In 2010, a camping trip to the Sahara opened my eyes to the magic of the night sky. I was a college junior spending the summer abroad in Morocco, and until then I’d never seen the Milky Way, let alone a meteor shower, due to light pollution back in my suburban hometown of Dayton, Ohio. But that night, tucked into a sleeping bag beneath the African desert’s real-life planetarium, I saw them both. The experience opened me up to all the unfathomable marvels of the universe.

In the years since, I’ve built a travel-writing career around my fascination with the moonlit world. Recently, my noctural adventures have included: watching nesting sea turtles with Indigenous guides in Panama, pitching a tent on the Greenland ice sheet in a snowstorm, chasing the northern lights in Iceland, and searching for fluorescent rocks on the shores of Lake Superior—among many other sleepless excursions.

These trips, and many more such outings, fill the pages of my upcoming book, , published by National Geographic and available on December 3. I hope the following three adapted excerpts—some of my favorite experiences—inspire you to skip sleep and soak up the night’s wonders, too.

The şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř: Ice-Sheet Camping in Greenland

Spend an icy night camping above the Arctic Circle, following in the crampon-carved footsteps of polar explorers on the Greenland ice sheet. It’s a rare and immersive way to admire the world’s second largest expanse of ice, a blustery behemoth that blankets nearly 80 percent of Greenland’s landmass with icy mountains, teal lakes, and a minefield of crevasses and moulins (deep shafts in the ice).

Given the harrowing surroundings, most overnight ice-sheet jaunts are reserved for professional exploration or scientific research teams. But makes the dream possible for more amateur, yet still intrepid, guests. The outfitter’s two-day, one-night camping trip offers a taste of expedition life—but don’t let the short duration fool you. A sleep on the unforgiving 656,000-square-mile sheet of white—an expanse roughly the size of Alaska—is no walk in the park.

On the trip, you and a team of trekkers haul tents, sleeping bags, and fuel for roughly one hour of hiking into the ivory abyss. Once you reach your overnight accommodations—an open patch of ice—it’s time to build camp from the ground up. You’ll crank ice stakes, sort gear, pitch tents, and collect snow to boil for water.ĚýIt’s grueling work, but the sweat’s worth it for quality time with this rare wonder.

Once camp is set, you’ll have the opportunity to hike among ice mounds and pristine cerulean water bodies, aurora hunt (in the spring or fall), and admire the midnight sun come summer. Just as memorable are the deep conversations shared over freeze-dried dinners in Camp Ice Cap’s orange globe mess tent. One topic that’s sure to arise among these fragile landscapes: climate change.

As the news headlines show, Greenland’s ice sheet is ground zero of earth’s shifting climate. The white mass is expected to lose up to 110 trillion tons of ice by 2100—a change that could raise sea levels by a foot. To do its part protecting this natural resource, Camp Ice Cap tour operator Albatros Arctic Circle has a strict Leave No Trace policy. That means everything you bring with you must be carried out.

Each season introduces a different flavor of adventure. Come in the calmer summer months for ice hikes with endless hours of daylight and, on the warmest days, even short dips in meltwater “lakes” (water temperaturess hover slightly above freezing this time of year, but a warm sun can make the quick swim surprisingly refreshing). Visit in the shoulder seasons—spring or fall—for a chance to see auroras. But be prepared for particularly unpredictable and unforgiving weather that time of year. You could have a snowstorm, clear aurora-streaked skies, or both in the same night.

Weather is all part of the Camp Ice Cap adventure, as is the journey to get there in the first place. The trip begins in Kangerlussuaq, located inland in central-west Greenland. This town, home to one of the island’s main international airports, has the only road in Greenland that connects to the ice sheet. It’s a potholed 15.5-mile route, with potential reindeer and musk ox sightings along the way.

A good base level of fitness is required for a Camp Ice Cap visit, as the hiking can be strenuous and requires a bit of agility on the ice. Albatros Arctic Circle provides tents, sleeping bags, trekking poles, crampons, and food, but it’s up to you to pack warm-weather essentials: coats, gloves, hats, wool layers, headlamps, and, by all means, an extra pair of socks.

While You’re in Greenland

If a night at Camp Ice Cap whets your backcountry Greenland appetite, Kangerlussuaq has more where that came from. The town is connected to the island’s famed , a 100-mile thru-hike that runs from inland Kangerlussuaq to Sisimiut on the west coast. Expect unspoiled tundra sprinkled with musk oxen and reindeer on this roughly ten-day trek.

Other Greenland Marvels

A quick 45-minute flight north from Kangerlussuaq will drop you in Ilulissat, home to the Unesco World Heritage site . This 34-mile patchwork of icebergs, some 10 to 20 stories tall, stems from the Sermeq Kujalleq (also known as Jakobshavn Glacier), which runs from the Greenland ice sheet. It’s one of the world’s fastest-moving glaciers, and scientists believe it produced the fateful iceberg that struck the Titanic in 1912.

The şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř: Riding the Star Train in Nevada’s Great Basin Desert

In the early 1900s, the Nevada Northern Railway put the remote town of Ely on the copper-mining map. More than a century later, the railway’s historic locomotives still tote riders into Nevada’s Ěýpiñon- and juniper-dotted Steptoe Valley—although visitors now come seeking a different sparkly prize: clear, bedazzled nightscapes. They’ll find this rare bounty aboard the special-edition , which runs deep into the Great Basin Desert.

Up to 80 percent of Americans can’t see the Milky Way due to light pollution. The same can’t be said for those at the far-flung Great Basin, which covers much of Nevada. This 190,000-square-mile high-desert patchwork of sagebrush grasslands, rolling mountains, and broad valleys boasts some of the country’s darkest nightscapes. The Nevada Northern Railway, now a national historic landmark in Ely, roughly four hours north of Las Vegas by car, makes the most of the celestial entertainment via the Star Train, which departs around sunset on select Fridays between May and September.

As the desert transitions from honey-hued golden hour to coal black night, onboard rangers from nearby Great Basin National Park and railway staff share tidbits about the night-sky attractions that await. Once you’ve reached your final destination—a private Great Basin viewing pad with high-powered telescopes—rangers narrate the universe’s marvels, from Saturn’s iridescent rings to any stargazer’s beloved treasure, the glowing Milky Way.

The şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř: Hunting the Southern Lights in Australia

You’ve heard of the northern lights, but did you know you can chase those sky fluorescents in the Southern Hemisphere, too? Spotting these elusive green and violet streaks, known as the southern lights, or aurora australis, requires a bit of luck. Like the northern lights in the Arctic, southern-lights sightings are most frequent over Antarctica. But the Antarctica travel season—summer—coincides with the all-hours midnight sun. What’s an aurora hunter to do?

Head to Tasmania, a landmass better positioned for aurora sightings than virtually anywhere else in the Southern Hemisphere, excluding the White Continent. Its aurora potential has to do with its geographic position and the mechanism through which auroras occur.

During solar storms, the sun flings charged particles into space. When the protons and electrons reach earth, they congregate near the north and south geomagnetic poles, then react with the atmosphere to create ribbons of green, purple, red, or blue. Typically, the lights appear over far north or far south stretches of earth such as Iceland or Antarctica, but when a solar storm is strong enough, you can catch them farther in toward the equator. Tasmania, situated close to the south geomagnetic pole, is one of the hemisphere’s most reliable perches.

“We have no landmass in the Southern Ocean that corresponds with Norway or Iceland,” says Tasmania-based Margaret Sonnemann, author of . In the Arctic or Antarctica, where the charged particles collide with the atmosphere in the skies above, you can see the reaction—the auroras—straight overhead. In Tasmania, you’ll typically admire the show from a distance, roughly between 45 to 60 degrees on the horizon.

This vantage point offers a unique perspective. When the lights are overhead, green colors are the most noticeable, says Sonnemann. “Side on, you see the layers of color.”

Given Tasmania’s pristine night skies, you can spot these colorful night swirls all over the island. Look for a panorama with minimal obstructions to the southern horizon; the northern banks of a large lake looking south, or the island’s southern coast looking out to sea, are ideal.

Some tried-and-true Tasmania aurora spots include Goat Bluff Lookout on the South Arm Peninsula, Carlton Beach, Tinderbox Bay, and the . For a southern lights–friendly hotel, try , which has minimal light pollution and unobstructed south-facing views across Lake Pedder. Hit Taroona Beach, south of Hobart, during the warmer months to catch a thrilling after-dark duo: auroras snaking across the sky as electric blue bioluminescence pulses across the water.

One advantage of Tasmania aurora hunting: you can catch the lights year-round. Tasmania experiences nighttime darkness in every season. Though you’ll have more hours of potential aurora displays in the darker winter, you could snag a stellar show on a warm summer night.

Fast Aurora Facts

The hue of an aurora depends on where the sun’s charged particles collide with earth’s atmosphere. Red auroras hit at the ionosphere, around 150 miles high. Green streaks occur in a mildly dense stretch of the atmosphere, roughly 60 to 150 miles from the ground. The rarer purple hues appear when the reaction strikes in our thick lower atmosphere, about 60 miles above earth’s surface.

Stephanie Vermillion is a travel and adventure journalist with a particular interest in after-dark adventures, from the wonders of the night sky to the nocturnal happenings on planet earth. She recently wrote about how to take great aurora photos on an iPhone.

100 Nights of a Lifetime: The World’s Ultimate şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍřs After Dark, by Stephanie Vermillion

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Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I’ll admit, I’m biased toward lush tropical landscapes, like Tahiti, and rugged stretches of coast, such as Vancouver Island, British Columbia. But there’s something magical about the endless expanse of badlands or a snowcapped mountain reflected in an azure alpine lake. So they made my list of the most beautiful places on earth.

I’ve done a lot of globe-trotting in my decade as a travel journalist. When şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř asked me to consider writing about the most beautiful wild places on earth, I immediately thought of Lagoa das Sete Cidades in the Azores, green-blue twin lakes within a crater, and the Na Pali Coast of Kauai, with emerald cliffs that tumble steeply to the sea.

