shiny down by the bridge. We headed out, carefully keeping away from the nesting swans, and enjoyed a pleasant tour around the lake. It was, if anything, smaller and more shallow than I expected. We didn't push too far upstream, since we could see a beaver lodge and dam not far beyond the boundaries of the pond.

Fiddleheads growing right in the Little Carp

To end the day, we opened up the can of hard cider that we'd backpacked all the way here with and shared it on the bridge. It was lovely.

Actually, that wasn't quite the end of the day. Once the sun had set -- after 9 pm, this far north -- we decided to go hang out on the bridge and do some stargazing. I always intend to watch the stars on these trips, but rarely stay up late enough to do it. This time would be different! We brought bug nets and wore long sleeves, but the bugs were still (mostly) not biting.

We sat on the bridge and looked at the quickly darkening sky, which was perfectly clear. Sarah pointed: There's a star! Then I pointed: There's another! Sarah: A third star! Then we waited... and waited... and suddenly we couldn't find the third star... then the second disappeared... and finally there were zero. High-level clouds had come in, for the first time all day, and completely obscured the sky. Even the bright, almost-full moon (which also made stars hard to see) was soon covered.

Nonetheless, we enjoyed sitting out on the bridge, chatting, laughing, and occasionally yelling to be heard above the noise of the frogs. Once again, they were loud -- so loud, right down here above their swampy home, that Sarah seriously suggested we should pack ear plugs. Above us, silent bats swooped and ate the (non-biting) bugs. We saw a few flashes that looked light distant lightening, but no storms ever came.

With the sky fully covered by clouds, we went back into the cabin for bed. I set up our mouse-blocking paddles again and we quickly got to sleep.

Next time: An unexpected adventure

Miles hiked: 5.5 (on a rest day!)

Total miles: 9.3

If you liked this post, check out this list of all of my backpacking blog posts.

Day 2's route is in green, Day 3 in yellow

Porkies 2026, Day 1: Intro, travel, and Section 17

This is the first of 6 posts about our backpacking trip to the Porcupine Mountains in May 2026. There's a link to the next one at the bottom of each post, or you can use the list below. This list will be updated as each is posted:

• Day 1: Introduction, travel, and hiking to Section 17 cabin (that's this one!)
• Days 2 & 3: Section 17 to Lily Pond, and a rest day
• Day 4: Lily Pond to Mirror Lake, and an unexpected hotel
• Day 5: Back to Big Carp
• Day 6: Rest day at Big Carp (coming soon!)
• Day 7: Big Carp, Marquette, and home (coming soon!)

Lily Pond

Another year, another backpacking trip to the Porkies. At this point they've become almost routine, but still wonderful. The Porcupine Mountains, in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, is a wilderness state park and one of my favorite places in the world. Our backpacking trips there have always been unique due to the park's rustic cabins, which let us backpack from place to place and be sure of a roof over our heads, a wood stove, and an extremely uncomfortable bunk.

Sometimes though, we feel the need to change things up. At the end of last year's trip, Sarah and I decided that our next visit should be a "2-2-2" trip. That is, instead of backpacking from place to place and staying only one day at each, we wanted to stay at three different places for two days each. That would give us a rest day at three favorite locations. We have loved our (single) rest days on previous trips, and wanted to expand those.

Of course, things never quite work out the way you expect. When I made our reservations -- 6 months in advance, to the minute! -- we couldn't get two days in a row at any of our desired locations and dates.

Luckily, with a bit of shifting and adjusting, we found a way to make it work... sort-of. Here was our final plan:

• Day 1: A 1-mile hike to Section 17 cabin, an old favorite and addition to shift our schedule.
• Days 2 & 3: 4-ish miles to Lily Pond cabin plus a rest day, one of our goals for the "2-2-2".
• Day 4: 2 miles to Mirror Lake 4-bunk cabin, where we could only spend one night.
• Days 5 & 6: 7-ish miles to the Big Carp 4-bunk cabin plus a rest day. This was one of my favorites from my 2024 trip, and the last of the Big Carp cabins that Sarah hadn't stayed at. She was cautiously curious about this cabin and agreed that we could give it a try.

