From lightweight packrafts that weigh less than some tents to whitewater rigs that can take on the gnarliest rapids, there are hundreds of different types of boats on the market these days. Last year, we tested canoes, kayaks, rafts, and everything in between from Colorado’s rivers to Florida’s estuaries. Below you’ll find a sampling of some of the best paddle craft for hitting the water in 2024.

Be sure to check out our favorite boardshorts and women’s swimsuits as well.

At a Glance

• Best Raft:
• Best Canoe:
• Best Packraft:
• Best Whitewater Kayak:
• Best Recreational Kayak:
• Best Fishing Kayak:
• How to Choose a Boat
• How We Test
• Meet Our Lead Tester

All gear in this guide was tested by multiple reviewers. If you buy through our links, we may earn an affiliate commission. This supports our mission to get more people active and outside. Learn more.

Best Raft

Sotar Rogue Argo

Length: 12 ft
Exterior Width: 68 in
Tube Diameter: 21 to 17 in
Air Chambers: 4 (including thwarts)
Capacity: 675 lbs
Weight: 60 lbs

Pros and Cons
⊕ Nimble enough to get through creeks while also big enough for the biggest rapids
⊕ Diminishing tubes makes it extremely responsive
⊗ The guide position is hard to get used to if you have three people paddling

Taking advantage of the growing small inflatable market, Sotar set out to make the ultimate R2/R3 raft (which means it can carry two or three paddlers) and came up with its new Rogue Argo, a 12-footer that paddles like a paddle cat but has a floor like a raft. The result is a craft that’s small and nimble enough to charge creeks while beefy enough to run meaty Class IV-V rapids, like on the Gauley River in West Virginia. Diminishing tubes in the front (but not the stern), two thwarts, and a weight of only 60 pounds—lighter than some of the 10-footers on the market—are just a few of the features that had our testers sold. It’s so light that it turns your strokes into speed when you need it most and lets you cartop or shoulder-carry it single-handedly. All these features make for a craft that dishes up the same fun as a paddle cat but with a raft’s space and buoyancy.

That said, don’t assume the Rogue Argo is just a shrunken-down expedition raft. The durable RF-welded urethane construction and new design features are built specifically for the category. Perhaps the raft’s most noticeable feature is its diminishing tubes, whose diameters are smaller up front and larger in the stern (17 inches to 21 inches). “It creates additional rocker which lets you go up and over oncoming features while keeping the back buoyant,” said tester Aaron Ball, a Swiftwater Rescue instructor for Colorado’s Southwest Rescue. “It was super responsive for two people, tracked well, and took hits with ease. The Reverse Mullet might have been a better name for it.”

A mesh floor keeps the weight down while draining water quickly, maintaining buoyancy. While water can enter it in wave trains, it sits up high and out of the water most of the time thanks to cam straps securing the mash to the thwarts. It also drains fast—our testers on Colorado’s Animas River found it dryer than expected. “Its mesh was great—it didn’t let much water through and made the boat lighter for an already small craft,” Ball said. His only concern: “With frigid water temps, it could lead to cold feet.”

The two thwarts and grab handles were ideal for holding on when the going got rough. The thwart spacing is adjustable, which made it easier for testers to lock their feet in. “It’s nice that two thwarts are included,” said tester and former international guide Miles DeFeyter. “A lot of rafts don’t have that. And the grab handles are awesome—I held onto them several times—this thing was made to run the gnar.”

The only knock? Paddling it as an R3. “The guide position takes a little getting used to,” added Ball. “Sitting on top of the 21-inch tube feels a bit different than the standard 19-inch of a classic raft. It takes a while to figure out what position feels most comfortable to guide from.”

Best Canoe

Esquif Huron 15

Length: 15 ft.
Width: 35 in.
Weight: 55 lbs.

Pros and Cons
⊕ Durable material so it doesn’t get dings easily
⊗ Can’t be loaded with too much gear, or it becomes sluggish

It’s rare for a new canoe to hit the shelves, but Esquif’s new Huron 15 impressed testers enough last fall to make this year’s cut. It can be paddled solo or in tandem and has a hull based on its popular Prospector design, but trimmed slightly lower from 14.5 inches to 12.5 inches—making it more sporty and less susceptible to wind. It’s designed for cottagers and recreational paddlers who want a solid canoe for calm water and small rivers but don’t need the depth and capacity of the Prospector.

Tester Nick Hinds took it out with his son, Finn, on Washington’s Cottage Lake, putting it through its paces on a quiet morning with glassy water and moody skis. “I could load it by myself—which is hard with most canoes—and I could paddle it solo or with my son,” he said, calling it agile and forgiving. “It seemed like the hull knew where I wanted it to go.” Hinds also prized its efficiency. “Each stroke was felt instantly,” he said. “It carved turns right when needed and tracked when we needed to go straight. And while limiting its use on whitewater, its low sidewall prevents it from being blown off course.”

The only drawback Hind noted was its carrying capacity. “Perfect for mild moving water—as long as it’s not loaded too heavily,” he said, explaining that it was best for two lighter people or one heavy person, and not too much gear. As for outfitting, the webbing seats “were comfortable” and the ash yoke “formed well for one-person carrying.”

Tester Alan Schmidt, who owns eight canoes and has been paddling for 40 years, put it through its paces on Washington’s low-water Class I-II Skykomish with not a child, but his 80-pound Labrador, who had no trouble centering his weight. Schmidt said that despite the Esquif 15’s rock and log dodging, the canoe tracked well, requiring “minimal correction strokes,” and was responsive to sharp turns. He also appreciated the seat height and tumblehome (the inward curve of the hull above the waterline), which “allows for easy and efficient solo paddling.”

Best of all, testers don’t need to worry about dings. It’s made from T-Formex a layered plastic with flotation and abrasion resistance, which has supplanted Royalex. Schmidt loved the material, especially on the unavoidable submerged rocks. “It slid over them easily instead of sticking, as some composite materials do.”

Still, Schmift did manage to flip the Esquif 15 in the tight confines of the canyon, putting him and his dog into the drink. Luckily, they had no trouble getting back in. “The recovery was simple and easy due to the positive buoyancy and the handles on each end,” he said.

Best Pack Raft

Alpacka Refuge

Length: 87 in. (medium)
Width: 34.5 in. (medium)
Weight: 6.7 lbs (medium)

Pros and Cons
⊕ Super lightweight but very river-worthy as well
⊕ Re-rigging time takes just five minutes
⊗ Might replace all your other rafts

Devotees of uber-lightweight backcountry craft with whitewater chops, rejoice: Alpacka’s new 2024 Refuge will have you re-thinking where you can paddle, whether you’re shouldering it to a high-alpine fishing lake, accessing remote rivers, or even bikepacking with it as part of your shuttle.

This packraft combines features of its earlier Refuge and whitewater version into one model, checking all the boxes for exploring wilderness waterways. Already known for its material’s bombproofness, Alpacka upgraded the new version to a beefier 840-denier nylon, along with a 210-denier high-count nylon hull. Now available in medium (7 feet 3 inches long) and large models (7 and a half feet and 5 inches long), it also comes standard with a backband, inflatable whitewater foot brace, and two-point thigh straps to hold you in when the going gets rough.

We tested it on the rivers and lakes of Northwest Colorado, assessing its whitewater mettle and its packability. First off, the weight comes to just 6.7 pounds for the medium (barely more than a three-person tent), making it easy to carry. It’s also fit onto the outside of our daypack easily, with plenty of weight to spare for beer, bread, and Brie. After carrying it into Jonah, Whale, and Martha lakes, we were also impressed with its game-changing cargo fly and airtight zipper that lets you stash gear inside the tubes, keeping it out of the way and your center of gravity low for added stability. “You just have to make sure you load it evenly so it’s not lopsided,” said one tester. Deflating it between lakes, we had the re-rigging time down to just five minutes. Simply roll it out, insert the nozzle of the micro-weight bellows bag, fill ‘er up with a pump, and top it off by blowing.

Another tester took it on the nearby Class II+ Colorado River, sussing out its whitewater cred by assessing the thigh straps, backband, footbrace, and sprayskirt, which attaches to a PVC rim. In the Eye of the Needle rapid, it slipped into the scouting eddy effortlessly and easily punched through the wave train. “It rode up and over the waves like a raft,” he said. “And the skirt kept all the splashes out.” The beefier floor shrugged off all abrasions, including a bottom-dragging landing.

Tester Dan Ransom, a 6’1” packrafter who paddles 60 days a year, took it out on Oregon’s Class II-III Rogue River and appreciated its river worthiness and roominess. “The whitewater rigging makes it a super capable boat for the size and weight,” he said, adding it packs down smaller than comparable whitewater models. “I was impressed by how stable, fast, and nimble it is. A fun little playboat for go-karting around on rivers with easier features. And it’s the easiest-rolling boat Alpacka makes.” Its biggest strength: “A capable boat that’s very light when it’s on your back. Ideal for trips that require a lengthy approach or exit, moderate whitewater, and where weight is at a premium.”

Best Whitewater Kayak

Pyranha Firecracker

Length: 7’11”
Width: 26 in
Weight: 41 lbs

Pros and Cons
⊕ Great for every skill level
⊕ Higher knee placement provides comfortable paddling position
⊗ None

Pyranha’s new Firecracker is plain, well
explosive. With its volume loaded up front for river running and a slicey stern for more playful paddles, the new half-slice lets you whip into micro eddies, snap onto waves, and get vertical wherever you want, all while retaining river runnability, Our testers put it to the task on various sections of Washington’s Skykomish River and the East Coast’s Nolichucky River, and found it extremely capable in both settings.

Whether you’re a pro or an average Joe, you’ll be comfortable running rapids on the Firecracker. The boat’s planing hull keeps it stable, spinnable, and surfable, while its rockered but short bow keeps you dry and relaxed. “A nice balance of playfulness and forgiveness,” said 145-pound tester Judah Harms, who put the medium through its paces on Washington’s Skykomish. “And the volume up front keeps the bow dry when surfing.” He added that playboaters will like how it sprays water away when its surfing.

Wider than many of Pyranha’s other kayaks, the Firecracker’s planing hull also eases into a gentle edge for carving. “It’s just enough to work with but novices won’t find it too aggressive,” said Harms. And the stern, he said, “is super fun—what little volume it has is distributed nicely, which helps it engage.” He found it did really well when he got vertical on rapids, too.

Tester Nick Hinds took it on Washington’s Class III Teton River at low water, ripping up three surf waves and stern squirting eddylines (stern squirting is the kayak-equivalent of doing a wheelie on a bike). “It carves great on a wave, without kicking out from too much rocker,” he said. “It sits in the wave’s sweet spot. I was able to surf until I was sore.” Calling it an “agile little kayak—fast on a wave for its length,” he added that it’s great for catching waves on the fly, making hard cutbacks, and splatting rocks and stern squirting. One demerit: “There’s no drain plug, so don’t forget your sponge.”

