Smack dab in the middle of the Cascade spine that runs up Washington state, one mountainous enclave erupts into dusty orange in fall. Its mellifluous name—the Teanaway—is thought to come from an Indigenous word for “drying place,” and indeed the late-summer sun bakes away the last of its high-elevation snows. Then the western larch trees transition to their fiery shades, launching the Teanaway into its prime season.

The region, just north of Cle Elum and I-90, doesn’t have the highest or most exciting mountains in the state. Its trails aren’t the longest. The beloved Enchantments and triangular Mount Stuart sit just to the north, stealing all the Instagram thunder. But there’s outdoorsy gold in this series of steep river valleys and peaks—a place once better known for coal and iron mines.

At higher elevations the sandstone and basalt ridges are bare, and metal remnants of those old mines and mills still hide on remote slopes. Hiking trails and biking routes crisscross the map. Seasons bring new visitors, all eyeing different goals. Hunters stalk deer through brushy forest in autumn, while in winter snowmobilers will roar across some of the expanse as backcountry skiers inch up other bits. The wildlife is just as varied—lynx, spotted owl, wolverine.

In fall, hikers follow the curvy Teanaway Road as it traces the route of the Teanaway River—until both roadway and waterway divide into smaller and smaller forks. Most will flock to the picturesque Lake Ingalls. But the signature larch trees also line trails that lead into Bean Basin and up Navaho Peak, across ridges and hillsides. Rich fall colors flourish down low, too, between the creeks that run by formal campgrounds and unofficial DIY camp spots. It’s like leaf-peeping, just a little wilder.

As public land, the region holds an in-between status, federal forest but not part of the official Alpine Lakes Wilderness that begins just to the north. The lower elevations of the area became the Teanaway Community Forest in 2013, the first of its kind—managed by the state for preservation and recreation, not revenue generation. And all were once Yakama tribal lands, ceded to the US government in treaties. If the Cascades are a quilt, the Teanaway feels like the patchwork square made from the others’ scraps.

At just about two hours’ drive from Seattle, the Teanaway is the rare escape from the city that doesn’t require reservations or even advance planning. If one trailhead is too crowded, there’s another up the next dirt road. It’s spectacular, but the beauty feels as evenly spread as peanut butter across a sandwich.

After a long day exploring the northern reaches of the Beverly Creek basin, I stopped by the humble Teanaway Country Store, a shop situated among the rural homes that hug the foothills. It’s been a mercantile of some kind for half a century, most recently rebooted to sell snacks, gifts, and specialty sodas—but no alcohol. A charming hodgepodge of merchandise crowds the shelves: huckleberry gummy bears, glass-bottle root beer, mushroom-shaped twinkle lights, and collectible toy horse figurines.

The store has a little bit of, well, not everything, but a little bit of quite a lot. Like this singular corner of the state, it’s more than enough.