As you can see, we weren't planning on particularly long miles, and we still got two rest days (plus some very short hiking days). As time would show, even this plan would get significantly reworked, but that's for a future post.

We made very few updates to our well-established packing list. The only big change from last year was that Sarah finally upgraded her old, heavy Osprey pack to a brand new Superior Wilderness Designs Long Haul, cutting out a solid 2.5 pounds from her weight. She immediately replaced one of those pounds with her camping chair, a luxury that I had brought last year and she had left home -- and immensely regretted.

Confidential to Osprey advertising reps (and anyone who wants to enjoy a ridiculous story): Way back in 2021, I blogged about upgrading my own Osprey pack to SWD and saving 2+ pounds along the way. Last year, I got an email from an Osprey rep who somehow found that post, but apparently hadn't actually read it. That's because the rep asked me about adding a link to Osprey's website, in exchange for a link back to here. They must have paid no attention whatsoever to the contents of my comment about Osprey, and when I ignored their email, they kept bugging me about it. I finally had to point out that the SWD was a major upgrade, and that in fact I don't think Osprey's packs are worth the weight nor price any more. So Osprey rep, if you bug me again, I'll make my opinion from that last sentence even more explicit.

The Little Carp River

Thursday May 21, 2026: We did lots of practice hikes, spent time poring over our packing lists, filling up Kindles with books to read, all that usual stuff. I'm going to fast-forward past all of those and get straight to the fun.

On Thursday, we packed up and headed to the UP. We detoured to Gladstone to meet our 2-year-old niece (ok, and her parents too -- love you!) at the Castle Park. We had a lovely time playing on the slides and balance bars, shared a deli dinner, and then headed north to Marquette.

We checked in at the Superior Stay hotel, now a well-established favorite, and walked up 3rd Street to enjoy some more favorites. We shared a beer at Blackrocks, perused the storefronts (all closed, we were there too late), and then looked at each other and said "I'm still hungry!" Luckily, the local Main Street Pizza offers two slices of pizza at a very reasonable rate, an offer that we took them up on and thoroughly enjoyed.

Friday involved more favorites: coffee at the Crib, books at Snowbound, and a walk along the waterfront. We also found some new favorites: A take-out dinner from the newly founded Marquette Masala on Ore Dock brewing's new patio. Sarah discovered a new place called, literally, "Girly Pop" that sold incredibly expensive fancy pop (aka soda) drinks, and immediately fell in love. We also noticed a storefront with quarter-play pinball machines and had a fantastic time trying to play them (emphasis on trying).

In the evening, we assembled the last few parts of our packs: Peanut butter rice cake sandwiches for lunches (which are always best when made fresh) and gorp bags (consisting this year of almonds, peanut and peanut butter M&Ms, and sour gummy worms).

Starting out on our trip - head nets eventually proved unnecessary

Saturday May 23, 2026: Saturday was our first actual day of backpacking. We woke up in Marquette to the news that Whitetail cabin, one of the few Porkies cabins we've never stayed in, had burned to the ground overnight. This was the first Porkies cabin to ever burn down, despite the fact that each one has a wood stove, plus lots of candles left by campers. Luckily Whitetail wasn't on our trek, but the news cast a bit of a pall over us that morning.

We got some more coffee, did a quick spin through the farmer's market (featuring saxophone music, a lonely-looking state house rep sitting under his tent, and a guy with a typewriter promising to improvise poetry), and then headed out of town -- but not directly to the Porkies. We are now officially Bosio Biscuit Company groupies -- it's a biscuit-based restaurant south of Houghton, founded by an old college friend -- and we heard that they would be vending in Houghton that weekend. So, north to Houghton we went, under gray skies spitting occasional sprinkles of rain.

We found the Bosio Biscuit trailer parked along the Houghton waterfront, with a long line in front of it. The waterfront was taken over by "Locavore", some sort of local-stuff market that hadn't existed when I lived in Houghton. We got our biscuit-based meals, enjoyed them along the waterfront, took a quick walk through downtown Houghton, and then headed back out. The temperature varied wildly along our drive -- 80's inland, but 60's or even 50's near the shore.