Our testers also liked its higher knee placement, providing a comfortable paddling position while freeing up foot room. In particular, Harms calls out the boat’s forgiveness, which lets it accommodate a wide variety of paddlers. “I’d put a beginner in it and recommend it to intermediates wanting to get more playful on their hometown runs, while experts will love it to up their freestyle game.”

Best Recreational Kayak

Old Town Ocean Kayak Malibu Two XL

Length: 13 ft
Width: 35 in
Weight: 90 lbs

Pros and Cons
⊕ High weight capacity
⊗ Not for windy conditions

You’ll look at lakes, bays, and easy-flowing rivers in a new light while paddling the Ocean Kayak Malibu Two XL recreational kayak. Perfect for heading out with your kid, spouse, pooch, or friend, it’s the ultimate family machine that can be paddled solo or tandem, with 491 pounds of weight capacity.

Our testers took it throughout the bays and inland waterways of Florida and found it perfect for the Sunshine State and beyond. “Very dry with a well-planned out deck,” said tester Tony Lai of St. Petersburg, who paddled it in wind with a little chop and touted its built-in seats with backrests, storage hatches, cup holders, molded footwells and cooler spot, and front and rear tank wells. “Plenty of space for whatever you want to bring.” He also relished its higher sitting frame seat (an upgrade) and center deck space for fishing. “Super easy to stand up on and get back down,” he said. “A great poling platform for sight fishing.”

Sarasota’s Ryan Nowakowski took it out with his 70-pound son Jackson,10, on a calm bay with an outgoing tide and winds around seven knots. “Roomy, comfortable, stable and versatile,” he said, acknowledging its tracking ability and AirComfort seats, which have an adjustable backrest and position your knees at a natural bend. “Can handle family beach days, lazy bay paddling, and wind, waves and chop. Not for super long distances, but great for shorter jaunts with stability and comfort.”

Testament came when they were drifting in about three feet of water, and out of nowhere the bow beneath Jackson was hit and launched up in the air by a very startled manatee. “Jackson was scared but the kayak didn’t capsize,” he said.

Nowakowski also applauded the waterproof hatches in front of each seat, which are deeper than those on other models and able to carry phones, wallets, keys, and more, as well as improved scupper locations so any water that gets in drains back out quickly. “You can stuff your accessories right in front of you for easy access, which frees up the tank well for coolers or other items,” he says. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t grab our phone quick enough for the manatee.”

Noting it didn’t want to track as well in windy or up current conditions, we wouldn’t recommend the Malibu Two XL for more serious expeditions.

Best Fishing Kayak

Old Town Sportsman BigWater ePDL+ 132

Length: 13’2”
Width: 36 in
Weight: 143 lbs

Pros and Cons
⊕ E-bike technology makes it easy to go against ocean tides while fishing
⊕ Lifetime hull warranty
⊗ Have to cut off the power to go into reverse, which can waste precious seconds with a fish on the line

The BigWater ePDL+ is Old Town’s most innovative pedal kayak, essentially using what is best described as e-bike technology. In short, its battery-powered pedal-drive lets anglers switch between manual paddle, pedal, power-assist pedal, or fully motorized cruise control, upping the versatility for kayak fishing. The LED screen shows you the mode, speed/assist level, and battery consumption level.

“Very intuitive, not much of a learning curve,” said tester Christi Holmes, who paddled it on lakes and tidal bays in Maine and Florida. “Excelled going against ocean surf and tides when trying to get to my fishing grounds.” She loved that she could take breaks for snacks, photos, and changing lures while the kayak kept cruising. “Liked knowing that if my battery died, I could just pedal back,” she said, adding it was great for trolling and heading against Maine’s powerful tidal rivers. “It works best in tidal areas or areas with strong currents and you need to get somewhere. Less work meant I could go farther and fish longer.”

Tester Bill Sikora used it on the fresh and saltwater of the South Florida canal. “Stable hull and lower speed great for trolling for gamefish and against the tide,” he said, adding that while trolling a small blade bait he hooked into a peacock bass. “I locked the rudder in place and just enjoyed the ride. The drive never felt glitchy and maintained speed even during extended use—and never felt it would die thanks to the power indicator.” The only weakness he noted was that you had to cut the power off to go into reverse. If a hooked fish turns toward a structure on a bank, he said, pedaling backward lets you pull it back out into open water. “With the power-assist engaged, you have to pedal a few times before it kicks off and the drive goes back into manual mode,” he said, which takes up precious seconds when you have a fish on the line.

Other features include a lifetime hull warranty (two years for the ePDL+ drive), a 36-volt lithium-ion battery, EVA foam floor pads for standing, rod and cup holders, a tackle box, full-length accessory tracks for customization, a wide stern tank well, and an offset shallow water anchor mount.

How to Choose a Boat

Generally, there are canoes and sea kayaks for touring lakes and bays, hardshell recreational and inflatable kayaks for user-friendly flatwater paddling (and also inflatable kayaks for Class I-III whitewater), and whitewater rafts and kayaks designed for running rivers. It’s important to decide what kind of paddling you’re most interested in before making any decisions about which boat to buy. Factors should include your proximity to water (and what type of water that is), skill level, and storage access. Below is a quick rundown on the types of crafts you can choose from.

Sit-Inside Kayaks

These are good for folks paddling in cooler climates or taking longer trips, since sitting inside a closed cockpit keeps you drier and more out of the wind. They also offer better in-hull storage for gear, making them better for extended jaunts. Touring models such as sea kayaks are generally longer and narrower, making them faster and better suited for bigger crossings and multi-day trips (most come with a nylon spray skirt to keep splashes at bay). Recreational kayaks cater more to entry-level paddlers and are shorter, wider, and more stable, plus they usually have larger cockpits. The tradeoff is they’re a bit slower and require more effort to paddle long distances.

Sit-on-Top Kayaks

These are touring and recreational kayaks that let you sit outside in a self-draining depression in the hull rather than inside a cockpit. They’re great for entry-level paddlers since you can climb back on if you tip over, and are well-suited for warmer climates. In general, wider means more stable, and longer means faster, even though they’re generally slower than their sit-inside brethren.

Inflatable Kayaks

Let’s call them IKs instead of duckies; it sounds better and is more in line with their performance. As with rafts, abrasion-resistant rubber makes inflatable kayaks well-suited for rivers and other rocky environments. What inflatable kayaks lack in hull speed they make up for in stability, durability, and portability—when you’re through paddling, simply roll them up for transport and storage back at home. Available in both single and double models, most also have inflatable self-bailing floors.

Fishing Kayaks

Fishing kayaks are the same as sit-on-tops, but with options to add accessories such as rod holders, bait platforms, anchors, tackle compartments, electronics, and more. They’re generally wider, heavier, and more stable (some let you cast while standing), with large maximum capacities for gear—and fish. Pedal kayaks are propelled via a removable system that drops through the hull in front of your seat (note: you can also use a paddle). They can reach speeds of five miles per hour (faster than you can paddle) and are steered with a hand-operated rudder. While their origins stem from fishing (i.e. they keep your hands free for casting), they’re becoming popular for general recreational use as well, and are good options for birding, sightseeing, exploring, and other uses. Most also come with a forward and reverse mode, which can be handy for retrieving a snagged lure.

Whitewater Kayaks

Whitewater kayaks run the gamut from tiny playboats built specifically for surfing waves to more bulbous creek boats for charging through hydraulics, to well-rounded river runners, built for easy paddling downstream. Determine what kind of water you’ll be paddling before making your decision. “Half-slice” boats are becoming increasingly popular, with a forgiving bow for river running and a flat stern for playing, squirting, and surfing.

Pack Rafts

This burgeoning category consists of uber-lightweight, bathtub-shaped inflatable rafts that are easy to carry into hard-to-reach lakes and other waterways. They come in a variety of shapes, weights, and sizes, from super light (under four pounds) for easy portaging, to more robust models complete with sprayskirts and thigh straps for whitewater.

Whitewater Rafts

These durable boats are generally made for carrying gear and passengers down whitewater rivers. They range from heavy-duty haulers for multi-day trips to light and fast fishing vessels complete with raised seats and casting platforms.

Other Considerations to Ask Yourself

There are a lot of choices when it comes to design and materials. Ask yourself a few questions to narrow your search to the best craft for your needs, such as:

What kind of paddling do I want to do?

The water conditions will greatly affect the type of boat that is right for you. Will you be sticking to flatwater lakes and rivers or tackling whitewater?

How much space do I need?

For longer day trips and overnights, you’ll need room for extra gear, so consider slightly larger, or even tandem models.

What’s my budget?

There’s a wide range of prices depending on size, design, and material, for everything from rec to whitewater kayaks. Decide how high-performance you want to go and what your budget constraints are before narrowing it down.

Do I want a tandem or single?

Many rec and touring kayaks are made in single- and two-person versions. While it is possible to paddle a tandem kayak solo, it’s more difficult, so only get a tandem kayak if you’ll be using it mostly with someone else.

What type of material should I choose?

As with most things, you get what you pay for. Weight and durability are the big variables to watch for. Some higher-end boats are made of fiberglass and composite, making them lighter but more expensive and less durable. The majority of recreational and whitewater kayaks are made from plastic, which is affordable and durable.

How We Test

• Number of testers: 14
• Number of products tested: 19
• Miles paddled: 136
• Cumulative put-ins reached: 24
• Post-paddle PBRs: 36 (minus the one that exploded)
• Cups of coffee: 25
• Hull bumps by manatees: 1

To test boats this season, we assembled a team of expert paddlers from around the country who took some of the newest paddle craft on the market everywhere from the manatee-filled estuaries of Florida to the Rockies and rivers of Washington. The group consisted of guides, retailers, whitewater junkies, fishing aficionados, and more, all sharing a love for being on the water as often as possible. Overall, we got our feet wet on 19 different tester boats, whittling the list down to the above five based on performance, weight, and durability.

Meet Our Lead Tester

Testing manager Eugene Buchanan is the 14-year publisher and editor-in-chief of Paddler magazine and founder of PaddlingLife.com. He’s written about the outdoors for more than 30 years. He’s a former ski patroller, raft, and kayak guide whose passion for paddling has taken him to more than 30 countries on six continents. A Fellow member of the , he was also the recipient of W.L. Gore & Associates’s prestigious Shipton-Tillman grant for a 27-day, white-knuckle whitewater trip down Siberia’s Bashkaus River, a trip he chronicled in one of his five books, .

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The standup paddleboard category is a crowded field, like surfing California’s Old Man’s on a Sunday. But, after extensive testing (woe is us), we managed to narrow it down to a handful of SUPs that stood out amongst the crowd. Whether you’re embracing your inner Laird Hamilton on a wave or cruising around your local lake or bay, we have what you’re looking for right here.

