August 2026

Rainbow Rim: North Rim Singletrack With a View

The Rainbow Rim Trail is what I send people to when they want Grand Canyon scenery without the Grand Canyon suffering. It runs roughly 18 miles along the North Rim through the Kaibab National Forest, threading ponderosa pine, white fir, and aspen right up to the edge of the big ditch. You're not descending to the river. You're not fighting the Bright Angel crowds. You're walking a singletrack rim route that gives you the same scale and silence, but with a fraction of the heat stress.

The trail connects a string of overlooks-Parissawampitts, Fence, Locust, North Timp, Timp-and most folks run it as a shuttle or a moderate out-and-back from one point. Here's the honest truth: this is not a backcountry epic. It's a rim trail. You cache your water, you watch the weather, and you don't get greedy with miles. The trail is exposed in sections, and when lightning starts snapping at 2 p.m., you need to know where the trees are and where the trail isn't. The best views are the most exposed. Plan accordingly.

The upside? Temperatures can be 25 to 35 degrees cooler than the South Rim or the desert floor. You might actually sleep in your bag. The downside? You still have to get there. If you're driving up from Phoenix the same morning you hike, you're already dehydrated and heat-exposed before you hit the trailhead. My rule: drive up the day before, camp or stay near Jacob Lake, and start at dawn. The North Rim is a refuge, but only if you treat the journey like part of the trip. The drive is part of the expedition. Respect it.

Heat Kills Faster Than You Can Hike

I need to say this plainly: heat illness is not a character flaw. It's a physiological failure, and in August, it can happen to anyone who thinks they're "used to it."

Heat exhaustion comes first. Heavy sweating, cramps, nausea, headache. If you're smart, you stop, rest, cool down, and reassess. But the dangerous part is that heat exhaustion impairs judgment. The same brain that's telling you to push another mile to camp is the one that's failing. Heat stroke is the next stop: hot, dry skin, confusion, collapse, and death. By the time someone is slurring words or has stopped sweating, you're past the point of field treatment. Confusion in the heat is a medical emergency, not a motivation problem.

The non-negotiables:

• Hydration is a multi-day project, not a morning-of fix. More on that in the training tip below.
• The trailhead is not the beginning of your heat exposure. The drive, the morning coffee, the lack of sleep-they all count against you.
• If someone is confused, you stop. Period. No exceptions. No "let's just get to the saddle."
• Wet their clothes, find shade, and fan them. Evaporative cooling is your best field tool. If it's heat stroke, evacuation is the only answer. Water and rest alone won't fix it.
• Plan bailout routes. The Rainbow Rim has forest road access at multiple points. Use them. Stubbornness is the real killer.

Sun Hoodies vs. Sunscreen: What I've Learned Guiding in 110°

I've watched hundreds of hikers in Arizona sun. Here's what works: a good UPF sun hoodie is your primary defense, and sunscreen is your backup. Not the other way around.

Sunscreen fails. It sweats off, rubs off on pack straps, and nobody reapplies every two hours like they're supposed to. In dry heat, it cakes. In humid heat, it runs. By hour six, you're fried. I've seen the back of hikers' necks turn blister-red because they trusted a baseball cap and a single morning application of SPF 30.

A lightweight, light-colored UPF hoodie covers your arms, neck, and ears without you thinking about it. The hood is the key. In Arizona's dry climate, the right fabric breathes well-evaporative cooling works through the weave, and you stay protected even when the shirt is damp with sweat. Your clothing is a tool; your sunscreen is insurance.

But there are tradeoffs:

• Dark hoodies absorb heat. Buy white, light grey, or tan. Dark colors are a mistake in August.
• Cheap fabrics don't breathe. If it feels like a plastic bag, it is a plastic bag. Look for lightweight polyester or nylon blends with a UPF 30+ rating.
• During monsoon humidity, a wet hoodie that won't dry is worse than bare skin with sunscreen. Know the forecast.
• Sunscreen still matters for your face, hands, and legs. Use SPF 50, sport-grade, and reapply at lunch. I don't care what the bottle says about being "all-day."

My field-tested setup: sun hoodie with a brimmed hat, wraparound sunglasses, and SPF 50 on the face and hands. Reapply the face at lunch. That's it. I don't trust sunscreen to carry the whole load, and neither should you.

Pre-Hydrate Like Your Life Depends On It

It does. Pre-hydration is not chugging a liter at the trailhead. That's not preparation; that's panic.

Start two days before your trip. Drink water consistently until your urine is pale yellow-not clear, not dark. Add electrolytes. I use a low-sugar mix, but tablets or even salty food works. The goal is plasma volume, not just a full bladder. Thirst is a lagging indicator. By the time you're thirsty in August, you're already down a quart.

The protocol:

• 48 hours out: Cut alcohol. It dehydrates and ruins sleep. No exceptions.
• 24 hours out: Drink on a schedule. Carry a bottle. If you're peeing every couple of hours, you're doing it right.
• Morning of: 16 to 20 ounces with breakfast. Sip, don't chug. Chugging triggers your kidneys to dump it.
• On trail: Drink before thirst. In August, you should be sipping every 20 minutes whether you feel like it or not.

One warning: do not overdo plain water. Hyponatremia-low blood sodium from too much water and not enough salt-looks like heat exhaustion but is fixed with electrolytes, not more water. Eat salty snacks, use electrolytes, and pay attention to whether you're peeing clear but still feeling weak or nauseous. That's a salt problem, not a water problem.

That's August. Stay high, stay early, and don't let the North Rim's cool air make you stupid.

Next month: September is when Arizona's high country starts to forgive us, and the desert begins its slow cool-down. I'll have a gear-transition checklist you won't find in the catalogs, and a trail in the Mazatzals that most backpackers ignore because the approach looks too rough. It is. That's the point.