To celebrate Black History Month we’ve rounded up some of our favorite stories that highlight diverse voices.

Historically, skiing has been a predominantly white sport, which makes it more important than ever to highlight new faces in the industry. Through perseverance and passion, these individuals are breaking barriers on the slopes and helping to foster a more inclusive and welcoming environment within the skiing community.

I met Stan Evans in the winter of 1998 when we were on one of our first feature assignments for a new ski magazine devoted to the wild and aberrant freeskiing movement that was taking off as a ski subculture. This made us misfits by choice, and while I wasn’t aware of any other Black ski photographers, it didn’t occur to me that there was anything historic about our assignment. The following winter, Stan organized and produced the first snowboard magazine story featuring all Black riders, shot by a Black photographer. That this had never been done makes it objectively historic, and it stands as a benchmark of winter sports diversity. At the time, however, very little mainstream attention was paid to the quantum gap jump that Stan had just helped the sport clear.

, a Bend, Ore.–based skier, and filmmaker, decided to throw out the rulebook with “The Blackcountry Journal,”Ěýa short film that mixes backcountry freeskiing with his lifelong passion for jazz. Beneath the smooth soundtrack and savory facade is a complex story about race in skiing, although the nuance may take a few views to rise to the surface. Shot in monochrome and structured in three parts, the film abstractly follows Duncan’s story as a black man trying to find his place in the white ski industry.

We sat down with Duncan upon his return from the Banff screening to learn about the making of “The Blackcountry Journal.” Be sure toĚýĚýwhen it’s released to the public on Nov. 8.

On a spring morning at Vail, laughter fills the entire dining room of a restaurant lounge as a group of people gather around a stone fireplace. They clap one another on the back, cackling to inside jokes and generally enjoying each other’s company. At first glance, you might think you’ve stumbled into a reunion of some sort.

The truth is, most of us have just met each other this morning, brought together by an organization whose mission is to encourage, teach, and inspire Black, Indigenous, and people of color to participate in mountain sports by creating spaces for enjoying the outdoors. This convivial group is here for a ski day with the Denver-based Ěý(µţ˛Ń°ä).

An Oral History of the National Brotherhood of Skiers

The nation’s first Black ski group, the Jim Dandy Ski Club (named after an R&B song by LaVern Baker), formed in Detroit in 1958. By the early 1960s, a handful of U.S. cities had similar clubs, like the Snow Rovers in Boston and the Chicago Ski Twisters. In New York, there was the Four Seasons Ski Club, run by an NBC cameraman named Dick Martin, who owned a ski shop in Harlem and often played ski evangelist to his peers, screening films and proclaiming that a skier need not be a “blond-haired, blue-eyed Norse god.” Martin organized weekend ski buses that rolled out of Manhattan at oh-dark-thirty to wend their way north to the mountains of upstate New York. In 1964, a 25-year-old New York University graduate student named Ben Finley climbed on board.

Read the rest here.

Soft Life Ski, has a unique mission built on a combination of unlikely passions: skiing and Afrobeat music. The UK-based group hopes to increase inclusion and diversity in the winter sports space by organizing music-themed trips to ski resorts. “Soft life,” a term for an easygoing and relaxing lifestyle, is the feeling the group hopes to bring to the slopes. In short, SLS is a traveling music and ski festival aiming to introduce the joys of winter to its Black and African audience.

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Standup comedian didn’t set out to make fun of mountain biking, snowboarding, and other recreational activities on his Instagram feed. Like many professional comics, Losse, 44, spent several years recording videos of his observational humor to see what resonated with his audience.

He mused on the banalities of middle-aged life, weather in Seattle, and shopping at Costco. But then, about year ago, Losse posted a from his local mountain biking park, Duthie Hill. In the video, Losse showed viewers the park’s gnarly jumps and massive drop offs, and then pointed out the easy trails that he uses to circumnavigate the hard stuff. “The fire road is running really good—super loamy,” Losse says in his trademark sardonic, dry tone.

A few months later, Losse published another video about the absurdity of snowboarding. “Do you enjoy nature but wish it was more stressful? Try snowboarding at a resort on the weekend,” Losse said into camera.

Both videos generated tens of thousands of likes, as the Instagram algorithm distributed them throughout the outdoor community. After that, Losse began in his standup routine, and also in his videos on Instagram. His angle: joke about the very specific and very absurd elements of cycling, snowboarding, and getting outdoors.

We caught up with Losse to understand why cyclists, snowboarders, and other lovers of outdoor activities enjoy his jokes.

OUTSIDE: How did you decide to start making fun of outdoor recreation culture?
Losse: I’d been doing standup for 12 years and had posted videos of my comedy shows forever without getting much traction. A few years ago I started posting videos of me just talking into the camera—observational stuff. I posted one about the absurdity of Microsoft Excel, and how if you want to get ahead in corporate America you just need to know a few excel formulas. That one was a hit,Ěýand for a while I thought I was going to be the office comedy guy. But it never took off.

Then last spring I got back into mountain biking after a few years off, and I realized that the actual media around mountain biking—trail reviews, especially—leaned so heavily into the gnarliest and most extreme terrain. It’s all just rock rolls and huge gaps and features that felt so unattainable. I thought it would be funny to make fun of those. It’s like, I don’t want to ride the trail named “Predator” at Tiger Mountain, I want to know how to ride around that trail without hurting myself.

I made the video about going around the gnarly trails. Honestly, I just thought it was stupid and only funny to me. I didn’t think anybody else would like it. But it turns out a lot of people who love mountain biking aren’t trying to attain mastery. My video struck a chord within the community and got distributed by the algorithm, and it got huge pickup. My buddy joked that I picked up a mountain bike and became an influencer within 60 days.

What elements of outdoor recreation are inherently funny?
There’s a super-obsessive part of biking culture that people don’t really talk about. There’s gear obsession, Strava obsession, and a fixation on parts upgrades and how they will make you better. It’s ridiculous, and all of know it is, but nobody acknowledges it. If anything, I’m shedding light on this collective mental illness we all share. You don’t find that in snow sports quite as much, but in cycling it is very apparent. You buy a new bike and the first thing you do is upgrade the parts. I need new handlebars and new grips. There’s an entire industry built around people being insecure about what they are riding.

