[Rainforest Respite]
LAMANAI OUTPOST LODGE
Orange Walk Town

THERE’S A REASON HEART OF DARKNESS comes to mind when your motorboat emerges from the snaking New River into a 28-mile-long lagoon towered over by the jungle-cloaked Maya temples of Lamanai: Part of the 1994 film adaptation of the Joseph Conrad novel was shot here. Docking at the well-concealed Lamanai Outpost Lodge—where workers clad in camouflage whisk away your bags as black howler monkeys woof from the trees—adds to the private-dominion effect, but no worries: There are no madmen in this luxe encounter with a lost world. The resort’s 20 palm-thatched cabanas are handsomely built from local hardwoods and come with ceiling fans, minibars, and verandas slung with hammocks. Gravel paths wind through orchid gardens to the lofty restaurant and bar, a fine perch for enjoying sweeping views of New River Lagoon, where you can swim, canoe, and fish for freakily large tarpon. Spot toucans and red-lored parrots as you wander around the highly atmospheric, 950-acre Lamanai Archaeological Reserve, one of the largest ruins of the pre-Classic Maya world, dating to 1500 b.c. Doubles, $312–$513 (based on double occupancy), all-inclusive; 888-733-7864,

Hidden Valley Inn

Cayo District

THE BRACING STEAM WATER may be a shock, but how often do you get to dive deep, surface behind an idyllic cascade, then drip-dry your bare bod on a moss-scented, sun-soaked rock surrounded by exotic orchids? It’s no wonder honeymooners feel the gravitational pull of Hidden Valley Inn, a 7,200-acre spread in the Maya Mountains of western Belize. And serious birders can commune with the likes of rare orange-breasted falcons, king vultures, stygian owls, and golden-hooded tanagers. Ninety miles of trails and old logging roads spoke outward from Hidden Valley’s 12 cottages and main lodge, where you’ll be welcomed back from each day’s expedition with a swirling Jacuzzi, a blaze in your room’s fireplace, and a candlelit dinner under the stars. The menu fuses Belizean Creole with international cuisine, including coconut curry beef and carrot-coconut-ginger soup. No biggie—you’ll burn it off on the way to tomorrow’s waterfall. Doubles, $150–$170; 011-501-822-3320,

Blancaneaux Lodge

San Ignacio

Blancaneaux Lodge

ROOM WITH A VIEW: Porch at Blancaneaux Lodge

OCCUPYING ONE OF THE FEW CORNERS of the Mountain Pine Ridge Forest Reserve not ravaged by the beetle blight of 2000, Blancaneaux Lodge—owned by director Francis Ford Coppola—is an opulent, detail-rich delight set on a green bluff above the flowing waters of Privassion River. Designed by renowned Mexican architect Manolo Mestre, the ten cabanas and seven grand villas feature dark hardwoods, Balinese carvings, and soaring thatch ceilings and are accented with tropical splashes of colorful fabrics. While Thai-massage therapists work their magic inside an Indonesian-rice-house spa, the resort’s Ristorante Montagna offers organic herbs and vegetables from an on-site garden, served in a range of Italian-themed salads, pastas, sandwiches, and gourmet pizzas. Horseback-riding trips to Big Rock Falls are most popular, and Blancaneaux’s proximity to the Caracol archaeological site—a vast Maya city only partially excavated—makes a visit to the ruin practically mandatory. Doubles, $180–$500; 800-746-3743,

The Lodge at Chaa Creek

San Ignacio

THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE LODGE at Chaa Creek from humble riverside backpacker haven to award-winning “adventure center, rainforest reserve, and spa” has been a 24-year odyssey for owners Mick and Lucy Fleming. The American-British couple discovered their plot of paradise while traveling in the late 1970s and opened the country’s first jungle lodge in 1981. The grounds are now crisply manicured, and a handsome, uniformed staff serves a year-round stream of guests. Chaa Creek’s 23 thatch-roofed cottage rooms, including a handful of luxury suites, have Mexican-tile or hardwood floors, rich Guatemalan fabrics, and Maya masks on the walls; two “treetop Jacuzzi suites” put you at eye level with massive orange iguanas lazing in the surrounding branches. For a taste of the old days, the Macal River Jungle Camp consists of ten canvas-roofed, screened casitas on stilts, about a ten-minute walk from the main lodge along the Ix Chel Medicine Trail. Sign on for a custom mountain-bike tour to the nearby Xunantunich ruins; you’ll have access to a modern fleet of high-end Specialized bikes and a skilled posse of local guides. Doubles, $85–$125; treetop Jacuzzi suites, $255–$320 (for four); camp casitas, $55 per person, including breakfast and dinner; 011-501-824-2037,

Victoria House

Ambergris Caye

YOU HEAR “Y’ALL” a lot around the two swimming pools, groomed beach, and elegant dining room of Victoria House, on Ambergris Caye. Not surprising, since Ambergris—a mere three-hour trip from Houston—is like a Hamptons for in-the-know Texans. With such a friendly vibe, Victoria House—an assortment of thatch-roofed casitas, plantation rooms, and tin-roofed villas, all freshly painted white with mahogany trim—is anything but pretentious. First stop after getting settled should be the Fantasea Dive Shop, in a palapa on the pier, to rent kayaks; or sign up for all manner of snorkeling, diving, or fishing trips. Top on the list: snorkeling at nearby Hol Chan Marine Reserve and Shark Ray Alley, where you’ll float around with southern stingrays, nurse sharks, and stoplight parrotfish. After dark, dine on snapper cakes and cashew-crusted grouper in the poolside garden. Or snag a golf cart for the two-mile ride to the funky, pastel town of San Pedro for pork and plantains at low-key Elvi’s Kitchen. If you’re feeling adventurous, take a water taxi 25 minutes north to hip Italophile Mata Chica Beach Resort for calamari fritti. Doubles at Victoria House, $155–$485; 800-247-5159,

Cayo Espanto

San Pedro

WHEN YOU ARRIVE AT THE DOCK of Cayo Espanto, a six-minute launch ride from Ambergris Caye’s hub of San Pedro, you might find yourself envying Salty, the island’s resident yellow Lab, who calls this four-acre speck of raked sand and palm trees home. But you’ll realize this is no dog’s life as you sink into your king-size bed facing a seemingly endless expanse of aquamarine sea, slip into your own private plunge pool, lounge on your private dock, and dine whenever and wherever you feel like it. Four villas plus a smaller bungalow are strategically placed around the island so that you’ll never be aware of other guests. And with a two-to-one staff-to-guest ratio and your own personal “houseman” running around in what looks like a pith helmet, you can literally choreograph every minute of your vacation. Feel like something sweet? Within ten minutes, freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies arrive on a silver tray. Feel like bonefishing, snorkeling, playing golf, having a massage? Not a problem. One past guest, Leonardo DiCaprio, liked the formula so much that he bought his own island off Belize, 104-acre Blackadore Caye, and is working with the team from Cayo Espanto to develop it. Doubles, $1,095–$2,450; entire island (up to 14 guests), $9,000–$13,000 per night; 888-666-4282,

Kanantik Reef and Jungle Resort

Placencia

FLYING INTO KANANTIK’S PRIVATE AIRSTRIP between Dangriga and Placencia, with the resort’s 300 acres of untamed jungle sprawling behind its palm-studded beach and the big blue stretching beyond, you know you’re in for a sweet experience. The vigorous white-haired Italian owner, Roberto Fabbri, designed the 25 Maya-inspired palm-thatched bungalows, gorgeous restaurant, and poolside bar mostly himself, and every detail, from the homemade pasta served in the high-ceilinged open-air restaurant to the elegant dock with its sparkling fishing and dive boats, has been keenly thought out. The circular cabanas feature rock-wall showers, four-poster beds draped with mosquito netting, and big wooden lattice windows that welcome the balmy ocean breeze. When you’re not lounging, take a Hobie Cat out for a sail, canoe to the nearby Sapodilla Lagoon, fish for permit, bonefish, and tarpon, or fin with Fabbri in his bright-red Speedo among the massive loggerhead turtles and spotted eagle rays that prowl the outlying reefs. Nearby, the 128,000-acre Cockscomb Basin Wildlife Sanctuary, established in 1990 as the world’s first jaguar preserve, is one of the best places in Belize to spot the elusive cats. Doubles, $365, all-inclusive; 877-759-8834,

The Inn at Robert’s Grove

Placencia

“WHO’S ROBERT?” everyone wants to know at the Inn at Robert’s Grove, near Placencia. That’s not too hard to figure out, since the owners, Robert and Risa Frackman, are easy to spot—having cocktails at the small bar, dining on Caribbean lobster at the next table on the terrace, saying hello as you splash in one of the three Mexican-tiled pools. In fact, you’re staying in what was originally planned as a beachfront vacation home for these Manhattan refugees, and it still feels that way. All 52 rooms in the nine red-roofed two- and three-story buildings have Risa’s stamp: a jungly feel created by saffron-yellow walls mixed with leopard prints, emerald tiles, and Caribbean artwork. Amble across the road to the lagoon side (the resort is on a narrow peninsula), where boats leave for dive trips to the reef and daylong excursions up the Monkey River to see huge green iguanas, bare-throated tiger herons, and howler monkeys. If all this isn’t enough of a getaway, head to one of the resort’s two private islands (Robert’s Caye and Ranguana Caye), each more than a half-hour away by boat, where you’ll stay in a rustic bungalow and bask in the sun like a true castaway. Doubles, $145–$720; 800-565-9757,

Big Fish: Whale Sharks

Chasing Belize’s friendly behemoths of the sea

I’M FINNING 80 FEET DEEP off the coast of Belize with a small cluster of scuba divers and our dive master, Brian Young. We have paid him to lead us to elusive, enormous Rhincodon typus—whale sharks. At the moment, with shafts of sun stabbing through the myriad shades of aqua surrounding us, the ocean feels empty.

Then, about 20 feet beneath us, a swirling school of thousands of cubera snapper appears. Young stops, and we gather in a circle above the fish, our air bubbles rising. Hopefully the white cloud will mimic snapper spawn, and the gentle giants will come up from the deep to investigate. But then one of the divers does the unthinkable: She breaks away from the group, drops into the school, and starts setting off her camera flash. The fish quickly disperse, and we return to the surface, the first of our two dives a bust.

Back in the sweltering cabin of Viper, the yellow-green-and-red-striped dive boat, tempers are running as high as the 97-degree heat. Several of the well-heeled divers onboard have spent a fruitless week searching for a whale shark. Young shakes his head: “I jes been havin’ me a terrible streak of bad luck.”

Divers come from all over the world to swim with these behemoths, and, locally, Young is one of the whale shark kings, having long demonstrated an uncanny ability to locate the animals on instinct. He’s been diving for 15 years among the whale sharks, which come annually to Gladden Spit, an elbow-shaped reef formation about 26 miles off the coastal town of Placencia, in the southern third of Belize’s coast. Young recognizes many of the same sharks year after year.

The giant creatures, which can grow up to 50 feet long and weigh more than 12 tons, show up around the full moons, especially from March to June, when the snapper come to spawn. Very little is known about the nonaggressive animals. In Belize, whale shark watching has become big business, and a ranger-patrolled marine park has been established to keep things under control.

It’s time to get back in the water, and Young is anxious—this will be the last chance for most divers onboard to see whale sharks, and he wants to deliver. We descend to 80 feet, and for 15 minutes we see nothing. Then another school of snapper appears, and Young gathers us together. As our bubbles rise, lo and behold, a 25-foot specimen emerges, its wide straight line of a mouth opening for business, its white belly silhouetted against the surface. Slowly, the whale shark corkscrews down around our column of bubbles, its gray spotted flank passing a yard from my mask before vanishing into the deep. Young’s streak of bad luck, it appears, is over.

Details: Brian Young owns the Seahorse Dive Shop; $150 per two-tank dive; 800-991-1969,

Access and Resources

Getting There: Continental (800-231-0856, ) flies nonstop to Belize City from Houston for $475 round-trip; American (800-433-7300, ) flies direct from Dallas for around $650 and from Miami for $750.

Getting Around: Single-engine airplanes are an easy way to hop around a country with an underdeveloped road system. Tropic Air (800-422-3435, ) and Maya Island Air (800-225-6732, ) run scheduled flights throughout Belize from Belize City. A one-way flight to Ambergris Caye on Tropic Air costs about $55 per person. For those up for a different sort of adventure, numerous car-rental companies are located in Belize City; a four-wheel-drive vehicle is recommended. Thrifty (800-847-4389, ) and Budget (800-283-4387, ), with locations at the airport, rent Suzuki 4x4s starting at $500 per week. Gas in Belize costs about $4.50 a gallon.

Best Time to Visit: High season is December through April, when the average temperature hovers around a balmy 75 degrees; the wet season is June through November.

Resources: Belize Tourism Board, 800-624-0686,

The post See It to Belize It appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

From the red-rock vistas of Abiquiu to the dunes of White Sands—with a few shots of tequila mixed in—New Mexico is another world. Try these 12 perfect days in the Land of Enchantment.

Horseback Riding into the Sunset

Cerrillos

Twenty miles south of Santa Fe, where the southern Rockies peter out into desert, the landscape turns iconic. This is Hollywood-western terrain—films like Young Guns and The Hi-Lo Country have been shot in the sandy washes and scrub-covered hills. Appropriately, it’s also the setting for the Broken Saddle Riding Company, a 22-horse operation in the pleasingly forlorn former mining town of Cerrillos. The stables’ low-slung paddocks and metal ranch fence strung with rogue mementos—requisite cow skull, spurs, and old bridles—suit the scene: At the sound of your car, the lanky and laconic Harrold Grantham will amble out of the tilting tack room in his Wranglers, give you a small but genuine smile, get you situated on a drowsy Tennessee walker, and lead you out for an hour (or two or three) in the piñon-and-juniper country of the Cerrillos Hills Historic Park.

Though I’ve ridden with Harrold plenty of times over the years, it seems like we never take the same route twice. There are dozens of trails looping through the hills—past fenced-off turquoise mines and panoramas of five mountain ranges and the high desert. Down in the steep-walled Crooked Hat and Devil’s canyons, your horse will ease into a canter so smooth you’ll find yourself whooping with crazed delight.

After the ride, the movie script sends you 12 miles east to the Galisteo Inn’s 1703 adobe hacienda, in the village of Galisteo. Refurbished in late 2004 with an uncluttered Santa Fe design—plaster walls in saturated shades of turquoise and cream, wide-plank pine floors polished to a high luster, deep windowsills, kiva fireplaces in nearly every room—the inn and its 12 guest rooms exude the perfect blend of style and substance. Out front, a portal is shaded by 100-year-old cottonwoods, and a quiet road winds past art galleries to a narrow bridge over the Galisteo River and the high, open lonesome beyond.

BONUS: At the Mine Shaft Tavern (505-473-0743), a classic shoot-’em-up saloon just south of Cerrillos in the outpost of Madrid (pronounced MAD-rid), order a Bud and a green-chile cheeseburger at what’s rumored to be the longest stand-up bar in the West (40 feet of lodgepole pine). The place is dark, moody, and cheap—definitely the real deal.

DETAILS: Horseback riding at the Broken Saddle (505-424-7774, www.brokensaddle.com) costs $50 for a one-hour outing, or $85 for three hours. Doubles at the Galisteo Inn (866-404-8200, ) start at $99 per night.

High-Art Experience

Lightning Field

Lighten Up: The New Mexico Lightning Field

Four hundred stainless-steel poles, each about 20 feet tall, spread over a mile-by-kilometer expanse of high desert wouldn’t seem to have the makings of a fun-filled getaway. Yet art aficionados come from all over the world to experience The Lightning Field, a land-art installation completed by Walter De Maria in 1977. The sculptor scoured the Southwest looking for the perfect spot to erect this influential contribution to contemporary art. Decide for yourself during an overnight stay at the secluded log cabin that looks out on De Maria’s labor of love.

Lest The Lightning Field become some roadside amusement for the traveling hoi polloi, visitors are required to follow a precise routine—and to make reservations well in advance. Your art adventure begins in Quemado, a wind-scoured west-central town. Here, you and up to five companions (the cabin has three bedrooms) are picked up midafternoon by the caretaker, who drives you 40 minutes to the cabin—dropping you off with enchiladas, breakfast food, and snacks. You’re on your own until he retrieves you the next morning.

While the cabin is comfortable, with hot showers and Wild West furnishings, there are no games, books, or TV; you’re here to experience “the work.” And it doesn’t look like much at first. But then you walk the vast field—looking, feeling, sensing. If you’re lucky, thunderheads sweep in, lightning flashes, and the poles glow pink, orange, and blue. Love it or hate it, you’ll never take in art like this, and that alone is worth the trip.

BONUS: After all that art appreciation, treat yourself to dessert in Pie Town, east of Quemado on Highway 60. The Daily Pie Cafe (505-772-2700) serves 25 varieties. Or stop to ponder some other big objects at the Very Large Array, 27 giant radio dish antennae clustered west of Socorro.

DETAILS: Visit The Lightning Field (), maintained by the Dia Art Foundation, from May to October for $110–$135 per person, with meals.

Whitewater Thrills

The Rio Grande

Rapid Descent: The Rio Grande near Taos

In a climate as dry as New Mexico’s, it seems slightly sinful to spend a day immersed in cool, flowing water. But as you raft the Rio Grande through the 800-foot-deep canyon known as the Taos Box, you’ll be too busy issuing Hail Marys (and yelling “Holy Crap!”) to think about guilt. The 17-mile-long Lower Box, with its Class IV rapids, is home to some of the wildest whitewater along the 1,885-mile river.

The scarcity of water makes trip timing critical. So last May, when I noticed the online river-gauge graph leap from a barely floatable 600 cubic feet per second to more than 1,000, I mustered a six-person crew and headed to the put-in, six miles north of Taos at the John Dunn Bridge. Our first 12 miles were gentle, but the Rio Grande spoke up as we approached Powerline Falls, where the cacophony of water reached a thunder. We parked to have a look at the 14-foot drop—we’d have to drift into a slot guarded by boulders, with no chance of paddles touching water until we hit the pool at the bottom. Then we got back in, cinched up our PFDs, and let the pushy current have its way.