At a Glance

• Best Inflatable Bay Tourer:
• Most Packable:
• Best Beginner Hardboard:Ìę
• Best Inflatable River SUP:
• Best Standup Foil Board:
• How to Choose a Paddleboard
• How We Test
• Meet Our Lead Tester

Best Inflatable Bay Tourer

Isle Pioneer Pro

Sizes: 9’6” x 32”, 10’6” x 34”, 11’6” x 36”
Volume: 275 L, 375 L, 380L
Thickness: 6”
Weight: 20 lbs, 23 lbs, 26 lbs

Pros and Cons
⊕ Rigidity of a hard board in an inflatable
⊕ Full deck pad
⊕ Ample gear loops
⊗ Addition of carbon fiber reflected in higher price
⊗ No rails for surfing

Isle’s top-selling Pioneer SUP, available in three sizes, gets a high-performance boost for 2024 with the Pro series, which adds Infinity carbon fiber to the board’s already bomber Air-Tech construction to increase glide, rigidity, stability, and efficiency.

How it works: a six-stringer chassis (one on each rail and in the center, mirrored on the bottom) of a proprietary carbon and thermoplastic matrix gives the board, “high flexural modulus,” engineering speak for a beam’s ability to resist bending under pressure. Every time a board flexes it loses energy to the water, so this added rigidity ups the Isle Pioneer Pro’s performance, especially when combined with its six-inch drop stitch construction. But the biggest benefit: You get the glide and stiffness of a rigid board in a portable, lightweight inflatable.

Our testers took the Isle Pioneer Pro from SoCal’s Mission Bay to the salt ponds and estuaries of Rhode Island, all singing its stand-up praises. “It’s incredibly stable,” said East Coast tester Ross Singer. “I’m 200 pounds, and I was able to jump up and down on it with little deflection.”

We also tested out the Isle Pioneer Pro’s new hybrid design, letting it double as a sit-on-top kayak by attaching an inflatable seat ($125) and foot brace ($60) to its Isle-Link attachment system, which allows for endless customization. (Bonus: the breakdown paddle has an extension that turns your SUP handle into a kayak blade.) “I went over huge wakes from a 70-foot wooden yacht and stayed dry,” said tester Tim Sharp, who took it out on a choppy day on Rhode Island’s Point Judith Salt Pond. “And it tracked great in a 15-mile-per-hour wind.”

Other features include a full-coverage deck pad offering comfort and grip for the likes of yoga, pets and kids; a new better-than-bungees gear management system that lets you easily strap on gear via infinite clip-on points; and a nifty carrying handle that lays flush to the board for getting prone (as for yoga). Tech upgrade: on Mission Bay, we turned it into an e-SUP by attaching a Bixpy electric fin motor, tooling around the bay at sunset to the marvel of SoCal motorboat partiers.

Most Packable

Kokopelli Chasm-Lite Inflatable SUP

Sizes: 10’ x 30”
Volume: 290 L
Thickness: 6”
Weight: 12.9 lbs

Pros and Cons
⊕ Ultra-lightweight and packable
⊗ Less stable than other inflatable SUPs
⊗ No deck pad on the tail section

Renowned in the whitewater community for their premium packrafts, Kokopelli’s first foray into stand-up paddling is one of the lightest and most packable inflatable boards ever made. Weighing only 12.9 pounds, the board folds in half (hot-dog style) and then packs down to only 18 inches tall—roughly the size of a regular sleeping bag.

This board can be squirreled away into the tightest of spaces, used as carry-on luggage for plane travel, or hauled into the backcountry to explore remote bodies of water. It fit into a tiny nook in one tester’s Subaru Outback when it was fully loaded for a camping trip, while other inflatables didn’t stand a chance of being stuffed in.

Once pumped up, this 10-foot long, 30-inch-wide board offers a respectable paddling experience, though it makes some sacrifices in the stability department. The combination of a 10-knot wind and one-foot swell at the mouth of the Dana Point Harbor felt sketchy—plus, the lack of a deck pad on the tail did not help matters.

“This is an ideal board for an experienced user looking for a lightweight, minimalist option,” said tester Dave Shively, founding editor of SUP Magazine. “Though the minimalism comes down to the width, there’s not a lot of board.” While the board itself is spartan, Kokopelli includes everything paddlers need including a small pump, four-piece paddle, nine-inch fin, and a repair kit that easily fits inside their waterproof dry bag backpack.

Best Beginner Hardboard

Starboard GO SUP

Sizes: Available in 4 sizes from 10’2” x 29” to 12’ x 34”
Volume: 177 L to 256 L
Thickness: 4.4” to 4.8”
Weight: 23.6 lbs to 35.1 lbs
Pros and Cons
⊕ Beautiful cosmetics
⊕ Great stability
⊗ Big piece of gear to store and travel with

Just starting out? The new Go from hardshell stalwart Starboard makes a great entry level board for those wanting to paddle fast and stay dry. Available in a wide size range from the longer and faster 12-footer to the more maneuverable 10-foot-2-inch board and in a variety of layups, the Go accommodates the whole spectrum of rider weights and abilities (bigger equals wider and more stable, shorter means narrower, better tracking, and increased maneuverability).

Designed for a variety of conditions, from flat water cruising to navigating light wind and chop, its versatility comes from a classic surf shape sporting a concave bottom. A wide tail and nose provide balanced trim for efficient touring, while a deep center channel on the bottom enhances glide and stability (like a catamaran). Its steadiness is augmented by boxy rails, which also limit water flowing onto the deck, keeping feet and gear dry. And you can still step back for a quick snap turn and rely on the nose for added stability in chop. The fin box is also positioned well astern for improved tracking.

Plus, it’s easy to carry to the beach thanks to its two-in-one carry strap and paddle holder, which lets you hang the board on your shoulder and instagram your outing or sip your coffee on the way home.

Our testers took it everywhere from Michigan’s Great Lakes to Newport Beach, California, vouching for its impressive all-around performance. “Fun and stable,” said Midwest-based tester Chris Rosario, who was appreciative of its seam-welded construction that enhanced the board’s stiffness. “Great for beginners or seasoned paddlers, as well as surfers and yogis.”

Two cherries on top: First, the ASAP WS version of this board includes a windsurf-mount attachment and additional mid-fin box, so it doubles as a windsurfer with upwind control. Second, Starboard is a B-corp that buys plastic and carbon offsets for every board sold.

Best Inflatable River SUP

Hala Atcha 86

Sizes: 8’6″ x 34″
Volume: 269 L
Thickness: 6”
Weight: 22.5 lbs

Pros and Cons
⊕ Great maneuverability and surf chops
⊕ Stable in waves
⊗ Not much hull speed on the flats
⊗ Hard to reflip upright

Hitting what it calls the sweet spot where “stability-meets-surf,” Hala’s re-designed Atcha line ups the ante with its new longer, spring-loaded StompBox2 fin, beefing up responsiveness and power. The nine-inch fin, made of tough TPU, is moreÌęrigid in all directions, serving up more drive in deep water and preventing you from supermanning off the board when the going gets shallow.

Tester Davide Sartoni took it on dozens of rivers throughout the country, ranging from Class II-IV and low to high water, and was impressed by its balance of skills. “It’s easy to maneuver, has great stability, rides over waves and tracks well across current, and it surfs waves that are not too steep really well,” he said. He also credits the new, longer fin for keeping him upright and in control. “It lets you ride in shallow water, which has always been a problem of river supping,” he reported.

“It’s made to keep you upright,” echoed tester Sady Carelli. “When rocking side to side, it doesn’t flip you off. You can walk up, down, and side-to-side, giving you a chance to save yourself before plunging into the drink.”

Which brings up one demerit. “If you do swim and the board is upside down, it’s hard to flip back upright,” she remarked, crediting the nuisance to its rocker. Still, for overall river running, she concluded it’s a great choice. “It’s fun for riding small wave trains thanks to its rockered nose,” she said. The retractable fin also builds your confidence. “It’s a lifesaver,” she said. “It’s stopped me from several face plants.”

Best Standup Foil Board

KT Ginxu Dragonfly

Sizes: Available in 7 stock sizes, from 6’6” x 18” to 8’4” x 22”
Thickness: 6.5” to 7”

Pros and Cons
⊕ Quick to get up on the foil
⊕ Great stability and glide
⊗ Expensive
⊗ Carbon construction dings easily

Shaped by company namesake Keith Teboul, the Dragonfly downwind SUP foil board—new this year from Maui’s KT—is billed as the “complete downwinder.” Built for light downwind and wing foiling, it’s a performance downwind SUP whose displacement hull makes it quick to get going. The patented Ginxu step on the bottom—an indentation that helps it plane—helps lift it off the water quickly, detaching from the water in front of the foil. It also comes with a beveled tail so you don’t touch when turning.

Who better to attest to its features in these two categories than eight-time world champion Kai and his brother Ridge Lenny, both all-around watermen born and raised on the island. “Its main strength is its stability and glide that make it extremely easy to get up onto foil,” said Kai, whose longest single run was 32 miles in five- to 10-knot winds. “Its length also makes it fantastic for paddling when not on foil.”

Calling it the “best there is out there at the moment” for the category, he appreciated its foot traction—“the deck grip is nice and comfortable, not slippery, and your feet won’t fall asleep”—and its light carbon construction, which he touted as “extremely durable.” While its narrow width can make adjusting from a traditionally wide SUP design somewhat intimidating, he adds it’s great for flatwater pop-ups, small waves, and downwind swells in light to extreme winds.

Brother Ridge, who took it on a five-mile downwinder in 25- to 30-knot winds on a “side shore with good bumps” (what he calls the board’s “ideal conditions”) also sung its praises. “It makes downwind foiling more accessible,” he said.

Want to test the waters? Try learning on a bigger size first and then tone it down a notch.

How to Choose a Paddleboard

Intended Use

First, think about what you want to do with a board, as this will determine the shape and type of board you buy. Do you want to surf? Look for a shorter length and rocker to keep the nose from diving. Cruise around lakes? You’ll want a longer board for maintaining hull speed, with width equaling stability and narrowness enhancing glide. Interested in running whitewater? (Yes, it’s a thing.) You might want an inflatable board for added durability, width for stability, and rocker to ride up and over waves. Planning to race in the ocean? You’ll want a long and narrow board for speed.

Hard Board vs. Inflatable SUP

Inflatable boards are excellent for storage, transportation, and general toughness (it is very hard to put a hole in a well-constructed inflatable board). But they do come with some performance tradeoffs, especially in the surf and race departments. They’re not as fast or rigid as hardboards, compromising speed, and harder to hold an edge on a wave.