By mid-afternoon, we pulled into the freshly repaved and expanded parking lot of the Porkies visitor center. The renovation of the parking lot was the cause of the center being closed for much of 2024. We walked in and marveled at the completely remodeled interior, which was the cause of its being closed for almost all of 2025. The visitor center, if you've never visited, is in a bizarre triangular building straight out of the 1970's, and until now, its interior was equally 70's. The new interior is light, airy, and modern. It has vastly better bathrooms, too. Nonetheless, it still has a bizarrely small gift shop (featuring, if anything, fewer good gifts). We also found it oddly empty, with lots of blank walls hopefully to be covered with art, and maybe a few more chairs or benches.

The ranger who checked us in had no news about Whitetail cabin. She did have news that all of the park's cabins are finally using codes for their locks. In previous years, a few of the more easily accessible yurts used numerical codes, while all of the interior cabins used good old fashioned keys. That's all changed as of 2026, and now every cabin has a number lock on it. Instead of clunky keys, we got a few slips of paper with codes on them. Well, that, and also an instruction not to worry about Section 17's code, because the previous renters had broken the lock and it wasn't replaced yet.

We took the long and scenic drive around the park to get to the Little Carp River road, our trailhead for our adventure. The margins of South Boundary Road will filled with trilliums in full bloom. In the parking lot, we did our last few checks, hitched up our packs, and headed out. Our hike was starting!

The short hike in to Section 17 cabin is always a little harder than I expect. This sequence of trails has a lot of small ups-and-downs, roots, rocks, boardwalks, and muddy sections. The muddy bits were especially muddy right now due to the long winter and wet spring, and we spent a fair bit of time carefully navigating them. We had head nets on, but there were very few bugs, and none that seemed to bite.

We soon passed Greenstone Falls cabin, the other Porkies cabin that once suffered a fire (but didn't burn down). The trail passes within feet of their front door, and the three inhabitants greeted us as they hung out around a smoky fire.

That's a lot of logs

Just a few yards later, we turned onto the spur that crosses the Little Carp River and brought us to Section 17 cabin. There's a long bridge across the river here, and there was a huge log jam piled up against its upstream side. While the bridge was clear enough to navigate, there were signs of lots of sawing and clearing -- this must have been an impressive snarl earlier in the spring.

As promised, Section 17 cabin had no lock whatsoever on the door. Inside, the first thing I noticed were mouse traps -- a lot of them, all set and loaded with a generous dab of peanut butter. Not a good sign.

Rain started shortly after we arrived, so after quickly getting some water to filter from the river,  we settled in to Section 17. This is a small and cozy cabin, much smaller than most other 4-bunk cabins. It's also dark: Despite having windows on all four walls, its deeply forested setting makes the cabin dim even at midday, much less on a cloudy and rainy afternoon.

Sarah pulled up the cabin's log book, skimming recent logs for helpful news or amusing stories. She read the best bits out loud, and we shared some good laughs (and eye-rolls). Sure enough, the log from immediately before us told a bizarre story. A family -- father and three kids -- had started hiking in to the cabin at 11 pm, ignoring the sign that reminded them to check in at the visitor center (which wouldn't have been possible at that time anyhow). They arrived at the cabin around 1 am and sure enough discovered that they needed a code for the lock. The kids tried to crawl in through a window that had been left open, while the father took a rock and broke open the lock. According to the log, they were hiking out the next day to get the rest of the lock codes from the rangers, and had left the loaded mouse traps to deal with an "infestation". Joy.

As usual, we hid all of our food and smellables in the cabin's cabinets. This has proved to be a foolproof way to avoid mouse problems. Nonetheless, I left the mouse traps set up, although I nudged them off to the sides a bit more -- there was no need for us to get caught in a mousetrap set right in the center of the floor!

As evening fell, we boiled up some freeze-dried Backpacker's Pantry Fettuccine Alfredo with Chicken. It was a known winner, which we try to eat on days when we have less hiking (and therefore more capacity to care about the taste of our food). With evening came cooler temperatures, so we boiled some more water to make hot tea.

