Luna’s my hiking buddy—a 15-pound rescue with a scruffy coat, a nose for trouble, and a love for the outdoors that rivals mine. She’s 6 now, and we’ve tromped through enough trails to know what makes a spot great for dogs: open paths, water to splash in, and a vibe that says, “Bring your pup, we’ve got room.” I’m no expert—just a gal with a leash and a backpack—but I’ve learned what works for us, from shady woods to mountain scrambles. Hiking with Luna’s not just exercise; it’s our thing—her tail wags, my stress fades, and we’re a team out there. If you’ve got a dog itching to explore, here’s my rundown of the best pet-friendly trails we’ve found, plus some hard-earned tricks to keep it fun and safe.
Why Trails Matter for Us
Luna’s a city dog most days—sidewalks, fire hydrants, the usual. But get her on a trail, and she’s a different beast—sniffing every leaf, darting after squirrels, ears up like she’s hearing the world for the first time. I love it, too—the quiet, the trees, the way she looks back at me like, “You coming?” Trails are our escape, and dog-friendly ones mean she’s not stuck at home while I’m out breathing fresh air. The best spots let her roam (on-leash, usually), splash in creeks, and tire herself out without me worrying about rules or risks. These are the places we’ve loved—some close, some a trek—where dogs aren’t just allowed but welcomed.
Acadia National Park – Jordan Pond Path (Maine)
Luna and I hit Acadia a couple summers back, and it’s a dog paradise—100 miles of trails where leashed pups can roam. Jordan Pond Path’s our pick: 3.3 miles of flat, gravelly bliss around a crystal lake, framed by mountains that make me feel small in the best way. She went nuts sniffing the pine needles, and I couldn’t stop staring at the water—clear enough to see fish darting. No swimming here (it’s drinking water), but Luna didn’t care—she splashed her paws at the edge anyway. It’s busy in summer, so we went early—fewer people, more peace. Leash rules are strict, and I kept her close; she’s a chaser, and those woods are full of critters. Bring water—there’s none on the trail—and watch for rocky bits if your dog’s pads are soft. Acadia’s a haul from most places, but if you’re near Maine, it’s a must.
Griffith Park – Mineral Wells Trail (Los Angeles, CA)
Closer to home for some, Griffith Park’s a sprawl—over 4,000 acres of urban wild in LA. Luna and I tackled the Mineral Wells Trail last fall, a 3-mile loop that’s mellow enough for her short legs but packed with views. We started at the Merry-Go-Round lot, winding past the old zoo’s funky stone cages—she sniffed every corner like a detective. The climb’s gentle, and at Amir’s Garden—a shady oasis some guy planted decades ago—she lapped from a dog bowl left out. Hollywood Sign peeks through the trees, and Luna didn’t care, but I snapped pics anyway. It’s dog-friendly as long as she’s leashed; off-leash folks get fined, and I’ve seen rangers prowling. Hot days are brutal—go early or late, and pack extra water. Luna panted hard by the end, but her tail never stopped.
Starved Rock State Park – LaSalle Canyon Loop (Illinois)
Illinois isn’t all flat cornfields—Starved Rock’s proof. Luna and I did the LaSalle Canyon loop, about 4.5 miles, last spring, and it’s a stunner—waterfalls, cliffs, a river she couldn’t resist dipping her paws in. The trail’s shady, with soft dirt that’s easy on her feet, and she loved nosing around the mossy rocks. It’s leashed-only, which suits us—too many drop-offs for her to run free. We hit French Canyon first, a tight squeeze with a trickle she splashed in, then LaSalle’s big falls—she stared like it was magic. Busy weekends mean parking’s a pain; get there by 8 a.m. or you’re circling. No water on the trail, so I hauled a bottle for her—worth it when she flopped down, grinning, at the end.