Beginner vs. Advanced SUPs

Great beginner dimensions start around eight-foot, six-inches long and at least 30 inches wide, with six inches of thickness (for inflatables) for stability. SUPs for more advanced paddlers are often narrower (depending on intended purpose), meaning better hull speed but compromising stability.

How We Test

• Number of testers:Ìę17
• Number of products tested:Ìę31
• Number of miles paddled:Ìę103-plus (ocean and river)
• Bags of chips eaten:Ìę6
• Flipflops busted: 1
• Board cannonballs: 4

To test SUPs this season, we assembled a team of expert and even not-so-expert stand-up-paddlers from Florida to California, Hood River to Hawaii, and even a few from the Rockies to weigh in on how they handle all forms of water. The group consisted of outdoor reps, shop owners, competitive athletes, and regular Joe paddlers.

Our test crew also included big names like SUP experts Spencer Lacy and Mike Tavares, and Maui-based watermen and foil aficionados Kai and Ridge Lenny. In all, we tested 23 different SUPs from a variety of categories—from rec models for easy touring to high-end foil SUPs for Hawaian downwinders—looking at everything from material and shape to stability, glide, and rigidity.

Meet Our Lead Tester

Eugene Buchanan is the 14-year publisher and editor-in-chief ofÌęPaddlerÌęmagazine and founder of PaddlingLife.com. Writing about the outdoors for more than 30 years, he’s a former ski patroller and raft and kayak guide whose passion for paddling has taken him to more than 30 countries on six continents. A longboarder when it comes to surf, he’s been a SUP connoisseur since the first inflatable was invented by C4 Waterman and his stance on them has never changed: they’re awesome (and regular, not goofy).

Jack Haworth is an avid stand-up paddler who lives in one of the sport’s meccas: Dana Point, California. With ample opportunities for both flatwater paddling and SUP surfing, Haworth put this year’s boards through a classic Southern California gauntlet. Haworth is a former editor of SUP Magazine.

The post The Best Standup Paddleboards for Cruising, Foiling, and River Running appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

British Columbia’s Grand Canyon of the Stikine River is one of the great whitewater problems: a 45-mile stretch of Class V–VI rapids that has been successfully paddled by fewer than a hundred kayakers. Of those, only one has done it alone: Doug Ammons, the legendary 55-year-old boater from Missoula, Montana, who is shrouded by kayakers in the same oracular light as Reinhold Messner is by mountaineers. This month, Erik Boomer, a 27-year-old photographer from McCall, Idaho, plans to one-up Ammons by paddling the Stikine alone—in one day.

“It’s every bit the equivalent of soloing a major Himalayan peak,” says Ammons, who took three days to run it himself in 1992. “Looking at people coming up, I knew Erik would be the one to do it.”

Boomer, who logged a first descent of Quebec’s 100-foot Chutes à Magnan waterfall in April 2011 and spent 104 days circumnavigating Canada’s Ellesmere Island by sea kayak last summer, plans to “create a mental map” of the Stikine’s 40 massive rapids by taking a couple of warm-up runs with a team before his solo attempt. Once he knows the lines, he’ll launch alone at first light and spend the next seven to 10 hours in the sheer-walled, 1,000-foot-deep gorge. “I see it as the culmination of all my skills,” he says. “It’s a soul project.”

The post Mission: Improbable appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Last winter, when Los ­Angeles climber Aaron Tague, 23, was asked to show up at a Hollywood warehouse and scale a portable climbing wall, he didn’t know he was auditioning. Turns out Tom Cruise was watching from behind a two-way mirror, and he offered Tague a job:Ìę to teach him how to move like a climber for a scene in this month’s . In the fourth installment of the franchise, Cruise’s character, Ethan Hunt, has to scale Dubai’s 2,717-foot Burj Khalifa. Eugene Buchanan spoke with Tague about his coaching stint.

Dubai's Burj Khalifa

Dubai’s Burj Khalifa

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű: How was Cruise as a student?
Tague: He was very willing to learn. He wanted to get into the psyche of climbing, so we watched a lot of old videos. He was fascinated with [the late] Dan Osman. I brought him Masters of Stone II, and he loved it. I also gave him Mark Twight’s Kiss or Kill. One quote he liked was “Punish the body to perfect the soul.”

Did you train on set?
Paramount Studios built a training facility in the back lot. We met there once a day for a month, for one to three hours.

What does Cruise have to do in the movie?
He’s inside the building, and he has to cut out a piece of window to climb to a higher floor. Then one of his suction gloves fails, and he has to climb for about 60 feet.

He actually climbs part of the tower?
Absolutely. Cruise shoots about 90 percent of his own stunts. Most of the climbing in Ghost Protocol is him. He had lines on him, but he was actually hanging out and climbing 2,000 feet above the ground. The more dangerous action stunts, like swinging in midair on one arm, are done by stuntman Casey O’Neill.

Did Hollywood finally get a climbing scene right?
The moves are legit, but Cruise has an eye for the entertainment factor. One day I reached down to roll up my pant legs, and he said, “We have to work that in.”

The post Tom Cruise’s Climbing Coach appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Every third weekend of September, some 5,000 paddlers descend on a field by the Gauley River for a weekend of white-water, camping, music, and Woodstock-like debauchery coinciding with a 2,800-cubic-feet-per-second release from the nearby dam. Unless you’re an expert kayaker, the best way to enjoy the relentless Class IV–V rapids of the Upper and Lower Gauley is by raft, with North American River Runners ($130–$180 per person; ). Leave behind the barbecue—there’s great brick-oven pizza and local Summersville smoked brisket at the food booths—and prepare for the unexpected: manufacturers give away boats at roshambo tournaments, bands play until the wee hours, sporting events include sumo-suit battles, and mud-wrestling matches occur without warning (don’t forget your rubber boots).

Kokatat drytop

Kokatat Trinity Drytop

Don’t sweat the rapids, bro. Kokatat’s Trinity drytop, a Gore-Tex shortie with latex gaskets, is just the right amount of layering for the 55-to-60-degree water coming out of the Summersville Dam. $380;

Merrell Trail Glove Shoes

Merrell shoes

Merrell Trail Glove shoes

For day hikes, swap out your Chacos for the more protective but equally light and breathable Merrell Trail Glove shoes. At 6.2 ounces, these barely-there kicks are almost entirely waft-friendly mesh, save for the scramble-ready Vibram sole and fused toe bumper. $110;

Primus Profile Duo Camp Stove

Grill pancakes on one side and brew coffee on the other with the stainless-steel, propane-powered Primus Profile Duo camp stove. The burner cranks out 12,000 BTU per hour, the grill 9,700. $120;

Big Agnes King Creek 6 Tent

Avoid the din of all-night drum circles by pitching your Big Agnes King Creek 6 tent in the most remote grove of trees. The 110 square feet of vestibule space accommodates loads of wet gear, while the 87 square feet of floor space lets you host your own exclusive after-party. $450;

Aire Outfitter II Kayak

Take it easy on the seven-mile Class III middle stretch of the Gauley in the Aire Outfitter II, a 12.5-foot tandem inflatable kayak with large-diameter tubes, a low center of balance, and almost 19 inches of bow and stern rise for quicker turning. $1,392;

Mountain Hardwear MegaLamina Bag

After a day of soaking and squelching, crawl into the two-person Mountain Hardwear MegaLamina bag. Welded construction eliminates sewn-through cold spots, dual footbox zippers let bootie-saturated feet breathe, and an extra-wide cut allows tossing and turning. $200;

The post Gauley Fest appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Anderson Cooper

Eyewitness
[42, NEW YORK CITY]
You were in Port-au-Prince less than 24 hours after the quake. With a tragedy of this scale, where do you start?
You just turn the camera on and open your eyes. No matter what direction you move, you keep the camera rolling. It's all happening in real time and goes on for days like that. Each morning you go out and think, OK, I'm going to look for a rescue, or, I'm going to go to a cemetery, but invariably you never get there, because so much comes across your path.

Do you sleep?
The first couple of days, you really don't. You shoot all day, and spend the nighttime editing and writing. But frankly, you don't think about that stuff, because it's so overwhelming.

Watching your reports, it seemed like anger might have become the dominant emotion among Haitians.
I think first there's the shock and horror of it all, and then you see how things play out. It doesn't get better, and the local government is completely not meeting the needs of its citizens, so there are a lot of things that anger people. Those are the people we talk to all day long. It's not so much what I think about it; it's more what I'm hearing from people. Why are people dying stupid deaths? A child doesn't need to die from an infection from a broken leg.

Is part of your role to broadcast that rage?
It's not so much that I'm broadcasting rage. I'm there to bear witness to what's happening. There's really nothing sadder than a child dying and no one knowing the suffering and pain of the loved ones left behind. And I think there's value in documenting that and giving voice to it.

There's been criticism directed at you and some of your CNN colleagues for overstepping your roles as objective journalists and getting involved in the story. At one point, you jumped into a crowd of looters to pull out an injured boy.
To be in places before relief workers are there: That presents some unique challenges. You suddenly find yourself in a situation where, say, you're a doctor—what do you do? There are some journalism purists who say that you do nothing, that you just go watch and report, and I certainly understand that. But in the case of the little boy [in Haiti] who got hit in the head with a cement block, no one was helping him. He couldn't get up. He'd try to get up and collapse. Blood was pouring from his head…It was a split-second decision to take him out of the situation. I think anyone would have done the same thing if they had the opportunity.

What kinds of stories make you want leave the studio and jump on a plane?
I tend to be drawn to stories that aren't on people's radar. When I was a kid, I used to look at old maps with unexplored regions. I find it interesting that with all the technology we have today, there are still places that don't make headlines. The situation in the Democratic Republic of Congo is one I've traveled to report on a lot. There are six million people who have died in the Congo in the past ten years. It's the deadliest conflict since World War II, but very few people know much about it. It's truly horrific.

We ran a piece recently by Nicholas D. Kristof, arguing for the need to find hopeful stories within a tragedy to get people's attention. Is that something you try to do?
I believe in telling the reality of what's happening. And some nights there isn't much to be hopeful for. But even the first day after the quake in Haiti, before the rescue crews got there, [we filmed] people rescue a little girl. That was a positive thing.

What effect do the things you witness have on you personally? Is it traumatic?
There was a time when I first started, when I made a fake press pass and borrowed a camera and headed into wars, and for three years that was the only kind of story I was interested in doing. It definitely takes a toll. You have to be very conscious of its effects and try to take a break when you need to.

There's also the inherent danger you're dealing with for prolonged periods.
I'm far more acutely aware of my surroundings than my friends who have regular jobs. I'm acutely aware of who's around and what the possibilities are. It changes the way you see your surroundings. But I don't seek out dangerous situations. I'm pretty much a chicken. Truly, I don't believe [my team has] taken any risks.