Even that wasn't quite enough to keep the chill off, so I started a small fire in the woodstove, using the meager supply of firewood left in the cabin. The small cabin warmed quickly, and we enjoyed a cozy evening of reading and chatting. Sarah turned on one of our new camping toys, a tiny solar lantern, which made the cabin look even more cozy in its warm light. Overall, the word of the night was: Cozy.

We were in bed early due to the rain, chill, and darkness. I spent some time reading on my Kindle and then rolled over.

A few hours later, I was awoken by the snap! of a mouse trap going off. I didn't hear anything more for the rest of the night.

Next time: To Lily Pond, then back, then to...

Miles hiked: 1

Total miles: 1

If you liked this post, check out this list of all of my backpacking blog posts.

Our route, such as it was, for the first day

Porkies 2025, Day 6: Lily Pond and home

Last time: Scaring an eagle -- Links to all of my adventures.

Lily Pond

Friday May 30, 2025: I woke up to the sound of rain on the Lily Pond cabin's metal roof. I stayed snuggled up under my quilt, listening as a roll of thunder turned the rain into a torrential downpour. A few minutes later the rain settled into merely heavy.

One consequence of my phone going nuts on the first day of this trip was that it became harder (but not impossible) to use our satellite messenger. Our main reason for having the messenger is for emergencies, but a secondary use is checking the weather forecast. This is easiest through a phone app that pairs with the messenger, although it's possible to get a very general idea of the weather through the device's tiny screen. We had done so, and it showed a 40% chance of "rain" today -- nothing to worry about. The tiny screen showed only the percentage, not any details about it. This was definitely rain, and then some.

I tried to roll over and go to sleep, but anxiety about the rain kept me awake. I had slept fitfully, as was my destiny on this trip. Now I'd also managed to wake up at 6:30 am, earlier than any other day, leaving me bleary and a bit irritable.

I got up and started making the day's first cup of tea. As I did, the rain died off, and was completely gone by 7:30 am.

Once Sarah was awake, we shared tea and our last batch of mush, er, oatmeal, along with dust, er, yes dust -- the very dregs of the freeze-dried raspberries.

Little Carp river just below Lily Pond

We were fully packed and out the door by 9 am. This was my third trip to Lily Pond cabin, and Sarah's second. We agreed that it was still beautiful, especially situated as it is next to both the pond and the river. Its bridge, and the bench in the middle of it, is another fantastic feature. The cabin is right on the trail, not my favorite feature, but that's not a big deal in the shoulder seasons. I'll definitely return.

The day had settled into gray but at least not rainy. There was even a hint of sunlight off to the east. It was mostly a bright spot in the clouds, but hopefully a sign of things to come.

The woods were misty and wet from the morning's rain. The mist seemed to make colors more intense, especially the bright green of spring leaves. It was magical.

I mentioned this -- yes, all of that previous paragraph -- to Sarah as we had just crossed the bridge. As the words left my mouth, thunder immediately crashed from off to our west. Uh oh.

Rain soon started falling. It was gentle at first, but then the thunder started up again. The rain increased. By the time we had turned onto Beaver Creek trail, the rain could reasonably be called "heavy" and the thunder was "frequent". Luckily, we were both decked out in full rain gear (and bug nets to boot).

This was the most exposed part of the trail. We hurried along the boardwalks. Then as we started to see flashes of lightening to go with the thunder, we positively raced across the bridge that crosses the river. Being caught backpacking in a thunderstorm is not a good idea, but if it happens, there's not a lot you can do except keep moving -- and we were now within a mile of our car, so it definitely wasn't worth trying to find a place to hole up.

Running from the thunderstorm

The hike up Summit Peak was hot and sweaty because of the uphill climb, the fact that we were moving as fast as we could with packs on our backs, and of course the effects of our "breathable" rain gear (always a lie). But, we made it. The rain remained heavy. The thunder and lightening skirted us to the south but was never directly over us. 

I have never been so happy to see our car. We tossed our packs into the back seat, ignoring the water running off them. We got into the car and looked at each other, with water draining off of our rain gear. Whew!