Your humor is very much focused at the core audience of these sports, and not at casual followers of outdoor rec. What’s the challenge in reaching hardcore groups?
I feel like it would be easy to make videos where I make jokes about mountain biking in such broad terms that anybody could like it. But that would be boring to me. I just don’t think it’s as funny as being super specific to the things that people obsess about in these sports. Because those are things that I am guilty of. I don’t want to talk shit about activities that I’m not also doing. For instance, I made a video where I joked about gravel biking. I did it because at the time I was building up a gravel bike.

I do think it’s what makes my comedy different. It’s reverential. I am making fun of hyper-specific actions done by people in a group that appeals to people in that sport. And I’m trying not to be corny.

How do you straddle the line between joking and being mean?
My comedic sensibility is that I won’t make fun of something that isn’t part of myself. I don’t seek out communities to make fun of that I’m not part of. That helps. I think that when you make fun of a community you’re not part of, it’s easier to be mean. It’s less reverential, and people can tell.

But not everyone knows that I’m making fun of activities I love. I made a joke about gravel biking—do you like mountain biking but wish it were less fun? Try gravel cycling!—and people were pretty fired up. A lot of folks didn’t appreciate that one. There are very specific communities within cycling, and some of them take themselves way more seriously than others. Most people who get upset don’t see that it’s satire, or they aren’t familiar with me and don’t know that I also do it. So I try to always nod my cap that I love the sport I’m making fun of. I want the community to be clear that they’re not being attacked by an outsider.

What’s the difference between telling jokes in front of a live audience and telling them on Instagram?
My stand-up humor is more autobiographical and observational. It’s a lot about stories growing up in Washington State, being married, and other normal topics. I tell stories about riding my mountain bike, but they are longer, and tend to take weird twists.

Making jokes online that connect with people is hard. I explain that it’s like trying to get struck byĚýlightning. It’s pure luck. Luck and repetition. I’ve found that, since getting a bigger audience, you find your lane and stick with it. And mountain biking and snowboarding became my lane in a very unexpected turn of events.

This interview was edited for space and clarity.Ěý

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Rock fans of a certain age likely remember the gritty nineties punk band , rose to fame amid the mainstream success of Green Day, Blink 182, Rancid, and other groups of that era. If you attended the Van’s Warped Tour (which I did, multiple times), you probably saw them live.

Hot Water Music was co-founded by guitarist and singer, Chuck Ragan, who is also a passionate fly fisherman. These days Ragan, 50, operates his own river guiding business at his home near Grass Valley, California, and he continues to , as well as with Hot Water Music. We caught up with Ragan to learn about .

OUTSIDE: How do you make time for fly-fishing when you’re on tour?
These days I tour with two entities: Hot Water Music and my own solo stuff. Touring with Hot Water Music makes it tougher to fish, because I have less control over the agenda, so I just try to get out whenever I can. It’s rare, and it takes a lot of effort. Recently we were playing a show in Denver, had a night off, and then had another show in Phoenix. I was able to get out with my buddy Jim to a lake outside of Denver the night after the show while the rest of the band traveled to Phoenix. We fished for white bass. Then I had to jump on a flight that night.

When I’m touring on my own, I sometimes set up my traveled based around fishing—the time of year, the species that’s running, stuff like that. My agent may suggest I play in Detroit in January. Well, I love to fish there in March, so that’s when I’ll go.

Ragan: Did you fish much when you were on tour 25 years ago?
I remember it took me years to realize the fishing opportunities I was missing when we were on tour. Now, I look back and think that I was just blowing it. We were going to these amazing places, but we’d be staying up late, ripping it too hard, and then the next day just wake up feeling worthless. You walk outside the hotel room and here we are on the Blackfoot River or some other gorgeous place. I’d love to hit rewind and do that over. I remember on one tour thinking ‘Man, one of these days I’m going to visit these places again and really get out and explore.’

What advice do you have for people who travel frequently but also want to fish?
You really have to plan ahead. These days I find that pretty much everything I do—other than little opportunities that pop up—was planned out a year in advance. I sit down at the beginning of the year and black out the obligations for family, then guiding, then the tours. And I look at the days of the tour and just see where the opportunities lie. For my fishing, sometimes it’s based around moon phases, or when different species are good to chase.

When I do fish on tour, I’m all for supporting local guides, so I’ll usually hire one and use their gear. My advice: if you’re following a guide on social media and you admire then, and they’re chasing a species you like, reach out to them and drop them a note. Find a good time of the year when you may have a trip there, and hire them. For me, fishing on tour is more about the experience of being on the water and connecting with people and learning new methods than actually carrying fish. If we catch a fish, that’s great. But I’ve already caught plenty of fish in my life and I don’t need to chase any records while I’m out there.

How does fly-fishing inform your music?
I’m always working on melodies and phrases and recording them to my phone when I’m on river trips. In the old days I’d walk around with a cassette recorder and more or less do the same thing. When I’m guiding there’s a lot of down time—commuting, standing in the water—and this is when my brain starts working on my music. A lot of times I end up singing into my phone, or reciting some phrase that comes to mind. Then I go back and sift through the stuff, and every once and a while something good comes out of it. I’ll listen back to my voice memos and I can hear me howling lyrics while the river is raging behind me, and I remember that at that moment something came into my mind that made the hair stand up on my neck. I knew at that moment it was important and I that I should document it. It’s been this way for a while. A lot of those classic Hot Water Music songs were either started or finished out in the woods or at the lake. A lot of my songs have been written this way.

Are there any similarities between professional river guiding and playing music?
There are a lot of parallels between being an independent musician and a guide. I’m out there to have a good time and to share something I believe in with people. If my clients or fans can leave their troubles at the door and enjoy themselves for a minute, then that’s all the better. Playing music is just like going on those fly-fishing trips—I’m not there just to catch fish. If I do catch one it’s a bonus. If someone leaves my show and enjoys the music and gets something out of it, then that’s a big bonus too.