What about when you were younger?
My first three years, I can't believe some of the things I did. The idea of going to Somalia alone, not having a place to stay or security. I was 23 or 24. There was fighting between different clans in the city. I literally landed on the airstrip and had no idea about the town. A truckload of gunmen approached me, and I ended up hiring them as my gunmen, and we went around to the burial grounds where all these bodies were being dumped, and there were all these empty pits. I was thinking, They could just shoot me and put me in a pit and no one would ever know.

Were you just naive?
I don't think I was naive; I just didn't allow fear to stop me from going to a place. I don't believe you should be ruled by fear in anything in your life. I don't like anything that scares me, and I prefer to face it head-on and get over it. Anyone who says they're not scared is a fool or a liar or both. I just don't want that fear in my stomach to be part of my life, so I work to eliminate it.

Some of the athletes we talk to seem to crave the adrenaline that goes with fear.
I think it's a little different. I have no interest in jumping out of an airplane, or any of the things people do for thrills to push their limits and all that. To me, that seems foolish, and there's no point. If people are suffering in a place, to me, it's not a question of whether I'm going to go or not, it's a question of how fast can I get there?

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Icon: Ivan Watson

Chaos Correspondent

[34, ISTANBUL]
Cooper isn't the only guy in a tight T-shirt reporting live from Haiti these days. CNN recently poached Ivan Watson from National Public Radio. Here's his take on the crisis in Haiti:”You don't have someone you can be angry at in Haiti. There's little more you can do than shake your fist at the sky. This is real 'wrath of God' stuff. Yesterday they gave me a mandatory day off. I wasn't allowed to work. You go at a sprint for five days, and then your body starts to deteriorate. I've never covered anything this big—the amount of human suffering, the loss. It was so overwhelming that I couldn't process it at first. But then it became clear that it was a duty to get some word out about this place. The only way I could deal with the bodies stacked up was to put on the journalistic lens. The scale of the damage was so huge that I couldn't pretend to pitch in. There was a girl who was in trouble, and I didn't drop everything to help. We reported on her and we were running from one place to another. I checked up on her later and didn't expect this little girl to die. If it had happened three days later, and I had been capable of understanding what the hell was going on, I would have tried to do everything to save this trapped girl but…didn't. It will haunt me forever.”

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Icon: Sonnie Trotter

Rock Star

Sonnie Trotter

[30, SQUAMISH, B.C.]
A lot of climbers drill permanent safety bolts into the rock every six or seven feet, but we're going back and doing trad routes the way they would've been done back in the seventies. We've nicknamed it “retro-trad.” Some outstanding climbs would've never been bolted if they weren't 5.14. Only now, climbing that hard on trad gear—stoppers, cams, and nuts that are placed into cracks and then removed—is relatively normal. So that's what we're doing. When I was 16, I saw footage of Peter Croft doing a climb like this in Yosemite. It was a 5.13 finger crack, and it had bolts on it. He ignored them. It just seemed to make sense to me. You can turn a lot of sport climbs into really dangerous trad climbs, but I'm looking for lines with big, bold features—the ones that scream out from across the valley. Maybe they have history. These I find worthy of the challenge. And, of course, they help me hone my skills for my own first ascents.

Trotter, who's climbed trad routes as hard as 5.14c, spent March establishing new routes on Mexico's 2,500-foot El Gigante.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Icon: Lynsey Dyer

Huck Doll

[28, JACKSON HOLE]
The more skiing becomes a job, the less you get to ski for fun. I used to feel like I had to prove myself all the time. It was kind of like “Hold my beer. Watch this.” It's always good to stomp those giant airs, but the skiing part has become underappreciated. A lot of the time, just getting to the cliff is the burliest part of the line, the part that shows whether you're a legit skier. When you watch somebody ski fluidly from top to bottom, that's what makes you want to go do it. Most of the big lines I've skied so far have been around Jackson. But there's nothing like Alaska. I've put a lot of time in up there but still haven't gotten my dream opportunity. All the guys are champing to get up there. They have seniority and dictate what's going on—whether you get on a helicopter that's going to the best places. I just want to keep putting my time in, so when I get the call I'm ready. When women are given a chance, you'll be impressed.

Dyer, a former Junior Olympic gold medalist, left racing to ski the biggest cliffs and steepest faces for the cameras of Warren Miller and Teton Gravity Research. She's the co-founder of , which aims to increase female participation in sports.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Icon: Reid Stowe

Marathon Mariner

Reid Stowe

[58, ADRIFT]
There are many reasons I decided to do this voyage, but they've changed a lot since I first conceived of it, in 1986, and left land in 2007. I've been at sail for more than a thousand days now—the longest sea voyage without resupply in history. But I still have months and months to go, so I can't celebrate. I'm trying not to look ahead, but right now it seems as if I don't have a home. This boat is the only home I have, and it's been beaten up in every way. At the beginning of the voyage, I was hit by a ship on autopilot, so I've sailed this whole time with a partially disabled boat. I capsized at one point, but I kept going. In a way, I succeeded through the power of love, because if you truly love what you're doing, you can succeed at whatever you do. I've learned a lot about myself by being separated from society for so long. I've learned that we as humans must explore. We must see and discover new things or we degenerate. My hope is that this voyage will inspire people to overcome their fears and follow their dreams—to explore. I kept going because I had to. What else could I do?

Stowe was on day 1,003 at sea when we reached him via sat phone. He'd been sailing back and forth between the Atlantic, Indian, and Pacific oceans. He plans on docking his 70-foot schooner, Anne, at New York City this June.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Icon: Lewis Gordon Pugh

Sea Lion

[40, LONDON]
I started out wanting to swim in places where nobody had swum before: Antarctica, the Arctic, all the bloody-cold places. I wanted to be a pioneer, a descendent of Scott and Amundsen, except an explorer of the oceans. I think I was born to swim, but standing on the ice edge at the North Pole in just a Speedo and goggles, I was terrified. You dive in and the water's 28 degrees—colder than what killed the Titanic's passengers—and it's like a death zone. It feels like somebody punched you in the stomach. You cannot breathe. Your skin is on fire. But doing this also gives me an opportunity to shake the lapels of world leaders who aren't taking the environment seriously. In 2008, I swam north of Spitsbergen and was so shocked by how thin the sea ice had become I called Gordon Brown on my satellite phone. We had a long chat. Shortly after, he appointed a climate-change minister in Britain.

In May, Pugh will attempt a one-kilometer swim through the near-freezing waters of an unnamed lake, at about 18,000 feet at the foot of Everest.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Icon: Maya Gabeira

Giant Rider

[23, OAHU]
The first time I saw a really big wave was at Waimea, at the Eddie Aikau invitational. I was 17 and had just moved to Hawaii from Brazil. I wanted to live on my own. I wanted to figure out who I was and what I really wanted in life. I knew that day that I wanted to surf those waves. After a year of sitting in the lineup with the boys, I caught my first big one—maybe 15 feet—and everything just felt right. I was so focused and in the moment. I loved it. Soon enough I was surfing big waves all over the world. I ended up at Teahupoo, in Tahiti. I was really nervous. I took two big wipeouts, either of which could have ended my career. But it didn't feel right to sit on my board and look stupid, to give up. So my partner, Carlos Burle, towed me out again, and I caught one. People criticized me for taking those risks, for getting in over my head. And, yes, in the beginning I did take a lot of risks, but in the beginning you have to take those risks. How else do you make it? How else do you realize your dreams?

Last August, Gabeira surfed a 45-footer at Dungeons, South Africa, the largest wave ever ridden by a woman—which makes her a shoo-in for her third consecutive Billabong XXL title.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Icon: Cody Townsend

Water…Skier

[26, SANTA CRUZ]
A little over a year ago, Mike Douglas and I came up with the idea to ski on waves. We're both longtime surfers and professional skiers, so the idea came naturally. Very few people knew about the project when we arrived in Maui. We were sure we'd get blasted out of there as kooks if locals heard about some haoles trying to ski on waves, but everyone was supportive. The technology is pretty far behind. It's like skiing on hickory skis 50 years ago. We used alpine ski boots and super-fat wake skis. After one ride, a wave sucked me down and gave me the worst hold-down of my life. I was standing on a reef below the surface. Even with a life jacket on, I couldn't get up. My skis felt like 200-pound weights on each leg. But we also got up to 25-second rides on some big waves with 20-foot faces. It felt like skiing on top of a slow, wet avalanche. It'd be the easiest way ever to get barreled. On a surfboard, you often get spit out, but on skis you can stall out in the tube. By the end of the trip we knew exactly what equipment we'd have to design to make it better.

Townsend is a professional skier, surfer, and watersports innovator.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Icon: Nikki Kimball

Endurance Predator

[38, BOZEMAN, MONTANA]
Fun? The race? Fun? Yeah, there were parts of it that were fun. One time, five of us were running along the singletrack and saw this wasp nest, and there was nothing we could do but run through it. (You can't go off-trail, because the jungle's too thick.) These hornets were as long as your little finger—huge. You just heard swearing in five different languages. It was hilarious in a warped kind of way. It's not always painful. I was 27 when I started entering trail races. I'm a slow runner, but I can run for a really long time. It's like hiking at a faster pace. You get to see so much more country, and race organizers are always holding these things in amazing places. It's very social for me. I never took the racing seriously until the press noticed that I had a six-year winning streak. I think each person has a finite number of world-class performances in them.

Starting in 1999, Kimball went seven consecutive years without losing an ultramarathon, including the U.S. national championships. She just returned from winning Brazil's 150-mile Jungle Marathon.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Icon: Teresa MacPherson and Banks

Guiding Lights

Teresa MacPherson

Teresa MacPherson and Banks

[57 and 6, FAIRFAX, VIRGINIA]
I went to Port-au-Prince with the second wave of people from our task force with Banks, my 65-pound black Labrador, who is trained to find living people. The rubble went on for miles and miles. Helicopters were continually overhead. Rescue teams were everywhere. We used the dogs to discover people trapped in difficult-to-reach places. Banks crawled into voids, tunneling through an unstable environment where no human could go. He barked when he detected the scent of a living person. It could be seven days before an extrication was complete. The doctors said the victims were probably able to survive because they were used to subsisting on so little. The best canine story in Haiti was about a dog that ran out of its search area and began barking at a wall. They bored a hole in it and stared into the face of a three-year-old, dehydrated but alive. That was a 100 percent dog find. I often wondered if our training would be good enough for a disaster of this magnitude. Would the dogs just go, Are you kidding me? But Banks totally did his job. Our group made 16 rescues, a new record for us. Thankfully, we made a difference.

Virginia Task Force One canine search specialist Teresa MacPherson manages FEMA's disaster dog program. She and her Labs have worked in the aftermaths of the Oklahoma City bombing and hurricanes Ike and Katrina.

