Salvation Comes at a Price

Survival

Hefty bills: the scary new trend in rescues
On a warm morning this past April, Scott Mason set off on what was supposed to be a day hike on New Hampshire’s Mount Washington. The 17-year-old Eagle Scout packed a bivy sack and some extra clothes and consulted Forest Service rangers about his route. But well into the hike, he sprained his ankle, opted for a shortcut back to the trailhead on a path that was covered in snow, wandered off track, and promptly got lost. He spent three nights out before a rescue team found him.

It was all fairly typical, until Mason got a bill from the New Hampshire Department of Fish and Game: $25,000, the largest such tab in state history.

New Hampshire is one of eight states that charge for rescues, and in June legislators had eliminated a cap of $10,000 while also requiring only that a person had demonstrated “negligence.” Mason’s shortcut had apparently outweighed the fact that, once lost, he’d done everything right, from sleeping in a rock crevice to starting a fire by igniting hand sanitizer. According to Howard Paul, public-information officer at the National Association for Search and Rescue, such laws are increasingly popular, as is enforcement, which has historically been lax. Oregon, California, Hawaii, Maine, Colorado, Idaho, and Vermont also look to charge the rescued in certain situations, despite strong opposition from the SAR community. Charley Shimanski, president of the Mountain Rescue Association, argues that the fear of a bill means “people are less likely to call for help sooner or at all.” The likely results: delayed rescue, more serious injury, and a more complicated overall operation.

Your best way to avoid an SAR tab? Don’t do anything that might get you labeled as negligent, like straying from designated trails or packing inadequate supplies, since it’s the key factor in most states. But if you do get into trouble, don’t hesitate to call for help; most states have low maximum charges (Colorado’s is $300). And if you get a bill, it’s probably best to just pay it, as legal fees would likely be higher. The exception, of course, is New Hampshire, where, at press time, Mason was still fighting an uphill legal battle to reduce his payment. “Other states have a system for calculating the cost,” says Jim Moss, a Colorado-based attorney who specializes in recreational law, “but in New Hampshire, the way they decide how much someone owes is extremely arbitrary.”

The New Rules: Don’t Go Paperless

A shiny document (and a smile) can change minds.

In the fall of 2008, I joined a team of six whitewater kayakers on an expedition down the Lower Congo River. The National Geographic Society, which was filming and sponsoring the descent, gave each of us a copy of a three-paragraph letter from the Democratic Republic of the Congo’s minister of public information. Basically, it read, “We’re here on official government business.” I had zero faith in its value, but I packed it with my toothbrush.

Eight days into the trip, two soldiers with AK-47’s made us lie facedown on a beach while villagers rifled through our bags. After 30 minutes, our expedition leader, Trip Jennings, was finally able to hand over his letter. When it was read aloud, the soldiers laughed then took $50 and a pair of socks and let us go.

Turns out simple documents can go a long way in many developing countries. According to Jennings, a veteran international adventurer, the idea is to convey that you have connections to important people. If you’re on a focused trip, like a serious expedition or research project, you want authentic letters from government (or maybe rebel) leaders. Contact the country’s consulate in the States and they’ll usually direct you to the appropriate official. The ideal document is written on letterhead and clearly outlines who you are and what you’re doing.

Even if you’re just traveling in a rough area, a confidently presented document can get you out of jam and it doesn’t have to be real. “Any official-looking scrap of paper works fine,” says contributing editor Patrick Symmes, who’s reported stories in crisis areas around the world and once dodged a potential hostage situation in Colombia by showing an illiterate guerrilla guard a photocopy of his passport. Veteran war correspondent Scott Anderson sometimes packs a “to whom it may concern” letter. “They come in handy with low-level officials who might be impressed by gold lettering,” he says. The trick is to give the documents gravitas heavy paper adorned with your picture, a stamp or seal, and a fancy signature and know when and how to wield them. Anderson would present them with levity in sub-Saharan Africa, where, he thinks, it’s best to treat confrontations like funny mishaps. “Understanding the culture is the key to making shiny documents work,” he says.

The New Rules: Know When to Say When

It's better to bail out than to pass away.

Team Calleva was exhausted. The four professional American adventure racers were trekking down a cliffside Chilean beach near Cape Froward, the southernmost point on the South American mainland. Ahead, the sheer cliffs met the water, blocking their way. Somewhere beyond was the finish line of the 2009 Wenger Patagonian Expedition Race. After attempts to call in a rescue failed, they stared at the 50-degree waves of the Strait of Magellan and made a rash decision: They would try to swim around the cliffs.

“It almost killed us,” says Druce Finlay, 30. The rough waters turned them back after ten minutes. “We got out and shivered all night. I couldn’t dress myself or operate my hands.”

That a team of talented professionals made such an irrational, life-threatening choice underscores just how easy it can be to let fatigue and a “save yourself” mentality lead you down a perilous path. In the ten days leading up to their ill-advised swim, Calleva had been moving almost nonstop through the notoriously brutal stages of the Wenger, sea-kayaking, mountain-biking, and trekking some 365 total miles in terrible conditions. They’d portaged kayaks 12 miles through a bog, been hammered by a snowstorm while camped on a ridgeline, and wandered drastically off-course in the dark. They ended up on the beach after opting for a misguided shortcut over a prohibited mountain pass, during which they ran out of food and took to eating berries and scavenging their trash.

Like all nine teams in the event, Calleva carried flares, a satellite phone, and a SpotMessenger, a handheld unit that can send messages indicating your location and that you’reOK or need help. But they didn’t want a rescue; they wanted to finish the race. When they finally pulled out the sat phone on the beach, it couldn’t get a signal and then ran out of power after being left on over­night. Their Spot was supposedly having problems, too, so they tried flares. No response. That’s when they decided to swim.

As the race’s director, Stjepan Pavicic, sees it, endurance athletes are particulary prone to these kinds of scenarios, because they instinctively look for an “active way out.” Callevaultimately got lucky. After two members of the team scraped their way over the cliff and managed to alert race officials with their Spot, a helicopter came to the rescue.

Self-reliance is, of course, a valuable trait for anyone venturing into the wild—but only up to a point. “Too often, the people who die in the wilderness are those who didn’t know when to turn back or call for help,” says Sheryl Olson, a registered nurse and the founder of Wilderness Wise, a Colorado survival school. “When to stop is something that should be discussed and planned before any trip begins.”