This interview was edited for length and clarity.Ěý

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Why do we venture outside? Because there’s something deeper out there, something lasting and time-tested. It inspires us to create things, to transform it into something we can share. Maybe that means art, photos, or crafts—whatever enriches our understanding of our larger roles in nature. Meet two of these makers here, people who inspire us all to go outside, play hard, and care for the planet and each other. And learn how KEEN has adopted this same spirit to build that will stand the test of time.

The Watercolorist: Max Romey

Mission: Get a Million People Painting

Max Romey is a man of big dreams. The latest: get a million people painting in the next three years.

“It’s kind of terrifying, to be honest,” he says of the goal. But Romey has done plenty of terrifying things before. Over the years, the Alaska-based trail runner, filmmaker, and environmental educator has made critically acclaimed documentary films, completed 100-mile endurance races, and chased the world’s best ultrarunners across the Alps with a camera and sketchbook.

Romey credits his grandmother for first putting a paintbrush in his hands when he was just a few years old. “I’m dyslexic. School was frustrating at times,” he says. So he went outside, and watercolor became a medium for recording what he learned.

Painting, Romey says, is the epitome of conscious creation. It’s a timeless medium with no shortcuts. To make accurate brushstrokes, you have to slow down. To mimic the lines and shapes around you, you have to look and really see your surroundings.

That’s why Romey is so passionate about sharing the art form. He launched a watercolor tutorial series online and became KEEN’s —creating much of the brand’s vibrant art, playful videos, and environmental education content.

 

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“I really do think the world would be better off if everyone painted,” Romey says. “You just need a couple little tools, and then you have this excuse to sit and stare at the world. And if you look long enough, you see some amazing things.”

Tested:

“They’re really comfortable. No break-in—they just fit,” says Romey. “I’m also excited to have a shoe that’s going to stay with me. During the work I do in Alaska, cleaning up marine debris and ocean plastics, we find a lot of shoes on the beaches. The best way to avoid waste is to not make it—to build things that last. The don’t delaminate, which means they’ll stay out of the landfill for much longer than the average hiking boot.”

“And they’re versatile,” says Romey’s partner, Eve. “The Targhee IV has the stability of a hiking boot without the weight. Perfect for getting up a mountain carrying my 22-pound toddler!”

Consciously Created

Building anything authentic and sustainable—anything that will stand the test of time—starts with intention. Intention to apply a planet- and people-first philosophy that acts as a north star for any endeavor, from making art to designing products. KEEN calls it —a way of reimagining how gear gets made so it supports both humanity and the environment from start to finish. Here’s how that approach resulted in the new Targhee IV, a shoe that won’t delaminate and is free of forever chemicals.

The Crafter: Connor Lamoureux

Mission: Inspire Others to Be More Creative

Growing up, Connor Lamoureux never thought of himself as an artist. One of his brothers became a singer and musician. The other became a painter with gallery shows. But Connor? He wasn’t sure where he belonged.

“I had so many creative interests. I did woodworking, photography, video creation,” he says. But to be a “real artist,” he wondered, would he need to have a strong, singular focus? No. About a year ago, Lamoureux left his marketing job to create full-time—and to inspire others to be more creative in their own lives. Today, his Instagram is filled with playful, accessible DIY projects and crafts, many of which involve upcycling everyday household objects.

“I want people to know that they don’t have to buy fancy art materials,” Lamoureux says. “You can do a lot with a hammer and some wood you find on the side of the road. Buy paint brushes from the dollar store. Use materials you find in nature.”

Upcycling also has another benefit. Instead of sending old junk to the landfill, Lamoureux inspires his followers to give those items new life. And he teaches viewers how to craft with care. That way, their new lamp, chair, or wall hanging will be sturdy enough to stand the test of time. “If I can encourage more people to find ways to be creative, that’s a win,” he says. “Remember: it doesn’t have to be perfect. Just focus on having fun.”

 

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Tested:

“I can’t sit still. I’ve got no chill,” says Lamoureux. “So it’s really nice to have a that’s super durable as well as really comfy. I know I can just keep charging and I’m not going to wear them out. They also feel surprisingly lightweight for such a durable boot. The traction is great. I used them on rock, snow, and steep switchbacks this spring, and I felt secure on all of it.”

KEEN is a shoemaker with purpose. Family owned and values-led for more than 20 years, KEEN has been consciously making unapologetically comfortable, innovative footwear that lasts and using its business to do good. In 2003, KEEN started a revolution with the introduction of the original hybrid sandal, the Newport. As a revolutionary, thoughtful shoemaker, KEEN is determined to reduce the impact of how it makes shoes. The brand has been PFAS-free since 2018 and envisions a shoe industry that has a net-positive impact on lives. To get there, KEEN is sharing its sustainable innovations to do more good together. Learn more at .

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Time slows down in the summer. Where I live it’s too hot to do much unless you’re out early in the day or late in the evening. It seems like everyone else is on vacation, and the academic back-to-work creep of September is still off in the distance.

In short, it’s the perfect time to laze about in the midday heat—for long afternoons of reading on the porch or hiding out in the dark in front of a fan watching a movie.

And this summer we have a lot of good options.

What Books Should I Read This Summer?

My neighbor spotted a mountain lion on our street when she took the garbage out the other night so I have been thinking a lot about human-wildlife interaction. It helps that I’ve been reading , Julia Phillips’ novel about what happens to two sisters when a grizzly shows up on San Juan Island.

The story culminates when their diverging reactions to the bear—fear and fascination—split them apart. To understand which of those reactions I should realistically have to my local predators, I’ve also been reading Brandon Keim’s non-fiction tale, . On the surface, the book is about how we can better live with wildlife, but really is a charming dive into all the way animals interact with each other, and with us. We’re not as far apart as we might seem, according to Keim.