Everyone howled at the tipping point, where the tongue of water carried us over the edge and ricocheted us off rocks on our way down. Nervous laughter led to high-fives as we realized we’d made it through the first of many formidable drops. Then the rapids came in succession: Pinball, Rock Garden, Boat Reamer, Screaming Left, Screaming Right, and, before the take-out at Taos Junction Bridge, the appropriately named Sunset. As the sun drew an inky shadow across the canyon, we stepped back on land, reeling from the adrenaline buzz. We kept the thrill alive by driving across the bridge to the BLM campground and cracking beers.

BONUS: Kick-start a river day with a hearty cup of joe and a breakfast burrito at the Bean (505-758-7711), with locations on both ends of Taos.

DETAILS: Kokopelli Rafting ���ϳԹ���s (800-879-9035, ) leads Lower Box trips from $95 per person. Camping in the Orilla Verde Recreation Area (505-758-8851, ) costs $7 per vehicle.

Eco-Friendly Escape

Taos

Eco-Sensitive Bliss: The Courtyard at El Monte Sagrado

Morocco is an inferno. At least, that’s how it feels from my cushion next to the fire as the masseuse pretzels my legs into “healing” Thai massage positions. When the contortions are over, I slide my eyelids open, prop my elbows on gold pillows, and look out the window. No camels. No bazaar. Instead, steep peaks meet clear skies, and gnarled cottonwoods tower over a low-slung cluster of adobes with signs that read TEXAS, BALI, and MOROCCO. But instead of North Africa, I’m at El Monte Sagrado resort. No matter—both places have a knack for suspending reality.

El Monte Sagrado, 36 suites and casitas circling a luscious green “sacred circle” east of downtown Taos, is all about suspended reality. Half its mission is to propel the notion of luxury escapism to new heights; the other half is to serve as a model of sustainability. On the luxury side: Merge scrambled eggs with the sublime while breakfasting under a priceless Warhol, a Picasso, and multiple Basquiats, part of owner Tom Worrell’s private collection. Get fully buffed with the spa’s High Altitude Adjustment massage or High Desert body polish. Then, after a couple of hours of hiking and yoga, the rich-with-cinnamon Mexican chocolate cake in the De la Tierra restaurant doesn’t seem like a vice.

On the sustainability side, the resort, finished in July 2003, is a 3-D manual on living right. Worrell built El Monte Sagrado to showcase his other business, Dharma Living Systems, which designs eco-friendly wastewater-treatment systems. So as you listen to the splash and trickle of water running from one goldfish-stocked pond to the next, remember: All the nonpotable water is recycled effluent.

BONUS: For unsustainable culinary debauchery, hit Antonio’s (505-758-9889), a cozy Mexican restaurant on Taos’s south side, for chiles rellenos with walnut-and-brandy cream sauce.

DETAILS: One-bedroom casitas at El Monte Sagrado (800-828-8267, ) start at $345 per night; two-bedroom suites start at $1,495.

Splendid Isolation

The rich colors and textures of the canyons and mesas near the village of Abiquiu are nothing short of perfect. This is Georgia O’Keeffe country—the painter first visited in 1917, and more than two decades later she moved here permanently. One look at Abiquiu’s 70-year-old adobe church—its bell tower and wooden cross towering against a brilliant blue sky—and it’s easy to see why she left New York for these more contemplative environs. I’m tempted to stay here, too.

O’Keeffe had a summer house at Ghost Ranch, 14 miles north of Abiquiu, a 21,000-acre property that is now a Presbyterian retreat center and the gateway to spectacular hiking. I’ve chosen a five-miler that starts in a cottonwood-filled valley but quickly gains altitude. I hike alongside the trail’s hulking namesake: Kitchen Mesa, a 600-foot-high sandstone mass. I negotiate a tricky chimney to the flat mesa top and am rewarded with 360-degree views of Abiquiu Reservoir and the Jemez Mountains.

Later, I ease my pickup down the deeply rutted 13-mile road from Highway 84 in Abiquiu to the Monastery of Christ in the Desert, where Benedictine monks keep beehives. The monastery opens its 16-room guesthouse to visitors, who can stay for silent retreat weekends. When I arrive, a smiling Father Bernard gets up from his rocking chair and encourages me to visit their church. I sit in the sacred space, listening to my breath go from shallow to deep. I wonder if O’Keeffe ever spent time at this peaceful place. Somehow I think she could have.

BONUS: Step inside O’Keeffe’s winter home, a 5,000-square-foot adobe in Abiquiu ($25, reservations required; 505-685-4539).

DETAILS: Ghost Ranch (505-685-4333, ) provides hiking info. Rooms at Christ in the Desert () run $70–$125 per person, with meals.

Smokin’ Road Trip

Highway 4 has a story to tell, a real whopper, and I’m driving through the middle of it—the Valles Caldera, a bowl of grass, forest, and streamlets that’s a dozen miles wide and boxed in by the 11,000-foot Jemez Mountains. The massive crater and the region’s volcanic tuff are the fruits of blasts from a ring of prehistoric volcanoes that were 100 times more destructive than Mount St. Helens’ 1980 eruption.

More than a million years later, here I am on a twisty 58-mile road that leads visitors from the sheer canyons of Bandelier National Monument to the yawning meadows of Valles Caldera National Preserve and on to Jemez Springs, where the earth’s interior, although quiet, is far from cold.

For four centuries, Bandelier’s Frijoles Canyon was home to cliff dwellers who lived in (yes, in) its 400-foot-high bluffs. On the mile-long Main Loop trail, you’ll peek inside caves carved into the chalky rock and reflect on what life was like 500 years before the monument was made accessible by road, in 1935.

After leaving the park, Highway 4 skirts Los Alamos and climbs west through a forest of cinnamon-red ponderosa pine before spilling into the remarkable 89,000-acre Valles Caldera National Preserve. Purchased from private owners in July 2000, the preserve is managed by a trust that plans to make it self-sustaining by 2015. Climb halfway up Cerros del Abrigo, a fir-covered volcanic dome that bulges from the crater, and watch a herd of elk graze in the basin some 800 feet below.

Now you’re ready for the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town of Jemez Springs (whose geothermal hot pools are steamy indications that the mountains remain volatile) and the end of the road: the charmingly cowboy-kitsch Jemez Mountain Inn.

BONUS: Twelve miles south of Jemez Springs, sample Ponderosa Valley Winery’s award-winning 2004 New Mexico Riesling (505-834-7487, ).

DETAILS: Arrive early at Bandelier (505-672-3861, ); reserve online to hike Valles Caldera (877-851-8946, ). Jemez Mountain Inn (888-819-1075, ) doubles run $85–$125.

Secrets of the Ancients

Much of New Mexico’s vivid character seems to come in the middle of nowhere, but nothing in the state feels quite as nowhere as Chaco Canyon. Stretching through the San Juan Basin, about 100 miles northwest of Albuquerque, this lonely valley, a beneficiary of nine inches of rain per year, seems an unlikely place in which to base a major civilization. But a thousand years ago, this nowhere was a bigger somewhere than anywhere in the Southwest.

Between 850 and 1250, the Chacoans, ancestors of the Hopi and of Pueblo peoples like the Zuni, constructed a dozen “great houses”—multistory stone dwellings unlike anything on the continent before them, the largest comprising more than 600 rooms—and scores of smaller structures throughout the canyon and the surrounding mesas. Archaeologists, astronomers, and the metaphysically inclined have yet to get to the bottom of why this spot was chosen, or to explain the buildings’ eerily accurate alignments along paths of celestial importance. So they still come, over bouncy dirt roads (the route from Nageezi, northeast of the park, is easiest—four-wheel drive usually isn’t needed), to tread lightly among these ancient, expertly constructed walls, which have stood for centuries with the help of the dry climate. Six of the major structures can be accessed easily from the main driving loop, but having ventured all the way here, you’ll want to pick up a free permit at the visitor center and hike some of the 20 miles of backcountry trails to overlooks and more remote sites, such as the massive, ninth-century Peñasco Blanco.

Chaco Culture National Historical Park—one of three UNESCO World Heritage Sites in New Mexico, along with Taos Pueblo and Carlsbad Caverns—can be done as a day trip, even with some backcountry exploration, but leaving before dusk to get to a hotel would feel sacrilegious. To get the whole, timeless experience, you’ll want to be here for a day and a night, which means after-dark astronomy lectures and camping under the stars as coyotes yelp on the cliffs above you.

BONUS: In Cuba, about 90 minutes from the park on Highway 550, you’ll find some of the state’s best carne adovada (pork in red-chile sauce) and stuffed sopaipillas. El Bruno’s (505-289-9429) happens to have held the first Guinness World Record for longest burrito—7,856 feet in all, with almost two tons of pinto beans. (No pressure: It’s been eaten.)

DETAILS: The 48-site campground is the only place to stay in or anywhere near the park; claim your spot early, on a weekday if you can. Park admission is $8 per car; camping, $10 per site (505-786-7014, ).

Spins and Spas

I’m crawling up the Chamisa Trail in my mountain bike’s lowest gear—the one affectionately called “granny”—though right now I’m wishing I had a great-granny. Maybe it’s breakfast from Cafe Pasqual’s, a 13-table Water Street institution in Santa Fe, that’s throwing a cog out of my cogset. My choice, selected from 25 menu items during a three-coffee deliberation, was a jack-stuffed chile relleno buried under two eggs over easy, which narrowly edged out the smoked-trout hash.

Both my breakfast spot and my spin are New Mexico classics—the Winsor Trail network, including links like the Chamisa, is a must-ride. You can pedal eight miles on the Winsor, from the village of Tesuque to Santa Fe’s small but cherished ski area, for a net gain of 3,100 feet (or a net loss, if you’re a gravity freak with a car shuttle). My hour-plus climb today brings rewards—a tangent on the Borrego and Bear Wallow trails, a glorious rolling descent—and a question: Do I ride too much?

Considering that my town is home to hundreds of great restaurants, 200 art galleries, 11 museums, an opera, and a rich, four-hundred-plus-year history, not to mention ashrams, teahouses, art barns, and Wiccans, I think a change is in order. So I trade sandy singletrack for basalt and marble, letting a massage therapist at Ten Thousand Waves, Santa Fe’s most serene spa, apply 65 stones to my body. The 130-degree black rocks supply heat, while the cool white marble removes it. This stone sauté is like regression analysis—as in past injuries, not past lives.

The new, fluid me drops back to La Posada de Santa Fe, a cottonwood-canopied downtown hotel with 157 “casita” rooms (Spanish for “don’t pack tons of stuff”), some with a kiva fireplace and a porch. Then it’s off to Canyon Road to catch the Friday-evening gallery openings. The sun is dropping below the somewhat expressionistic Jemez Mountains, the clouds above the Sangre de Cristos are an imperial violet, and I walk through nearly 20 galleries without spotting a single bandanna-festooned coyote howling at the moon.

BONUS: The palette at El Farol (505-983-9912), amid the galleries on Canyon, is 100 percent blue agave. A Hornitos marg or two is best consumed with creative tapas like the crispy avocado (battered and flash-fried).

DETAILS: A 70-minute Japanese hot-stone treatment at Ten Thousand Waves Japanese Health Spa (505-982-9304, ) is $139. Rooms at La Posada de Santa Fe (888-367-7625, ) start at $209. New Mexico Bike ‘n’ Sport (505-820-0809, ) rents demo cross-country bikes, like Specialized Stumpjumpers, for $35–$45 per day.

Fishing on the Fly

San Juan River

In the parched and wind-abraded sandstone desert northeast of Farmington, the San Juan River is not only wet but surprisingly profuse with aquatic life. Well known to fly-rod-waving diehards but obscure to the masses, the four-mile, mostly catch-and-release section below the Navajo Dam is stacked fin to fin with up to 75,000 wild browns and stocked rainbows—some as plump as Oprah’s thigh. The fish attain such super-salmonid size by slurping a never-ending buffet of gnats the way whales devour krill. Best of all, you don’t need a master’s in entomology to hook in.

My girlfriend, Lisa—who’d never fished—and I signed up for a day on the San Juan with John Tavenner, a guide there since 1991. John showed her the basics and tied on her flies. While I tried to coax a wily one to eat a No. 24 dry fly, Lisa landed lunkers as fast as John could dance around netting them.

After spending a sun-baked day under bluebird skies, you’ll need someplace dark to sleep. Very dark. For the erudite troglodyte with a flair for the quirky, there’s Kokopelli’s Cave, a bed-and-breakfast an hour from the river on the outskirts of Farmington. With love, care, and plenty of dynamite, geologist Bruce Black blasted a plush, 1,750-square-foot, one-bedroom cave into a sandstone cliff 200 feet above the La Plata River. The cavern, 172 steps below the clifftop, features a waterfall shower and jetted tub, as well as a kitchen and two balconies for watching the sun set while spinning outrageous fishing yarns.

BONUS: Stop in Aztec for a Bus Driver (hash browns smothered in cheddar cheese and green chile) at the Aztec Restaurant (505-334-9586), about 15 miles east of Farmington at the junction of highway 550 and Main Street.

DETAILS: A full-day float with Tavenner’s Sandstone Anglers (888-339-9789, ) costs $315 for two; Kokopelli’s Cave (505-326-2461, ) rents for $220 per night.

Send Me to Climbing Heaven

El Rito

Midway between Española and no place, really, hides El Rito, little more than a general store, a pint-size restaurant, and a handful of adobes clustered on Highway 554. It took me seven years of living in Santa Fe to discover the village, its gorgeous climbers’ playground, and the serene Rancho de San Juan resort nearby. El Rito’s restaurant, El Farolito, couldn’t look less assuming, yet its rich green chile, studded with hunks of pork and tomato, is a three-time winner of the state’s chile cookoff. (Have it atop the pork tamales: true New Mexico comfort food.)

A meal at El Farolito handily fuels a visit to El Rito’s sport crags, a wonderland of about 60 bolted routes ranging from 5.7 to 5.13c/d, all a four-mile drive north from town on Forest Road 44. The area’s appeal is its conglomerate rock, found in perpendicular, cobbled walls that look like they’ll crumble at your touch—but don’t. Instead, the enormous ocher-, brick-, rust-, and chestnut-colored faces—punctuated with electric-green lichen—provide generous holds. As I blasted up Walt’s Wall Waltz, a 72-foot 5.8 (superfun for a novice), the calls of circling ravens replaced the fading voices of my chatty girlfriends below.

���ϳԹ��� takes a turn for the cush at Rancho de San Juan. The main hacienda is flanked by a dozen casitas, each with saltillo-tile floors and handsomely outfitted with reading-friendly rattan chairs, a kiva fireplace, and a jumbo bathroom with a jetted tub and views of the piñon-dotted 225-acre property. Walk to a shrine that an artisan carved out of sandstone, or the top of Black Mesa, which looms above the resort and U.S. 285, ribboning in the distance.

You’re meant to bring an appetite to this Relais & Châteaux property, which attracts diners from Santa Fe and Taos, in addition to hotel guests. The prix fixe dinner is limited only by what’s fresh at the market. One fine meal might include seared king salmon with braised fennel. And then it’s lights out.

BONUS: Authenticity rules at Ojo Caliente Mineral Springs (800-222-9162, www.ojocalientespa.com), an unpretentious spa catering to “cultural creatives” that offers hot iron- and arsenic-rich pools, plus apricot facials, just a hot rock’s throw from El Rito.

DETAILS: El Farolito (505-581-9509) is open every day but Monday. Collect climbing beta at . Doubles at Rancho de San Juan (505-753-6818, ) start at $225; dinner is $55 per person.

Cycling in the High Country

God bless the mining industry. Without man’s lust for wealth, how would anyone have settled the remote southwest corner of New Mexico around Silver City? The mountain town of 10,500 people, nestled at 6,000 feet in the southern foothills of the Pinos Altos Mountains, is closer to Mexico than it is to the nearest U.S. city (El Paso, Texas). And with hundreds of miles of lightly traveled blacktop and a seemingly endless network of high-country trails, it’s one of the country’s best destinations for spring and fall biking.

The quintessential roadie tour is the Gila (pronounced HEE-lah) Inner Loop, a challenging 75-mile ride that crosses the Continental Divide twice and passes a best-of roundup of New Mexico landscapes: striated sandstone cliffs, ponderosa pine forests, streams lined with cottonwoods, and alpine lakes. The route heads north from Silver City on Highway 15, winds through the mountains, and descends into the Mimbres Valley. Sure, there are 3,800 feet of climbing involved, but the visual rewards more than compensate.

Knobby fans will savor the miles of marked singletrack that loop up 7,275-foot Gomez Peak. You can access the network—a spaghetti bowl of technical sections and whoop-de-do downhills—off Little Walnut Road, four miles north of town.

Stay at the Bear Mountain Lodge, an 11-room bed-and-breakfast three miles north of town that’s owned by the Nature Conservancy. The 178-acre converted dude ranch is a bird-watcher’s nirvana. Binoculars and a library of birding books are at your disposal, and every day a naturalist leads hikes or activities. For cyclists, the best parts of Bear Mountain are the jetted bathtubs and Robin Hodges, the cook. My dinner—sirloin tips covered in a light barbecue sauce with a casserole made from cashews, mushrooms, hummus, and rice—may be the state’s best $12 meal.

BONUS: Soak in the hot springs near Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument (505-536-9461, www.nps.gov/gicl), 90 minutes north of Silver City.

DETAILS: Doubles at Bear Mountain Lodge (877-620-2327, ) start at $125. For free biking maps, stop at Gila Hike & Bike (505-388-3222), downtown.

Postcards from Beyond

The sand beneath me glistens almost as brightly as the stars overhead as I summit another 30-foot dune and look out over the rolling, nearly treeless landscape. It’s just as I’ve always imagined life on the moon—and while White Sands National Monument is not the final frontier, hiking here can be an otherworldly experience. White Sands’ 73,600 acres of windswept gypsum dunes, surrounded by the Chihuahuan Desert and, beyond, by the San Andres and Sacramento mountains, are as desolate as nuclear winter—and eerily quiet. The silence is broken only when a jet from nearby Holloman Air Force Base thunders overhead.