The New Rules: Cover Yourself

Heading to the wild frontier? Get insured.

On the morning of November 10, 2008, New York Times reporter David Rohde set off with his fixer/translator, Tahir Ludin, to interview a Taliban commander southeast of Kabul, Afghanistan’s capital. Rohde had been in the country for only a month—and had been married for only two. It would be 221 days before Rohde and Ludin were heard from again.

For Rohde, the risk of kidnapping was part of the job. He’d been detained in a foreign country before—in 1996, when Serb authorities accused him of being a spy during his Pulitzer Prize–winning coverage of the Srebrenica massacre—but this time was different. His capture had most likely been orchestrated by the very man he was meeting, and there was a significant price for his release: a reported $25 million, at first. Word of Rohde’s abduction was slow to leak out. The Times worked to keep the story out of the headlines, fearing publicity would further endanger Rohde and Ludin, and was negotiating with the captors via a security firm. But negotiations were halting, then they stopped altogether.

Kidnapping is a constantly evolving threat for any traveler heading into an unstable area. By some estimates, there are as many as 15,000 international abductions per year—andthe hot spots keep shifting. Atop the current list is Mexico City, followed by Caracas, Venezuela. Right behind them is (surprise!) Phoenix, Arizona, thanks to an influx of drug cartels. Regardless of location, the majority of kidnappers are after the same thing: money. The average ransom paid approaches six figures, and perpetrators often have in-depth knowledge of their victims’ financials, says Katie Colberg, a response consultant at the security firm ASI Global.

Before booking a trip to a high-risk area, consider kidnap-ransom-and-extortion insurance from companies like Travelers Insurance or eGlobalHealth Insurers Agency, which will coordinate with crisis-management firms to organize your release and will often repay any financial losses, including ransoms. And if you are abducted, be patient—very few people successfully escape. “Waiting is the most difficult part,” says Colberg. “You feel forgotten.” The only place where ASI advises people to attempt to escape is Iraq, where Westerners are typically killed.

Ultimately, Rohde and Ludin decided they had to save themselves. They made their break at night, after their guards were asleep, using a rope they’d found to descend a compound wall. Back in Kabul, Ludin told reporters that their escape was a desperate gamble by two demoralized captives. Rohde has yet to tell his story, but while traveling back to the U.S., he reportedly told a colleague, “All I want to do now is stay at home with my wife and cook some pasta.”

The New Rules: Avalanches Don’t Discriminate

Just because you're in-bounds doesn't mean you're safe.

Avalanches

The prevailing wisdom goes something like this: If you ski in the backcountry, you’re on your own. You should be trained in avalanche safety and carrying all the essential gear. But if you’re skiing at a resort, you don’t have to worry about slides; ski patrol has “controlled” the slope and deemed it safe.

Not true.

Consider what happened at resorts across the West this past winter. In mid-December, Snowbird opened its iconic hike-up peak, Mount Baldy, for the first time that season. Around noon, after more than 300 people had already skied Baldy, Heather Gross, a 27-year-old Salt Lake City local, lost a ski partway down the tree-and-cliff-riddled slope. As she was hiking up to retrieve it, a snowboarder above her triggered an avalanche. Skiers and boarders screamed warnings, but it was too late. Within seconds the slide had buried Gross beneath three feet of snow and debris. It took ski patrollers and a 150-person search a little more than an hour to locate her. She died later that day.

On Christmas Day, a slide at Squaw Valley killed 21-year-old skier Randall Davis. Two days after that, 31-year-old skier David Nodine asphyxiated beneath seven feet of snow when an avalanche struck an experts-only area at Jackson Hole. Overall, the season saw the highest number of in-bounds deaths since a single avalanche killed three skiers at Alpine Meadows in 1976.Granted, the snowpack was unusually unstable last December. But, say many experts, as resorts continue to cater to skiers’ growing appetite for challenging slopes by expanding boundaries to include more-extreme terrain, skiers need to start taking an active role in reducing their risks.

“Resorts do a phenomenal job making it a safe experience, but they’re working in nature’s domain,” says Dale Atkins, a VP at the International Commission for Alpine Rescue. “They can’t guarantee safety.”

That doesn’t mean every resort skier needs to take an avalanche course. If you stick to intermediate or groomed terrain with little exposure, you can essentially ignore the risk of slides. But if you search for the steepest, gnarliest terrain, wear an avalanche beacon and carry a shovel and probe, especially on high-risk days (during major weather and the first few days after). Studies suggest that if rescuers find you within 15 minutes, you have a 92 percent chance of survival. All the ski patrollers at these resorts, and many of the locals using them to access the backcountry, carry beacons. In the incredibly rare instance that you get caught ina slide, wearing one could save your life.

The New Rules: Don’t Skimp on Your S.O.S.

When you're lost at sea, send the right signal.

Captain Nelson Liu and five of the 11 crew members of the Princess Taiping were asleep on a stormy, moonless early morning in the Philippine Sea when running lights appeared onthe horizon. The 53-foot-long wooden junk, a replica of a Ming Dynasty warship handbuilt out of cedar, was 27 miles northeast of Suao, Taiwan, its final destination on a 14,000-mile voyage. The looming lights belonged to the Champion Express, a massive tanker aslosh with vegetable oil bound for China.

At first, it looked like the big ship would pass more than a mile to port. Surely the helmsman noted the return from the Princess Taiping‘s radar reflector, detectable eight miles away. But just when the Champion Express came abeam, it turned 90 degrees—right at the Princess Taiping. The wooden boat had a tiny outboard engine, but it was stowed, and its sails were reefed, due to heavy seas. It was all but dead in the water.

“The ship’s coming at us at maybe 20 knots,” says John Hunter, a recent graduate of the University of Hawaii who’d been awakened by the commotion. “I remember thinking, This could be it. The funny thing was, I was OK with it. It’s a pretty sweet way to go.”

The 628-foot tanker heaved the junk out of the water and cleaved it not so neatly in two, the midsection exploding into shards. As the Champion Express melted into the darkness, Hunter and his shipmates clung to the partially submerged stern, up to their necks in 80-degree seawater. Two were missing: Masao Kinjo, a Japanese sailboat racer, and Thomas Cook, a professor at Humboldt State University.