If summer has you thinking about plants more than animals, check out Olivia Liang’s new book It’s a whirlwind essayistic mashup of the history of cultivating and colonizing plants, and the ways gardens have been an important source of liberation and inspiration and survival, all set against the background of Liang’s own quest to rehabilitate a historic garden in the depths of COVID. She fumbles a little when she tries to address warming summers, but she makes up for it in her lush descriptions of growing things.

If gardens (or nonfiction) aren’t exciting enough for you, the perfect summer read might look something like Liz Moore’s which incorporates summer camp, family drama, and a set of missing siblings into a twisty, hard to put down thriller. Moore’s language, and her knack for building character and scene give it that jumpy feeling of stepping outside the campfire’s light and wondering what’s around you.

Indie Flicks and Summer Blockbusters

Movies more your summer speed? In , Amy, a visiting New York consultant, in town with her negligent fiancé, develops a reciprocated crush on Loren, a fishing guide barely skating by in Jackson Hole. The summer light of the Tetons is a character all its own, and the film nails the details of skid life (multiple jobs, insecure housing, the performative localism of second home owners). But the best parts are the painfully tender ones about the shiny, hard-to-achieve appeal of a place like Jackson, and about the ache of not getting to live all the lives you can imagine for yourself and having to commit to just one.

Speaking of films, we could talk about , this year’s biggest tease of a seasonal blockbuster (Why don’t they kiss? Why don’t they talk about climate change?) But the real standout from the movie is the music.

Summer, in my house, is weekend road trip season and the Twisters’ soundtrack feels like exactly what you should be playing on a Friday night when you’re driving down a dirt road hunting for a campsite.

There are a couple skippable bro-country bombs, but there are also standouts from Oklahoma artists like Wyatt Flores, and a Shania Twain song that sounds exactly like a Shania Twain song should.

Perfect Podcasts for Long Drives

If you’re not a music in the car person, and if you’re already missing the drama of the Olympics, there are a couple of podcasts that might scratch your itch. Consider , about mechanical doping in bike racing, or , a CBC podcast about, um, broom doping, in curling, the most adorably Canadian drama ever. They both fall into my favorite category of podcasts: twisty investigative journalism where no one gets hurt or killed.

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Some of the best travel experiences revolve around culture—tasting it, hearing it, seeing it, immersing yourself in it. That’s certainly true in Texas, and in particular San Antonio, where you’ll discover a tapestry of history, local foods, art, nightlife, and more. şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř sent travel couple Mike and Anne Howard of to explore San Antonio and immerse themselves in Texas culture. The Howards have been traveling as digital nomads since 2012 and have explored cultures around the world, which makes them the perfect travelers for a deep dive in the heart of Texas. Here’s what they discovered.

Get a History Lesson

Start your trip by getting a lay of the land on a guided history tour through the city. Whether you explore , , or , a local guide will bring the city to life with the stories and history that developed the South Texas culture you see today. Going for a DIY approach? Hop on an electric bike to explore at your own pace. Ride along 16 miles of trails that connect the San Antonio Missions—the only UNESCO World Heritage Site in Texas. Constructed in the early 1700s, the missions played an integral part in combining Indigenous and Spanish influences into a novel South Texas culture. “Strolling under the live oaks at the missions while taking in the history is a really special experience,” says Anne. The trails are as much an experience as the missions themselves. Along the way, you’ll pass local art installations and pedal through lush greenspaces where local plants thrive.

Find Your Texas State of Mind

If natural history is more your thing, explore the just outside of the city. Guided tours of the caverns range from walking tours by lantern to more active spelunking experiences.

Explore Local Art

From colorful murals that exude a vibe unique to San Antonio to museums and galleries that display works by local and international artists, San Antonio is filled with creative expression. One of the most innovative: , an immersive art experience where visitors wander through 20,000 square feet of larger-than-life installations filled with mesmerizing, interactive elements that engage all five senses. Explore hidden pockets of color in the rainbow cave. Or let your inner child loose in the LED ball pit. Because new artists are constantly invited to exhibit their work, no two visits to Hopscotch are the same. “The art installations change frequently with pieces from local artists, so there is always a new reason to come back,” says Anne.

Taste the Flavors of Texas

Texas locals take their food seriously, with Texas-style dishes and . Book a spot on a San Antonio River Walk food tour to sample South Texas cuisine at its finest. As a major part of the ranching industry—more than 13 percent of the country’s cattle are raised in the state—much of Texas cuisine is beef-forward. In Texas, barbecue means beef brisket smoked to perfection and served without sauce, because, as Texans say, the meat is Texas barbecue. Chili, another widely contested dish, takes on a distinct flavor in Texas. Made with roast instead of ground beef, and never with beans, Texas chili is a point of pride among locals. Of course, it wouldn’t be a San Antonio food tour without Tex-Mex and tacos—both important parts of Texas cuisine. And don’t sleep past the breakfast taco, a staple of San Antonio’s brunch scene. serves up a variety of egg-based taco creations to start your day.

Vegetarian or vegan? Don’t worry! Many restaurants have adapted famous Texas dishes to offer plant-based options. “From the bars to the little coffee shops, the vegan food options are fantastic, and there are constantly new restaurants popping up,” says Mike.

Go Out on the Town

Sometimes the best way to get a feel for a city is to soak up the atmosphere at a local watering hole. During the day, head to the Pearl. This live-work-play community is a hub for creative cuisine, art, music, and shopping. Browse shops filled with . Catch live music at the . Or simply relax and take it all in with an afternoon drink at . “San Antonio’s nightlife exhibits a beautiful combination of living history, creativity, and modern charm that’s great to experience and be a part of,” says Mike.

In the evening, check out the downtown scene. Filled with restaurants, theaters, public art, and nightlife, this neighborhood shows off San Antonio culture like no other. Grab dinner close to the action at the . The patio seating right on the river is ideal for sipping margs and feasting on the restaurant’s famous brisket enchiladas. After dinner, wander the River Walk and pop into any of the neighborhood’s many cocktail bars or live music venues that strike your fancy.

is responsible for promoting Texas as a premier travel destination in domestic and international markets, generating travel to Texas destinations.

