Sawtooth Wilderness Defined
A couple of hours working up 2,000 feet of switchbacks takes me from the valley floor to Alpine Lake, nestled in its cirque below Packrat Peak, and the smaller “frog ponds” just beyond. But it’s not until I climb the final mile, up to the crest of the ridge itself—well above 9,000 feet—and peer into the Baron Lakes Basin, that the scope of the rugged Sawtooth Mountains hits home.
The imposing summits of Monte Verita, Warbonnet and Tohobit dominate the massif, rising above Baron Lakes, while Decker Peak looms across the valley to the south, and Braxon and Horstman fill the eastern horizon.
From my ridge-top vantage, the wild beauty of the landscape offers mute if irrefutable evidence why the cognescenti, those mountain lovers lucky enough to know the Sawtooths, speak of them with frank awe. The cluster of 10,000-foot peaks in my immediate field of vision is as dramatic as any I’ve seen, and reason enough to engage on this four-day traverse. But, when you realize that the Sawtooths harbor more than 40 peaks above 10,000 feet, all in a relatively compact area, the distinctive character of these mountains becomes apparent: this is genuine North American wilderness, rugged beyond belief, and one in which the motivated backcountry traveler can still find solitude.
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I had long wanted to explore the Sawtooths, but quickly discovered that getting beta on the best places to go was easier said than done. I wouldn’t go so far as to say a veil of secrecy protects these mountains, but it’s clear those who know the range best tend to keep their secrets close. Unlike mountains, such as the Tetons, where topography and heavy visitation make them more of an open book, this compact range of steep mountains, twisting valleys, and hidden alpine basins lends itself to exploration and discovery. The fact is, finding the most interesting corners of the range can take persistence and time.
“I call it 'quiet pioneering',” said Kirk Bachman, a well-known local skier, climber and backcountry traveler who frequents the Sawtooths. “There truly is a unique ethos here. You could describe it as a certain reticence, or reserve, on the part of the climbers and backpackers who come here. They are quiet about where they’ve been. In the Sawtooths, the way to learn about these mountains is to go see for yourself.”
I was lucky enough to do that very thing, and to do it with Bachman himself. So last September, a great time of year to be in these mountains, we set out on a complete traverse of the range. The classic crossing is to start at Redfish Lake, climb up and over the Sawtooth Crest to eventually end at the Grandjean trailhead on the west side of the Range.
After flying into Boise from my home in Seattle, I found the pleasures of hiking in the Sawtooths begin on arrival in the hamlet of Stanley, Idaho, just two or three hours from the Boise. Stanley is no gentrified mountain town, certainly no Sun Valley, just an hour to the south over Galena Pass. Stanley is as friendly as it is unpretentious, small but well suited to its role as the gateway to the Sawtooths. With accommodations, restaurants and outdoor shops, funky Stanley has everything you need, and scenery to boot. The rocky peaks of the range rise abruptly from the edge of town, impossibly steep and impressively jagged.
I met Bachman at the local bakery so we could caravan over Banner Pass and leave a car at Grandjean trailhead, near the South Fork of the Payette River, before driving back to Redfish Lake to start our traverse. A fast boat ride up the lake made short work of the first five miles of trail, turning a two-hour hike into a 10-minute sightseeing run. It's definitely the way to go. We were put to shore at the west end of the lake, at a small dock. From there we headed up the Redfish Lake Creek drainage, a typically steep and deep Sawtooth valley between two mountain walls. We dropped our packs there before heading up to Saddleback Lakes, a series of high country tarns and lakes nestled below the imposing walls of the Elephant’s Perch, one of the Sawtooth’s premier backcountry climbing walls.
That afternoon reflected the essence of Sawtooth hiking: traveling through the range, but taking time to explore extraordinary features off the beaten track. It would be tragic not to see Saddleback Lakes—a place so scenic it's often referred to by the locals as Shangri-La—but I might not have even known it was there had I not been hiking with Bachman. We were back in camp before sunset, in time to relax as the surrounding peaks turned red with alpenglow. We made a simple dinner and dined to the roar of the river in the background. A chilly September dusk had us in the tents not long after dark. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.