Larz Stewart, a 29-year-old surfer from Honolulu, hunted for their emergency communication equipment with his headlamp. He found Captain Liu’s personal locator beacon (PLB) and triggered it. Nothing. But moments later, the ship’s emergency position-indicator radio beacon (EPIRB), which sends out a distress signal with its coordinates to a network of satellites, mystically floated into his hands. Activated, it strobed reassuringly.

In the distance, another strobe appeared. It was on Cook’s life vest. The impact had pitched the professor headfirst overboard into something blunt, opening his scalp to the bone, shattering a vertebra, and snapping his right forearm. He paddled with his good arm toward the others.”I’m here!” he shouted. “I think I broke my spine!”

Some 5,000 miles east, at the Coast Guard’s rescue command center in Honolulu, Chief Operations Specialist Peni Motu received the Princess Taiping‘s distress signal. Since the EPIRB system went live, in 1982, it’s enabled nearly 27,000 rescues at sea, including 129 in the U.S. this year through mid-September. And yet 18 percent of boat owners fail to register their EPIRBs, a crucial step that allows rescuers to rule out false alarms. Motu verified the signal’s authenticity and alerted a rescue command center in Taiwan. “Without the EPIRB, they wouldn’t have had a chance,” he says.

And they’d almost left without it. Captain Liu had brought only his old PLB, typically used to find someone swept overboard. But one crew member, Jack Durham, refused to sail without an EPIRB and had borrowed one from a friend. According to Amanda Suttles, of the nonprofit BoatU.S., which rents out EPIRBS, any sailor who ventures more than ten miles offshore should carry one. Even if you’re only kayaking the coastline, Suttles suggests you carry (and register) a VHF marine radio equipped with Digital Selective Calling, a panic button that broadcastsa preprogrammed mayday.

About three and a half hours after the collision, the drifting sailors saw a white hull appear over the waves. They whooped and waved at the approaching ship, then cheered in astonishment when a helicopter flew by with the missing Masao Kinjo in its hoist. After swimming to the bow, only to find himself alone, the resolute mariner had rigged the broken foremast and started sailing the front half of the Princess Taiping toward Taiwan.

Anatomy of a Rescue

Every year, thousands of people get lost or injured in the backcountry. This past March, while on an afternoon snowshoe in the mountains above Santa Fe, New Mexico, 52-year-old social worker Laura Christensen became one of them. As with most wilderness emergencies, a series of small but easily made mistakes put Christensen—a NOLS graduate and Wilderness First Responder with an associate's degree in outdoor education—in a dangerous and desperate situation.

Day 1, March 16, 2009 2:30 P.M. Christensen begins an afternoon snowshoe outing on one of her favorite trails (1). She tells a friend where she's going and is dressed for an aerobic hike and brings half a sandwich and a liter of water. Just in case, she also wisely packs an extra base layer, a balaclava, and a compass—but forgets the glasses she'd need to read it. LESSON LEARNED: If you're setting out late in the day, always bring a headlamp. Darkness can make even familiar terrain look foreign. And while Christensen smartly told someone where she was going, simply doing so isn't enough: You also need to tell them when you'll be back and that you'll contact them upon your return.

6 P.M. In search of fresh powder, Christensen decides to mix up her usual hike by going off-trail, meandering down a steep hill (2). LESSON LEARNED: Never leave familiar terrain without a map, especially near dark.

7 P.M.-dawn Christensen is distracted by the Eckhart Tolle book playing on her iPod and passes right over a second familiar trail (3). Darkness falls and she begins to panic. She tries to call 911 but can't get service. She begins shivering and leans up against a tree to stay off the snow but refuses to doze off. “I did everything in my power not to sleep,” she says. LESSON LEARNED: Christensen's strategy was smart: She knew her body temperature would fall if she slept and that shivering would help keep her warm.

Day 2, March 17 5:45 A.M. At first light, she begins moving again (4). LESSON LEARNED: The old adage about staying put when lost doesn't apply if the clock is ticking on your exposure (and no one knows you're missing). But avoid off-trail shortcuts. Rescuers (generally) stay on trails and will have a hard time finding you if you're not within earshot.

12 P.M. Christensen wanders into an area where trails and old mining roads go off in every direction (5). She knows she's close to a Forest Service road but can't find it. She'll spend all day wandering around looking for it.

1 P.M. She tries to call 911 again, then tries text-messaging her friends, but has no luck (6). Finally, at 2:45 P.M, unbeknownst to her, she gets a flicker of service. One text message in her outbox goes through, and a friend calls 911. LESSON LEARNED: Texts can be transmitted when calls can't. And because Christensen's text indicated where she thought she was, rescuers knew where to start looking.

4:56 P.M. After a flurry of phone calls, state police initiate the search. The first of two helicopters is dispatched to the area.

7:16 P.M. The police notify local search-and-rescue teams, and the painfully slow process of a mostly volunteer response begins.

8 P.M. On her second night out, Christensen starts walking along the path of a power line (7), hoping it will lead her to civilization in the morning. She builds a bed of branches to rest on in the dark. LESSON LEARNED: Cold ground saps heat much faster than still air. Branches and leaves can provide critical insulation.

11 P.M. Twenty-seven volunteers assemble near the trailhead (8) where state police found Christensen's car. With only a vague idea of where she might be, ten hiking teams are sent in all directions (9). Two state-police helicopters now fly overhead, but it's dark and Christensen has no light except that of her iPod's screen. Nyberg and Schaffer's team is assigned to sweep the most likely trail and sets out, shouting her name and blowing an air horn every few minutes.

Day 3, March 18 1 A.M. About four miles in, their team spots a set of snowshoe tracks winding back and forth haphazardly on a remote path (10). The tracks lead to a nexus of trails and seem to go off in every direction. It's likely that the tracks belong to Christensen, but it's not clear which set of tracks to follow. LESSON LEARNED: If you're lost, make a mess. Break branches, string rocks into arrows, scratch HELP in the mud. Rescuers are looking for clues.

1:30 A.M. Delirious with hypothermia and exhaustion, Christensen hears shouting and an air horn but thinks it's campers scaring away a bear and is too afraid to go toward them.