You could easily spend a day riding a sled—yes, sledding—down the soft hills, basking in the sun, or wandering the park’s six miles of trails. But White Sands is best at night—especially during a full moon, when the reflective sand helps illuminate the landscape and midnight hikes are bright and Nikon-worthy. The cosmic ambience, coupled with a good bottle of Patrón tequila (no Tang on this trip), makes camping surreal.

For a nearly-as-fantastic encore, head 175 miles southeast to Carlsbad Caverns National Park, a 100-mile-long cave network and UNESCO World Heritage Site. Guided tours into less traveled sections are offered, but I opted for the popular self-guided walk through Carlsbad’s main corridor. The paved, well-lit path descended 100 vertical feet to the Big Room, one of the largest cave rooms in the world. Despite my claustrophobic tendencies, I was relaxed enough to admire the stalagmites, stalactites, and other rock formations, which seemed to evolve with every water droplet that fell sloppily from the 200-foot ceiling.

BONUS: Practice landing the space shuttle (via a high-tech simulator) at the New Mexico Museum of Space History, in Alamogordo, between White Sands and Carlsbad.

DETAILS: Camping at White Sands (505-679-2599, ) is $3 per person per night; register at least an hour before sunset (no advance reservations). Admission to Carlsbad Caverns (505-785-2232, ) is $6 per person.

The post Border Line Amazing appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

So much to do, only three sun-drenched months to do it. Let us help. We start by pinpointing the and , then lay out the , , , , , a dizzying slew of summer essentials, and over a dozen more ways to make the season sizzle.

Brandy Armstrong

HELLO, SUMMER: Brandy Armstrong, a runner from Ogallala, Nebraska, hits Cocoa Beach, Florida, in a vintage bikini from MELET MERCANTILE; shorts () from ROXY BY QUIKSILVER.

PLUS: ; ; ;



HEAVY WATER
for Robert Maxwell’s Exposure Photo Gallery of surfing’s invincible underground.

Swellsville, USA

Bare feet on hot sand. Surfboard on the waves. Lobster in the pot. A long, hot season to stay wet and never go back inside. summer starts here—don’t let the screen door hit you on the way out.

Tori Praver

Surfer Tori Praver at Cocoa Beach, Florida

Cocoa Beach, Fl While the waves are more mellow than menacing, Kelly Slater’s hometown boasts some serious surf cred. Gear up at one-acre Ron Jon Surf Shop (4151 N. Atlantic Ave., 321-799-8888) and head south toward Patrick Air Force Base, where, if you don’t mind the occasional sonic boom, you can score at breaks like Picnic Tables and Second Light. Refuel seven miles farther south at Da Kine Diego’s Insane Burritos, in Satellite Beach (1360 Hwy. A1A, 321-779-8226). The joint’s outdoor Bamboo Theater screens the latest surf flicks. Montauk, NY It’s just three hours by train from Penn Station to the peaceful right-hand break at Turtle Cove and the smooth lefts at Ditch Plains. Make camp at the Atlantic Terrace hotel ($85–$385; 21 Surfside Pl., 631-668-2050), which overlooks an eponymous beach break fueled by hurricane swells spinning off the Carolinas. Work up an appetite for Harvest on Fort Pond (11 S. Emery St., 631-668-5574), nose-riding wizard Joel Tudor’s favorite spot for monster helpings of seafood and sunset views. Santa Cruz, CA Power up on coffee and croissants at Kelly’s French Bakery (402 Ingalls St., 831-423-9059) and pop next door for a custom foam-grinding session with shaper Ward Coffey. Warm up on the mellow rights at Cowell Beach before risking life and limb in the barrels at Natural Bridges State Beach. Then flop down on the bluffs at Lighthouse Point, where pros boost airs so close to the cliff, you’ll flinch as they pass. Après, fish tacos and cervezas go down smooth at El Palomar (1336 Pacific Ave., 831-425-7575). Coos Bay, OR Frontier town meets surf scene in Oregon’s biggest logging port. Check out Ocean Soul Surf Shop (91122 Cape Arago Hwy., 888-626-7685), where local firefighters and fishermen pick up their surf wax. Co-owner Donnie Conn will steer you to “wherever it’s going off.” For beginners, that might be the cold-water waves at Sunset Bay or, if you like more juice, Bastendorff Beach for intimidating peaks like Shitters. Rogers Zoo and Bizzaratorium, in North Bend (2037 Sherman Ave., 541-756-2550) offers live music. Yakutat, AK Lower 48 just too crowded? Hop the twice-a-month ferry from Juneau and head to Icy Waves Surf Shop (635 Haida St., 907-784-3226). It shouldn’t be hard to find: Yakutat has only two paved roads. Beg directions to the peelers at Cannon Beach; then, after overnighting at Glacier Bear Lodge ($110; 812 Glacier Bear Rd., 907-784-3202), have bush pilot Les Hartley (Alsek Air, 907-784-3231) drop you and your gear on one of countless unknown, unnamed, and potentially perfect point breaks along the rugged coast.

Perfect Pickup Games

A Guide to Summer

TOUCH FOOTBALL: From left, Blake Pearson, a San Diego surf-store owner, wears jeans ($165) from POLO BY RALPH LAUREN and a hooded sweatshirt ($301) from R BY 45 RPM. On Nick Fairman, a short-boarder from Winter Park, Florida: boardshorts ($45) by PATAGONIA; cargo shorts ($85) from POLO BY RALPH LAUREN; vintage button-up shirt by MELET MERCANTILE. On Ryan Heavyside, a Palm Beach, Florida, competitive surfer: boardshorts ($120) by TRACY FEITH; boardshorts ($60) by RLX RALPH LAUREN.

Soccer While the Beltway crowd cheers D.C. United’s 15-year-old �ڳܳٲ�ó�� phenom Freddy Adu at RFK Stadium, slide-tackle a lobbyist or knock in a header under the gaze of Lincoln’s statue. Impromptu scrimmages are held most evenings on the National Mall’s soccer-perfect turf. Beach Volleyball As the birthplace of the sport, Manhattan Beach, California, takes its volleyball seriously. Its nearly 100 first-come, first-served courts, spread along a two-mile strand, are tractor-groomed weekly and fill up nightly. Bring a net and ball and you’ve got game. Ultimate Frisbee If you can’t find a game of disk in Madison, you’re just not looking. The University of Wisconsin is home to one of the country’s top college programs, and Madison offers a city league for every season. Walk-ons are welcome nightly at Vilas Park and Olbrich Field, all summer long.

The Swinging Life

Gold Cup 2 Eye

It was just an old rope swing, tied to a pecan tree on the banks of a lake in the Ozarks. But when I stumbled upon it, and grabbed the knot and swung out over the water, what came back to me with a whoosh was my seventh summer, probably forgotten or pushed away because that was the year my mother died.

My old man had nearly brained himself trying to install the heavy rope on the limb of an old box elder. Unwilling to climb up, he’d elected to weight one end of the rope with a claw hammer, which he heaved heavenward in the hope it would sail over the limb. Finally, to my amazement, it worked. He tied a spent Firestone to the rope with a double square knot, installed me inside, walked the boy-bearing tire to the apex of the slope, and pushed.

“What should I do?” I screamed as I soared out toward the water.

He yelled back in his East Texas cracker twang, rich with mules and chiggers. “Y’all figure it out.”

The thing that came to addict me wasn’t just the wild ride and the plunge into the creek; it was that you could apply an infinite amount of torque to the rope by winding up the tire before liftoff, coiling it like a spring. Then, standing on the tire, spinning like a dervish, the test was this: Could I marshal the timing it took to dismount at a point that would deposit me in the water instead of the brush?

In another game, my best pal and I would swallow a Fizzie-kind of like prehistoric Pop Rocks-then wind up the tire, working it like a posthole digger. As the carbonated confection began bubbling in our bellies, I’d climb into the tire while my pal climbed on top. Once airborne and spinning, it was mano a mano until the loser barfed.

But what I liked best was simply the compulsive, solitary act of swinging, pumping my legs for hours to keep the tire in motion. It was the best way to take myself somewhere else.

SUMMER ESSENTIALS
Deck Shoe Revival
Remember these babies? Sperry Top-Sider plates the eyelets on its handmade Gold Cup 2 Eye deck shoe with 18-karat gold, which won’t corrode or rust. Meanwhile, memory foam molds itself to the shape of your sole, while padded deerskin uppers softly cradle the rest. $150;

Rubber Soul

The Pacific stretching westward, rolling hills, empty beaches inhabited only by sea lions—there’s no getting around it: The West Coast’s Highway 1/101 is the classic summer drive. Head out on the 734-mile stretch winding from San Francisco to Astoria, Oregon, for spectacular scenery, crowd-free adventures, and the wind-in-the-hair perma-grin you can only get on the open road. Our weekend guide:

Mile 44: Fuel up on Pacific oysters ordered live from the seawater tanks at the Tomales Bay Oyster Company, a working farm in Marshall. 415-663-1242

Mile 196: Plunge into a swimming hole along the highway as it follows the South Fork of the Eel River through Richardson Grove State Park. 707-247-3318,

Mile 319: Hike beneath 2,000-year-old, 300-foot redwoods at Redwood National Park and Redwood State Park. 707-464-6101,

Mile 513: Boogie-board the 500-foot sand dunes of Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area, then bed down in a deluxe yurt at Umpqua Lighthouse State Park. $65 for up to seven people; 800-452-5687,

Mile 640: Sea-kayak, hang- glide, or surf at Cape Kiwanda State Natural Area. 800-551-6949,

Mile 695: Grab a table at the Sea Shack (503-368-7897), on Nehalem Bay in Wheeler, for a bucket of Cajun shrimp and an icy beer. At Wheeler Marina (503- 368-5780), rent a boat and traps to go crabbing off Nehalem Bay State Park.

New American Chopper

Katie Zirnfus

PEDAL PUSHER: Katie Zirnfus, a surfer from Titusville, Florida, heads to the break in Cocoa Beach. Sweatshirt ($52) and bikini ($72) by RIP CURL; vintage bucket hat by ROGAN.

Trade in those riding leathers for a pair of surf trunks and flip-flops and cruise your local boardwalk atop the chopper-inspired Electra Straight 8. With a Shimano Nexus three-speed hub, old-school coaster brake, and red powder-coated spokes, these wheels are Peter Fonda cool. $570;

Who Needs Cristo?

Missed out on the saffron Gates? Head to Amarillo, Texas, where the public art is as large as the 72-ounce steaks dished up at I-40’s Big Texan Steak Ranch. Natural-gas tycoon Stanley Marsh 3 started funding big art back in 1974 with Cadillac Ranch, ten vintage Caddies buried nose first in the Panhandle. Over the years he’s painted a mesa blue; built Giant Phantom Soft Pool Table, a 180-by-90-foot patch of dyed-green grass with 42-inch canvas balls; and commissioned a pair of gigantic sawed-off legs in a field south of town. “Art is a legalized form of insanity,” Marsh has said. “And I do it very well.” Go crazy yourself scoping out Amarillo’s thousands of Marsh-funded street signs, with slogans like I’LL BE RIGHT OUT MA! FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! and LUBBOCK IS A GREASY SPOON! Summer here is frying-pan hot, so when yer bod heats up faster than a Texas cheerleader, dive into 6,251-acre Lake Meredith, 38 miles north of town on Texas 136. Lake Meredith National Recreation Area, 806-857-3151,

Fuel Up on Fresh Air

Blue on Blue

Poolside at Blue on Blue

Two Lights Lobster Shack, Cape Elizabeth, Maine
Just south of Portland, on the tip of Cape Elizabeth, this landmark New England seafood stop sits on the rocky shoreline below one of the most photographed lighthouses in the world. Park yourself at a table on the deck and try the fresh clam chowder, boiled lobster, or fried clams and scallops. $1.50–$22; 207-799-1677


Coyote Cafe Rooftop Cantina, Santa Fe
Pull a stool to the edge of this downtown café and settle in with a prickly pear margarita and the Coyote’s famous salsa and guacamole. But save room for chef Mark Miller’s classic southwestern dinner menu—including the mango-avocado chicken sandwich and seared salmon tacos. $4–$14; 505-983-1615


Sports Corner, Chicago
This wildly popular pre- and postgame pub, directly across from Wrigley Field, is one of the few outdoor grills where you can hold a chicken wing in one hand and catch a home run in the other. Cheering—for the unfussy American fare and the Cubs—is mandatory. $5–$12; 773-929-1441


Ted Drewe’s Frozen Custard, St. Louis
Any summer road trip through the heartland deserves a stop at this circa-1941 walk-up window, along old Route 66. Don’t be intimidated by the lines that snake around the side of the building: Their vanilla custard flavored 23 ways—like praline and abocho mocha—is worth the wait. $.50–$4.50; 314-481-2652


The Water Club, New York
Head straight for the Crow’s Nest, the seasonal upper-deck café at this stylish East River eatery. With its colorful umbrellas, palatable prices, and stellar views of the Empire State Building and the 59th Street Bridge, it’s a must for piña coladas and shrimp cocktail from the raw bar. $9–$26; 212-683-3333


Blue on Blue, Beverly Hills
Everything about this poolside café in the courtyard of the Avalon Hotel screams hip: from its inventive American menu (can you say Muscovy duck breast and a side of peach quinoa?) to the cushioned chaise lounges and bamboo-shaded private cabanas. And did we mention the pool? $10–$30; 310-407-7791

Ribs, Sugar?

We say the Memphis way is the only way when it comes to applying smoke and slow heat to the ribs of our oinking friends, so we asked Desiree Robinson, pit mistress of legendary rib shack COZY CORNER, for the skinny on backyard ‘cue in the classic dry-rub style. “Make sure you’ve got nice medium-size racks, not baby backs, with enough fat to make that meat tender,” she says, “plus a good fire so they can sizzle down.” Yes, ma’am. HERE’S THE RUB: 3 tbsp paprika; 1 tbsp chili powder; 2 tsp seasoned salt; 2 tsp black pepper; 2 tsp brown sugar; 2 tsp garlic powder; 1 tsp cayenne; 1 tsp oregano; 1 tsp mustard seed; 1 tsp thyme; 1 tsp coriander; 2 tsp dried green peppercorns, ground; 1 tsp allspice. HERE’S THE DRILL: Rub mixture into ribs at least eight hours before cooking. (Yank the membrane off the bones, too.) Place a fireproof bowl full of water and flat beer in the grill pan. Snug charcoal around the bowl, fire up, and let burn until white but still hot. Lay a foil “envelope” of wet wood chips on the coals, then smoke ribs bone side up for two to four hours, and keep that lid on. Paint with sauce when done, if you like—but, says Robinson, “I usually don’t.”—Chris Davis

SUMMER ESSENTIALS
Lone Star Grill »
Transcend the charcoal-versus-gas debate with the Traeger Texas Style Grill—a cooker powered by pencil-eraser-size wood pellets. A continually rotating auger feeds the fire, allowing you to grill, slow-roast, or smoke your dino-steaks just so. $999;

Swing Shift »
The Byer of Maine Santiago XXL double hammock is a generous eight-foot-long cotton cocoon with a carrying capacity of 400 pounds, so there’s room in there for you and at least one other close personal friend—no matter how many ribs the pair of you just polished off. $80;

Longboard Tech »
Hobie’s Epoxy 9’2 Performer by Surftech looks like a vintage balsa longboard, but wait—that’s an advanced sandwich of PVC sheet foam and Tuflite epoxy resin. Upshot: The Performer is nearly six pounds lighter, yet 30 percent stronger, than a traditional foam-and-glass board. $900;

Hot Rocks

If there’s a deal breaker to a climber’s summer dream scene, it’s rock that’s scalding to the touch. Fortunately, Estes Park, Colorado—a town of 6,000 at 7,522 feet in the Rockies—offers something that desert crags don’t: alpine air conditioning and hundreds of routes just outside of town in Rocky Mountain National Park. “The park is best known for 14,255-foot Longs Peak, but the smaller mountains offer equally challenging multi-pitch routes,” says 24-year-old phenom Katie Brown, a Patagonia-sponsored climber who lives in Moab but spends a month or two in Estes Park each summer. “Lumpy Ridge, a series of granite domes, is my favorite. One dome, the Book, has an awesome 5.9 called J. Crack and a 5.10c called Fat City. I also like to hike the four-mile trail around Lumpy Ridge for the views of Longs Peak.” When Brown craves quesadillas, she heads to Ed’s Cantina & Grill, in town, a favorite hangout of resident climbers like Beth Rodden, 25, and her 26-year-old rock-star husband, Tommy Caldwell. “Estes is about escape,” says Rodden. “You can just run into the mountains and play your heart out.” Rocky Mountain National Park, 970-586-1206; Estes Park visitor information, 800-443-7837.

Pony Express

a guide to summer

HALFWAY TO CAPE CANAVERAL: From left, Ryan rides shotgun in boardshorts ($56) by O’NEILL and OAKLEY MONSTER DOGGLE sunglasses ($145), while Blake sits at the helm in PATAGONIA boardshorts ($45).

This year, an icon of American cruising revs back into action in a major way. We’re talking about the FORD MUSTANG CONVERTIBLE GT, a retro-styled muscle car that feels like freedom even when it’s just sitting in the garage. Drop the top with the push of a button, slap on some SPF 30, and turn the ignition. The 300-horsepower V-8 doesn’t simply roll over; it rumbles, and its giddyup will fairly launch you out on the summer highway. That much is to be expected. What’s new is the tight handling: Just think about changing lanes or charging into a tight corner and the Mustang seems to do it for you. The easy maneuvering’s a nice feature for the curves of California’s Highway 1, but keep your eyes on the road when you pass a congregation of head-turning bodies at the beach or you might tug yourself off course. Better to save your people watching for a stoplight—all the better, of course, for people to watch you. Models with V-8 engines from $29,995;

You Can Dig It

For prime seafood with a stellar view, skip the restaurant lines and shovel up a surfside clambake. We tapped Bill Hart, executive chef of the legendary Black Dog Tavern, on Martha’s Vineyard, for info on how to do it up right. First, make sure fires are legal on your beach—chances are you’ll have to get a permit. Then dig a square pit in the sand, two and a half feet deep and three to four feet wide. Line the bottom with fist-size rocks and toss in some firewood. (If you’re looking for a tinge of sweet in your bake, try cherry or apple wood.) Let your fire burn for about two hours—until the wood is gone and the rocks sizzle when sprinkled with water—before adding a layer of store-bought fresh seaweed. Now lob in your grub: For ten hungry beachgoers, that’d be 20 whole red bliss potatoes, eight to ten Spanish onions (halved), ten ears of corn (husks and all), ten links of linguica sausage, ten lobsters, and three to four pounds of mussels and clams—Hart recommends steamers and littlenecks. Cover it all up with more seaweed and a board laid across the top to lock in the steam. The rest is easy: Shoot the breeze for the next two hours until the clams have opened up (any that haven’t are bad). Slip on your oven mitts, pull out the goods, and serve ’em up with lemon wedges and melted butter.