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I once suggested to a new beau that we visit the in Cambridge, Massachusetts, for a long walk and a picnic. He admitted later that the idea had been a little off-putting, but once we arrived, he saw the wisdom of my ways. It was late spring and the bulbs were finishing their bloom, droopy tulips dropping petals in our path. The rhododendrons were bursting with life and the marble statues were as glittering and glorious as ever. It was a stately place to walk, filled with history, art, and evidence of early American culture. Ultimately, he was charmed by this unusual outing. These days, we like to visit burial grounds with our four-year-old daughter, who enjoys reading the faded letters on the headstones and hiding behind the centuries-old oaks.

Pop culture tends to depict people who hang out in cemeteries as belonging to one of two groups: they’re either mourners with fresh grief or teens with thick eyeliner. But the truth is, many American graveyards were designed specifically for public recreation, and it’s a crying shame that we don’t use them more often.

There are many different ways one can respectfully engage with these sites, from the community-based (you can glean historical knowledge from these quietly rich data-centers or plan your visit around finding one famous grave) to the naturalist-leaning (bring binoculars to better spy on migrating birds and keep your plant apps open to help identify rare blooms). Don’t be afraid that your presence will be unwelcome; many cemeteries are building wellness-oriented features into their programming, a surefire indication they want more visitors. And if you’re really gung-ho about hanging out with the dead, there are plenty of volunteer opportunities through the and the National Cemetery Administration, plus you can always check in with your local historic society to see what’s happening nearby.

A Brief History of American Garden Cemeteries

The garden cemetery movement began in 1831 with the opening of Mount Auburn, followed by the building of Laurel Hill in Philadelphia and Green-Wood in New York. It was a time of rapid urbanization and social change, and there was a growing awareness of the fact that humans need security, sanitation, and even beauty to thrive. Some believed that increased time in nature could help cure the poor of their vices. Nice, clean, well-kept cemetery gardens could give people a place to relax (back in the 1800s, people used them for courting, hunting, and even carriage racing) as well as a way to dispose of the many dead.

Graveyard Plants and Animals Are Very Much Alive

Like many of the most successful human-made landscapes, graveyards are also hospitable to local wildlife. There are several beloved by birders, including Utah’s Salt Lake City Cemetery, where you can see nesting owls and migrating flycatchers and warblers, and the Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery in San Diego, California, where binocular-toting tourists go to spy rare warblers and sparrows.ĚýPersonally, I’ve spent hours stalking around Portland, Maine’s Evergreen Cemetery waiting to catch a glimpse of the mated pair of river otters thatĚýfrolic in the ponds. Red foxes are a common sight at the Laurel Hill Cemetery in Philadelphia—in 2016, one particularly personable vixen was even deemed the official mascot of the graveyard. River, as she was named, has probably passed by now, but she was able to thrive in the 200-acre green space, probably because cemetery officials chose to prioritize green burial practices and eco-friendly gardening techniques. In 2018, Nature’s Sanctuary (West Laurel Hill’s green burial ground) became the first cemetery to be granted SITES Gold Certification, a designation given to sustainable landscapes, and is now being used as a case study for the U.S. Green Building Council.

While West Laurel Hill has made an active effort to protect the planet, others have stumbled into this role. The Polk City Cemetery in Polk City, Iowa, was constructed in the early 19^th century on land that was unsuitable for farming and, as a result, has been discovered to contain untouched pockets of native tallgrass prairie. Volunteers have been working to improve the biodiversity of the Midwest by responsibly managing these spots and cataloging the various plants, including the lovely and rare wild pansies that dot the lawns. In Brooklyn’s famous Green-Wood cemetery, you can see evidence of the forests that once thickly covered that part of New York, including native oak, hickory, American beech, tulip, and sweetgum trees. Like many modern cemeteries, Green-Wood Cemetery now has a social media presence, where they announce upcoming events programming and highlight interesting findings. Although it might feel funny at first to start following graveyards on Instagram, there’s nothing quite like it for up-to-date information about on-the-go animals and rare plants. Many cemeteries also have maps and guides available in the office—some even provide PDFs for download on their websites.Ěý

Local History Is Alive, Too

All graveyards, thoughtfully designed or haphazardly made, function as data centers. Tombstones can tell us about family ties, community values, and forgotten tragedies. Even casual visitors to a graveyard can take note of the names and dates that crop up time and again. While some kids won’t find this alone particularly scintillating, there’s plenty of eye-spy games Ěýthat can help liven up what might otherwise be a boring walk.

Some cemeteries draw crowds for their more famous residents, like the Hollywood Forever Cemetery in California—where stars like Judy Garland and Marilyn Monroe have been laid to rest—and the Trinity Church Cemetery in New York, where you’ll find markers for Alexander Hamilton and John James Audubon. A little further north in the Hudson Valley, you’ll find the Old Dutch Church and the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, both of which were made famous by the writing of Washington Irving. In addition to casting these bucolic plots of land as settings in his spooky stories, Irving also wrote in favor of creating more striking cemeteries and public ground. In both his personal home and his public statements, he promoted a distinctly American style of gardening and landscape design, one that was a bit wilder and looser than the formal gardens were among European aristocracy. (It was at Irving’s recommendation that Fredrick Law Olmstead eventually was appointed the head designer for New York City’s Central Park.) In recent decades, Sleepy Hollow has taken a rather kitschy turn, similar to the Halloween fever that surrounds Salem Massachusetts and its famous Old Burying Point Cemetery, but there’s still a lot of rustic charm to be found on the forested trails and narrow bridges of Tarrytown.

