July 10-11, 2024

While browsing maps years ago, I’d noticed that the Palmer Creek Lakes (located at the head of an alpine valley above Hope) were less than eleven miles away from Summit Lake Lodge as the crow flies, separated by a zig-zagging network of graceful interlocking tundra ridges and low peaks. My eyes had drifted upward toward these mountains many times while driving the Seward Highway, and the walking looked breezy. What better way to start exploring the Kenai Mountains, I thought, than by testing out a “chill” backcountryroute that ended with burgers at Summit Lake Lodge?

Map of our route from Palmer Creek Lakes to Summit Lake Lodge. Note that the numbers assigned to points and peaks are based on elevations from legacy USGS maps; these elevations may significantly differ from more recent data sources.

Day 1: Palmer Creek Lakes to Pass Creek

On the morning of July 10, Brett Frazer, Bronté Smith and I drove south out of Anchorage on the Seward Highway, dropped a vehicle at Summit Lake Lodge, and then carpooled the 38 miles back up the highway, through Hope, and up into the mountains to the Palmer Creek Lakes trailhead. Palmer Creek Road, known as a “hidden gem” by seemingly everyone in Southcentral Alaska, was sprinkled with trucks, RVs, and other adventure vehicles. We parked at the end of the road, optimistically applied sunscreen, and got moving.

The Palmer Creek Lakes area

The trail wound through light brush, past mining ruins and a beautiful blue-green tarn, before arcing up a hillside toward its namesake lakes.

Our first goal was to gain the ridge behind the lakes. We decided to avoid the late-summer snow in the bowl by climbing up the west ridge of Point 4560, which looked snow-free and straightforward enough.

Backpacking around and past the Palmer Lakes

The ridge turned out to be steeper and chossier than expected, and the far side dropped off precipitously onto a small glacier remnant. Though the scrambling would’ve been easier without overnight packs, there were a huge number of hand and foot-holds and we were up the ridge without much trouble.

Brett climbing the west ridge of Point 4650. In retrospect, it would have been easier and faster to just climb the headwall of the bowl behind the lakes (in the background of this photo).

From the top of Point 4650, we got our first panoramic Kenai Mountains ridge views. The tundra and rock ridges looked easy to walk, most of last winter’s snow was gone, and the clouds were politely hanging out just above the peaks. Pretty dang promising!

Kenai Mountains panorama, looking toward Peak 4851

We sidehilled just under the summit of Peak 4851, and then followed its southern ridge down to the pass between Peak 4851 and 4880-foot Frenchy Peak. Here we reached the crux of the route: a “dull knife-edge” ridge leading up to Frenchy Peak. We discussed over snacks whether it would even go, and decided it was at least worth a try.

Approaching and crossing the “crux” on Frenchy Peak. It would have been possible to avoid this steep ridge by descending into an adjacent valley, though this would have added some time.

Brett made his way up the ridge first, while Bronté and I picked our way up it a little more gingerly. I carefully climbed and scooted up the ridge, trying not to focus too much on the way both sides of this alpine catwalk rolled over steeply and out of view.

“Easy peasy,” Brett called down from above a cliff band beyond the end of the ridge.

I’m not sure I found the ridge quite as lemon squeezy as Brett did, but before long Bronté and I were up it too. We continued onward, up over the top of Frenchy Peak and then along its southern ridge. Wind sent the clouds streaming past us, and we bundled up.

Walking the ridge from Frenchy Peak to the pass into the Pass Creek drainage

I’d originally planned for us to follow ridgelines all the way to the pass in the Pass Creek drainage, but that changed as soon as we had a view of the drainage. The U-shaped tundra valley below us was incredibly inviting. We boot-skied and tromped past light brush, springs, and wildflower meadows, down to the valley floor.

Crossing into the Pass Creek drainage. Video of the author boot-skiing: Brett Frazer

We continued up the valley, and made camp next to a wide, flat spot where the creek splayed out across the valley floor. A flat rock next to a small side creek made for a perfect kitchen.

I was surprised by how wild and remote this valley felt. Even though we were sandwiched between one of the most well-used roads (the Seward Highway) and most widely-known hiking trails (the Resurrection Pass Trail) in the state, this spot reminded me of camping in distant valleys in the Brooks Range. The near-instant transition between development and true wilderness is without a doubt one of the most striking things about life in Alaska, and this entire day in the Kenai Mountains had hammered that point home over and over. These mountains were more dynamic, rugged, and exciting than I’d given them credit for.

Camp at Pass Creek

Day 2: Pass Creek to Summit Lake Lodge

The next morning we woke to similar conditions, and that was good enough. After breaking camp we started walking toward a pass at the head of the valley connecting the Pass Creek and Fresno Creek drainages, but it looked steep and loose so we decided to just climb up over Doubletop instead. This would add a bit of elevation, but the grade looked more manageable and we’d still be heading in the right direction.

Brett and Bronté hiking up the Pass Creek drainage

We scrambled up thin tongues of tundra and loose rock, and between rocky outcroppings as we climbed Doubletop. It was steep and the footing wasn’t always great, but at least there was no exposure.

Brett on Doubletop, looking down the eastern Pass Creek drainage. Interestingly, the creeks flowing east and west from the pass at the head of the valley are both called “Pass Creek,” despite being completely separate waterways.

From Doubletop we continued south around the rim of the Fresno Creek drainage, past a blue tarn tucked into its upper slopes. Even several weeks after summer solstice, most of the lake was still hidden under a layer of last winter’s snow and ice. The wind sent little wave racing across the portion of the lake that had managed to open up.

From here, I had planned for us to follow the crest of the ridge on the south side of the Fresno Creek drainage, but once again we reevaluated as soon as we had a view into the next valley. Bronté said she was sure that there was a trail in the Colorado Creek drainage, and sure enough it was marked on my maps. After a quick selfie we decided to test our luck and see if this supposed “trail” really existed. If it didn’t, we were looking at either a long climb back onto the ridge or a long, brutal bushwhack down to the highway.

Dropping down into the Colorado Creek drainage

Sure enough, after descending most of the mountainside, hopping a creek, and crossing a tundra bench the trail came into view. From here it was short work to wade across Colorado Creek and we were on it.

Hiking down onto the Colorado Creek Trail

The trail was good enough by Alaska standards, but we still lost it on an open tundra slope and had to bushwhack up and down through krummholz to find it again. It didn’t help that the trail was badly mis-located on GaiaGPS. Sometimes you have to ignore your maps and trust your eyes and feet instead.

Map showing the incorrect location of the Colorado Creek Trail in GaiaGPS. Our orange GPS track indicates the correct location of the trail (the area where we lost the trail is not shown here).

Our routefinding misadventure made us even more grateful to have this scrappy little corridor through the brush. We stepped, slipped, and slid our way down the rooty, overgrown (and at times surprisingly muddy) trail as it traversed little ravines, arced through wildflower meadows, and led us through dark, cool stands of trees.

Eventually the trail emptied out onto a utility road near the Seward Highway. Looking back, the entrance to the trail was utterly inconspicuous, unsigned and barely visible in the trees. We wondered how the trail even had enough traffic to stay usable. Maybe the lodge kept it up? Maybe hunters in the fall?

We didn’t have much time to speculate since Summit Lake Lodge was now directly across the street, and it was calling loudly. It can be truly exciting to find a new wilderness area right on your doorstep. But it can be just as exciting to cross the doorstep in the other direction–to leave the mountains behind, change into clean socks, and sink into a restaurant chair to devour a giant burger.