Cheap Date

Three thousand dollars might seem a little steep for one night in sleepy little Rhinebeck, New York, but I managed to spend it. The reason for the exorbitant fee: I had paid for half of a three-bedroom cottage from Memorial Day to Labor Day (or MD–LD, in classified-ad parlance) and slept at the house exactly one time.


I should have known in March, when my friend Ben and I drove around with Hairsprayed Realtor Lady, that my vacation venture was doomed. The house we rented was sweet-a gray-shingled Cape on three acres of gently rolling hills-but the interior was littered with ladybug exoskeletons. If shiny, rosy ladybugs are cheery good-luck symbols of summer, shouldn’t their postmortem husks be considered bad juju?


I opted to overlook the omen and signed the lease. We signed partly because the realtor’s M.O. was to make us believe that this house was the only good one left. We also signed because each of us had recently been dumped, and renting a summer house was a way of getting on with our lives in a screw-all-y’all kind of way.


We drove back to the city, and in the ensuing months I would imagine scenes from my coming summer in mellow, low-key Dutchess County: I’d be strolling down the sun-dappled dirt driveway, stopping to eat wild blackberries right off the bush, clearly recovered from my breakup.


As it happened, when “MD” rolled around, I was still lonely and sad, and Ben had gotten all hot for a woman whose friends were also coupled up and on the docket for Hudson River Valley fun. A few Saturdays, I drove up to Rhinebeck but, feeling like the seventh-person sourpuss along on a triple date, drove back to the city before bedtime.


Right around the time I watched Ben and his girlfriend drive off to a sunset wine tasting, I realized that my sun-dappled summer was not to be. And so, near the very end of August, I forced myself to actually sleep there, to get my alleged $3,000 worth. It didn’t even come close.

Lazy River

It’s no secret that Boulder, Colorado, offers the best urban inner-tubing in the States, possibly the universe, as locals cool down and bruise themselves “floating” more than a dozen drops of Boulder Creek between Eben G. Fine Park and the take-out of choice, beside the downtown library. These rapids range from tame sluiceways to a shoulder-high waterfall, where teens chill out watching sorority girls lose their bikini tops. Here’s how to tube it right. 1) Get your puncture-resistant, Barcalounger-size radial inner tubes for $12.50 at the streamside Conoco on Broadway and Arapahoe. 2) Sneakers, everyone! If sandals sufficed, you could grab any number washed up on shore. 3) Hide a six-pack of something frosty near the take-out’s sunny south steps. Beer is illegal in Boulder’s parks. Never, ever hide beer. 4) Launch! Feet first, butt up, valve stem down. 5) Warning: That guy over there is probably urinating in his surf trunks right now. Don’t swallow the water. 6) Butt up! 7) After a big drop, plunge your ankles in to catch the downstream current and get dragged away from the froth. 8) Steer clear of the man snorkeling for sunglasses, the bamboo-flute-playing hippie standing midstream, and the marauding gang of boys on boogie boards. Those practicing tai chi under the maples are generally nonthreatening, but you can’t be too careful. 9) Relax your butt. The second half is a mellow drift through a tunnel of cottonwood trees. Can you taste the ice-cold Fanta?

Summer Essentials

summer style

DRIFT ON IN: The photographs on these pages were shot surfside at Cocoa Beach’s landmark 1912 Driftwood House. Owner Rob Sullivan, a local board shaper, runs his surfboard and clothing company, Driftwood, out of the vintage structure.

HOUSE PARTY: From left, on Blake, vintage shirt by MELET MERCANTILE; jeans ($108) by LUCKY BRAND JEANS. On Brandy, camisole top ($198) and leather pants ($1,198) by RALPH LAUREN BLUE LABEL. On Ryan, vintage T-shirt by MELET MERCANTILE; button-up shirt ($50) by WRANGLER JEANS; suede pants ($695) from POLO BY RALPH LAUREN; flip-flops ($15) by HAVAIANAS. On Victoria, crochet top ($98) and jeans ($165) by RALPH LAUREN BLUE LABEL. On Mike, sweater ($150) and cargo shorts ($85) from POLO BY RALPH LAUREN; boots ($110) by NIKE. On Nick, vintage jeans jacket by LEVI’S; vintage T-shirt by MELET MERCANTILE; cargo shorts ($85) from POLO BY RALPH LAUREN; flip-flops ($12) by HAVAIANAS. On Katie, vintage poncho and necklace from POLO BY RALPH LAUREN; jeans ($92) by LUCKY BRAND JEANS.


Essential Summer: Liquid Refreshment

Forget the apple martinis. Parallel-park your sloop between the million-dollar yachts at the wharf at Sam’s Anchor Café, in Tiburon, on the sunny north side of San Francisco Bay, or mix up your own tangy glass of SAM’S PINK LEMONADE:
1 1/4 oz citrus vodka
1 1/4 oz 7Up
1/4 oz fresh lemon juice
1/2 oz sweet-and-sour mix
1 oz cranberry juice
Serve on the rocks in a 12-oz glass with a twist of lemon.

—H. Thayer Walker

Wheels Up

With enough vertical feet and hundred-mile views to keep your blood pumping for a week, the Telluride-to-Moab mountain-bike route stands handlebars and stem above your usual summer ride. Operated by privately owned San Juan Hut Systems, this 215-mile route lets you and up to seven pals pedal from the San Juans’ 14,000-foot peaks and spruce-carpeted slopes down to the twisting canyons of Utah’s red-rock country. No need to pack heavy—each night you’ll stay in a one-room wooden hut stocked with sleeping pads and bags (just bring your own liner) and enough bacon, eggs, pasta, and beer to keep everyone in the group satisfied. The seven-day, six-night route—which follows mostly doubletrack fire roads—is open every summer from June 1 to October 1 and costs $553 per person. Go between mid-June and early July, when storms are less likely, and you can catch the lupines and Indian paintbrush in bloom. On the final descent into Moab, opt for the more challenging Porcupine Rim Trail, then stash your bike and head over to the Moab Brewery for a patio pint of Dead Horse Ale and a view of the La Sal Mountains, which cradle the last of the hard miles you just rode. 970-626-3033,

Sweet Freedom

Boston, MA
Boston calls itself “headquarters for America’s biggest Independence Day party,” and we have to agree. The free, all-day extravaganza draws upwards of 700,000 to the banks of the Charles River. The Boston Pops performs, fighter jets buzz overhead, and—for the finale—17,500 pounds of pyrotechnics are launched into the sky from barges. Best seat in the house? Why, the bow of your boat, of course.

Galena, IL
Birthplace of Ulysses S. Grant, this hilly river town of 3,500 kicks off the celebration with a morning parade, just like any small town should, followed by rooftop parties, wine-and-cheese tastings, live music, art exhibits—sponsored by local merchants—and, at dusk, a patriotic sound-off in the midwestern sky.

Telluride, CO
Declare your independence at Telluride’s fiercely funky parade, in which locals and visitors march, ride, skate, gallop, and dance down Colorado Avenue in homemade costumes (picture risqué cowgirls and dancing superheroes). After the local firefighters’ ribs-and-roast barbecue, enter the pie-eating contest, then burn it off during the sack races. At sunset, lie back on the lawn—there’s nothing like fireworks against all the purple mountains’ majesty.

The Beach Rx

While camping on what is now my favorite beach, I once stepped on a scorpion.


I was alone in Cayo Costa State Park, a barrier island of sand and palms about 100 miles south of Tampa, Florida. I rushed to my boat, then to a neighboring island restaurant, where I called the only doctor I knew. It was a Sunday, near midnight.


“Is there much pain?” he asked.


Nope, the slight burning sensation had faded.


“Any dizziness? Uncontrollable salivation?”


It was a scorpion, I reminded him. Not a werewolf.


His indifference changed to irritation. “Did the scorpion sting you on the tallywhacker?”


Was the man drunk? “No!” I snapped. “Didn’t I just tell you I stepped on it?”


“Yes, but I’m a urologist. So why the hell are you bothering me at this hour?”


Return to my camp, the doctor advised, and administer alcohol and ice.


It is a wonderful thing to sit alone on a beach, on a starry night, with nothing to do but drink a thermos of margaritas as prescribed by a pissed-off physician.


Filtered through tequila, a beach becomes more than a percussion skin for waves. This particular beach is many miles long and shaped like a new moon, a convex curve extending into the Gulf of Mexico. My camp spot was at the island’s narrowest point. It was an isolated place with no docks and no homes, centered on a fragile land break bordered by sea, and thus more intimately connected to a wider world. But this small section of beach was now linked to my own small history.


The scorpion was not my last intimate encounter on this beach. My wife and I returned often to that camping spot. Our sons learned to snorkel there. They learned to throw a cast net and how to build a fire that’s good for frying fish.


Both sons-out of college now-still camp there. It remains my favorite place to go for a solitary jog or swim.


Cayo Costa State Park offers primitive cabins ($30 per person per night) and tent camping ($18 per site per night); rental information, 941-964-0375

Rapid Transit

Flush with western Montana’s signature sapphire runoff, the upper Middle Fork of the Flathead is the best float trip you’ve never heard of. Geography is the Flathead’s own permit system—the put-in is tucked away in the Great Bear Wilderness, south of Glacier National Park—so traffic is limited to those willing to fly a Cessna 206 into Schafer Meadows’ backcountry airstrip from Kalispell or horsepack their gear six miles along Granite Creek to the put-in. The river is narrow and steep, meaning you’ll want a slim sports car of a raft and heads-up guiding to make a clean run through four days of Class IV rapids to the take-out at Bear Creek. You’ll camp in Douglas fir and lodgepole pine forests surrounded by the jagged peaks of the Flathead Range, pick rising 20-inch cutthroat out of the herd with a dry fly, and hike to Castle Lake and the cirque-born waterfall that feeds it. The best whitewater is before July, but the fishing peaks later that month during the caddis-and-stone-fly hatch. Four days, $1,095 ($100 extra for horse-packed trips); Glacier Raft Company, 406-888-5454,

The Last Picture Show

a guide to summer

Watch movies under the stars with HP’s ep9010 Instant Cinema Digital Projector. The unit combines a DVD player, a DLP front projector, and a booming sound system and throws a nine-foot image onto any handy garage door or brick wall. $2,000;

WHERE TO FIND IT: DRIFTWOOD, ; HAVAIANAS, ; JET, 323-651-4129; LEVI’S, ; LUCKY BRAND JEANS, ; MELET MERCANTILE, 212-925-8353; NIKE, ; OAKLEY, ; O’NEILL, ; PATAGONIA, ; POLO, RLX BY RALPH LAUREN, and RALPH LAUREN BLUE LABEL, ; POLO JEANS CO. RALPH LAUREN, ; R BY 45 RPM, ; RH VINTAGE, ; RIP CURL, ; ROGAN, ; ROXY BY QUIKSILVER, ; TRACY FEITH, 323-655-1444; WRANGLER JEANS, CREDITS: Stylist: Deborah Watson; Prop Stylist: Forest Watson; Hair: Moiz Alladina for Stephen Knoll Salon; Makeup: Teresa Pemberton/Judy Casey; Production:

The post Feel the Heat appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

By Robert Earle Howells




By Meg Lukens Noonan




By Nick Heil




By Granville Green


PLUS: Resorts for all reasons-great hideaways on , , .

Tierra Secreta

Where do Mexicans vacation? Among the snowcapped volcanoes, frothy rivers, and mysterious ruins of Veracruz—gringo-free…for now

veracruz mexico rio bobos

I DIDN’T COME TO VERACRUZ as a tourist—but, hey, what American does? The economy of Mexico’s third-most-populous state, which curves between the rugged eastern Sierra Madre and a 425-mile coastline on the Gulf of Mexico, is driven not by gringo hordes but by a gaggle of tropical crops—from sugarcane in the sweltering lowlands to coffee in the mist-shrouded mountains—and a significant chunk of the nation’s oil reserves.


Which is why, after nearly a year living in the state capital, Xalapa, I’m wearing an impish Dr. Evil smile. I know the big secret: For the adventurous traveler, Veracruz is a find, its wonders known to Mexicans but mysterious to most outside the country. Hike a trail, climb a mountain, or paddle a river here and your comrades, if any, will be vacationers hailing from Mexico City or Puebla.


Wherever I go—from a raft on the burly Río Bobos, threading the state’s western mountains, to a lost stretch of the Costa Esmeralda beach north of the city of Veracruz—I’m always one of the very few norteamericanos around, if not the only one. So dust off your traveler’s Spanish and come south to Mexico’s travel frontier to enjoy these essential attractions of Veracruz; when you get back, your friends will want to know what the hell you’re grinning about.


:: RÍO BOBOS

A 40-square-mile preserve, Filo-Bobos marks the confluence of whitewater and history. Here, the thrill-inducing Bobos and six intriguingly mysterious archaeological sites, including Vega de la Peña and El Cuajilote (both abandoned after 1200), share a verdant valley.


The Río Bobos rapids are Class II–III during the dry season but work themselves up to memorable Class IV–V in September and October. The river’s upper section has sheer limestone walls, while the lower stretch winds past orange and banana groves and the omnipresent bougainvillea in rich purples, magentas, and oranges.

Trinidad’s Tropical Blend

Fierce jungle and tame beach mingle

Bonaire

Bonaire-Style Bliss

IT’S MORE THAN JUST STANDARD island-time slo-mo that turns a one-hour mountain-bike ride through the scrubby outback of Bonaire’s north end into an all-morning affair. It’s the exuberance and knowledge of your guide, naturalist Jerry Ligon, and the profusion of the weird and wonderful on this 24-mile-long, boomerang-shaped island in the southern Caribbean that keeps the pace many notches below breakneck. There’s just so much worth stopping for: the whiptail lizards darting across the rocky trail, the dusty-gray feral donkeys picking their way around giant kadushi cactuses. There are castor bean pods to pop, yellow-shouldered parrots to listen for, plump aloe leaves to palpate. Ligon has a story for nearly everything you see, and it becomes clear that he doesn’t merely hope you learn a thing or two on this outing; he wants you to fall deeply, madly in love. No need to work so hard, Jerry, you feel like saying. You were gone on the place an hour ago.

About 50 miles off the coast of Venezuela, Bonaire is the “B” in the “ABC islands” of the Netherlands Antilles—along with Aruba, known for its long white beaches and accompanying strip of hotels and casinos, and Curaçao, with its busy international port. Bonaire is the least developed and, with just 13,000 residents, the least populated of the three.

The mostly flat, semi-arid island has few natural beaches, so it may not fit conventional fantasies of the perfect tropical isle, but after a few days you’ll very likely be rewriting your definition of paradise. The day-in, day-out sunshine, the cooling trade winds, the limpid 80-degree water, and the painted-dollhouse Dutch-Caribbean architecture of tiny downtown Kralendijk—not to mention the way local brew Amstel Bright tastes, very cold, with a slice of lime, after a long bike ride—are more than enough to win you over. Add to that the island’s ahead-of-its-time commitment to environmental preservation and its warm, welcoming, ethnically diverse population—including native islanders (descended from Arawak Indians or African slaves), Dutch transplants, and American and Venezuelan expats—and you, too, may find yourself thinking that swaying palms and thundering waterfalls are way, way overrated.

Bonaire’s unique charms have long been known to scuba divers, who consistently rank it among the best destinations in the world. More than half of the island’s 87 marked dive sites are accessible from shore. So plentiful and diverse is the marine life that it’s possible for a fish freak to log a dream “century”—identifying 100 species during a one-tank dive. The vitality of the reefs owes much to the creation, in 1979, of the Bonaire National Marine Park, which prohibits commercial fishing, anchoring, or collecting anything—dead or alive—in the waters around the island.

On the leeward coast is a string of low-key scuba-focused resorts, including the well-regarded Buddy Dive Resort, which has sunny, balconied rooms and spacious apartments on the edge of a coral bluff. The place to stay, though, if you want a less diving-intensive environment and can splurge a bit, is the Harbour Village Beach Club, set on a peninsula at the entrance to a small but lively harbor. The cluster of artfully landscaped ocher-colored Spanish-Dutch colonial villas, which recently underwent a $4.5 million renovation, are decorated plantation style, with teak furniture and tile floors; some have patios with hammocks overlooking a powdery, big-for-Bonaire beach and the nearby uninhabited isle of Klein Bonaire. The beach club has a new full-service spa, a pretty swimming pool, an open-to-the-breezes bar positioned perfectly for sunset cocktails, and, just off the beach, the wreck of a 60-foot merchant ship to explore.

As good as the diving is, though, you’d be missing the soul of Bonaire if you didn’t spend some time topside. Hike and bike the island’s dramatic north, including the black- and red-rock wilds of Washington Slagbaai National Park, and stop to see one of the few flamingo breeding grounds in the world at a nearby lake called Goto Meer. Head south to the flatlands and past the salt pans to the ridiculously blue, 1.5-square-mile Lac Bay and some of the best windsurfing conditions in the Caribbean. You can rent a board or take lessons at one of two windsurf centers on Sorobon Beach—or hang out and watch the amazing “Bonaire Kids,” a group of young local hotshots who clean up on the international freestyle circuit.

Lac Bay is also famous for its Sunday-afternoon parties. Every week, locals and visitors gather at Lac Cai, amid mounds of sun-bleached conch shells, to picnic, swim, drink, and dance to bands playing the kind of island music irresistible to even the most rhythm-challenged. When the shadows get longer and the bay begins to turn silver, look up; you may see a line of carnation-pink flamingos, made pinker by the setting sun, heading toward South America in search of dinner. Now, really, who needs lush?