Cemeteries Can Be Secret Hotspots for Urban Trails

Though using graveyards for recreation isn’t as common as it once was, the concept of multi-use spaces is clearly alive and well. In addition to making graveyards greener for the sake of insects and animals, there’s also been a push to implement more wellness-oriented features in cemeteries. The Evergreen Cemetery in Los Angeles has that was updated with a fresh, bouncy layer of rubber in 2023. In New Orleans, the organization Save Our Cemeteries hosts an annual race through the Metairie Cemetery to raise money for conservation of the historic grounds and its famous tombs. The Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta has a similar event, plus events for kids (including a day camp that takes place during the summer months). Although it’s not nearly as storied as either of those southern graveyards, whenever I visit my mother in Massachusetts, I like to go jogging at the Mount Hope Cemetery in West Acton. The trails extend out behind the graveyard and wind through serene wetlands, full of blue herons and red-winged blackbirds. Admittedly, I stop fairly often to pull up my birding app and catalog new lifers, but for slow runners like me, breaks are an important part of the routine.

There are some cemeteries that prohibit running, and there are plenty of religious burial grounds that don’t welcome visitors. While I have attended my fair share of funerals for loved ones and never once noticed or begrudged runners or birders, it’s important to recognize that not all mourners will feel this way. Sacred places are open for adventure, but like hiking in ruins or camping in preserved land, you’re duty-bound to pay attention. One of the first things I taught my child about cemeteries was that tombstones aren’t for climbing. A toddler can topple a headstone, and even if the person below is long-dead, restoration is a costly process. Similarly, I wouldn’t remove anything from a recent grave, not even a pebble. (In Jewish cemeteries, it’s customary to leave small rocks as a tribute to the deceased.) Different traditions and locations have their own rules, but fortunately most larger cemeteries also have offices, maps, and sometimes even visitor centers. For those nervous about disturbing the peace, start with the simplest form of outdoor exploration: a quiet walk to observe and consider.

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Diana Nyad was parched.

Could you blame her? She of marathon swimming and now red carpet fame had just delivered a rousing speech to a packed house at the Denver Art Museum this past Sunday, June 1, during the two-day şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍřĚýFestival. After the speech, Nyad stood under the midday Colorado sun in front of a long queue of autograph seekers, all clutching copies of her 2016 memoir Find a Way. Nyad spoke to each person, delivering wisdom about overcoming goggle tans or facing down fear, hugged them, and then signed the publication. But even marathon swimmers sometimes get thirsty.

And only one refreshmentĚýwould do. “I need a snow cone!” Nyad barked.

The handful of us manning the autograph tent—editors, film producers, and advertising reps—looked at each other in confusion. Luckily for Nyad, snow cones were not far away. Chris Keyes, the general manager for şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř, and SKI editor-in-chief Sierra Shafer were making the icy treats at nearby booth. Moments later, a piña colada-flavored ball of shavedĚýice arrived for our guest of honor, who bit into it mid-soliloquy without missing a beat.

This scene played out on Sunday, the second day of the festival. I was there alongside dozens of my şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř coworkers. We abandoned our day jobs of editing feature stories and selling advertisements to cosplay as event promoters. Look, I’m absolutely biased here, but the shindig we helped throw ruled. The inaugural şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Festival had killer tunes, engaging outdoor films, celebrity book signings, dog stunts, bike stunts, food, and too many other events to list. Based on my extremely rough estimate, a billion zillion people showed up to dance and attend panel discussions and pet doggies, and everyone one of them was stoked.Ěý(No, this is not the official attendance count.)

My gig—half crowd management, half info kiosk—was a job that any journalist would have been proud to do. I managed the author autograph booth alongside Scott Burgess, the director of operations for şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř TV, Kate Muller, şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř’s sales director, and an ex-NFL cheerleader in a In between my duties—wrangling Nyad and author Kevin Fedarko, and pointing lots of sweaty people to the closest hydration station—I perused the festival grounds to check out the sights and sounds and mingle with guests.

I met a ton of friendly attendees, all of whom love the outdoors. They told me all sorts of anecdotes about their time at the festival. Here’s what I saw and heard:

Groovin’ and Movin’

Crowds funneled into the festival grounds Saturday evening just as the sun began to set. Lights illuminated Denver’s City and County building behind the main stage as some warmup music prompted everyone to get on their feet for the next act,ĚýThundercat

In the crowd, Micah Gurard-Levin, 39, also rose. Gurard-Levin is a former pianist who now works the director of community impact for broadband communications company Liberty Global. He didn’t know Thundercat’s music but his friends did, and after a few opening bars of the first song, he got into the groove.

“It was this real avant-garde fusion of jazz and funk—a style I hadn’t heard in a while,” Gurard-Levin told me. “It was like music from an old-school eighties video game. Like, you’re about to fight the final boss and the music gets faster.”

Everyone was dancing as the skies darkened. Gurard-Levin looked at the crowd and noticed that the makeup had changed. Earlier in the day, he said, the attendees looked like hardcore outdoor enthusiasts. As the festival progressed, he said, the makeup evolved—younger and more diverse crowd added to the climbers, runners, and cyclists.

“That was the big macro picture for me—there was this intersection between different communities in the park,” he said. “And everyone was having fun.”

A Meeting to Remember

Talia Hoke, 45, sat in the crowd at the Sturm Pavilion and listened to three speakers share their stories during the “Journeys of Purpose” panel on Saturday afternoon. One of them, wildlife biologist Dr. Rae Wynn-Grant, caught Hoke’s attention. Dr. Wynn-Grant said the outdoor world felt alien to her growing up, because it appeared to be the playground for white men. Early in her career, she felt like an outsider in wildlife biology because of her background and the color of her skin.ĚýHoke, a marriage and family therapist, had traveled to Denver from Philadelphia for the event. She sat in the crowd and nodded along.

“Just because you come from Black America doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have access to these places,” Hoke said. “It was empowering to hear that she had the tenacity to make it the center of her life.”

After the panel ended, Hoke beelined for the autograph tent. She purchased three copies of Dr. Wynn-Grant’s memoir, Wild Life,Ěýand then stood in line to meet her. When Dr. Wynn-Grant finally arrived, Hoke made the most of the experience: photos, conversation, hugs, and even tears. One book is for her mother, Hoke said, and the other is for her soon-to-be mother-in law.