4 A.M. After a night of false leads, Schaffer and two other team members start following an indistinct set of tracks, calling Christensen's name. A quarter-mile later, they hear her voice (11).

Learn how you can volunteer for search-and-rescue at .

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Load up the duffels and crank up the campstove—we’ve handpicked 21 superdeluxe backcountry sites, accessible only by foot, bike, boat, horse, or bush plane. Want more? We scout 18 other locales from Alaska to Appalachia, round up a wagonload of sweet gear, and show you how to stage four-star meals alfresco.

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Hauling onto the South Shore of Florida’s little St. George Island

DREAM PICK
Little St. George Island, Florida
THE PITCH After a long day of paddling, coast to an uninhabited island and toss your tent beneath palm trees on a stretch of white sand licked by water the color of lapis lazuli. If it’s hard to imagine this is North Florida, that’s because this thin, nine-mile-long barrier island separating Apalachicola Bay from the Gulf of Mexico is an anomaly—one of the only island wilderness preserves on the Gulf Coast on which you can camp. Cast for speckled trout and redfish in the bay before breakfast. After lunch, explore the dunes and try spotting some of the island’s 200-plus species of birds. As the sun sets, grab a bottle of merlot and hike the southern shore to the recently renovated 1850s St. George Lighthouse.
BETA Put in at the marina on St. George Island, 80 miles southwest of Tallahassee. Paddle west along the island’s north shore for eight miles. Cross Sikes Cut and continue another nine miles to the western tip of Little St. George. Check in with Apalachicola National Estuarine Research Reserve (ANERR) at 850-653-8063 for camping information. No fees or permits required.
PRIME TIME April, October
RESOURCES For general info: ANERR. For guided trips: Journeys of St. George Island, 850-927-3259, .



PLAN B
Resurrection Bay, Alaska
THE PITCH You’d think that Thumb Cove—a protected pebble-and-sand beach ringed by three hanging glaciers and offering rugged hiking, primo salmon fishing, and two state-owned log cabins for rent—would be hard to get to. It isn’t. From Seward, a port town on the Kenai Peninsula, 128 miles south of Anchorage, it’s a challenging nine-mile paddle across Resurrection Bay from your put-in at Lowell Point. Glide past waterfalls and mussel-noshing otters near Tonsina Creek before setting up camp at Caines Head State Recreation Area. Now stretch your legs with the mile hike up to Fort McGilvery, an abandoned WWII-era fortress carved into the hill.
RESOURCES For info: Department of Natural RESOURCESat Morgan’s Landing, 907-262-5581, . For boat rentals and guided trips: Sunny Cove Sea Kayaking Company, 800-770-9119, .


OR TRY
Isle au Haut, Maine
THE PITCH Most folks still get to rural Isle au Haut by mail boat, but kayaking is the more admirable way to reach this seven-square-mile island, 60 percent of which is part of Acadia National Park. Paddle due south four and a half miles from Stonington, Maine, hugging the islands of Merchant Row for protection as you cross Penobscot Bay. Aim for Duck Harbor, which offers shelter in the form of five sturdy lean-tos. Once you’ve established your Camp au Haut, take your pick of activities: Hike the four miles to Robinson Lighthouse, scale the island’s six gentle mountains, or explore dozens of surrounding islands, like York, whose only inhabitants are sheep.
RESOURCES For info: Acadia National Park, 207-288-3338 (call well in advance; permits go quickly), . For guided trips: Granite Island Guide Service, 207-348-2668, .

Crux Gear
Bending Branches’ Sun Shadow Evening kayak touring paddle ($155; 715-755-3405, ) is a two-piece work of art carved from basswood, maple, cherry, butternut, black willow, and alder—almost as beautiful as your surroundings.

Fly In: It’s simple. A ONE-HOUR FLIGHT EQUALS A DAY BY CAR, A WEEK BY BIKE, OR A MONTH ON FOOT. Sure makes an airtight case for the air-assisted outing.

DREAM PICK
Wilson Bar, Idaho
THE PITCH Buzz the airstrip at least once before your final approach into Wilson Bar, a remote canyon fly-in on the banks of the Salmon River in central Idaho’s Nez Perce National Forest: The landing—a skinny turf strip bracketed by 3,000-foot granite escarpments—leaves little room for error, and elk have been known to graze on the runway. Pitch your tent along the grassy banks, shaded by 75-foot lodgepole pines and painted with flowering lilacs. Here, next to the massive Frank Church- River of No Return Wilderness, the only signs of human habitation are a crumbling root cellar and a few rusted machinery parts—relics of a Depression-era prospecting claim. Cast for cutthroat and steelhead, bushwhack to gin-clear swimming holes, or scramble up the steep canyon slopes for huge, wild views of the solitude that surrounds you.
BETA Wilson Bar is about 30 minutes by air northeast of McCall, Idaho. Pilots can hone their backcountry landing skills through McCall Mountain Canyon Flying School, 208-634-1344, www.mountaincanyonflying.com. No permits required.
PRIME TIME July-August
RESOURCES For general info: Nez Perce National Forest, 208-983-1950, . For maps: Galen Hanselman’s Fly Idaho! ($40; 800-574-9702, www.flyidaho.com). For charters: McCall Air, 800-992-7137, .

PLAN B
Punta San Francisquito,
Baja, Mexico
THE PITCH There are two ways to get to Punta San Francisquito, an isolated spit halfway down Baja’s east coast: Drive 60 miles of wretched, washboard dirt road south from Bahía de los Angeles, or touch down on San Francisquito’s runway, only a few feet from the Sea of Cortez and just over an hour from San Diego. Easy choice. Pay camping is fair game anywhere on this idyllic sweep of beach, and the simple but homey Punta San Francisquito Resort rents thatch-roofed cabanas and serves up ceviche de pulpo (octopus) and grilled lobster.
RESOURCES For charters: Lundy Air, in San Diego, 800-574-9702, . For maps: Galen Hanselman’s Air Baja! ($50; 800-574-9702, ). For info: Punta San Francisquito, 011-52-6681-0709.