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It took us most of the next day to work our way up to Alpine Lake and cross the divide down into the Baron Lakes drainage. We pitched camp in an expansive meadow by the upper lakes, under the dramatic bulk of Monte Verita Peak. This is the very heart of the sprawling 217,000-acre Sawtooth Wilderness Area, which aggressively protects the best part of the 35-mile-long by 20-mile-wide range. With 300 alpine lakes and almost that many miles of trail, this backcountry may be best enjoyed by what’s not here: a lot of people. We camped in solitary splendor in a secluded meadow surrounded by 10,000-foot peaks, and for me, the solitude is a reason to come to a place like the Sawtooths.
Everyone who spends time hiking in the Sawtooths goes home talking about these mountains in cliche superlatives, and now I understand why. The Sawtooths are uniquely made, and visually striking. Classic uplift mountains, they were carved by glaciers into jagged pink granite pinnacles. The result is not only uncommon beauty but interesting topography (and great rock climbing).
The next day, true to the Sawtooth tradition of exploration, we bushwhacked from camp across a low ridge into an adjoining cirque below Braxon Peak. Here, yet another set of alpine lakes nestled up against the mountains. Bachman brought his fly rod and landed a dozen or so trout (tossing them back) in the two hours it took me to make a complete circumnavigation of the lakes and get some photos of the verdant alpine bowl. If we had another day, it would have been fun to forge on, hike due north over a pass into Stephens Lake and the Fishhook Creek drainage. You could drive yourself crazy thinking about all the neat places to explore here, but I learned to view that frustration simply as a good reason to come back.
On our return trip to base camp, I took my tripod and made a long detour over to the east side of Upper Baron Lake to try to catch the nice evening light on the rocky edifice of Warbonnet Peak—an odd, impressive collection of huge blocky sections—reflected in the still water on this windless afternoon. When I returned to camp, there’s no sign of Bachman. He reappeared in a few moments with a cooking pot full of snow from higher up, and a mischievous look on his face. He had hiked a good thousand feet up to find a patch of snow. Now, with a crooked grin, he produced a small bottle of tequila and concocted the most delicious margarita I ever had, using the snow for crushed ice. As we enjoyed the cool beverage and took in the perfect quiet of the Sawtooth wilderness, it became clear the setting had something to do with how good the drink tasted. A toast to the Sawtooths seems a fitting conclusion for the last night out.
I already know that tomorrow we’ll have a long day on the trail, an honest 12 miles, down beside roaring Baron Creek Falls and all the way down the valley to the Payette River. We'll turn right there and exit the wilderness a few miles farther at the Grandjean trailhead, where we’ve stashed my rental car. That will complete our four-day crossing of the Sawtooth Range, and for serious backcountry travelers, there’s always satisfaction in a pure traverse like this one, as opposed to a loop. In the end, it's the Sawtooths themselves that made this journey unique.
Tonight, however, we’re still here, still in the embrace of the range, right in the heart of it. And Bachman and I have the good sense to savor it. We sip our margaritas and take in the wild beauty, and the quiet. It’s my turn to cook, but dinner can wait.
Getting There
From Boise's busy airport, Stanley, Idaho, a starting point for any Sawtooth adventure, is approximately three hours away via Highway 21 and Banner Pass, or, four hours via Sun Valley, over Galena Summit. The state of Idaho's travel website provides information to make planning a trip to Idaho easy. For information on the Sawtooth Wilderness, contact the Stanley Ranger Station at 208-774-3000. Plenty of accommodations and restaurants can be found in Stanley, including the Mountain Village Resort right in town, or the Redfish Lake Lodge, a few miles to the south, where the hiking route begins.
By Peter Potterfield