This article originally appeared as Parting Shot in șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű's April 2010 issue.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Icon: Rolando Garibotti

Silent Master

[39, JACKSON HOLE]
Am I media shy? I don't make sponsorship money or apply for grants. I make a living as a guide, and that works well enough. I don't object to media after the fact, but I'm always surprised when people promote a climb before doing it, because it's difficult to deal with the pressure of those expectations. The Torre Traverse [Patagonia's Cerro Standhardt, Punta Herron, Torre Egger, and Cerro Torre] took me almost three years. I dedicated all of my time to it. The reason Colin Haley and I pulled it off is because we're very good at planning, not because we're particularly good climbers. We had barely enough food and were barely warm enough. We asked to withdraw the climb from the Piolet d'Or [mountaineering's highest award] in early 2009. That was the second time I'd done that. The first was for a new route on Cerro Torre, in 2005. I just thought the idea that somebody would win this Piolet d'Or was ridiculous. I'm down here with Haley, again. We have an idea, but I don't know if we'll pull it off this year, so I think I'll keep it to myself.

Garibotti has held the record for the Grand Traverse—climbing ten Teton peaks—since 2000, with a time of 6:49.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Icon: Trip Jennings

River Lover

[27, PORTLAND, OREGON]
There's no road map that shows you how to make a living as a kayaker and filmmaker, but last December I knew I had done it when I paid my cell-phone bill on time. The idea behind my first film, Bigger Than Rodeo, was to blend environmental activism and cutting-edge whitewater. I drove around the country in a '96 Subaru Impreza and maxed out three credit cards while showing footage of a paddler running a 105-foot waterfall. It took three more films and two more credit cards to figure out a combination of adventure and activism that worked. You don't get an interesting job by filling out an application; you commit to your dream the same way you do a waterfall: pick your line and dive headfirst. I'm glad I did it. In the past two years, my filming expeditions to Papua New Guinea, China, the Congo, Bolivia, Canada, and Brazil have been paid for through a partnership with National Geographic and the International League of Conservation Photographers. In the next six months I'm scheduled to shoot one film about elephant poaching in the Congo and another about kayaking in Laos. I created my dream job. It all started because I spent a year living out of a moldy Subaru and poaching continental breakfasts at cheap motels.

In 2008, Jennings led a team down the rebel-infested lower Congo, the last of the world's great unrun rivers. His films for National Geographic TV use kayaks to access Class V rivers in the service of science.

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“SEE THAT MORPHO BUTTERFLY?” asks our guide, Don Beveridge, owner of Ecuadorean kayak outfitter Small World șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűs. “Line up right below it, heading right.” We’ve already followed ducks over drops and used parrots as reference points in the jade-tongued rapids of the Lower Misahualli, an Amazon tributary five hours southeast of Quito, so keying on the iridescent insect comes easy. And alongside Beveridge, 41, who authored The Kayaker’s Guide to Ecuador, so do the rapids. Indeed, the secret to exploring the world’s exotic river canyons isn’t a Class V boof stroke; it’s going with a ringer. And with many of the world’s best kayakers supporting their habit by guiding, more foreign territory is becoming accessible to intermediate paddlers every year. “You can travel virtually anywhere in the world and have a great Class III experience,” says Willie Kern, 34, an instructor at Montana-based Tarkio Kayak șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűs who’s led clients on new runs across four continents. “We take care of logistics and risk management, but the river experience is always your own.” If you have a roll and a brace (see “Intermediate Steps” if you don’t), these five outfitters have far-ranging trips with guides who will take you there and home again.

Foot in the Ecuador

A nine-day trip with Beveridge and his Small World șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűs partner Larry Vermeeren will put you on seven Ecuadorean rivers. From each takeout, you’ll return to a nine-room lodge on the banks of the Rio Quijos and feast on empanadas and fresh banana flambĂ©. Afterwards, get a Kayaker’s Special from the staff masseuse. November–February, $1,485;

FĂș for Thought

Expediciones Chile sits on the banks of the Class V FutaleufĂș, with the Class III EspolĂłn, Azul, and Palena rivers right up the road. Your guide, Olympian and freestyle pioneer Chris Spelius, knows the area better than any other gringo. Follow him down the Futa’s tributaries, then master the big, rolling waves of its Class III El Macal section. Seven-day trips, December–April, $1,950;

Down Under, and Over

On New Zealand’s South Island, a helicopter is the preferred shuttle. Meet up with New Zealand Kayak School cofounder Peter Kettering and Jason Arbetter, of Northern California’s Otter Bar Lodge and Kayak School, for an Airwolf-style assault on the Class III Maruia and Matakitaki rivers. Then dine on mint lamb at the Blue Spur Lodge, in Hokitika, and watch glowworms from the veranda. Class III trip (February 2–12) or Class III–IV trip (February 16–26), US$2,250;

Runnin’ With the Buddhists

After pioneering its Bhutan itinerary last year, Montana-based Tarkio Kayak șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűs is leading its second paddling trip in the Himalayan Buddhist kingdom. The Paro Chu, Mo Chu, and Puna Tsang Chu drainages may cut through the world’s highest mountains, but with Willie Kern—one of the world’s most skilled expedition paddlers—guiding you, that means awe, not dread. November 9–December 2, $4,400;

Roll One in Jamaica

North Carolina’s Nantahala Outdoor Center combines whitewater thrills with the hedonist pleasures of Negril’s Lost Beach Resort. Brush up on your strokes in the seaside pool and then follow two-time Olympian Wayne Dickert down the Class I–III Cabarita River all the way to a surf break in the Caribbean. After paddling, experience the potent nightlife of Negril’s club scene. December 3–9, US$1,450;

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Here, in the chronicles of their trips—scaling a stormy alpine spire, biking a desert canyon, sailing through a remote archipelago, traversing a 12,000-foot pass, and paddling a wide, arctic river—families who stay together play together.

Bagging the Bugs: A mountaineering initation in Canada's Bugaboos turns stormy.

“What's that mountain, dad?” asked 13-year-old Ben. “Can we climb it too?”

I couldn't see the peak from my ledge, but did wonder where he got his drive. That day alone, we had already pushed hard for 12 hours, inching our way almost 2,000 feet up a cliff in British Columbia's spectacular Bugaboo Mountains. We had just summited cleaver-shaped Snowpatch Spire and I was exhausted, mostly from the anxiety of shepherding a junior-high schooler up the thing. Still ahead of us were several dangerous rappels and a long, steep glacier descent.

Fortunately, our ropemate, Rob Hart, enjoyed a better view. “Ben, don't you recognize Pigeon Spire?” he asked. “That's the peak you thought would be too easy. You've already climbed it!”

“That's Pigeon Spire? It's huge!”

Together with four of my closest friends, I had brought Ben along for a mountaineering education. He was a talented sport climber, and the four of us—who had all once been guides—wanted him to experience firsthand our own perspectives about more traditional alpine climbing.

After driving up from Montana, we started with a short but grueling hike, 2,500 vertical feet in two miles, to the Conrad Kain Hut, built by the Alpine Club of Canada and named after a turn-of-the-century guide who pioneered many classic Bugaboo ascents. This was a perfect base, close to several glaciers where we could teach Ben about roped snow travel, cramponing, and ice-ax self-arrest—essential skills he'd need for the week ahead.

Our first major objective was 10,450-foot Bugaboo Spire, a monolith that offered a famous, moderately challenging rock climb up its South Ridge—the Kain Route. This, of course, disappointed Ben, who was pushing for an even harder test piece. Still, as we approached the summit, he learned that the word moderately was debatable. At one point we had to sneak across a frightening, extremely exposed traverse that offered no footholds. Although rated a “mere” 5.6, for a long time it had been considered the hardest pitch in North America. Even Ben was humbled by Kain's hobnailed accomplishment.

Next up was the West Ridge of Pigeon Spire, which we'd heard was the region's showcase climb, with fabulous views and exposure. Rated just 5.4 with good protection, it seemed a great place for Ben to practice high-mountain leading skills such as placing nuts. But he was outraged. “I didn't come all this way to do easy climbs,” he pouted.

What Ben didn't yet realize is that sunny-day sport climbing is vastly different from alpine mountaineering. He'd soon learn that lesson the hard way, albeit under protest. Although we set off for Pigeon in warm dawn light, clouds began rolling in, and soon our goal was shrouded in fog. No wonder Ben didn't recognize this shapely spire when he later viewed it from Snowpatch.

After a brief debate about weather, we continued. At least it wasn't snowing, and periodically the clouds seemed on the verge of clearing. Once we were off the glacier, the rock was deliciously varied, leading up a blocky, sometimes sharp ridge with big holds that lured us quickly upward. We divided into two teams of three and climbed continuously, without stopping to belay. Instead, the leader of each rope would place enough nuts in different cracks—or slings over rock horns—so that there was always an anchor between each team member. The middle climber would pass these, clipping the rope back in behind him, and the bottom person would remove them. Every few hundred meters we regrouped to let someone else, sometimes Ben, forge the route.

In less than two hours we had passed two prominent false summits and stopped to belay the final, hardest pitch. Ben, who could climb 5.1 back home, begged for this exposed and dramatic lead. Since the weather still appeared to be holding, I let him try. At first, he did well. Then, just as he reached the trickiest moves, from which a retreat would be both difficult and dangerous, it started snowing—hard.

“Watch me!” screamed Ben, who suddenly noticed both the new ice on his tiny footholds and the vast distance between his feet and the glacier below. He needn't have worried about my vigilance; already my heart was pounding. Fortunately, Ben regained his composure and continued upward, powered by adrenaline. A few feet higher he finally grabbed a good hold, then scrambled to the summit, from which our companion team had already rappelled. After joining him on the very top, Rob and I assessed the situation.

Visibility had now dropped almost to zero, a wind was driving snowflakes due sideways, and in addition to shivering, Ben was getting a migraine. Atop a lonely Canadian mountain, these would be serious conditions for anyone, much less my 13-year-old son.

I fed Ben Excedrin and we started down. The other team was waiting beneath our rappel and they were equally worried. By now, two inches of snow buried every horizontal surface and we crept downward tightly roped. It seemed forever before we reached the glacier (which I kissed). When we finally reached the hut, well after dark, several other climbers said they thought we might've needed to be rescued.

“Not us!” shouted Ben, who'd recovered from his headache and was eager to recount our epic. A few days later he'd boast even more about Snowpatch Spire, which he finally admitted was as hard as he wanted to try. I've noticed that since then Ben has never again sneered about an “easy” mountain climb. I guess we elders accomplished our mission.