OR TRY
Twin Lakes, Alaska
THE PITCH The water’s your runway at Twin Lakes, a spectacular backcountry base camp 140 air miles southwest of Anchorage in little-visited Lake Clark National Park. There are no roads to the park and its more than four million acres of trailless tundra, dense coastal forests, and glacial tarns, so you’ll need to hop a float plane to your camp beneath the ragged summits of the Chigmit Mountains. Set up along the lakeshore and spend days scouting for caribou and red fox along the rolling, dwarf-birch-covered slopes, or fishing for plump grayling on the wild and scenic Chilikadrotna River.
RESOURCES For charters: Iliamna Air Taxi, 907-571-1248. For guided trips: Alaska Wildtrek, 907-235-6463, . For info: Lake Clark National Park and Preserve, 907-781-2218, .

Crux Gear
Stranded? Unspool the antenna coiled inside BREITLING’s EMERGENCY MISSION wristwatch to BROADCAST a distress signal that can travel up to 220 nautical miles. It keeps pretty good time, too. ($3,975; 203-762-1180, )

Climb: LOOK UP: You’ve got your work cut out for you. Now LOOK AROUND YOU: You’re in the perfect camp for the vertically inclined.

DREAM PICK
Spring Mountains National Recreation Area, Nevada
THE PITCH More than a mile above the burning sands of Las Vegas, a lush wilderness of tilted limestone peaks stands draped in bristlecone and ponderosa pines: 316,000-acre Spring Mountains National Recreation Area. Settle in at the old Boy Scout camp near Cold Creek. Don’t worry—the rugrats are gone and the site is now just a Brigadoon-like clearing with hyaline springs. Check out the views of the Nevada Test Site to the north, and turn in early: Tomorrow you’ll hike into the 43,000-acre Mount Charleston Wilderness for a Class 3 scramble up the seldom-climbed 10,744-foot McFarland Peak. Next day, bust out the ropes and choose from several dozen sport routes on Mount Charleston’s limestone walls.
BETA Follow U.S. 95 north from Las Vegas; 5.5 miles north of Highway 156, turn left on 202. Head southwest for about 13 miles to the former Cold Creek Ranger Station. The trail starts three miles past it. Camp at the Bonanza Trailhead, an eight-mile hike to McFarland Peak. No fees or permits required. PRIME TIME June-August
RESOURCES For info: Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest, 702-515-5400, .

PLAN B
Twin Lakes, Montana
THE PITCH Say hello to the Crazy Mountains, a 50-mile stretch of 11,000-foot peaks screaming out of the Montana grasslands northeast of Livingston. Take the 2,400-vertical-foot, 3.5-mile hike along Big Timber Creek, which will bring you to four-star open camping at the turquoise Twin Lakes. An exhilarating Class 3 climb awaits on the southern face of 10,795-foot Big Timber Peak. For other tasty nearby summits, parties should check in at the ranger station to find out how to gain access to private land (much of the Crazy Mountains is privately owned).
RESOURCES For info: Gallatin National Forest, Big Timber Ranger Station, 406-932-5155, ; Barrel Mountaineering in Bozeman, 800-779-7364, .

OR TRY
Buffalo National River, Arkansas
THE PITCH Kyle’s Landing, a primitive camping area on the scenic limestone cliffs of the Ozarks’ Buffalo National River, is the epicenter of some of the most varied cragging east of the Rockies. Within 45 minutes of your riverside campsite on the western fringes of the Ponca Wilderness, plunder hundreds of sandstone and limestone routes. Check out Cave Creek for the classic Stems and Seeds (5.10), the crags at Sam’s Throne (beginner-friendly top ropes to 5.11 crimperfests), and the not-to-be-missed sport climbing in Horseshoe Canyon.
RESOURCES For info: Pack Rat Outdoor Center in Fayetteville, 479-521-6340, www.packrat.biz; Horseshoe Canyon Ranch, 800-480-9635, ; Buffalo National River, 870-439-2502, .

Crux Gear
The Grivel Monte Bianco Replica Mountain Axe ($175; 801-463-7996, ) reintroduces the classic Italian mountain ax, complete with solid-ash shaft and chromoly pick and adze. Rope up on Bluewater’s dry-heated 9.7mm Lightning Pro (60 meters, $180; 770-834-7515, ), which is at home on ice, rock, and everything in between.

Hike: “THE SWIFTEST TRAVELER IS HE THAT GOES AFOOT,” wrote wayfaring exemplar Henry David Thoreau. These treks put the pleasure back into going pedestrian.

DREAM PICK
Virgin Falls Pocket Wilderness, Tennessee
THE PITCH Adjacent to the Bridgestone/Firestone Centennial Wilderness, 62 miles north of Chattanooga, this privately owned but open-to-the-public swath of the South Cumberland Plateau is a verdant 317-acre wonderland of rolling ridgelines, caves, creeks, rock shelves, and misty waterfalls. Camp is a short, varied trek along the eight-mile, lasso-shaped Virgin Falls Trail: Hop streams, boulders, and python-thick roots as you pass through an embarrassment of rhododendrons, then climb to the top of a stone shelf and feast your eyes on the hawk-dotted vista of the Caney Fork River Valley. Now descend a boulder-strewn path to reach Big Laurel Falls, your home for the night (or longer), and shelter in the mouth of Big Laurel Cave, the enormous, sandy amphitheater behind the cascading water. Come morning, it’s a moderate two miles past another cavern—Sheep Cave—and over a ridge to 110-foot Virgin Falls, the gem of the trip, which escapes a cave only to reenter the earth at the bottom of a fern-carpeted sink.
BETA From Sparta, take Highway 70 east for 11 miles, to Eastland Road in Derosset. Go 5.9 miles south to Scott Gulf Road. Head south for two miles to the trailhead, on the right, 150 yards past the Polly Branch Falls trailhead on the left. No permit required.
PRIME TIME April
RESOURCES For info: Bowater Inc. (which owns the VFPW), 423-336-7205; or .

PLAN B
Baxter State Park, Maine
THE PITCH Bypass Baxter’s main attraction, 5,267-foot Mount Katahdin, and head for the less-trammeled reaches of one of Thoreau’s old stompin’ grounds. Twenty-seven miles north of Millinocket in the North Woods is the 19-mile Russell Pond/Davis Pond/Chimney Pond Loop, where all three watering holes offer top-notch camping. When not catching peekaboo views of Big K, keep an eye out for ospreys, owls, foxes, and minks. Not pooped by the end of the loop? Try the side trip up 4,751-foot Hamlin Peak.
RESOURCES Baxter State Park, 207-723-5140, . Maine Trails Guide Service, 207-353-7394, .