Meeting Dr. Wynn-Grant was a highlight of the weekend, but so was walking around Civic Center Park and checking out the city. Hoke said that downtown Philadelphia lacks the access to outdoors that we take for granted in Colorado. And on her flight back home, she started checking out home prices in Denver. “You never know what the future holds,” she told me.

“I’m not a mountaineer or a backpacker,” she continued. “I walked away realizing the positive potential for how the outdoors can impact the people in my life.”

Winning a Golden Ticket

Jonah Grove is a huge fan of Diana Nyad.

When her employer, Price Waterhouse Cooper, told its employees that it had a limited number of tickets to the şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Festival to give away, and that hopeful attendees should write an essay about why they wanted to go, Grove focused hers on Nyad. “She’s a great entertainer,” Grove told me. “Every time I hear her talk I’m reminded that she did her swim at age 64. That’s inspiring.”

Grove won the tickets, and placed Nyad’s talk atop her to-do list. But what else was there to do? Grove checked out the schedule and picked out a handful of other events to hit: a screening of the film Wade into Water,Ěýlistening to author (and former şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř staffer) Katie Arnold discuss her new book, Running Home. Grove could check out the food trucks, climbing competitions, and of course the music.

I met Grove on Saturday when she buzzed by my booth and filled out an online form to win a pair of Columbia running shoes. A few hours later we did a random drawing and she was a big winner. “I’ve never won anything!” she said when she claimed her footwear. Then, on Sunday, she returned to the booth to meet Nyad and get a photo snapped with her hero. Guess who took the pic? Yours truly—yet another skill I got to apply to my festival job.

I asked Grove what she spoke to Nyad about. “I got up there and didn’t know what to say—I think I asked her about how her day was going,” Grove told me. “I was too excited.”

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Do you watch videos of outdoor athletes shredding pow or climbing El Capitan on Instagram? If so, the platform’s algorithm has likely slipped a clip from comedian into your feed. In his videos, Lyons, 29, roasts outdoor enthusiasts like hikers, skiers, and people who can afford to live live in Aspen with a style of humor best described as, well, gentle mocking. In each clip, Lyons plays the role of a diehard member of an outdoor clique who reeks of insecurity and braggadocio. His videos highlight the absurdity of hardcore, jargon-spitting enthusiasts—yup, people like me.

Lyons has half a million fans on Instagram and another 250,000 on TikTok. Last year he was able to step away from his day job as a middle-school science teacher to create content full-time. Lyons jokes about core athletes because he is one: he’s thru-hiked the Appalachian and Pacific Crest Trails (his trail name is “Schmutz”), and spends his free time climbing and skiing.

We caught up with Lyons to understand why goofing on outdoor subcultures is so much fun.

OUTSIDE: What are you hoping to accomplish with your humor?
Lyons: My videos are about things that I’m guilty of myself. I totally have a tattoo of a mountain on my forearm—it’s so cliche. I thru-hike. I also poke fun at what I’ve observed over the years. I understand that we sometimes don’t realize how niche our communities can feel, and how inaccessible we can make them seem to outsiders by the way we talk or the attitudes we have. I want my jokes to make people be a little more self-aware, rather than making them think that they’re wrong for the way they act. I think I’m trying to shed light on people who may not know what they sound like when they’re talking about the activity they love. Plus, I just like making people laugh.

How did you become an Instagram comedian?
I didn’t even start with comedy videos. Back in 2019 I posted a video to TikTok that was a compilation of clips I had taken from my Appalachian Trail thru-hike and it went viral. Pretty soon I was making videos that answered questions that people had about thru-hiking: how to pack your bag, what gear to bring, how to use the bathroom. People started commenting on the videos about certain stereotypes of thru-hikers, and I thought I could have some fun with the comments. I started making fun of thru-hikers in videos, and then I did a few video skits. One was about buying backpacking gear in the eighties versus now, and how the products have gotten lighter and more expensive. Those gained traction, and then I did a series where I did skits about different outdoor towns, like Burlington, Boulder and Bozeman. Those really took off. I was still teaching full-time and doing videos on the side. But then I got some brand deals and realized I could do it full-time. Last July I made the jump.

Which outdoor community gives you the most feedback on your videos?
This past winter was crazy with Colorado skiers chiming in. I did an East Coast versus West Coast video and another one about people , Colorado. I noticed that ski culture really latched onto those videos, and people started going at each other in the comments section. For every 100 comments that are like “oh man, this is totally me,” there’s one person who seems like they’ve had hurt feelings. Oftentimes I’ll click on that person’s profile and they end up being the exact image of the person I was portraying. I’m not trying to be mean about the way I portray these groups—again, I’m the exact person I’m making fun of in my videos.

How do you walk the line between joking and being mean?
It helps that I’ve done a lot of the activities that I make fun of, so I have a sense for where the line is. And I think everyone can tell when someone is making fun of a group of people in a way that’s meant to hurt. I always try to be family friendly—I don’t curse or make crass jokes that you couldn’t watch with kids. I want people to send it to their family members without it being weird. My whole vibe is to stay lighthearted with my critique.

Why do you think that your specific brand of humor connects with people?
It’s hard to say. I just want to make people a little more self-aware of the fact that other people may want to become involved in our activities, but the outdoor communities can seem elitist to outsiders. You see a group of cyclists wearing Lycra uniforms and riding on expensive bicycles and it can seem intense and intimidating to a newbie. I think my comedy tries to poke fun at this in a way that’s not demeaning. Hopefully this can make our communities a little more welcoming to everyone.

This interview was edited for space and clarity.Ěý

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Whether you’re a seasoned backcountry skier or a new trail runner, chances are you’ve heard a pack of your fellow outdoorspeople gloating about their latest sunrise summit attempt, patting each other on the backs and guffawing because they had so much fun waking up at 4 A.M. for dawn patrol. Yuck.