Dominica At Its Wildest

Untamed, unspoiled, and yours alone

KOOL & THE GANG’S “Jungle Boogie” was stuck in my head. I was scrambling up a near-vertical trail drenched by a tropical deluge, making my way back from Dominica’s Boiling Lake, a fizzing 31,000-square-foot sulfuric cauldron. The monsoon had arrived early in the southern Caribbean, and I was worried it would put the kibosh on my island adventure—particularly the rugged six-hour round-trip to the lake, in Morne Trois Pitons National Park, a route vulnerable to floods and mudslides.

“What do you do if it rains?” I had asked my guide, Ali Auguiste, a young, cheery Carib, when he came to pick me up for the hike. ���ϳԹ���, the clouds were heavy and as gray as a gull’s wing.

“Well, mistah,” Ali had said, a brilliant white smile cracking across his face, “we get wet!”

Wet we got. First the rain fell in a sweet, saturating drizzle. Then it came at us in curtains. Finally, as we crested a high ridge, it stormed with such primordial intensity that it rained up, our ponchos snapping above our heads so that we looked like some strange overgrown flora moving eerily through the ferns.

By the time we were crabbing our way to the top of the flooded buttress, I had achieved trekking’s equivalent of a runner’s high—energized by the tough hike, thrilled by the meteorological action, and humming along to Kool & the Gang. When I reached the lip, runoff hosing my chest and pouring over my head, Ali stuck out his hand to help me over the edge. We were both grinning like schoolboys. This was hardly some manicured nature walk: It was as close to mountaineering as you can get in the Caribbean.

Sandwiched between Martinique, to the south, and Guadeloupe, to the north, Dominica (pronounced Doh-mi-NEEK-a) is the youngest island in the Lesser Antilles—a volcanic chile pepper of green thrusting out of the tourmaline sea. I had come chasing reports of unspoiled rainforest hiking, hidden hot springs, secluded beaches, world-class diving, and a holistic, enviro-friendly culture that was just beginning to get real adventure tourism off the ground. While 29-mile-long Dominica is home to 72,000 people (5,700 of whom are native Caribs), it’s blissfully undeveloped. Thanks to the efforts of farsighted preservationists, Dominica has established more protected parks, forests, and marine reserves per capita than almost anywhere on the planet. As a result, hikers, bikers, and paddlers can explore 4,000-foot peaks, 128,500 acres of untrammeled rainforest, more than 100 miles of trails, and 365 rivers—”One for every day of the year,” locals like to enthuse.

After my Boiling Lake epic, I needed a day to convalesce in the Roseau Valley at the Papillote Wilderness Retreat, a botanical fantasyland about four miles from the capital, Roseau, on the southwestern coast. Though free of televisions, phones, and air conditioning, the rooms are comfortable, with arrestingly beautiful surroundings. Credit goes to Anne Baptiste, the expat owner and gardener from Florida, who visited Dominica in 1961 and was so enchanted with its horticultural splendor she spent the next 40 years creating this internationally recognized Eden.

“If you just stand still, you begin to realize how much is going on around you,” she said, pausing on a footpath to deadhead a begonia. Surrounding us was a rainbow gallery of indigenous and exotic species, though it was only a tiny sample of the island’s 1,200 species of flowering plants: glistening jade vines, cascading heliconia, ginger blossoms as big as your face, and, as Anne pointed out, an orchid smaller than your thumb, growing like spider silk on a tree branch.

That night, on the dining patio overlooking the lush valley, I was served prawns in garlic sauce, saffron rice, and rum punch made from guava juice. If Boiling Lake had shown me Dominica’s rambunctious side, Papillote was the pastoral antithesis. This was the binary character I would encounter all over the island: tough and serene; wild and peaceful. I fell asleep thinking my deep thoughts while fireflies flashed through the open-air room.

From Papillote, I headed about ten miles downcoast to the quaint, pastel-colored fishing village of Soufrière, where I connected with Nature Island Dive for a few hours of kayaking and snorkeling above a dive site, Champagne—so named because geothermal vents in the sandy seafloor emit streams of warm bubbles. The all-but-beachless “Nature Island” tends to get overlooked as a fun-in-the-sun Caribbean destination, but here, drifting above parrotfish, sergeant majors, brain coral, barrel sponges, and countless other forms of showy reef life, I tasted one of its premier attractions.

Afterwards, I embarked on a whirlwind clockwise tour of the entire coast. The most luxurious lodging—the historic Fort Young Hotel—is on the waterfront in Roseau, as is the best shopping for locally made jewelry, woven baskets, and wood crafts. It was a different scene as I crossed the northern tip and headed down the eastern shore: rocky coastline gouged by secluded coves, rustic banana plantations, languid villages, and the occasional black-sand beach or rum shop.

It was far down this coast, in the island’s southeast corner, that I saw Dominica’s future: a nearly completed luxury spa called Jungle Bay Spa Resort, the brainchild of Samuel Raphael, an island native with a degree in international studies from American University, in Washington, D.C. This self-contained eco-resort tucked into a hillside overlooking the Atlantic will offer studios for yoga and Pilates, two restaurants, conference facilities, and 35 private cottages built from tropical hardwoods.

I knew the arrival of such a place would mean little to those up the coast—the domino klatches, the rastas, the matriarchs balancing laundry baskets on their heads—but for overworked, overstressed Americans seeking a double dip of wellness, here was the promised land. As we chatted, Sam told me that the human with the longest known life span, Elizabeth Israel—a.k.a. Ma Pampo—was Dominican. She lived on this life-giving island for 128 years and died in 2003. Stand still and you begin to realize how much is going on around you. I stood as still as possible but couldn’t begin to fathom it all.

Little Cayman, Big Fun

The action here is out of sight

I BECAME A PRO DODGING snoozing iguanas while pedaling a beach cruiser along the narrow road that rings Little Cayman. That’s about as exciting as life gets on this ten-mile-long, scrub-covered British outpost south of Cuba, the smallest of the three Caymans. When visitors touch down on the grass-and-crushed-coral airstrip, they’re not coming for swinging nightlife and duty-free shopping.

On Little Cayman, the action happens underwater. The island’s claim to fame—aside from its unspoiled interior and gorgeous white beaches—is the Bloody Bay Wall, a spectacular span of coral off the northern coast that begins at 18 feet and plummets 6,000 feet into the big blue. Here, divers swim through narrow chimneys, fin past a vibrant gallery of sponges, and encounter eagle rays, sea turtles, and spotted drums. A popular T-shirt slogan sums up the lifestyle: LITTLE CAYMAN, A SMALL DRINKING ISLAND WITH A BIG DIVING PROBLEM.

There are only a handful of places to stay and one real store. I check in at the oldest resort, the Southern Cross Club, opened in 1959, when Little Cayman was no more than a fishing camp. Ten bungalows are sprawled out on a handsome stretch of gleaming sand studded with palms. Mahogany furniture fills the large, airy guest rooms, which have no TVs or telephones; shady front porches facilitate hammock lazing. Fishing and dive boats ferry guests around, and there are kayaks for the short paddle across the sound to tiny Owen Island.

After settling in, I set three goals: dive the Bloody Bay Wall ad nauseam, catch a bonefish on a fly for the first time, and spot the mysterious Toe-Sucking Bog Man, a nocturnal monster that, according to local legend, lives in murky Tarpon Lake (which, a more reliable legend claims, was fished by Ernest Hemingway).

By far the easiest of these efforts is diving. Every morning I board the dive boat for the resort’s daily two-tank trip to the Bloody Bay Marine Park, and it doesn’t take me long to rack up some memorable dives. A large resident grouper named Jerry allows me to pet him at Marilyn’s Cut, and as I swim into a grotto 50 feet down at Randy’s Gazebo, I arrive in time to see a massive barrel sponge spawning. But nothing beats the sheer drama of the wall itself: Seussian sponges sticking out in all directions, spotted eagle rays gliding past, and brightly colored parrotfish, queen angelfish, and filefish darting around.

Bonefishing is more frustrating. After hours of poling around the flats with my patient guide, a mellow young Floridian named Jeremy Loercher, I finally land a feisty three-pound bonefish on an eight-weight fly rod.

I somehow never make it to the lake to look for the Toe-Sucking Bog Man. Instead I content myself each evening with feeding squid bits to an octopus in Preston Bay and dancing on the bar at the Hungry Iguana, the local hangout, after a couple tequila shots. That’s pure excitement, here on Little Cayman.

Tierra Secreta

El Pico de Orizaba, Costa Esmeralda, & El Tajín

:: EL PICO DE ORIZABA

Known as Citlaltépetl (“Star Mountain”) in Náhuatl, the language of the Aztecs, 18,700-foot Orizaba hardly presents a technical challenge for the “Everest is easy” crowd. But the volcanic peak is no snap for the rest of us. Straddling Veracruz’s boundary with Puebla, to the west, it’s the highest mountain in Mexico and the third-tallest in North America, and most of the summit ascent is over a glacier and snow.


On a clear day, once you’re atop Orizaba, you can see her sister volcanoes, 17,887-foot Popocatépetl and 17,343-foot Ixtaccíhuatl, to the west, and, if you’re lucky, the Gulf of Mexico, to the east.


:: COSTA ESMERALDA

With its small, funky hotels and large private homes perched on a strip of grassy land between Highway 180 and the Gulf of Mexico, 12-mile Costa Esmeralda is reminiscent of the Florida Keys of a bygone era—with more cattle ranches and fewer Hemingway look-alikes.


The Hotel Torre Molino, with air-conditioned rooms and a swimming pool, is the best spot to roost. If you’re in the mood for a low-key paddle, the front desk can hook you up with a kayak to tour the nearby Ciénega del Fuerte, a protected freshwater wetland.


:: EL TAJÍN

Every pre-Cortesian ruin in Mexico gooses a different part of the anatomy. Some make your jaw drop. Some make your head spin. El Tajín always makes the hairs on my neck stand at quivering attention. The hulking stone pyramids and grassy ball courts of the four-square-mile site feel labyrinthine, almost claustrophobic. But wait—it gets creepier: Even after studying the place for more than 200 years, archaeologists still can’t say for sure who lived here. (They know the city peaked in the Classic Period, between 300 and 900, and probably waned in the 13th century.)


El Tajín—its modern name is Totonac for “Thunder”—was a contemporary of Teotihuacán, to the west, and the Maya cities to the southeast. Today, El Tajín exudes enigmatic charm. Don’t miss the 65-foot Pyramid of the Niches, which, with regularly spaced square niches on every vertical surface, looks like a cross between a Sumerian ziggurat and a Japanese pagoda. (Should be easy to spot: It’s featured on 2004 Veracruz license plates.)

Tierra Secreta

Access and Resources

veracruz map

RÍO BOBOS:: The best base of operations for exploring the Río Bobos is Aventurec (011-52-225-315-4300, ). A three-day, two-night package includes two river runs, guided hikes, a ride on a cross-canyon zip line, and meals ($140 per person for lodging in one of the outfitter’s new cabins; $127 if you camp).

EL PICO DE ORIZABA:: Reputable Orizaba operators, like Servimont (011-52-245-451-5009, ), expect clients to have experience climbing on ice and snow before tackling this volcano. Servimont’s six-day mountaineering trip, which includes meals and three nights in a historic lodge—a converted soap factory—costs $685 per person.

COSTA ESMERALDA:: The Hotel Torre Molino (doubles, $74; 011-52-232-321-0055, ) offers a breezy restaurant, which sits under a gigantic palapa and serves locally caught seafood in dishes like robalo à la veracruzana—sea bass sautéed with tomatoes, onions, green olives, and capers.

EL TAJÍN:: These mysterious ruins, crammed into a steamy, thickly wooded valley, are located an hour’s drive northwest from the Costa Esmeralda. Take Highway 180 north to Papantla and follow the signs five miles to the ruins. El Tajín is open seven days a week, 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., and admission is about $2.50 per person.

The post The Sun-Kissed, Hibiscus-Scented, Palm-Studded, Rum-Soaked, Blissed-Out, In-Your Dreams Caribbean appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

1. ANTARCTICA Play among hundreds of thousands of penguins and follow migrating whales on Mountain Travel Sobek's 11-day cruise on the expedition ship Akademik Ioffe. Departing from Ushuaia, Argentina, you'll cross the Drake Passage, 620 miles of the world's wildest sea, then follow the Antarctic Peninsula to Paradise Bay. Feeling burly? Launch a sea kayak from the ship. (December, January, March departures, $3,890–$8,790 per person; 888-687-6235, ) 2. SEA OF CORTEZ This is where the whales are—besides the blues (at up to 100 feet long, the largest creatures ever to inhabit the earth), keep an eye out for California gray, humpback, sperm, fin, minke, and pilot whales. Mexico's Baja Expeditions offers eight-day trips aboard the 14-passenger Don Jose. (February, March, April departures, $1,695–$1,895; 800-843-6967, ) 3. GALÁPAGOS ISLANDS These remote volcanic isles—600 miles off Ecuador's coast—deserve their reputation as one of the world's greatest wildlife-watching destinations. During a ten-day Lindblad Expeditions trip, you'll likely cross paths with giant tortoises, sea lions, blue-footed boobies, lava lizards, and tropical penguins. Back on board, dive into Darwin's The Origin of Species. (Departures November–March, $3,370–$5,980; 800-397-3348, ) 4. AMAZON RIVER Add oddities like wattled jacanas and pink freshwater dolphins to your life list. International Expeditions' nine-day voyage includes a visit to five-million-acre Pacaya-Samiria Reserve, the largest protected wetland on earth. (Departures November–March, $2,198–$2,898; 800-633-4734, ) 5. TIERRA DEL FUEGO Sip Chilean wines and get loaded on gorgeous Beagle Channel scenery aboard Cruceros Australis's 233-foot Mare Australis, or visit an elephant seal colony and storm-pounded Cape Horn. (Departures October–April, $681–$2,229; 877-678-3772, )

The post It’s a Zoo Out There appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

AT LAST, 126 YEARS after the north-to-south transcontinental route was conceived, Australia’s legendary Ghan train is running the entire 1,851 miles between Adelaide and Darwin. Named for the camel-riding Afghans who once carried supplies to opal miners in the remote parts of the outback, the Ghan has been clickety-clacking the 969 miles between Adelaide and Alice Springs since 1929. After a 72-year gap and almost three years of laying mile upon mile of track through some of the most inhospitable parts of Australia, the second half of the line began service in early 2004. The 47-hour, two-night ride glides past the red-hued Macdonnell Ranges, over the baked earth of the Great Victoria Desert, and through vast sheep and cattle stations roamed by weathered jackaroos, or cowboys. On board, choose a Gold Kangaroo– class berth (some with private bathrooms) or settle into a semi-reclining seat—regardless, you’ll gravitate to one of the lively lounge cars to clink cans of Victoria Bitter with the Aussies.

Australia's Ghan Train

LONG HAUL: The Ghan runs 1,851 miles

From Adelaide, stretch your train legs by bushwalking part of the 746-mile Heysen Trail (011-61-88212-6299, ), which runs from Cape Jervis to the Parachilna Gorge in the Flinders Ranges. From Darwin, explore Kakadu National Park (011-61-88938-1100, ), a biocultural preserve that has been continuously inhabited for 60,000 years.

Details: Fares from Adelaide to Darwin start at $343 per person; 800-423-2880, .

The post G’day on the Ghan appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

Silver City, New Mexico

Bear Mountain Lodge
Back in the early 1930s, Silver City residents would ride horseback three miles to this hacienda to dance the night away in the Great Room. Today, guests arrive in SUVs and are more low-key, cozying up on leather love seats in front of one of two grand stone fireplaces and perusing field guides and natural history books in the library. Owned by The Nature Conservancy since 1999 and renamed Bear Mountain Lodge, the inn sits at 6,250 feet on 178 acres of southwestern New Mexico high desert. And with nearby Gila National Forest, almost the size of Connecticut, the possibilities for hiking, biking, horseback riding, and birding are seemingly endless.
ROOM & BOARD: The 11 rooms, accented with hand-hewn oak beams, contain beds draped with denim comforters, and handcrafted Mission-style furniture. Amble to the dining room to fuel up with a breakfast tortilla española—a sliced baked potato with sautéed onions and eggs, topped with a red-pepper almond sauce—while a pack of drooling javelinas lurks beyond the eastern porch.
OUT THE BACK DOOR: Take a left out of the driveway, bike 3.5 miles on a dirt road to the Continental Divide Trail in the Gila, and from there you can conceivably ride all the way to Canada. If you prefer skinny tires, follow a leg of the difficult Tour of the Gila—a winding, steep 45 miles from Silver City’s Gough Park to the prehistoric cliff dwellings once occupied by Mogollon Indians.

Bob Marshall Wilderness Range, MT

adventure lodges

Casting into the wilderness surrounding the Bob Marshall Ranch

Seeley Lake, Montana
Bob Marshall Wilderness Ranch
This northwest Montana ranch borrowed its moniker from a famous neighbor: the one- million-acre Bob Marshall Wilderness, which honors the man who created the Wilderness Society. Larger than Rhode Island, “The Bob” is embroidered with blue-ribbon rivers of wild cutthroat and rainbow trout, jam-packed with rugged 7,000-foot mountains, and populated by more than 350 wildlife species, including grizzly bears, wolves, elk, and bighorn sheep.
ROOM & BOARD: Masculine icons—elk trophies, a huge bearskin hanging on the living room wall, and a coatrack made of horseshoes where guests leave their city duds for the week—fill the simple three-story log lodge with four cathedral-windowed bedrooms. Sip a hot chocolate and peppermint schnapps on the deck overlooking the Swan Valley, or elbow up to a polished Douglas fir table for family-style meals of grilled steaks and handpicked-huckleberry pie.
OUT THE BACK DOOR: The best excursion here goes beyond a day trip. For the past 30 years, owners Virgil and Barbara Burns have arranged five- and ten-day deluxe horsepacking trips into The Bob, part of the 2.5-million-acre Flathead National Forest, where you’ll get 360-degree wilderness views that make Albert Bierstadt look like a realist. Even the remotest campsite feels plush, with heated wall tents, padded cots, and homemade fare including roast turkey and sourdough rolls.