OR TRY
Modoc National Forest, California
THE PITCH In NoCal’s spectacular Shasta Cascade region, dominated by 14,162-foot Mount Shasta, the 1.6-million-acre Modoc is home to bald eagles, wild horses, and petroglyphs. Did we mention the obsidian cliffs, up which you can scramble to survey your own wild kingdom? Hoof it from icy Skull Cave, 16 miles south of Tulelake, down the Lyons Trail through once-molten Lava Beds National Monument, traversing volcanic highlands at 4,700 feet and exploring 30,000-year-old lava-tube caves. At day’s end, put up your feet and your tent at the base of Juniper Butte.
RESOURCES Lava Beds National Monument, 530-667-2284, . Roe Outfitters, 877-943-5700, .

Crux Gear
Going light doesn’t require skimping out, and at 4,800 cubic inches, Lowe Alpine’s four-pound, 12-ounce warp pack ($199; 303-465-0522, ) can haul all your featherweight freight. Unlike other packs of its size, the warp has a big shovel pouch, front pockets, and zipper access to the main compartment.

Horsepack: HOW TO VISIT THE BACK FORTY WITHOUT ABUSING YOURSELF? BY HORSE, OF COURSE. Three equine outings that serve up the best of the American outback.

The jagged face of Idaho’s Sawtooth Wilderness

DREAM PICK
Canyon de Chelly National Monument, Arizona
THE PITCH In the Southwest, the Grand Canyon tends to hog the spotlight—and, therefore, the crowds. Steer clear of that clogged chasm and beat it to Canyon de Chelly (pronounced “shay”), three miles east of Chinle, Arizona, on the Navajo Reservation. There, trundle along the base of soaring sandstone cliffs, gaping at spectacles like the White House and Sliding House ruins, ancient Anasazi dwellings built high above the canyon floor. Hitch your steed and unpack your bedroll beneath the Russian olive trees and cottonwoods at the foot of Spider Rock, an 800-foot tower that is the spiritual home of the Navajo deity Spider Woman.
BETA From Chinle, follow Route 7 east toward the national monument. No entry fees, but you must arrange for a Navajo guide or park ranger to travel with your group to most destinations. Park Service permit required.
PRIME TIME April-May, October
RESOURCES For info: Canyon de Chelly visitor center, 928-674-5500, www.nps.gov/ cach/index.htm. For commercial trips: Equitours, 800-545-0019, .
PLAN B
Sawtooth Wilderness, Idaho
THE PITCH Horsepacking isn’t the only way to get into the heart of south-central Idaho’s vast Sawtooth Wilderness, but it’s the best. The perfect home corral in this more than 200,000-acre expanse of mountains and meadows: the Ten Lake Basin region, 22 miles from the Grandjean trailhead. After a 3,000-vertical-foot clop up to camp, park the ponies and set up shop near the shores of pristine Lake Edna, keeping your eyes peeled for bears, cougars, and mountain goats.
RESOURCES For info: Stanley Ranger Station, 208-774-3000. For trips: Sawtooth Wilderness Outfitters, 208-462-3416, .

OR TRY
Pisgah National Forest, North Carolina
THE PITCH Welcome to one-million-acre-plus Pisgah—a lush hardwood empire with an endless network of galax-lined paths. After leading your steed from the Buckeye Ridge trailhead, 16 miles southwest of Hot Springs, on a half-day ride through fields painted with blueberries, blackberries, and wildflowers, arrive at a secluded campsite atop high Buckeye Ridge. Give the horses some post-ride TLC, then take care of yourself while watching a sunset in the Smokies gild the mile-high Black and Bald mountains.
RESOURCES For info: Pisgah’s French Broad Ranger District, 828-622-3202; Big Creek Horse Campgrounds, 828-456-7053. For trips: Little Creek Outfitters in Hot Springs, 800-653-9984, .

Crux Gear
Forest rangers swear by White’s boots: foot armor with double the versatility of hikers or cowboys. Horsemen, try the ORIGINAL PACKERS ($345; 800-541-3786, ). Your high-tech jacket is Kleenex next to the oil-finish cotton of FILSON’s OUTFITTER SYSTEM ($388; 800-297-1897, ). This weather-beating beast comes with wool zip-in jacket and vest.

Canoe: In lake-and-river country, FLATWATER NIRVANA IS ONLY A PORTAGE (OR TWO) AWAY. Dip a paddle in these waters, all sure to please the adventuring open-boater.

Upstate serenity in New York’s Adirondack Park

DREAM PICK
Quetico Provincial Park, Ontario
THE PITCH Just over the border from Minnesota is a lake-riddled mecca boasting the kind of numbers that make otherwise calm canoeists go nuts. No, not the Boundary Waters. It’s Quetico Provincial Park: 1.2 million acres of pristine glacier-carved wilderness, 600 interconnected lakes, more than 2,000 paddle-in campsites—and only 20,000 visitors a year. The perfect landing? Emerald Lake’s southwestern point, a breezy jetty that gazes over incandescent waters and rocky shoreline. From this north-woods oasis, cast for smallmouth bass in neighboring bays at dawn, scan for moose with your binocs, and paddle across Emerald to the short Plough Lake portage to picnic under a 500-year-old, barrel-thick white cedar—one of the park’s largest.
BETA Provision in Ely, Minnesota, four hours north of Minneapolis. Fifteen daily permits are available at the closest entry point, the Canadian town of Prairie Portage. Follow the well-marked, modest portages from Birch Lake to Carp Lake, and into Emerald.
PRIME TIME July-August
RESOURCES For trip planning, permits, and maps: Ontario Parks, 807-597-2735, . For general info, maps, and guided trips: Piragis Northwoods Company, 800-223-6565, .