IF YOU GO

On Your Own Only Experienced mountaineers should climb in the Bugaboos without a guide. From the Bugaboo Provincial Park trailhead, hike about three hours to the Kain Hut at 7,500 feet. Make reservations for CN $18 (about US $12) a night through the Alpine Club of Canada, 403-678-3200; www.alpineclubofcanada.ca. You can also camp in limited, nonreservable spaces at the Applebee site, a ten-minute walk from the hut, for CN $5 (US $3) per person. For more info, check out Bugaboo Rock, published by The Mountaineers.

Guided Options Canadian Mountain Holidays (800-661-0252; www.cmhmountaineering.com) offers climbing excursions from its luxurious Bugaboo Lodge. There's daily helicopter transport to certain sites, including one near Pigeon Spire—making this an easy day climb. Three-day mountaineering packages start at CN $1,822 (about US $1,217) per person, which covers lodging, meals, helicopter shuttles, guide fees, equipment, and round-trip transfers from Banff. Trips allowing kids—some take them as young as eight—depart June 25; July 1, 13, 25; and August 6, 18, 30.

When to Go Mid-June to early September. The weather's typically more stable toward the end of summer.

On River Time: A family slows down and melds with the northern wilds on a float down the Yukon.

This is what we came for, I think. Finally here, in the arctic night, perched above the Yukon River across from the town of Dawson. All this way, all the driving and airports, the schlepping of baggage, the hustling of children, and the days of confined spaces. It all funnels down to this immense boreal valley full of its brawny, storied river. Come morning everything will truly simplify, it will all fit inside the canoe hulls, and the Yukon River will bear us away for two weeks and nearly 300 miles.

In the morning we actually do clamber into our two canoes, crammed tight with gear and three children eight years old and younger. Another couple, friends who recklessly joined in for this crash course in family outdoor living, climb into their canoe. The thick river sandpapers against the hulls. We are swept away.
The Yukon, for this entire stretch, is flatwater, unchallenging paddling. But it is a tremendous, Mississippi-size volume of current, moving at a surprising speed. Upwellings boil to the surface in blistering outbursts of power. There are eddies behind rock points big as city blocks. The river is brown and gritty with sediment, full of tree trunks and sticks and tannic froth. Dirty hunks of ice still rest along the shoreline well into June.

We paddle past rock scarps that fall sheer into the river. Distant mountain ranges float on the horizon. Old prospecting camps and abandoned settlements decay along the banks. The weather this first day is hot enough that the kids vault over the side and gasp for breath in the frigid water.

In a few easy hours we have been borne nearly 30 miles along, to what will become our preferred site for river camps, the gravel tip of an island. These open, breezy spots are largely free of bugs. More important, the kids explode into spasms of play that last for hours. At this one they call us over to see a line of lynx tracks in wet sand. They bring us pretty rocks and feathers by the pocketload. They build nests out of sticks and grass.

That night, in the late, cooling twilight, we lie side by side in the family tent. Eli, eight, is naked on his belly, asking what he should write for his first journal entry. “Oh yeah,” he says, “the lynx tracks!” Sawyer and Ruby, seven and five, prompt him with their vivid bits of the day. șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű, the call of a hermit thrush, a ruckus of ravens, the hissing river, the never-dark night.

It takes three or four days to achieve river time, to really arrive. By then, campsites and events start to blur together. The moose in the alders at a lunch spot, a claustrophobic prospector's cabin we walked up to, the clouds of mosquitoes at a tributary where we stopped for fresh water. And by then our collection of keeper rocks fills up a sleeping-bag stuffsack.

More than 100 miles downriver and across the border into Alaska, it comes to me that time is flowing the way the water flows, neither dawdling nor hurrying. It is an attitude threshold I've been waiting to cross.

About then, too, the weather shifts from sunny and warm to gray and stormy. For the next week it rains intermittently—showers at night, half-day drizzles, gusty thunderstorms. We are repeatedly seduced by sucker holes that dissipate into more daunting weather. And the river keeps rising.

We take to stabbing marker sticks at the waterline to measure the rise—as much as an inch an hour. We paddle along with a parade of flotsam. At night we hear the roots of trees grinding over shallows and by morning our campsites have been appreciably diminished.

But the kids take it in stride. They have become bug-resistant, weather-hardy, boreal river rats. They pull on rubber boots and slog around in the drizzle and mud. For them the encroaching river and transformed campsites are an exhilarating drama. The passing rafts of trees are an endless target-practice challenge. They busy themselves in shallow side channels, erecting dams and adding to logjams.

Big, arctic, horizon-spanning country with a behemoth flow rustling through it. Country that my children prove themselves more worthy of each day.

When, too suddenly, we reach our final night, poised a few miles upstream of Circle, Alaska, our camp rests on another gravel bar. The kids spend the bugless afternoon playing naked in the shallows. After dinner, it is my wife, Marypat, and I who give way to fatigue and head for the tent first.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű, in the lambent night, the kids are raucous with their play, making a final fort. They are dusty as aborigines, creatures of the North.

IF YOU GO

The Basics Getting to the Yukon River is the hard part. Once you're on the water the trip is straightforward. From Anchorage it's a 400-mile drive to the put-in at Dawson via the “Top of the World Highway.” You can also fly to Dawson from Anchorage or Fairbanks, or take the Alaskan Highway.

The river between Dawson, Yukon Territory, and Circle, Alaska, is roughly 270 miles of easy, fast paddling. No permits are required, but you need to check in with U.S. Customs when you pass through Eagle, 100 miles along.

Outfitters Guided trips are hard to come by, but you can rent canoes, rafts, and other gear, and get plenty of travel advice, from Eagle Canoe Rentals (907-547-2203). A canoe package, including a boat, paddles, and PFDs,costs US $270 and can be picked up in Dawson and left in Circle.

Resources Yukon River: Dawson to Circle, by Mike Rourke (US $16 from Rivers North Publications, 250-845-3735; hss.sd54.bc.ca/Rourkes/homepage.htm) is a good mile-by-mile river log. For more information, contact Yukon-Charley Rivers National Preserve: 907-547-2233; www.nps.gov/yuch.

Hi, Sierra! An 11-year-old flatlander is introduced to California's rugged trails.

It didnt' start well. A mile from the trailhead, Jevin stopped. As in wouldn't move an inch. At age 11 he'd hiked plenty of times—only the year before we'd done a 40-mile loop on Michigan's North Manitou Island—but having grown up in the Midwest he had little experience with mountains or thin air. And they were kicking his butt.

Taking a tween into the backcountry has required my wife, Cindy, and I to seriously adjust our pre-kid get-there-or-else attitudes. Tweens don't pace themselves; they're either full-steam or no steam. They don't like to talk through emotional distress. Instead they clam up. They can be as goal-oriented as any adult, but sometimes the goal gets wonderfully lost in the moment.

“So is this it?” I asked my son.

“What? Is this what?”

“The end of the hike. We can head back to the campground and watch videos all week. Like the camping-trailer crowd.” I paused.

“We don't have a VCR, and we don't have a camper,” he said.

“What about car camping? We can just car camp.”

He finally shouldered his pack with determination.

“We don't have a car. Grandma dropped us off,” he said. “And I'm not a car camper.”

Our route was a 46-mile loop in the Sierra Nevada from Cedar Grove at about 5,000 feet through Paradise Valley to Woods Creek (which we'd follow to the John Muir Trail) and up to Rae Lakes. Then we'd head over nearly 12,000-foot Glen Pass and back down Bubbs Creek to our starting point. That was the plan, at least, but we were overloaded, especially after stuffing two mandatory bearproof food canisters into our packs at the trailhead.

Our first night was supposed to be spent at Paradise Valley's northernmost camping area. We didn't make it. We barely made six miles when we'd hoped to hike ten. The 1,500 feet took their toll, and Jevin was way past my cheap pop-psychology tricks. The amazing thing was that after an early dinner and a little wood-gathering, he got a sudden energy burst and wanted to climb some of the nearby glacial boulders. High above our campsite we watched the sunlight crawl down the eastern side of the valley.

The next morning we made a pact. No more killing ourselves. Each day we'd hike until we were tired. That morning we hiked five miles and stopped for lunch, then decided to stay put for the night. Now 12 miles behind “schedule,” I kept the shame of our pokey pace to myself. The kid was finally having fun.

That evening we were rudely introduced to the subject of a long-time controversy in the Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Parks: pack mules. Earlier a mule train had deposited what looked like a moving van's worth of mammoth tents and lawn chairs in the campsite next to ours. As we filled our Sierra Stove with pinecones and twigs to cook our dinner, the other group fired up both bonfire and radio and commenced partying.

We ditched the mule crowd early the next morning. Cindy and I took it easy and let Jevin lead. Whenever I could see he needed a kick in the pants, I offered to take over as “group leader.” But he'd have none of that and kept moving.

John Muir described Kings Canyon as “a rival to Yosemite,” and we could see why. We passed towering cliffs and waterfalls, and as we climbed higher, giant sequoias and lodgepole pines turned to western junipers and mountain hemlock. We looked for black bears, but all we saw was scat.

On the third night, still some ten miles off our itinerary, we took a vote. We could finish the loop, which meant pushing harder for the next two days, climbing the pass, and then doing two ten-mile days to catch our ride. Or we could simply hike to the lower Rae Lakes area and head back the way we came. The loop lost.

But the next morning Jevin changed his mind. “It's all about bragging rights, Dad,” he said, and picked up the pace.

So we spent the next two days hiking hard, swimming in clear high-country lakes, and getting mentally ready for Glen Pass. On the morning of our sixth day we were there—a moonscape of rock, patches of lingering August snow, and lifeless emerald pools of near-freezing water. It felt like we were going straight up.

Jevin didn't make a peep until the top, and then he was all whoops and smiles. A hiker coming up the other side told him he had never seen someone so young at that elevation. Jevin just nodded and moved off to a rock by himself, breaking out his last berry-flavored PowerBar in celebration.

Heading off the pass, we passed a team of pack mules going in the other direction.

“How about hiring them next year?” I said.

“Yeah, if you want to cheat,” Jevin said.

By noon we were drained and hiked in silence. Stumbling into Junction Meadow after dark, we ate quickly and collapsed in our tents. The next morning my alarm went off at 5:30 a.m. We were 11 miles from the trailhead and our ride was picking us up at 3 p.m.

We hiked hard and it hurt. Jevin was miserable and let us know it—until we caught sight of the ranger station. Pride suddenly suffused his face and he broke into a run, not stopping until he reached the porch where two rangers were sitting. He barreled up the steps, lost his footing, fell face first, and then stood up laughing.

“It's a good thing you didn't do that yesterday, or we'd be scraping you off the side of a rock,” I said when I caught up.

“Wouldn't have happened,” he replied. “I was paying attention back then.”

And I believed him.