Moose Mountain Lodge, NH

Etna, New Hampshire
Moose Mountain Lodge
Though students from neighboring Dartmouth College don’t careen down the meadows of Moose Mountain on rickety wooden skis like they used to, Moose Mountain Lodge—with its corduroy-cushioned sofas, stone fireplaces, and spruce-log beds—still retains the flavor of a 1930s ski cabin. The rope tow has been dismantled, but trails threading through 350 acres of mixed hardwood-and-pine forest are paradise for hikers, mountain bikers, and cross-country skiers. After a daylong excursion, veteran innkeepers Kay and Peter Shumway welcome tuckered guests to their cabin on the hill, where sunsets flood the hundred-mile view of the Upper Connecticut River Valley and Vermont’s Green Mountains beyond.
ROOM & BOARD: The lodge has a comfortable, family feel: Bathrooms are shared, and guests in the 12 rustic rooms sit down to Kay’s robust meals—handmade spinach pasta with straight-from-the-garden pesto sauce, fresh-baked bread, and organic salad greens—at a 22-foot red oak table in the dining room.
OUT THE BACK DOOR: Hop on your road bike for a 25-mile loop along the lush and meandering Connecticut River, north to Lyme and back. Or hike south 6.5 miles along Moose Mountain’s Ridge Trail to rocky overlooks where you might see all the way to 6,288-foot Mount Washington. For water play, drive eight miles down the mountain to the river and rent a canoe or kayak from Dartmouth’s Ledyard Canoe Club.

Retreads with Cred

The North Face Mantel & Reebok Vanta Stripe

From left to right

THE NORTH FACE’s MANTEL combines a climbing shoe with an old-school runner. $70; 800-447-2333,

REEBOK returns to its white-leather roots with the VANTA STRIPE. $80; 800-843-4444,

Hotel de Larache, Chile

San Pedro de Atacama, Chile
Explora in Atacama—Hotel de Larache
Wealthy South American businessman Pedro Ibañez built this lodge in 1998, offering guests refined luxury in the middle of the rugged-adventure land the Inca once called home. Set in a 700-mile-long desert amid six soaring volcanoes, the mile-and-a-half-high town of San Pedro de Atacama is close to the driest place on earth—in some parts of the Atacama Desert, it hasn’t rained in more than a century. But there are oases: Guests can take guided excursions to hot springs and boiling geysers, or to the buoyant turquoise waters found at the nearby salt flats.
ROOM & BOARD: The sleek white lines of the hotel blend well with the local adobe architecture. The 50 guest rooms are brightly decorated with yellow, blue, and green wicker furniture, alpaca blankets, and fine linens imported from Spain. Four lap pools and four saunas await you, as does a new relaxation center, Casa del Agua, offering herbal oil massage and herbal baths. In the minimalist dining room, sample French chef Lorenzo Pascualetto’s fire-roasted Patagonian lamb and to-die-for Chilean wines.
OUT THE BACK DOOR: Explora’s bilingual guides offer guests five to seven excursion options per day, including hiking, horseback riding, mountain biking, and visits to archaeological sites. To watch the world’s best sunset, catch a 15-minute ride to Valle de la Luna, then hike an hour and a half through miniature sand mountains. Or if you really want to earn your pisco sour (a favorite Chilean cocktail), top 19,455-foot Volcán Licancábur. Rumor has it, there’s a magical surprise in the crater lake at the summit.

Casa Cerro Sagrado, Mexico

Teotitlán del Valle Oaxaca, Mexico
Casa Cerro Sagrado
Perched on a five-acre hillside above Teotitlán del Valle—a Zapotec Indian village 16 miles east of the city of Oaxaca that’s world-famous for its weavers—this recently opened guest house sits in the striking shadow of conical Guia Betz, a sacred 6,900-foot mountain. The tremendous views from your room’s terrace are especially enjoyable at sunset, with a clay tasting cup of locally produced Del Maguey mescal in hand. If you time it right, you’ll catch one of the village’s frequent fiestas erupting with fireworks.
ROOM & BOARD: Started in 2002 by artist Arnulfo Mendoza and his wife, gallery owner Mary Jane Mendoza, Casa Cerro Sagrado (House on the Sacred Hill) celebrates Oaxacan art, culture, and cuisine in the best possible way—the 12 handsome guest rooms are accented with hand-loomed rugs and rich, intricate wall tapestries. Reyna Mendoza, Arnulfo’s cousin and the resident chef, produces regional specialties like tamales stuffed with wild mushrooms, and teaches cooking classes on-site throughout the year.
OUT THE BACK DOOR: After limbering up in a private hatha yoga class with Mary Jane, head downhill toward the village, link up with ancient cattle paths along El Río Grande, and head either to the top of Guia Betz or southeast 15 miles to 2,600-year-old Zapotec and Mixtec ruins. End the day with a purifying and relaxing herbal steam bath in the property’s adobe temescal (a native sweat lodge).

Rifugio Tissi, Italy

Alleghe, Italy
Rifugio Tissi

Forget sipping overpriced cappuccinos in Venice’s Piazza San Marco. The real dolce vita is watching the sun set on the longest rock face in the Dolomites from the balcony of Rifugio Tissi, about a four-hour hike from the village of Alleghe. As day turns to dusk, 10,712-foot Monte Civetta—known as “the climbers’ university”—glows a rosy hue. With its cut-above-the-usual-hut amenities, Rifugio Tissi is the perfect base camp for both rock climbers and hikers.
ROOM & BOARD: The above-treeline chalet, built in 1963, sleeps 64, with bunks for four to eight guests per room. Head to the bar in the main dining room for a frosty pint of Löwenbräu or a German chocolate bar. Dinner—classic Italian fare like pasta al ragu and polenta with wild mushroom sauce—is served on wooden tables in front of a picture window facing Civetta.
OUT THE BACK DOOR: Moderate three- to six-hour hikes, falling and rising 2,000 feet through lunar landscapes and alpine meadows, lead to the villages of Listolade and Agordo, and to other huts. If hiking seems too sedate, climbing in the backyard of renowned alpinist Reinhold Messner won’t. Scale Civetta’s northwest face—Messner made the first ascent in 1967—or explore routes on nearby 7,667-foot Torre Venezia and 8,064-foot Torre Trieste.

The Kuna Lodge, Panama

Sapibenega, Panama
The Kuna Lodge
From 5,000 feet, the 360-plus islands of Panama’s Archipiélago San Blas glint like diamonds scattered over the deep-blue Caribbean. Operated by the native Kuna Indians, the lodge and 13 bamboo huts dot the perimeter of Sapibenega, a private island no bigger than a soccer field. The Kuna Lodge is a hideaway camp where extranjeros can indulge their castaway fantasies and still have a thatch roof over their heads and three Kuna-inspired meals a day.
ROOM & BOARD: From any vantage point on Sapibenega, there are surreal 360-degree views of more than a dozen neighboring coconut-choked islands. The Kuna huts sleep up to four and, though sandswept and remote, are relatively luxurious, with solar electricity, composting toilets, and showers. In the main lodge, head chef Onesimo prepares grilled lobster, crab, and tulemasi, a coconut-broth soup with local fish and plantains, and lets the local rum, known as inna in the Kuna language, flow freely.
OUT THE BACK DOOR: From the lodge’s beach, catch a cayuco (a motorized dugout) to nearby uninhabited islands or to snorkeler-friendly coral reefs teeming with aquarium fish—and even toothier specimens, such as great barracuda and dolphin fish. Or head to the mainland for a guided trek to the 15-foot-high Diwar Dumad waterfall and a swim in its freshwater lagoon.

Spring House Farm, NC

Marion, North Carolina
The Cottages at Spring House Farm
When Arthur and Zee Anne Campbell and their 13-year-old son, Cailein, restored the historic Albertus Ledbetter House and built cottages nearby in 1999, their top priority was to preserve the 180-year-old pre–Civil War farmhouse and the 92 acres of surrounding hardwood forest. The five secluded guest cottages share the quiet solitude of these hemlock woods with only the resident turkeys and deer. Explore the mountainous hiking trails of western North Carolina, borrow a canoe and paddle two ponds, and end with a soak in a private hot tub, studying the starry night sky.
ROOM & BOARD: Each of the two-person cottages has a wood-burning fireplace, hot tub, private deck, queen- or king-size bed with a down comforter, gas grill, and kitchen stocked with eggs, bread, jams, and other necessities for a country breakfast. For dinner, cook from your own stash or buy what the lodge keeps in stock, including chicken, pork chops, pizza, baked potatoes, and salad fixings. Flying Bridge cottage has a four-person hot tub overlooking the trout pond. The best cottage for wildlife watching is the Bimini Twist, totally surrounded by forest.
OUT THE BACK DOOR: Hit the farm’s five-mile trail system, kept a comfortable temperature by the canopy overhead, or drive 20 minutes southeast to the 1,000-plus acres of Chimney Rock Park and hike the Skyline-Cliff Trail to the top of 404-foot Hickory Nut Falls, a mile and a half round-trip. If you want to paddle something bigger than the farm’s ponds, go to Lake Lure, near the park, and rent a kayak, canoe, or paddleboat.

Ultima Thule Lodge, AK

Chitina, Alaska
Ultima Thule Lodge
The moment the bush plane brushes the gravel runway at Ultima Thule Lodge, you are officially 100 miles from nowhere. Bounded to the north by the salmon-thick Chitina River and backed by the turquoise glaciers of the Wrangell Mountains, which top out at 16,000 feet, the family-run lodge is all-inclusive in a uniquely Alaskan way. At your disposal: planes, whitewater rafts, kayaks, hearty meals, warm beds, and the 13 million acres of Wrangell–St. Elias National Park and Preserve that surround the lodge.
ROOM & BOARD: The dozen log cabins and lodge, furnished with downy beds and glass-front wood stoves, are clustered along the riverbank. Paths lead to a bathhouse with a wood-fired wet sauna and the dining hall, where a 20-foot pine table showcases steaming plates of local salmon, organic greens harvested from the garden, and microbrews flown in from Anchorage.
OUT THE BACK DOOR: With Alaskan summer days as long as 20 hours, an Ultima Thule “day” trip could mean an expedition to 16,390-foot Mount Blackburn, a walk along the iceberg-calving Gulf of Alaska, or a dogsled ride across the glaciers that embellish the national park—all with the assistance of the lodge’s guides and experienced bush pilot.

The post Top 10 Hideaways appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

Australia’s fabled surfie hangout emerges as a multisport playground Byron Bay may be the modern surfer’s idyll—Australia’s most consistent waves pound the white sands around Cape Byron, which rises like a giant snake’s head from the blue Pacific—but veterans of the sport still reminisce about the days preceding its discovery. Indeed, there was a time before the late sixties when the hippies, Buddhists, Hare Krishnas, and naturists of all stripes flocked to the easternmost point of Australia, 570 miles north of Sydney. This fabled era, when Byron Bay was a working-class town supported by logging, dairy farming, and whaling, evidently had its pluses and minuses.

Consider the salutary tale of Bob and Terry, a couple of Sydney beach bums who in 1962, at the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis, tossed their malibus onto a train and made their escape to Byron Bay. Picked up by a friendly passerby at the railway station (“G’day—did you come to find some waves?”), they spent a day riding the perfect swells at an empty beach called Watego’s. It seemed to them a reasonable approximation of paradise. Unfortunately, local cops roared into their campsite, grabbed them by the hair, gave them a short-back-and-sides trim, and then dropped them on a road out of town.

But 40 years is a long time in Aussie beach culture. Not long after Bob and Terry got rolled, redneck Byron Bay became Australia’s countercultural Shangri-La—a half-mythic place where surfers could park in their panel vans by the beach, sign on for the dole, and live on a diet of bananas, fish ‘n’ chips, and illicit local herbs. Today, surfing is not only respectable at Byron Bay; it’s downright establishment. In fact, while I was reading Bob and Terry’s Easy Rider tale—I was at the scene of the crime, Watego’s Beach, flipping through an ancient copy of Pacific Longboarder magazine—a svelte surfie couple dropped their boards outside the lone restaurant, where they chowed down on Thai prawn salad and Tasmanian champagne.

Yes, there are the occasional whiffs of a Hamptons Down Under, but Byron Bay has in fact blossomed in a uniquely Australian, democratic way, balancing its competing interests to keep a low-rise beach paradise intact. To get the lay of the land, newcomers should nurse a schooner of beer at the area’s most famous pub, the Beach Hotel. You can play at being a celebrity in hiding—Keith Richards had left just before I arrived in March—or join the international backpacker set on the beach at night, spinning fire sticks as if practicing for Cirque du Soleil. You can eat from sushi bars or vegan buffets, catch an art-house movie, or browse for local indie-rock CDs. And the Aquarian spirit is alive and well: Yoga classes are held at dawn on the beach, crystals are revered in souvenir shops, and radicals are given full voice. (I opened the official tourist guide and enjoyed a lurid essay on the Iraqi war.) Somehow it all seems right in the eclectic Byron Bay soup.

The good news for outdoor fans is that Byron Bay has branched out from surfing—reinventing itself as the Boulder of the South, Telluride on a warm beach. The wonder is that it has taken so long, given the setting: The offshore waters host some of the most fertile marine grounds in Australia, while the mountain hinterland of the Great Dividing Range is thick with subtropical rainforest. Right now, Byron Bay’s outfitters are making up for lost time. I strolled through the compact village one afternoon—the adventure companies are clustered together in rabid competition, with names like Wicked Travel and Cape Fear—and within an hour I had signed on for a decathlon of Aussie outdoor escapades, covering land and sea. Admittedly, I skipped the naked bushwalking for beginners, but I was up for everything else, on day trips led by itinerant Aussie guides, many of whom seemed to be on sabbatical from snowboarding in the Canadian Rockies.

For starters, Nightcap National Park, 25 miles inland, has miles of mountain-bike trails, from easy to hardcore. On a wet morning, a sunburned surfer named Lindsay led ten of us through the mist-filled rainforest, where eucalyptuses soared like Grecian columns. The 13 miles I covered felt more like 50, feathering down or grinding up, skidding over sinuous roots, taking in grandiose vistas and secret swimming holes.

With just as much zeal, the Zodiacs slip like sea iguanas off Clarks Beach every dawn. In November 2002, a stretch of the Coral Sea, along Byron Bay’s beaches from Brunswick Head to Lennox Head, was declared the Cape Byron Marine Park; a mile and a half offshore, an outcrop called Julian Rocks is rated one of Australia’s top ten diving spots, thanks to the thriving piscine community lured by the confluence of warm and cool currents. A dive master named Evan—crew-cut, tongue-pierced, tattooed like a Polynesian sailor—led the underwater trail past squadrons of butterfly fish and angels to the scene-stealers of the dive: moray eels, loggerhead turtles, eagle rays flapping batlike overhead, and ten-foot leopard sharks that drifted so close my fingers brushed their flanks, strangely rough as sandpaper. (In winter, gray nurse sharks pass through—keep your distance.)

Why stop there? I thought. The next morning came a ride on a microlite—Byron Bay’s latest craze, a motorized hang glider that soars above the activity—and, of course, I signed up for a surfing lesson. This is still the number-one breadwinner for Byron Bay’s outdoor operators, thanks to water temperatures that fluctuate between 65 and 81 degrees and strong year-round swells producing waves between three and six feet tall. Here, a surf scene materializes wherever there is a stretch of sand. The most coveted spots include Cosy Corner and Tallow’s, on the south side of Cape Byron, where bushland and the cornflower-blue sea collide. And picturesque Watego’s, the most easterly beach in Australia, still tops the charts for where to see and be seen.

Back home in New York, color-coded terrorist alerts were going from yellow to orange. Here in Byron, they also employ color coding. Like schools of fish, surfing students are grouped by the color of their wetsuits. As I proceeded to learn the difference between riding goofy and natural—hopping on my padded board, falling off, hopping on again—the rest of the world seemed very, very remote.

DETAILS:
Lodging: Experienced Byron hands stay at a beach called Belongil Spit—it’s away from the center of town, has great cafés, and you can walk along the sand for 15 minutes to reach the action. Belongil by the Sea has four cottages that sleep two to nine, with kitchens, on two acres of botanical gardens, starting at $63 a night (011-61-2-6685-8111, ). Film stars prefer Rae’s On Watego’s (rooms start at $145; 011-61-2-6685-5695, ).
Sports: There is good beginner surfing year-round in Byron Bay. For lessons, try Black Dog Surfing, a school that runs beginner classes several times a day ($30 per three-hour group lesson; 011-61-2-6680-9828, ). The more experienced can take private lessons from former U.S. surf champion, longtime Byron Bay resident, and local celeb Rusty Miller (a two-hour private lesson costs $56 for one person, $99 for two; 011-61-2-6684-7390, rustym@mullum.com.au). Besides surfing, the whole gamut of outdoor sports is on offer in Byron Bay—operators line Jonson Street and the competition keeps prices down. Rockhoppers (011-61-2-6680-8569, ) runs mountain-biking trips ($52 for a solid day), hikes to watch the sunrise from 3,800-foot Mount Warning ($39), and caving/rappelling trips ($79). Byron Bay Dive Centre (011-61-2-6685-8333, ) takes divers out every morning to Julian Rocks ($50 per single-tank dive). Hang-glide or microlite with Skylimit ($92 for a tandem flight; 011-61-2-6684-3711, ).

The Dish on Soup Bowl

In Barbados, Surf Kings Happily Serve Up Lessons for Plebes

Barbados sports a tight-knit surfing community and a refreshing lack of attitude

In stuffy Barbados, where islanders worship cricket and neckties flourish, the unlikely badass surf scene is a splash of hot pepper sauce on the otherwise bland national dish: flying fish with okra-and-cornmeal mash. The Caribbean’s most consistent waves roll in from the east, pounding the pear-shaped, 166-square-mile island, the easternmost outpost of the West Indies. And Bathsheba, an east coast village where a tumble of bright houses clings to a palm-studded hillside, is the nexus. Thirty yards off the beach lies the world-famous Soup Bowl, where a north and a south swell collide to create waves from 3 to 25 feet tall.