PLAN B
Adirondack Park, New York
THE PITCH Around here, even the most sprawling lakes are called ponds. And the small island in the middle of St. Regis Pond (a mere six hours by car north of the Big Apple) is a pine-shaded treasure, with camping on soft, sandy soil and views of 2,874-foot St. Regis Mountain. One portage away from the put-in at Little Clear Pond, the lake is the namesake of St. Regis Canoe Area, New York’s only wilderness canoeing park (read: no motorboats). From your shoreline base camp, trace the eight-pond Seven Carries Route, hike up St. Regis, listen to loons from your hammock, or—what the heck—all of the above.
RESOURCES For info: The New York Department of Environmental Conservation, in Ray Brook, 518-897-1200. For guided trips: Adirondack Lakes and Trails Outfitters, 800-491-0414, .
OR TRY
Green River, Utah
THE PITCH Ah, springtime on the Green—the water is high, temperatures are in the seventies, and the bugs are vacationing elsewhere. Start floating just south of the town of Green River, below the wind-varnished 1,000-foot sandstone cliffs of Labyrinth Canyon, at the Ruby Ranch put-in. Seven miles down this shimmering waterway, you’ll float into the cottonwood-lined cove at Trin-Alcove Bend, 43 miles north of Canyonlands National Park. Nestle into one of several campsites at the base of the 300-foot-tall amphitheater, and explore the many slots and dry waterfalls branching off from Labyrinth’s main canyon. Feeling ambitious? Keep paddling to within five miles of Canyonlands.
RESOURCES Free, self-serve permits are available at most put-ins. Camping is available at any point along the shore. For general information, call the BLM office in Price, 435-636-3622.

Crux Gear
Somehow, the two-person, 17-foot Wenonah Spirit II Kevlar Ultra-light ($2,095; 507-454-5430, ) confounds the water gods by being both a capable whitewater canoe and an easy-to-steer open-water cruiser that weighs in at a portage-friendly 42 pounds.

Bike: Europe’s not the only place for bike camping. Gear up for open spaces, vintage vistas, and BIKE MECHANICS WHO JUST MIGHT CROSS THE LANGUAGE BARRIER. Dude!

DREAM PICK
Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, Colorado
THE PITCH You’ll find plenty of choice campsites along the Continental Divide, but none quite as spectacular as those dotting the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, especially the section between Silverthorne and Platoro, Colorado—a network of Forest Service roads more prosaically known as Section 4. (The entire six-section GDMBR runs all the way from Montana through New Mexico.) For a weekend taste of high-altitude touring, try the 97-mile, overnight leg from Breckenridge to Salida. Highlights include a surprisingly forgiving spin over 11,482-foot Boreas Pass, an exhilarating descent through quaking aspens, and one of the sweetest stopovers of Section 4’s entire 318 miles: a lofty emerald meadow just off a dirt lane (County Road 175), past a cluster of shacks called Everett Cow Camp. Unload your panniers, make yourself at home, then aim your point-and-shoot at the Imax panorama of the 14,000-foot Collegiate Peaks, soaring out of the Arkansas River Valley.
BETA For the Breckenridge-to-Salida overnighter, take I-70 west from Denver to Frisco, then drive south to Breckenridge for the start of the ride. Follow ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Cycling’s fine (and really only) comprehensive map of the bike route south toward Salida. For the entire Section 4 trip, continue on AC’s mapped route to Platoro.
PRIME TIME July-September
RESOURCES For info: ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø Cycling, in Missoula, Montana, 800-721-8719, .

PLAN B
Methow Valley, Washington
THE PITCH On this, the dry side of Washington’s Cascade Range, mountain-bike on jeep roads 28 miles northeast from Winthrop to the Tiffany Springs campground, just below timberline on the grassy flanks of 8,242-foot Tiffany Mountain. The next day, when you’re through gawking at the craggy Cascades and their marbled snowfields across the valley, press on for the 108-mile tour up through the bald eagle country of the Sinlahekin Wildlife Area to Loomis, and then back through the pines along trout-choked Salmon Creek.
RESOURCES For info: Methow Valley Ranger District, 509-996-2266, ; Winthrop Mountain Sports, 800-719-3826, .

OR TRY
Monongahela National Forest, West Virginia
THE PITCH This three-day outing in the 909,000-acre Monongahela launches in the mountain environs outside Davis, West Virginia, spins above Blackwater Canyon, stops off for panoramic views from Table Rock, and winds up at Glady Fork Creek, a stream crowded by hemlocks. Bring your rod: The water’s brimming with trout. Wrap up the 60-mile loop (43 miles on dirt, 17 on pavement) with a mellow rail-trail climb along the Blackwater River until you reach Coketon, 1,000 feet below Table Rock.
RESOURCES For info: Blackwater Bikes, in Davis, 304-259-5286, ; Blackwater Falls State Park, 800-225-5982, .

Crux Gear
The Bruce Gordon touring bicycle is custom-built to fit you. Bruce Gordon’s top-shelf Rock N’ Road Tour-Ex comes spec’d with a Deore XT drivetrain and 26-inch wheels that’ll accept knobby MTB tires, yet it still maintains the low center of gravity ideal for stable loaded touring. ($2,595 as shown; 707-762-5601, )

Advanced Base Camp

Home on the range is a concept best taken literally. And the perfect rugged hideaway should be furnished with absolute comfort, absolute efficiency, and absolute cool in mind.

Bent-knee-style poles push out the walls, cleverly adding an extra five cubic feet of usable space to Marmot’s Mercury three-season tent—your spacious five-pound, four-ounce, pumpkin-hued home on the range. ($299; 707-544-4590, )

Sierra Designs’ Gobi 600-fill down bag is a single sleeper with multiple ratings. Two zip-on, zip-off optional layers turn the 15-degree sack into a cozy minus-15-degree cocoon. ($199, bag only; extra layers, $89/light, $139/heavy; 800-635-0461, )
The gold-titanium-nitride coating on the SOG Powerlock S60 elevates an already manly utility tool into museum-worthy art. And, yes, it also shields this 13-function brute from corrosion. ($110; 888-764-2378, )

Advanced Base Camp, Pt. II

Petzl’s nine-ounce MYO 5 headlamp offers five screaming-white L.E.D. bulbs and—finally—a tiltable housing so you don’t blind anyone when you check the map. ($70; 877-807-3805, )

With a removable foot section (shave weight!) and a slide-in foam pad (sleep great!), the Therm-a-Rest Fusion Ex is one mighty versatile mattress. Slip on the game sleeve and it gets better: Enjoy chess, checkers, mancala, and backgammon while the storm blows over. (Pad, $140; game sleeve, with pieces, $25; 800-531-9531, )

Top off the eight-ounce Brunton Glorb lantern with lighter fluid, pop out its built-in tripod, and bathe your tent site in 60 watts of warm light for two hours. ($60; 800-443-4871, )

Moveable Feast

Want to dine properly in the bush? You need the right tools, real ingredients, and an uncompromising vision. A primer on going deluxe when you go wild.