Dawn patrol refers to the act of waking up before the sun and heading out on an early morning adventure, then speeding back to town to clock in to your desk job. There’s nothing inherently fun about risingĚýearly to ski or run or paddle, but when you call it “dawn patrol,” it becomes something else. As long as I’ve been in the outdoor world, dawn patrol has felt like the proverbial cool kids table that, in theory, anybody can sit at, so long as they like to rise in the dark and get their sweat on before their brains are fully awake. Unfortunately, that’s not me.

As a certified non-morning person who needs several cups of coffee to get going each day, it’s darn near impossible to convince me to wake up any earlier than I have to before reporting to work at my computer. Because I value my sleep and often have morning job commitments, I carve my adventure time out later in the day. I know I’m not alone in this. Those of us who still want to get after it on a random weekday from time to time deserve our own glorified phrase: dusk patrol.

I spent 19 years living in Los Angeles with a full-time day job. For me, dusk patrol often meant zooming out of my office’s parking structure at 5 P.M. on the dot to lace up my trail runners, don a headlamp, and jog up the side of Mount Hollywood, just as the city’s infamous smog would turn an otherworldly tangerine with the sunset. It was hard but rewarding to make these sunset jaunts happen. On one such occasion, I even stopped on the hike down for an impromptu planetarium show at the historic Griffith Observatory.

On another one of my post-work whims, I checked the moon phases app on my phone and reached out to a few friends to join me for a nighttime trek up the coastal .ĚýA full moon meant that we didn’t need to use our headlamps, and our late start time meant that we had the trail entirely to ourselves. The smell of SoCal chaparral and the moonlit ocean views from the gravel path made for an utterly magical evening as we twirled around and made hand puppets with our prominent moon shadows.

Once I had really gotten into the spirit of these sojourns, friends started divulging their own favorite nighttime microadventures with me, like well-guarded family secrets that needed to be whispered and held tightly. A guy I was dating once left work early and drove out to Joshua Tree with me to scramble up one of his favorite unnamed peaks at sunset, cans of beer conveniently stashed in our packs. My buddy Brandon introduced me to a weekly cycling meet up in Los Angeles called The Passage of a Few People Through a Rather Brief Moment in Time, whichĚýtook riders to the farthest-flung corners of the city. It was a group for athletic lovers of the odd and the urban, meeting at 24-hour strip mall donut shop and taking its participants through secret tunnels, down pitch black dirt trails, to industrial mining quarries, and along abandoned piers overlooking the ragged Pacific.

I live in Boulder, Colorado now, and though the after-work traffic is nowhere near as soul-crushing as in the City of Angels, I’ve tried to keep the spirit of dusk patrol alive, which is much easier these days with a chunk of the Rocky Mountains at my doorstep. But of course, better outdoor access also gives me more room to get creative with my outings.

Last October, my partner Oliver and I drove my minivan across a series of winding roads to witness the autumn elk rutĚýin Rocky Mountain National Park as the sun set over the soaring Continental Divide. As we hiked around a rocky bend, our terror and delight, we witnessed an enormous bull screeching his bugle call just off trail as he gathered his harem. I’ve knocked out countless sunset summits with my mutt, Marla, on Ěýand multiple Flatiron trails near town, and this year, I aim to step it up a notch and take advantage of the nearby Indian Peaks Wilderness to get out for some weeknight backpacking trips, planning to be back at my desk at 10 A.M. to check my email.

If you can’t tell by now, I’m a huge fan of having your cake and eating it too. In other words, evenĚýif you’re not a morning person, you can still get after it on a random weekday evening. Here are some of my tried-and-true tips for making dusk patrol a smooth experience.

5 Tips for Crushing Dusk Patrol

1. Pack Beforehand

No one wants to rush to the trailhead after work, only to realize that they forgot their precious hydration bladder. Pack the night or the morning before your nighttime rendezvous, when you’re not in a tizzy, then toss your fully-loaded pack and trail shoes (or inflatable kayak/SUP if you’re more or a river rat) into your car, so you can leave straight from work.

2. Stay Local

In Alastair Humphreys’ appropriately-named new book, Local, he sets out to complete one adventure per week for an entire year. The catch? They all have to be within his neighborhood. He’s proof that you don’t have to live at the foot of a 14er or on a piece of waterfront property to have a weekday adventure–climb a tree and watch the sunset, take a five mile jog around a part of town you’ve never been to, or try out mudlarking (scouring a shoreline at low tide to try to unearth ocean treasures). Fellow adventurer and şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř contributor Brendan Leonard told me that once, in lieu of heading into the Rocky Mountain foothills, he and some friends biked the entire 53 mile length of Colfax Ave in Denver (the longest commercial byway in the U.S.) and experienced the thrilling immersion of passing through multiple radically different neighborhoods as they bisected the city on two wheels.

3. Eat on the Go

It goes without saying that most dusk patrol missions will not involve time-consuming, home-cooked meals with a knife and fork. Either pack a no-cook, soak-in-the-bag meal to eat at the trailhead or summit ( makes a bevy of awesome treats that can dehydrate in lukewarm water while you trek), or splurge on your favorite take out, then chow down during the drive to your starting point.

4. Don’t Underestimate Your Headlamp

As someone who didn’t start rock climbing until age 29, it was news to me that you can easily purchase a veritable floodlight to place atop your head that’ll cast a blinding glow, suitable for the most intense evening excursions. Just be sure to pack an extra set of batteries or double-check your light’s charge level (if it’s a plug-in model) the night before your dusk patrol plan. The and have both served me well on night hikes and low-light rock scrambling missions.

5. Go with a Buddy

Not only is it safer to have a friend in tow on after-dark excursions, should things go sideways, it’ll also help hold you accountable, so that you don’t bail on your mountain goals after an annoying phone call or conference room fiasco at the office. Plus, aren’t sunsets just a smidge more spellbinding when you experience them in good company? Pick a specific time and place to meet each other after work, and don’t forget to tell someone not on the adventure what time you both plan to return home.

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