Soup Bowl attracts Kelly Slater and other elite surfers for the Independence Pro competition every November and provides locals—and visitors—with the perfect aquaturf for honing their moves. Mark Holder, 35, and Alan Burke, 33, reign as the surf kings of Barbados, competing in international tournaments and regularly carving the Soup Bowl waves. Both are natives; Holder, a laid-back rasta “soul-surfer,” and Burke, a sixth-generation descendant of water-loving Irish immigrants, have had a friendly rivalry for two decades, and there’s an ongoing debate among the island’s tight-knit surfing community over which of the two is supreme.

Best of all, each gives private lessons. Imagine showing up in Maui and calling Laird Hamilton for a few hours of one-on-one. In Barbados, you can do the equivalent, getting personal instruction from Holder and Burke on tamer waves, on the south end of the island, with the hope of working up to the Soup Bowl’s powerful right break. The lack of attitude here is reassuring for wobbly neophytes, who won’t find chiseled surf studs staring them down while they’re learning to stand on a board, as well as for seasoned old-timers, who return year after year.

The windsurfing and kiteboarding are also superb, especially along the southern coast near the resorts at Silver Sands and Silver Rock. It’s not unusual to see pro windsurfer and official island character Brian “Irie Man” Talma working his moves off Silver Rock Beach; he owns a rental shop there, and you can take lessons from him.

Or just find a comfortable spot in the sand and watch local youngsters rip it up. “There are little kids who will ride anything they can get their hands on,” says Holder, a surfer since age six. “There are guys riding plywood boards.” Holder describes the Barbados riding posture: “Local style is the most radical—flinging your hands, hanging down low to the board, and getting into the groove.”

My lesson, with Burke, takes place among perfect two-footers at Freights Bay, a mile from Long Beach on the south coast, where he runs a surf school. After learning to turn turtle (flip the board over myself in a wave) and other basic moves, we paddle out. I manage to catch a wave… for a few seconds. My moves, however, are an amusing parody of local style—flailing my arms, tripping off the board, and falling overboard.

DETAILS:
Lodging: Check out the Bajan Surf Bungalows (doubles from $54; 246-433-9920, ), owned by Melanie Pitcher, one of the country’s top surfers.
Sports: July to September is the best season to catch beginner waves. Contact the Barbados Surfing Association (246-429-6647, ) for details. For lessons, call Mark Holder (246-420-3611) or Alan Burke (246-228-5117). Holder charges $50 per hour for one-on-one lessons; Burke charges $40 for a two-hour lesson. For surfing, kitesurfing, and windsurfing gear, as well as rentals and lessons, head over to Brian Talma’s Irieman Action (246-428-2866, ), in the Silver Rock Hotel.

Surfing Lite

A Perfect Set in Costa Rica is One Part Mellow Paddling and Two Parts Extreme Leisure

So you want to learn to surf. You want to experience the good-vibrations, enlightened-oneness-with-Mother-Ocean thing, but you’ve outgrown the sleep-under-the-pier, suffer-for-your-wisdom technique. Besides, more than simply learning to hang ten, you’d like someone else to make breakfast, fold the towels, and dial you in to the local scene. For this you’ll need a guide—and the man to see in Costa Rica is Alvaro Solano.

HQ is Vista Guapa Surf Camp, which 28-year-old Solano opened in September 2002 above the Pacific coast town of Jacó. Three sunny duplex casitas cascade down a narrow ridge, pointed right at what may be Costa Rica’s most reliable surf break. Each air-conditioned surf shack is aligned to ensure unimpeded valley views and discreet distance from fellow guests. There are no more than a dozen surfers during each weeklong session, and though you’re only a ten-minute walk from Jacó’s main drag, it’s easy to forget there’s anyone else in the valley when you’re on your deck. From the beach below the lodge, Solano took his first rides on a broken plank as a kid and polished the moves that have made him Costa Rica’s four-time-consecutive national surf champion. He picked this spot for his camp because it offers a beginner-worthy break with waves that average three to four feet—yet advanced-rider hot spots like Boca Barranca, the world’s third-longest left, are nearby.

Though it’s not quite sink or surf, the Vista Guapa doctrine emphasizes learning by doing. Classes are taught by Solano or Lisbeth Vindas, a three-time national champion; I had just one fellow pupil for my first attempt at the sport. Solano showed us how to count wave sets and mark reference points for the likeliest takeoff spots—and then let the waves do the instructing. At first, I waited, watching the ocean and letting my mind wander before turning, taking a few strokes, and dropping in. Solano’s approach worked: I caught the first wave I pursued.

Soon I’d found my own rhythm, on and off the board. I slept in each morning, missing the 6:30 sunrise and the dawn asana session on the outdoor yoga deck but rising in time to shuffle over to the main lodge for the monstrous breakfast of beans and rice, omelets, and fruit, during which Solano ticked off tide times and entertainment options. Each day passed in a blur of watching and paddling, and soon enough we’d start debating the big question of the day—where to have dinner—wrestling between the pan-seared tuna at Playa Hermosa’s Jungle Surf Cafe and Juanita’s seafood platter over in Playa Herradura.

Surf’s up a maximum of four hours daily, which leaves ample time for the multisport cornucopia within an hour of town—Class III-IV whitewater rafting on the Naranjo River and zip-line tours of the forest canopy, for starters. Learning that extreme leisure is the necessary counterpoint to surfing, I started easy, hopping in Solano’s minivan for the tranquillo cruise south to Parque Nacional Manuel Antonio. There I met the surfer’s spirit animal: a three-toed sloth, slung like a sack of mangoes from a branch. But most afternoons were spent in my hammock, where I found myself able to spend hours meditating about which flip-flops to buy.

My big breakthrough came on the fourth morning. Straddling my board, watching the sets roll in, I experienced a moment of the transcendent clarity I’d always imagined would come from being one with the ocean. Suddenly it was all very clear: I could have the shrimp and the lobster for dinner.

DETAILS:
Lodging: The Vista Guapa Surf Camp (011-506-643-2830, ) charges $675 per person per week, $1,200 for two people, including twice-a-day surfing at one of 22 surf breaks, lodging, breakfast and dinner, rentals, and field trips to attractions.
Sports: The surfing around Jacó is consistent year-round. Green Tours (011-506-643-2773) offers a gamut of nearby outfitted adventures.

Liquid Samba

Surf to the Rhythm of Bahia, the Soul of Brazil

“Did you hear the big news?” my surf instructor, Adriano dos Santos Sarmento, asked when I arrived in the sleepy Brazilian fishing village of Itacaré. “The fishermen caught three massive tiger sharks—right where we’re taking you to surf tomorrow.” Then he added, “The price of shark meat went down 200 percent today.” This Peter Benchley info-moment got my attention, but because shark attacks are unheard of here, I was undeterred from my plan to enlist in surf boot camp.

I ventured to Itacaré, in the eastern coastal state of Bahia, 186 miles south of Salvador, because Brazilian friends told me it possesses the “soul” of Brazil and a legacy of African-influenced music, cuisine, dance, and religion. The Afro-Brazilian culture, they said, imbues Bahia with a mysticism that affects the spirit and the senses—and, I figured, maybe the surf.

The road to town was paved five years ago, not long enough to have made Itacaré a jaded tourist area. And having noted the dreamy look in the eyes of graduates lounging around EasyDrop, a six-year-old surf camp, I set my own goal as nothing short of spiritual deliverance. For the next two weeks, seven multilingual instructors—led by the owner, German ex-fencer and musician Hans-Benjamin Kromayer—would take me and five other recruits (two Brazilians, two Canadians, and a fellow American) to half a dozen of the best surf spots in a 20-mile radius.

I quickly fell into the routine. Classes began with jumping jacks on the white sand. “Choose your wave carefully and always pay attention. Abaixa mais,” Sarmento said, seamlessly mixing English and Portuguese. His suggestion to stay low came right before my surfboard jettisoned me, making me wish that I hadn’t skipped so many balance-building yoga sessions back home.

When I needed a break, I paddled out on my longboard and meditated on the warm, poochy swells that trundled in. May through July, the waves would be eight feet high, not the three feet they were in January, and ten times as intimidating. The mile-long beach, cupped by lush Atlantic rainforest, was deserted except for a little girl decapitating coconuts and selling them to surfers.

Every morning as I strapped on my leash, I swore that I would take the afternoon to raft the nearby Río de Contas or explore the mangrove swamps. But after four hours of surfing, I invariably collapsed into a lactic-acid-induced nap. Only when the heat lost its chokehold on the day did I rouse for the evening video screening—a ritual replete with a professional critique from Kromayer. Then we fueled up on moqueca (a whitefish drenched in a thick coconut and palm-oil broth and served over rice) at Tia Deth, a family-run restaurant with homemade oil paintings tacked to the walls.

“God, this is perfect,” a fellow surfie said at dinner, setting down his caipirinha, a Brazilian cocktail. I didn’t know if he meant the exquisite blend of sugarcane booze and lemon, the tropical breeze that tumbled over the bows of small wooden boats and onto our rickety table, or the delicious soreness of well-used muscles. It was all perfection.

DETAILS:
Lodging: EasyDrop (011-55-73-251-3065, ) offers a two-week package of instruction, lodging at a pousada, and breakfast for $817-$859, depending on the season.
Sports: Mid-September through December and March through April are the best times for beginning surfers to visit. Get surf gear at Pousada Hanalei (daily surfboard rentals, $7-$11; 011-55-73-251-2311). For rafting the Class III-IV Río de Contas, try AtivaRafting (011-55-73-251-2224, ). A 17-mile trip from the put-in at Taboquinhas, in the Itacaré district, costs $14 per person.

Hawaii 911

Who Better Than Firefighter Surf Gods to Initiate Novice Riders?

Neophyte surfers cowed by the Pacific’s powerful crush will find comfort in the collective résumé of the 25 teachers at Oahu’s Hawaiian Fire Surf School: They’re Honolulu firefighters certified in every conceivable lifesaving skill—from emergency medical treatment to open-water rescue. More important, they’re born-on-boards guys. They surf almost as frequently as they eat—catching waves before and after work and spending their days off teaching hodads like me. That the trio who coached me last fall were short on attitude, long on skills, and just happened to be built like surf-mag cover gods was a bonus, one certainly not lost on the female contingent of our six-member student body.

Firefighter John Pregil, 40, started Hawaiian Fire Surf School in 2000 with Garrett Vallez and Kevin Miller and two goals: to teach surfing with “aloha spirit” and to do it in an environment of safety. Today, their burgeoning practice has a full lineup of men and women instructors and draws clients from Waikiki hotels; the school runs a free van service out to the near-secret beach where they teach.

That would be Barbers Point, a two-mile strand of southwest-facing sugary-white sand about 25 miles west of Waikiki in Kalaeloa, on the site of the recently decommissioned Barbers Point Naval Air Station. Locals know it, but most surfers prefer bigger quarry than these undaunting one- to two-footers (albeit with nice shape and just enough power to drive a long ride in shallow, 80-degree water). The same conditions make it a great choice for bodysurfers and surf kayakers, and its length and seclusion mean it’s always uncrowded. As a bonus, the point is flanked by Kalaeloa Beach Park, a 13-site campground with picnic tables, showers, and barbecue pits shaded by ironwood trees. Though camping is allowed only on weekends, the area is open for day use during the week.

“The only way you can screw up is by not having fun,” Ken Waters said as he wrapped up our ground-school session. Waters and cohorts Glenn Parker and Mike Jones had given us a thorough briefing on how and when to spring to our feet on superbuoyant foam-padded boards. But to their credit, the teachers didn’t want us bogging down with too much technique. They wanted us to surf.

I had plenty of opportunities for long, smooth rides to shore. I emphasize: plenty of opportunities. I mainly specialized in “pearling” (diving off the surfboard for nonexistent underwater treasures when the nose gets caught in a wave). But, heck, I did get a few rides in and earned the nickname “Big Wave Bob” for my fussiness in wave selection. I also had time to watch the others founder and to surf-gab with my teachers: “You guys are all great surfers. Don’t you get bored with this?”

“Are you kidding?” Parker answered me. “You’re our daily entertainment! And if you get good, we get to surf. Really, we just love to get people stoked. If we’ve accomplished that, then we’ve had a great day.”

DETAILS:
Lodging: The Department of Parks and Recreation (808-523-4525, ) requires a free permit to camp at Kalaeloa Beach Park (Friday, Saturday, or Sunday only).
Sports: Catch the best beginner surf between April and October. Hawaiian Fire Surf School (888-955-7873, ) charges $79 for a half-day group lesson, $97 for a full day, including equipment, lunch (full day only), and transportation from Waikiki. To rent a board ($20 a day), try Blue Planet (808-922-5444, ). The island’s best surf-kayak shop is Go Bananas Kayaks ($30 per day for a single, $43 for a tandem; 808-737-9514, ).

The post The Road to Swellsville appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

I’M HOVERING ON THE SURFACE of Mexico’s Sea of Cortez with a pod of sleek pilot whales. A few feet away, a 12-footer rolls on its back and eyeballs me for a long moment before slipping into the deep with a flip of its fluke. Then the pod arcs out of the jade water and moves toward the open sea. Having had my cetacean fix for the day, I hop into the waiting panga and head back to desolate, cardón-cactus-studded Isla Espíritu Santo, where iced Pacificos and salsa-smothered fish tacos await.

The Sea of Cortez is Big Animal country. There are few other places on the planet (especially in late summer, when the water is crystal clear) where you can see such a multitudinous array of pelagics—whale sharks, hammerhead sharks, manta rays, and even the 80-foot blue whale, the largest creature on earth. With 31 species of marine mammals and 500 species of fish, there’s plenty to tick off on your diving life list. But Baja’s wilderness isn’t all underwater. It gets even better—this is kick-back-and-camp country, and watching HBO in a five-star resort complex with the A/C blasting doesn’t have to be part of the program. Instead, recover from your day of diving with a mellow hike to a deserted beach or a paddle around a well-protected bay, followed by a restful night’s sleep under a moonroof zipped open to the stars. But be forewarned: Unless you want to get parboiled in neoprene agony between dives, early fall is the best time to visit, when temperatures drop from their 110-degree July peak.
Base yourself on uninhabited Espíritu Santo, 23,383 acres of rose-colored rock a 12-mile panga ride from Baja California Sur’s state capital, La Paz. You’ll find a half-dozen of the best dive sites a short boat ride away, which lets you avoid the tiresome schleps to and from the city. Plus, the island’s western edge is riddled with coves sheltering white-sand beaches, ideal sites from which to launch diving, snorkeling, and sea-kayaking expeditions.

My scuba buddy Brad Doane and I booked a three-day Dive Safari package with La Paz-based Baja Quest. The trip came with a small crew, who set up base camp (complete with sun showers and a toilet) on the best beach on the island, Playa Candelero. When we arrived, all we had to do was pitch the tent provided by Baja Quest and unroll our sleeping bags. Rosario Nuñez, the chef, prepared picnic lunches and assured us that the cervezas would be chilled upon our return. We shared the quarter-mile stretch of bleached sand with a group of eight Japanese sea kayakers, who didn’t speak much English but who plied us with unidentifiable pickled treats they’d brought from home.

AFTER UNPACKING, we chucked our dive gear into the Marazul, a 26-foot panga, and Armando Geraldo, the dive master, and captain Jose “Chino” Hernandez, a 35-year Sea of Cortez veteran, zipped us out to El Bajo, a cluster of seamounts seven miles northeast of the island that are famous for attracting hammerhead sharks. Chino anchored, and we dropped 102 feet down. We missed the hammerheads, but enormous moray eels gaped at us from their rocky lairs. Afterward, we motored about 15 miles to the wreck of the Fang Ming, a 300-foot Chinese long-liner sunk in 1999 to create an artificial reef. We finned through the old barge, past fans of black coral, and circled the wheelhouse, joined by schools of barracuda. Over the next two days, we encountered an aquarium’s worth of wildlife: pods of dolphins, mobula rays, sea lions, and a pair of 45-foot humpback whales.

On our last night, I hung my wetsuit to dry in the balmy sea breeze and returned to camp to find fresh pitchers of margaritas and the Japanese belting out their favorite tunes from Tokyo. Then Armando and Rosario broke into a soulful Mexican duet. Soon everyone was singing something as the sun fireballed beyond the tall cliffs of the Baja peninsula and was replaced by a full moon. We thought our crooning beat the hell out of Jimmy Buffet sing-alongs back at Carlos ‘N Charlie’s in La Paz, but the lurking pelicans might have begged to differ.
ACCESS + RESOURCES

OUTFITTER Baja Quest offers Dive Safaris starting at $856 per person for two nights of camping and three days of diving; three dives per day, food, scuba gear, tents, round-trip transportation from La Paz, and a four-person crew are included in the price. For $880, Baja Quest offers a four-night, three-day package, which includes all of the above, plus your first and last night at a La Paz hotel and transportation between the airport, the hotel, and the boat. (011-52-612-123-5320, )

GETTING THERE Most dive trips in the Sea of Cortez leave from La Paz. Direct flights on Aerocalifornia from Los Angeles to La Paz start at $300 round-trip. (800-237-6225, )

LODGING Baja Quest’s dive boats can pick you up at the pier by the Hotel Marina, built around a handsome central garden and swimming pool, just east of La Paz’s lively Malecón. Doubles start at $85. (800-826-1138, )

The post Spirited Away appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

Best Surfing Waves

BATHSHEBA, BARBADOS: Soupbowl, a reef break with a powerful right on the island’s undeveloped east coast, has been hosting wintertime surfing competitions for 20 years, but thanks to an Atlantic exposure, good waves can be found year-round. The Soupbowl scene heats up in November, when the Independence Pro (celebrating Barbados’s 1966 break from Britain) draws surfers hoping for southwest winds and deep barrels. Kelly Slater won last year. For details, contact the Barbados Surfing Association (246-228-5117, ).