Runyon Canyon Park – Main Loop (Los Angeles, CA)
Runyon’s LA’s dog-hiking mecca, and Luna’s been there more times than I can count. The main loop’s 2.7 miles, a mix of dirt paths and steep climbs, with off-leash zones that turn it into a canine free-for-all. She’s a leashed girl—too many distractions—but she loves watching the unleashed pups zoom. Views of the city skyline and Hollywood Sign are killer, and she’ll plop down at the top, panting, while I soak it in. It’s crowded, especially weekends—think yoga pants and influencers—but sunrise hikes dodge the rush. No water stations, so I pack a collapsible bowl; she slurps it dry every time. Heat’s a beast here—summer’s a no-go unless it’s dawn. Luna’s tail says it’s worth it.
Petit Jean State Park – Cedar Falls Trail (Arkansas)
We took a road trip to Arkansas once, and Petit Jean’s Cedar Falls Trail blew us away—2 miles round-trip to a 95-foot waterfall that had Luna cocking her head like, “What’s that noise?” It’s a moderate drop down a wooded path, rocky in spots, but her little legs handled it. The mist at the base cooled her off—she stuck her nose right in the spray—and I just gaped at the power of it. Leashed dogs only, and the climb back’s a workout; I carried her for a stretch when she got pouty. Spring’s best—water’s roaring, wildflowers popping—but it’s muddy, so bring a towel. No water on the trail, and the lot fills fast—early’s the move. Luna slept the whole drive home, dreaming of falls, I bet.
What Makes These Trails Tick for Dogs
Luna’s picky—she wants smells, space, and a chance to splash. These spots deliver: Acadia’s got wilderness vibes, Griffith and Runyon bring city-edge wildness, Starved Rock’s got water and shade, and Petit Jean’s a nature punch. They’re all leashed (Runyon’s the exception), which keeps her safe—she’d chase a deer into next week otherwise. Trails are clear, not too steep for her size, and have spots to rest. I look for dirt over pavement—easier on her paws—and water access, even if it’s just a puddle. Dog-friendly means more than “allowed”—it’s about feeling like she belongs, and these places do that.
Gear We Can’t Live Without
Hiking with Luna’s a gear game. Her leash—6 feet, sturdy—is non-negotiable; I’ve got a Ruffwear one that clips to my waist for hands-free control. Water’s huge—I haul a bottle and a collapsible bowl; she drinks like a camel. Poop bags are a must—nobody likes a trail turd—and I stash extras in my pack. Treats keep her motivated; she’ll sit for a crumb anywhere. On rocky trails, I’ve got booties for her, but she hates them—only used them once at Runyon when the ground got hot. A first-aid kit’s in my bag—tweezers for ticks, gauze for scrapes—after a thorn incident at Starved Rock. Pack light but smart—Luna doesn’t care, but I do.
My Trail Fails to Dodge
I’ve botched this plenty. Took Luna to Griffith mid-day once—90 degrees, no shade, and she flopped, panting, halfway up; I carried her back, soaked in guilt. Forgot water at Runyon—she gave me the stink-eye ’til I begged a swig from a jogger. Skipped the leash check at Acadia—frayed clip nearly snapped chasing a squirrel. Now, I’m anal: check weather (no hikes over 80°F), double up on H2O, test gear pre-trail. Crowds throw her off—early starts beat the rush. If your dog’s like Luna—small, stubborn—plan tight, or you’re hauling a furry brick home.
Making It Fun for Both of Us
Luna’s not just along for the ride—she’s the star. At Starved Rock, I let her pick the pace—sniffing every stump ’til she’s dizzy. Runyon’s off-leash zones are a tease, so I sneak her a treat when the free dogs prance by. Petit Jean’s waterfall got a splash session—she waded, I laughed. I bring a toy—squeaky ball or a stick—and we play at rest stops; keeps her jazzed. For me, it’s the views—Acadia’s mountains, Griffith’s skyline—but her goofy grin’s the real win. Let your dog lead a bit—Fido’s nose knows the good stuff.
Luna’s Verdict
Luna doesn’t write reviews, but her tail does. Acadia’s a 10—wild smells, cool air. Griffith and Runyon tie—city buzz, dog pals galore. Starved Rock’s waterfalls hypnotize her; Petit Jean’s a close second for the splash factor. She’s wiped after each, snoring in the car, paws twitching like she’s still trekking. These trails aren’t just paths—they’re her playgrounds, and I’m the lucky tagalong. Pick one, leash up, and go—your dog’ll thank you with every wag.