The Real Meal Ticket

Chef Boulot’s secret to four-star camp fare? Pre-trip food prep and a quality vacuum-packer. Boulot uses TILIA’s FOODSAVER system ($120-$320; 800-777-5452, ). You can vacuum-pack virtually anything for space and weight savings, from undies to wine. And after a bag or two of Bordeaux, even ramen tastes pretty good.

Chef Boulot outside the kitchen of the Heathman restaurant

EXTREME CUISINE
A celebrated chef serves up artful backcountry cuisine

PHILIPPE BOULOT mocks you and your pathetic ramen noodles, your disgusting boil-a-bag meals, your nasty energy bars.

“I will not eat ziss sheet,” insists the Normandy native, currently the most celebrated French chef in the Northwest. “Even if I am starving in zee wheelderness.”

Not that there’s any chance of that, mind you. On this October fly-fishing float trip down the Deschutes River, in the high desert of northeastern Oregon, le grand fromage of Portland’s Heathman Restaurant has brought along a supply list that reads like one of his dining room’s prix fixe menus: smoked salmon, two-year-old serrano ham, leg of lamb, handmade apple-and-pork sausage, Snake River Kobe beef, Pierre Robert cheese, and Oregon pinot noir.

Heading into the backcountry with Boulot is a lesson in extreme cuisine. Stacked in three rafts, as we navigate Class II-III+ rapids, are tables and chairs, a dining canopy, sterling, crystal, 24-karat-gilded china, a 60,000-BTU dual-burner propane stove, three guides who work for food (including two waiters from the Heathman), and one pear-shaped sommelier rattling on about everything from his home-tied fly collection to the history of hand-blown stemware.
On this special trip for All-Star Rafting and Kayaking, Boulot is determined to show just how good the grub can get. It’s an inspiring performance. At camp above a pounding rapids, the sky fading from brilliant blue to star-stained black, Boulot has pots and saute pans steaming under a centuries-old juniper as his guides/waiters run plates to a formally set banquet table. Finally he takes his seat, ceremoniously unfurls his linen napkin, and toasts the Deschutes. Crystal gongs. Then everybody tucks in for five courses: a silver platter of Yakima Bay oysters to spark the appetite; Dungeness crab salad layered with mango and avocado in blood orange vinaigrette and lemon aioli; leg of lamb braised seven hours in Bordeaux, with hand-rolled potato gnocchi, chanterelles, and grilled bread; a wheel of obscenely rich triple-cream cheese; and croissant bread pudding. The moon sets with the meal.

And Boulot rises with the sun, groggy and disheveled, automatically producing plates heaped with custard-soaked brioche French toast, sausage, and pan-fried potatoes. There is Kona coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice mixed with a rare vintage of Oregon bubbly.

We spend only two days on the river, but it feels like two weeks in the French Alps. The river thrums as the guides pack up. Before we shove off, I ask Chef if it isn’t all too much, going to such lengths to eat well in the wild. “For me,” observes Boulot, sipping from a champagne flute as a herd of mustangs graze the opposite riverbank, “it would be difficult not to do beautiful cooking in a place as spectaculaire as ziss.”

A Moveable Thanksgiving Feast

Cooking ultralight

CORE ACCOUTREMENTS FOR THE BACKCOUNTRY KITCHEN

Manufactured in Japan to near-aircraft-grade tolerances, the ingenious three-ounce Brunton Crux canister stove will boil a bucket of pasta. Yet it folds up like a paper crane small enough to tuck away in the concave space beneath a standard isobutane fuel canister. ($70; 800-443-4871, )

You aren’t truly going fast and light until you’ve maxed out the titanium gear in your pack. MSR’s superstrong and ultra-spare Titan Mini Cookset—two pots, one lid—tips the scale at just under 11 ounces. ($90; 800-531-9531, )
CHEF BOULOT’S TURF ‘N’ SURF
Seven-Hour Leg of Lamb

Serves 8

Ingredients:
Leg of lamb
1 tsp crushed ground garlic, plus one head of garlic
1 tsp fresh rosemary
1 tsp fresh thyme
1/2 tsp black peppercorns
1/4 cup tomato paste
2 yellow onions
2 carrots
2 celery stalks
1 tsp coriander
1 tsp juniper berries
2 bay leaves
1/4 cup flour
1 bottle Bordeaux
Salt to taste

Rub lamb with crushed ground garlic, thyme, and rosemary, and season with salt and pepper. Marinate for 24 hours. Place the lamb in a roasting dish and into a hot (400 degrees) oven for 20 minutes—or until lamb is golden-brown. Remove lamb from dish and set aside. Pour remaining lamb juice into a braising pan. Chop the vegetables and brown them in the braising pan on top of the stove. Add 1/4 cup flour. Then add tomato paste and bottle of Bordeaux. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally. Season with salt, pepper, remaining spices, and one head of garlic. Place lamb in braising liquid and be sure meat is completely covered (add water or chicken stock if necessary). Cover with a tight lid or tinfoil. Simmer in a slow (300 degrees) oven for seven hours. Take out, let cool, remove meat, strain vegetables, and vacuum-seal in bag with liquid. Freeze. In camp: Defrost, reheat in bag or pot, and serve.

Roasted Salmon on River Stone with Blanquette of Leeks

Serves 8

Ingredients:
8 oz salmon fillet per person
4 oz leeks per person
1 cup heavy cream
1 tbsp French mustard
3 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp sherry vinegar

Heat flat stones (one per person) in a fire. Fillet salmon, leaving skin on. Season with salt and pepper and coat with olive oil. Move stone to edge of fire pit and cook, skin side down, without turning. Sauce with a vinaigrette of French mustard, remaining olive oil, and sherry vinegar. Simmer leeks in heavy cream until tender, and serve on the side.

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