HALEIWA, OAHU, HAWAII: Its exposure to huge swells makes Oahu’s North Shore (a.k.a. the Seven Mile Miracle) the most epic surf magnet in the universe. Winter storms generate rolling monsters made famous at spots like Pipeline and Sunset Beach, but beginners can enjoy Chuns Reef and Puaena Point, where weaker currents and a softer bottom make for a gentler entrée to the sport. For lessons ($65 for a three-hour group lesson) and rentals ($24-$30 per day) contact the Surf-N-Sea shop (808-637-7873, ).
PUERTO ESCONDIDO, MEXICO: The “Mexican Pipeline” is a legendary beach break with left- and right-hand tubes at Zicatela Beach. In March, the Central Surf Longboard Invitational is held here, kicking off the summer season of big southern swells. If the Pipeline’s too gnarly for you, walk a bit farther south to La Punta, where you’ll often find an easier point breaking left—a slower, rounder learner’s wave. For classes, check in with the Central Surf Shop ($50 per two-hour lesson and $10-$12 for all-day board rentals; 011-52-954-582-2285, ).

Best Hipster Hangouts

JAKE’S JAMAICA: Eclectic Jake’s, part of the super-chic Island Outpost group (owned by Island Records’ Chris Blackwell), is an intimate jumble of adobe buildings—accented by a thumping reggae soundtrack—atop a south-coast cliff near Treasure Beach’s dark sands. Denizens of cool are many here—you could bump into Bono in the mosaic-tiled saltwater pool if you’re not lazing about in Seapuss, Sweetlip, or one of the 11 other brightly painted gingerbread cottages done up with island paintings. Be sure to try Jake’s pumpkin soup at the restaurant (doubles from $95; 800-688-7678.

HOTEL DESEO, MEXICO: Pack the Gucci shades—this “hotel and lounge” on Playa del Carmen’s Fifth Avenue places a heavy emphasis on the lounge part of the equation. Note the Euro-tinged accents wafting through the air as bronzed gods and goddesses sun away last night’s party on daybeds lining the upstairs deck. Grab a cerveza at the bar, then hop in the outdoor Jacuzzi. The 15 elegantly sparse guest rooms—grooviest on the Mayan Riviera—feature marble toilets and clawfoot tubs (doubles from $118; 011-52-984-879-3620, ).

LALUNA, GRENADA: Sixteen airy villas—each with a Balinese four-poster bed and an expansive private deck that includes a plunge pool—cover a hillside above Laluna’s secluded beach. Welcome to an Italian-owned and -designed enclave of fabulousness near Morne Rouge. When you’re not diving or kayaking, sample the fresh Mediterranean pasta in the beachside restaurant and keep an eye peeled for former megamodel Jerry Hall (doubles from $270; 473-439-0001, ).

Best Beaches

SECRET BEACH, KAUAI, HAWAII: At the base of 150-foot cliffs west of Kilauea, this two-mile stretch of gold-glowing sand draws its name from its remote location (and the presence of nude sunbathers). To get in on the Secret, you have to drive two miles west from Kilauea to Kalihiwai, go a half-mile down a muddy road to the trailhead, then walk five minutes on a rocky path. Once you’re there, you’ll want to comb the beach and lounge around, but it’s best not to swim: From October to May, swells can be quite large, and currents are always strong. The folks at Kayak Kauai are knowledgeable and can help with directions (800-437-3507, ).

SANDY CAY, BRITISH VIRGIN ISLANDS: This uninhabited 14-acre nirvana southeast of Jost Van Dyke can be reached only by boaters, namely yachties, but its crystalline waters and gleaming white sand make it well worth chartering a ride yourself. Daytrippers are welcome to anchor on the island, owned by Laurance Rockefeller, and bask on his beach or hike the 20 minutes it takes to circle Sandy Cay or venture up the trail through its interior. Call Caribbean Connection for charters (284-494-3623).
ST. JOSEPH PENINSULA STATE PARK, PORT ST. JOE, FLORIDA: Rated America’s best beach by Dr. Beach himself (Stephen Leatherman, a coastal geologist who assesses the health of the nation’s sandy stretches), the 2,516-acre park is bounded by St. Joe Bay and the Gulf of Mexico, with 14 miles of coastline. Highlights include snowy sand dunes, wildlife (this is a primo spot for spotting hawks and monarch butterflies), and the bliss of seeing nary another soul (campsites, $15 per night; 800-326-3521 for reservations, 850-227-1327 for information).

Best Eco-Lodges

LODGE AT PICO BONITO, HONDURAS: The 8,000-foot peak of Pico Bonito sets the backdrop for this 200-acre nature resort close to the Caribbean coast, where 21 cabins (constructed from hurricane-felled timber) are tucked among a grove of cacao and coffee trees. A poolside bar serves fresh grapefruit juice straight from the orchards on the property, while a restaurant with an outdoor patio offers Meso-American cuisine. Pico Bonito National Park is next door, and the Class II-IV Cangrejal River flows nearby. For a less frothy adventure, paddle a canoe through the mangroves of Cuero y Salado Park, near La Ceiba. Watch for 275 species of birds, including the long-tailed manakin, as well as jaguars, kinkajous, and monkeys (doubles from $155; 888-428-0221, ).

EXOTICA, DOMINICA: The lodge’s eight wooden cottages overlooking the sea on the slopes of 3,683-foot Morne Anglais have a genuine eco-pedigree—they’re run by the president of the Caribbean Conservation Society, Athie Martin. The units have tropical-hardwood verandas, pine-paneled living rooms, and fully equipped kitchens with gas stoves and solar-heated water. Guests can prepare their own meals with fresh-picked produce from an adjoining organic farm or dine at the lodge’s café. Aside from soaking in the get-back-to-the-land vibe, there are diversions: Wander old hunting trails through forests looking for bananaquit birds, hike an hour up to Middleham Falls near Cochrane, or go play in the sea (doubles from $140; 767-448-8839, ).

HOTELITO DESCONOCIDO, MEXICO: Here’s proof that a stay at an eco-resort doesn’t have to be an exercise in austerity. Sixty miles south of Puerto Vallarta on the Pacific coast, Desconocido is as plush as environmentally oriented accommodations come: Think Mexican fishing village meets luxury safari camp. Palafitos (wood-floored bungalows with palapa roofs) are set up on stilts around a stunning lagoon and a 100-acre beach reserve where sea turtles nest from June to January. Use the lodge’s equipment to windsurf, or take a horseback ride along the beach, then head back to one of the 30 rustic-chic guest rooms, which feature canopied beds, open-air showers, and embroidered linens—but no electricity. Solar energy powers the resort, and countless candles provide soft lighting (doubles from $215; 800-851-1143, ).

TIAMO RESORTS, SOUTH ANDROS, BAHAMAS: Sea kayaking, sailing, diving, snorkeling, and a quiet beach are all a coconut’s throw away from Tiamo’s lodge and eight bungalows on stilts with views over South Bight’s teal waters. The resort is supremely eco-friendly—it’s solar-powered and uses composting toilets; guests are asked to pack out their plastic goods for recycling. Bring your fly rods—bonefish are abundant in the flats right out the front door. Afterward, head to the main lodge for Chef Jared’s seared tuna with red-pepper-and-mango sauce (doubles from $205; 800-201-4356, ).

KANANTIK, BELIZE: Situated on 300 private acres (with an airstrip) in southern Belize, Kanantik Reef and Jungle Resort redefines “isolated”: The only neighbors are the jaguars and toucans that haunt the Cockscomb Basin Wildlife Sanctuary, four miles south, and the whale sharks that migrate offshore. Ancient Mayan building traditions have been updated to 21st-century cush in the 25 spacious cabañas that line the palm-fringed beach, where you can launch a sea kayak. You can also dive, fish for bill- and bonefish, sail one of the resort’s Hobie Cats, or tour the temples at Xunantunich ruins, near the Guatemalan border. Refuel with the restaurant’s Creole-Mediterranean fare (doubles from $265; 800-965-9689, ).

Best Dive Destinations

Into the Caribbean’s clear blue wonders

DRIFT DIVING LITTLE CAYMAN’S BLOODY BAY WALL MARINE PARK: Bloody Bay is a notch every diver wants to carve into his or her weight belt, with good reason—gliding over the edge of a mile-deep vertical drop as the wall disappears into the depths of the Caribbean Sea is an unbeatable thrill. Orange and brown sponges jut from all directions, and sea turtles, spotted eagle rays, and groupers swim about. Three-night packages, including lodging, meals, and diving, start at $645 at the clubby Little Cayman Beach Resort (800-327-3835, ).

VIEWING WHALE SHARKS OFF UTILA, HONDURAS: Your best bet for encountering 25- to 40-foot whale sharks, the largest fish in the sea (don’t worry, they eat plankton, not humans), is to sign up with Princeton, N.J.-based Shark Research Institute. During a weeklong visit at their field station at Utila Lodge, on one of the Bay Islands off Honduras in the Caribbean Sea, you’ll learn how to find the mammoth spotted creatures, dive with them, and help researchers with population studies. Seven-night packages, including lodging, meals, and diving, cost $1,150 per person (609-921-3522, ).

DIVING THE SHORES OF BONAIRE: The shore-diving capital of the world has outstanding dive sites just duck walks from the beach. (Salt and Old Town piers are favorite spots.) The strictly regulated Bonaire Marine Park surrounds the island—a 111-square-mile Dutch outpost off the Venezuelan coast—and protects its coral, sea turtles, and fish. Buddy Dive Resort (866-462-8339, ) offers eight-day, seven-night packages, including rental car and six days of unlimited air fills, starting at $965 per person.

DIVING PINNACLES IN SABA MARINE PARK: Saba—a five-square-mile mountainous outcrop in the Netherlands Antilles—is legendary for its underwater pinnacles and seamounts, including Third Encounter and Twilight Zone. Covered in red and orange fans and sponges, they rise from the floor of the Caribbean Sea to within 85 feet of the surface, and are frequented by six varieties of shark. Sea Saba Advanced Dive Center (800-883-7222, ) offers three-day, six-dive packages starting at $399 per person at the eco-funky El Momo Cottages.

Best Archaeological Sites

TIKAL NATIONAL PARK, GUATEMALA: The overused term “lost world” finally feels appropriate when you first glimpse the Mayan ruins of Tikal, once a thriving metropolis of 100,000 people that peaked around a.d. 700. Temple IV, Great Plaza, and South Acropolis, the major ruins in this 143-square-mile park in northern Guatemala, poke out of a mist-shrouded canopy, while toucans flutter, monkeys chatter, and coatimundis cross your path. Visit when the park opens at dawn—trails of vapor rise from the ruins like departing spirits. You’ll find the rustic, backpacker-friendly Jaguar Inn (doubles, $48; 011-502-926-0002, ) near the entrance to the park.

FORT JEFFERSON, DRY TORTUGAS NATIONAL PARK, FLORIDA: The seven islands that make up the Dry Tortugas National Park—70 miles west of Key West—were discovered by Europeans in 1513, when Ponce de Léon arrived and named them after the sea turtles that fed his sailors. The islands are still known for their marine life, but the ruins of Fort Jefferson, on 16-acre Garden Cay, are the main attraction. Construction on the red-brick fort began in 1846 but was never completed. Reach Garden Cay by seaplane ($179 per person round-trip; Sea Planes of Key West, 800-950-2359, ) or boat ($109 per person; Yankee Fleet, 800-634-0939, ). As you approach it, the six-sided, three-story fort hovers over the Atlantic like a mirage. In 2003, camping will be available on the beach ($3 per person; 305-242-7700, ).
RIVER OF RUINS TRIP THROUGH MEXICO AND GUATEMALA: This Indiana Jones-style river tour of Mayan ruins begins in Palenque, Mexico. You’ll fly to Tikal National Park in Guatemala, and then ride back to Mexico by river on 20- to 80-foot plank boats called lanchas. During your cruise along the Pasion, Petexbatun, and Usumacinta rivers, you’ll frequent 1,500-year-old sites like Aguateca and Yaxchilan, accessible only by hiking. A ten-day trip with Ceiba ���ϳԹ���s (800-217-1060, ) costs $2,550 per person.

Best Fishing

Walk this way: stepping into Cuba’s Cayo Largo

BONEFISH—LA TORTUGA IN JARDINES DE LA REINA, CUBA: Combine live-aboard and lodge fishing in these pristine flats 40 miles off the island’s southwest coast. A lack of commercial fishing and a dearth of people mean you can cast a fly into waters few others have ever fished. Avalon Fishing and Diving Center is based at a floating lodge—three large boats with 17 cabins—and uses a fleet of skiffs for fishing. Expert Cuban guides pole you through shallow water around cays as you cast for the elusive fork-tailed torpedoes. Eight-day trips cost $2,400 (011-39-335-814-9111, ).

TARPON—RÃO COLORADO, COSTA RICA: With howler monkeys screeching at you from the trees onshore while a 100-pound tarpon hurls itself out of the Río Colorado at the end of your line, it’s hard to imagine a more intense fishing spot than here in northeastern Costa Rica. But just keep concentrating and you’ll be reeling in tarpon aplenty at this spawning ground where the river meets the Caribbean Sea. Base yourself at Archie Field’s Río Colorado Lodge, which offers 18 plain but comfortable rooms on stilts, right on the riverbanks ($380 per person per day, including guides, meals, and boat; 800-243-9777, ).

PERMIT—ASCENSIÓN BAY, MEXICO: In the heart of the Yucatán’s Sian Ka’an Biosphere Reserve, a 1,304,688-acre UNESCO World Heritage site, this massive expanse of saltwater flats is one of the world’s best places to catch a permit on a fly. Your odds of hooking a bonefish or a tarpon are pretty good, too—Ascensión Bay is often called the Grand Slam Capital of the fishing world. Most anglers situate themselves in or near the tiny fishing village of Punta Allen; the best place to stay is a four-bedroom guest house, SeaClusion Villa, five miles from town ($2,500 a week, per person, including transport from Cancún; 888-829-9420, ).

Best (Affordable) Beachfront Resorts

HOTEL HANA-MAUI, MAUI, HAWAII: When you get a load of the sea crashing practically right into this place, you won’t be surprised that scenes from Fantasy Island were shot on the 66-acre grounds. Sure, there’s tennis on site, hiking in Haleakala National Park, cycling along the winding coastal roads, and snorkeling nearby at Hamoa Beach, but after soaking in the stars and the ocean views from the hot tub on your room’s huge deck, you won’t feel like doing much else. The resort’s 47 plantation-style cottages, all with ocean views (and surrounded by a 4,500-acre ranch), are situated near the little town of Hana on Maui’s east coast. A main dining room, with streamers dangling from the ceiling to diffuse light, serves scrumptious meals with local produce (doubles from $275; 800-321-4262, ).

NUEVA VIDA, MEXICO: This tiny resort’s Swiss Family Robinson-style rooms, with mucho wood and palm thatch, are housed in bungalows built ten feet off the ground to maximize the sultry ocean breezes and gorgeous ocean views. What to do? Tulum’s sweep of white-sand beach and one of the Yucatán’s most dramatic clusters of Mayan ruins are right outside your door (you can also explore the nearby ruins of Cobá and Chichén Itzá)—or let the hotel’s massage therapist noodle you silly. Leave the blow-dryer at home: The sun and wind power the lights and aren’t up to the task of drying your hair (doubles from $65; 011-52-984-877-8512, ).

EDEN ROCK, ST. BART’S: If you want a whiff of Saint-Tropez in the Caribbean, try this red-roofed resort, which crowns a rocky promontory jutting into Baie de St. Jean. You’re more likely to see guests wearing Prada than Patagonia—most of the 16 rooms cost at least $600 per night—but the common denominator is a love for the luxe beaches that stretch out below the hotel. The trick: Reserve the Captain’s Cabin at about half the cost of a room. When you tire of snorkeling around the reef surrounding Eden Rock, you can gorge on French cuisine, pamper yourself in the spa, sip fruity cocktails in the beach bar, or laze on the topless beach (cabin rental is $375 per night from January to April and less during the summer and fall; 877-563-7105, ).

WINDMILLS PLANTATION, SALT CAY, TURKS AND CAICOS: On laid-back Salt Cay, you’re in the company of wild donkeys, windmills, and migrating humpback whales; the perfect place to slow yourself down is this eight-room, plantation-style hotel overlooking a 2.5-mile stretch of beach. The hotel has a saltwater pool and snorkeling off the beach; divers can explore the coral walls and the Endymion, an 18th-century wreck, with Salt Cay Divers. At day’s end, repair to rooms whose colorful walls and dark wooden antiques from colonial-era plantations take you back to the days when those donkeys hauled salt from mines to ships bound for distant ports (doubles from $325; 800-822-7715, ).

Best Hikes

PICO DUARTE, DOMINICAN REPUBLIC: Hike from steamy jungle to cool forest on this strenuous 29-mile trek to the top of the Caribbean’s highest peak, Pico Duarte (10,128 feet). Traverse Parque Nacional Armando Bermúdez, which typically sees fewer than 200 tourists a year, and listen to your guide spin stories around the campfire. On the trail, look out for wild boar and the rare Hispaniola parrot. Iguana Mama’s three-day trip costs $450 (809-571-0908, ).

PARQUE NACIONAL DARIÉN, PANAMA: This 1.2-million-acre UNESCO World Heritage site, stretching almost the entire length of the Colombian border, is home to 6,000-foot mountains, Emberá Indians, and 450 species of birds, like macaws and the green-naped tanager. Fly into a renovated gold mining camp (sleeps eight) at Cana, a valley in the Pirre Mountains, for day hikes. The five-mile Pirre Mountain Trail climbs 1,000 feet to a cloudforest camp; the two-day Boca de Cupe Trail is the only way out of the park by land. Ancon Expeditions offers a 14-day Darién Explorer Trek ($2,495; 011-507-269-9415, ).
PU’U KUKUI, MAUI, HAWAII: Each year, 5,788-foot Pu’u Kukui Mountain receives buckets of rain (about 30 feet), but few visitors (about 12). The 8,661-acre nature preserve is owned by the Maui Land and Pineapple Company, which one day a year, in August, helicopters up a dozen hikers (at $1,000 bucks a pop!) for a three-mile tour and lunch, led by the Kapalua Nature Society. The cloudforest hides 12 of Hawaii’s 150 indigenous plant communities and the nearly extinct i’iwi bird. Contact Kapalua Nature Society (800-527-2582, ).

The post The Lazy, Crazy Guide to Sand Land appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.