We drove around the park, back to the Ski Chalet, to drop off our keys. The ranger at the check-in desk asked how our trip had gone so I mentioned our exciting hike out in a thunderstorm, only to be met by blank looks. It hadn't even rained on this side of the park. We later learned that a very broken line of storms had crossed the western UP coming from the northwest, and we just happened to be hiking next to one small cell.

I left some maintenance notes with the rangers (Lake Superior cabin's super-sticky door, Section 17's total lack of a working saw). While we were at the chalet, we used real running water to wash our hands. It was both satisfying and disgusting to watch the brown water flow down the drain.

Back in our car, we headed east. We hadn't made any hotel reservations for the end of our trip, since we could have walked out of the woods on several different days. We decided to head for the Soo tonight and find a hotel there. That would also let us get big greasy hamburgers with big greasy onion rings at a favorite burger joint.

But first, Sarah said "I want some more biscuits for lunch", so we detoured to Bosio Biscuits up in Tapiola for another delicious meal, plus a box of biscuits to go. They've definitely become a permanent stop on our UP travels.

... ok, maybe it was finally food fantasy time.

We drove across the UP, got a spot at a cheap but perfectly adequate hotel (read: they had a shower), checked in, and took some serious showers. Then we immediately headed to West Pier, a tiny out-of-the way burger drive-in that (rightly, but oddly) claims to have the "second best burgers in Michigan". I got a side of onion rings, Sarah got a vanilla shake. We sat at a park and enjoyed them, even though the burgers were enormous and a gaggle of geese and seagulls took a strong interest in us. They were indeed delicious (the burgers, that is).

Another look at the Lake Superior trail

Saturday May 31, 2025: We slept very well. We got breakfast from an all-time Soo favorite, Penny's Kitchen, and took it with us to a park along the waterfront. Along the way, we saw a Viking cruise ship docked below the locks. Downtown was a zoo. The inhabitants of the cruise ship were out on shore leave, walking in carefully tended tour groups led by people holding large numbered signs. They were heading to the fudge and tourist shops, the locks, and who knows where else. Tour busses were heading in the direction of the casino.

At the park, we saw a second Viking cruise ship go past, presumably heading to the locks. This was definitely a good day not to be trying to get a beer in the Soo! Shortly afterward, a more traditional ore freighter came the other way. All the while the small and harried Sugar Island ferry kept zipping across the channel, dodging the boats. The park was filled with people there to watch the boats, including a tiny kid (at most 5 years old, probably less) doing his best to "honk" the freighter. It obliged, loudly and repeatedly.

The rest of the drive home was long, slow, and quiet. I finally managed to make a tiny bit of progress on my broken phone, figuring out how to get it to back up the photos I'd taken on the first day of the trip. It could only do one at a time, before I had to go through a bunch of restart loops. Slowly but surely, I got my photos back. I eventually ended up doing a factory reset, restoring from an (old) backup, and getting it working again.

And now a word from our host

Final thoughts: I don't have a whole lot to say about this trip that I haven't said many times before. Backpacking in the Porkies is one of my favorite things to do, and this time was no exception. The trails and cabins were lovely, as was Lake Superior itself. We lucked out with weather (except on the last day), mud, and bugs.

However, this trip was much more fun than last year's solo trip. That's because I was back to backpacking with my favorite hiking buddy, The Lovely Sarah. I do enjoy solo trips occasionally, but backpacking is better when it's shared.

We both really enjoyed our rest day at Lake Superior cabin, and the way it unlocked an interesting dayhike for me and extra relaxation for Sarah. This led us to discuss, at length, a "2-2-2" trip: Stay at three cabins, each for two consecutive days. Basically, a short trip with a rest day every other day, giving us time to enjoy each location that much more.

I'm looking forward to planning how to do this for next year's trip, which will most likely be right back to the Porkies again. It's my favorite backpacking place in the world for a reason.

Miles hiked: 2.0

Total miles: 23.0

If you liked this series, check out my many other backpacking blog posts.

Final map: A lot of back-and-forth. Day 1: Pink. Day 2: Green. Day 3: Yellow (dayhike). Day 4: Blue. Day 5: Orange (in two parts). Day 6: blue-gray.