IF YOU GO

Reservations and Permits The Rae Lakes Loop is one of the most popular hikes in Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Parks, so you're strongly encouraged to make reservations. Backcountry permits are required and can be picked up for no charge at the Roads End Contact Station, 5.5 miles beyond Cedar Grove. Reservations can be made for $10 up to three weeks prior, for trips between May 21 and September 21 (fax or mail only: 559-565-4239; Wilderness Permit Reservations, Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Parks, HCR89, Box 60, Three Rivers, CA 93271).

When to Go August is the prime month. Stream crossings can be a problem in May and early June, and snow may make Glen Pass impassable until late July.

Bear Precautions The National Park Service now requires the use of approved bearproof containers, available at the trailhead (roughly $3 a day to rent or $75 to buy). Kevlar models are not approved.

Nearby Lodging Cedar Grove Lodge (559-335-5500; www.sequoia-kingscanyon.com) is open May through late October and has 21 rooms ($92 a night), a camp store, laundry facilities, a snack bar, and $3 showers.

For more information Call the parks' Wilderness Office at 559-565-3766 or visit www.nps.gov/seki.

Bliss in the San Blas: A monthlong idyll exploring the unspoiled islands of a Panamanian archipelago.

There were 11 people crammed into our tiny dinghy—my wife and two daughters sandwiched between seven Kuna Indians. As we wound our way up the Azzcar River beneath a dark, green canopy of mango trees, I felt as if we were in a budget version of The African Queen. My daughters were laughing and chattering with five Kuna children by speaking that miracle kid lingo that transcends all languages. Elacio and Humberto, the children's fathers and our guides, were pointing out the parrots that screeched overhead and the crocodile trails that parted the grass along the banks. I watched the kids draped over the rubber tubes of our dinghy, dangling their toes in the water. Elacio must have caught my concerned expression. Not to worry, he reassured me, the crocodiles were not man-eaters, though they were known to snatch the odd chicken or dog. Still, I couldn't help thinking that, from water level, our merry expedition looked too much like a giant, floating corn dog, smothered with tasty tots.

Bound for Elacio's finca (farm), we had embarked from the village of Azzcar, where Elacio's wife, tattooed and bedecked with nose rings, had stood waving goodbye to us from the rickety bamboo dock. Our family had been living aboard a catamaran in the Caribbean for the past year, and had just arrived in the San Blas Islands, an archipelago stretching along Panama's Caribbean coast from the Canal to the Colombian border. The float on the Azzcar was a side trip in a month devoted to exploring the San Blas's 300-plus dots of paradise.
With only occasional Kuna villages of thatched huts sprinkled along the chain, the green palm islets and white-sand beaches are mostly uninhabited. The diminutive Kuna Indians (only slightly larger than Pygmies) own the islands and are struggling to preserve their culture by fishing from dugout canoes, or cayucos, and growing fruits and vegetables on their mainland fincas. Imagine visiting this forgotten corner of the Caribbean: no beach condos, no tiki bars, no jet skis, and no poolside reggae bands playing knockoff Jimmy Buffett to tourists covered in oil. Here, a turquoise ocean blended with a sultry sky to suspend the islands around us in midair.

We'd nicknamed one tiny islet “Starfish Island.” In the warm water near shore, my girls had carefully collected great, burnt-orange starfish and worn them as mermaid crowns or, holding them lightly in their hands, waited for the tenuous extension of soft tentacles to tickle their palms. Starfish Island, hardly 200 feet across, had given us a booty of tropical riches, including buried treasure. My older daughter, Sawyer, age eight, had hidden precious possessions (hair ties and colored rocks), and we had trooped through the silver palms and mangroves to follow her burnt-edged treasure map to where X marked the spot.

Snorkeling along the shore of another island, I'd pulled my younger daughter, Riley, age five, down through the water to gaze into the metallic eyes of a six-foot nurse shark. She'd surfaced shouting through her snorkel with her eyes wide. We'd snared great red crabs—one claw the size of my fist and filled with enough sweet, succulent meat to spill out of a steaming crab omelet for four. Fishing, we'd caught an octopus that produced a mayhem of squirting water, tangled suction cups, and screaming daughters until we managed to get The Thing off the hook. We'd spent an entire afternoon building an epic sand castle that rivaled Buckingham Palace. Then, huddled by our beach bonfire, we'd told scary sea-monster stories and watched luminescent sea worms swirl and corkscrew in the surf.

When I think of the time we spent in the San Blas Islands, it's a certain image from the trip up the Azzcar that I recall most warmly. The kids are up ahead, still wet from collecting tadpoles in the river. They laugh as they bite into golden mangoes and the juice dribbles down their chins. They walk hand in hand with the tiny Kuna children up a path cut through a towering stand of bamboo. We are in a rainforest 3,000 miles from home, and yet, as a family, as close to home as we ever get.

IF YOU GO

Getting There Nonstop flights to Panama City depart from Miami, Atlanta, Houston, New York, and Los Angeles. To get to the San Blas Islands, fly out of Albrook, Panama City's domestic airport, to Achutupu, where you can snorkel or take a short boat ride over to Dolphin Island, one of the more popular beach destinations. Aviatur offers flights daily at 6 a.m. for about $60 round-trip (011-507-315-0307). The intrepid can hop a Kuna merchant ship from Colsn and make leisurely stops at islands down the line. Either way, it's best to secure a place to stay on any island before you go, as the limited number of lodges can fill up quickly.Travel agencies like Panama Jones (888-726-2621; www.panamacanal.com) and Lost World șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűs (800-999-0558; www.lostworldadventures.com) provide tour packages and can help you make reservations.

When to Go Panama's equatorial climate varies little year-round, except during the mid-April-to-December rainy season, when clouds and afternoon showers cut the heat.

Resources For more information, call the Panamanian Tourist Office (IPAT) at 011-507-226-7000, ext. 112, or log on to www.pa/turismo/sanblas. Check out Lonely Planet's Panama guidebook or www.lonely.planet.com/destinations/central_america/panama/. To sail through the islands, contact a yacht-charter broker who can book you crewed and provisioned boats starting at around $1,500 per person per week. Try Russell Yacht Charters (800-635-8895; www.cruisinginparadise.com) or find crewed boats on the Web at www.caribbeancharter.com

Romper Rim: Pedaling 80 miles through Utah's Canyonlands with five toddlers.

The mound of gear was gargantuan. Next to the equipment we'd normally take on a four-day mountain-bike ride were Pack 'N Play cribs, car seats, toddler chairs and toddler tables, portable high chairs, and little Linus and Lucy sleeping bags, complete with matching pads. “Looks like we're going to have to take another vehicle,” said my friend Mike as we tried to shoehorn everything inside two four-wheel-drive trucks. He was right. Such last-minute changes are common when trying to squeeze an 80-mile bike trip into a long weekend. But our foray to Utah's White Rim Trail in Canyonlands National Park was far from normal. It had the added component of the under-four set: Our group consisted of ten adults and five children between the ages of three months and four years. Though we had them outnumbered two to one, we'd soon find that keeping them happy was as tiring as the bike riding.

Call us crazy if you will. After all, it's hard enough having five toddlers in your living room for a birthday party, let alone for four days and miles away from civilization. But as longtime river runners accustomed to camping, we weren't about to let the fact that we now have kids foil our annual outing. Instead of taking them on whitewater, we took them on the White Rim. With shuttle rigs along—which now numbered three instead of two—the theory was simple. The kids would mostly ride in the four-wheel drives and the adults would take turns biking and driving—which meant averaging 20 miles a day. With the overabundance of gear, it also meant hours of packing and unpacking at each campsite.
We didn't set off on day one until well after noon, but we quickly settled into a routine: drive or bike a few miles, and then stop to console the kids. Luckily, our 19-month-old daughter, Brooke, adapted quickly. When not eating pretzels or fitting shapes into box openings, she either slept in air-conditioned comfort or stared at the passing spires and side canyons. The other kids, two per car, played together along the way. The day's only crisis occurred after lunch, when four-year-old Stuey threw up, requiring a pit stop from the clean-up crew. That's when we unloaded the Burley trailer and offered Brooke a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately it didn't last long, as bumps, sand, and fatherly fatigue saw her quickly back in the car.

At camp that evening—atop a mesa overlooking the serpentine canyons of the Green and Colorado Rivers—the kids wasted no time in finding natural sandboxes and playing Follow the Leader over coffee table-size rocks. Eventually, they settled around a miniature table to throw spaghetti while we tried to refuel after a long day of pedaling and parenting. We roasted marshmallows and the kids clapped gooey hands to Raffi's “Baby Beluga” on guitar.

For us, the biking during the next few days was not as technically interesting as the buffed Colorado singletrack we were used to back home. After all, the White Rim Trail is also known as the White Rim Road, depending on which type of pedal you push. But the doubletrack route is about as scenic a bike ride as you can ever do. Massive rust-colored sandstone blocks pop out of desert sands sprinkled occasionally with sagebrush and prickly pear. In certain sections, wind-strafed canyon walls loom above you on one side, while on the other, hairpin turns give way to 1,000-foot drops.

Dramatic plunges notwithstanding, a bigger concern on this trip was the unforgiving heat and utter lack of shade. Although Canyonlands storms can come on as suddenly as temper tantrums, blue skies held for the entire trip. The kids never ventured far without hats and sunscreen, and during day two's lunch we huddled in the only shade we could find—that of an outhouse.

The last morning we woke early to a band of children staring into our tent like cattle over a fence. They wanted Brooke to come out and play, and since another adult was already up brewing coffee, we gladly let her. That morning we bathed in the Green River, our first chance in four days to clean up with anything but wipes. After a five-mile climb up switchbacks, we were back on top of the rim and at the ride's end. We toasted with sippy cups and the cooler's last beers and—call us crazier still—made plans to do it all again.

IF YOU GO

On Your Own The White Rim Trail in Utah's Canyonlands National Park follows a layer of white sandstone for 108 miles along the Colorado and Green Rivers. Secure your own backcountry permit by faxing your request at least two weeks in advance—earlier if you plan to go in the spring or fall—to the park's reservation office (435-259-4285). You can't reserve by phone, but call the office at 435-719-2313 or visit www.nps.gov/cany for more information. Permits are $30 for a maximum of 15 people and three vehicles, plus a $10-per-vehicle park entrance fee. Support vehicles are highly recommended as there is no water along the trail.

Camping Camp only at designated sites, which have outhouses and are surprisingly kid-friendly despite occasional cacti.

Outfitters Nichols Expeditions (800-648-8488; www.nicholsexpeditions.com) offers standard five-day White Rim mountain-bike tours for $735 per person with discounts of 10 percent for groups of four or more signing up together. The fees include support vehicles, guides, meals, and permits, but not bike rentals, which are $130 extra. Kids 11 and older are preferred. Visit www.nps.gov/cany for a list of more outfitters working in the park.

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