But these places are already on most people’s radar, and the last thing I want is to contribute to overtourism. Instead, I came up with a list of stunning, lesser-known destinations that are also full of adventure potential. You’re going to be amazed.

I purposely highlighted more sites close to home to make this list accessible.ĚýMy biggest tip is to live in the moment when visiting these places—or any place that bowls you over. You can’t experience it fully if you’re glued behind your camera, shooting images to share. Here are my picks for the most beautiful places on earth.

1. Cedar Breaks National Monument, Utah

Why It Wows: Utah has an embarrassment of riches when it comes to otherworldly rocky landscapes, but the geologic amphitheater that is steals the show (entrance fee from $15). Rich mineral deposits in the cliffs and hoodoos resemble a sweeping sunset of orange, yellow, red, and purple. During July and early August, some 250-plus species of wildflowers bloom, creating a Technicolor landscape.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel: Tucked in the mountains 20 miles east of Cedar City, this three-mile-long cirque gets a sliver of the foot and vehicle traffic seen at nearby Bryce Canyon and Zion National Parks but offers just as many options for outdoor lovers. Because it’s located at an elevation of 10,000 feet, summer temperatures are comfortable, with highs hovering around 70 degrees.

Hikes range from the ADA-compliant, two-mile round-trip , which skirts part of the rim overlooking the amphitheater, to the 12.8-mile Rattlesnake Creek Trail, a two- to three-day hike in the Ashdown Gorge Wilderness that drops into the amphitheater.

Five miles north, is a mountain biker’s dream, with more than 100 miles of downhill singletrack and 100 miles of cross-country trails.

Stargazers know Cedar Breaks as a designated International Dark Sky Park. Every Sunday and Saturday from late May through early October, the monument offers free four-hour astronomy tours at the North View Overlook.

2. Peter Lougheed Provincial Park, Alberta

Why It Wows: Often referred to as Banff National Park’s lesser-known sister, this 76,800-acre patch of wilderness in the Canadian Rockies is the epitome of postcard perfection, with its snow-crowned peaks, sparkling alpine lakes, glacial streams, and evergreen valleys. In autumn the park is most dazzling, when larches’ needles turn gold and the trees are reflected in the lakes.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel: , 85 miles southwest of Calgary, is one of Canada’s most accessible parks, with multiple barrier-free trails wide enough to accommodate wheelchairs (entrance fee from $12).

Stay at , fresh off a $6 million renovation (from $21 for a campsite; from $31 for a cabin). It overlooks Lower Kananaskis Lake, prioritizes people with disabilities and seniors, and features 22 accessible cottages, plus 13 campsites, and 11 miles of accessible trails on-site.

The park is full of hiking and mountain-biking trails, as well as seven miles of paved biking paths. In fall, check out Elephant Rocks and Chester Lake via when it’s positively ablaze with yellow larches. In winter, bring along your cross-country-ski gear and spend a day on the park’s more than 50 miles of groomed trails.

In the area without your outdoor essentials? rents everything from canoes, kayaks, and paddleboards to e-bikes and full-suspension mountain bikes.

3. Lefkada Island, Greece

Why It Wows: Sea and sky meld together in an ombré of blues on this under-the-radar Ionian isle. Chalky cliffs and white-sand and pebble beaches also woo those in the know, but the interior is just as wondrous, filled with a dense forest of ancient oak, dramatic gorges, and tumbling waterfalls.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel: A five-hour drive west of Athens, Lefkada is one of the few Greek islands that doesn’t require a boat to reach—it’s connected to the mainland by a bridge. A playground for recreationists, you can spend days and biking its trails, or opt for guided or self-guided e-bike excursions with .

Windsurfers and kitesurfers head to Vasiliki, Ai Gianni, and Myli beaches. , in the village of Vasiliki, rents equipment and provides lessons. All of the beaches are stunners, but Egremni, on the southwest coast, is widely considered the prettiest in the country. Surrounded by limestone cliffs, you must hike a steep trail from the parking lot, then descend more than 300 stairs to reach the sand. Trust me, the effort is worth it.

4. Shariqiya Sands, Oman

Why It Wows: Stark and remote, this seemingly endless stretch of rippling, wind-sculpted dunes spans 5,000 square miles of Oman, a small sultunate on the southeastern tip of the Arabian Peninsula. The highest dunes—some as tall as 330 feet—are found closest to the coast. But the big reason to see these ever-shifting sands is to witness the mesmerizing way they change color from pale gold in the afternoon to deep amber and copper as the blazing sun cuts across the sky.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel: A three-hour drive south from the capital city of Muscat, this desert was recently renamed the Sharqiya Sands to reflect its geographic location more accurately (sharqiya comes from the Arabic word for “eastern”), but everybody still refers to the area by its former name, Wahiba Sands, a nod to the region’s Bani Wahiba tribe.

, an Oman adventure specialist with 17 years of experience in the country, sets up mobile camps deep within the desert and can arrange activities like sandboarding, camel safaris, dune driving, and visits with local Bedouin families (from $6,234 per couple for two nights, all-inclusive). Bonus: the lack of light pollution means campers are treated to incredibly clear, diamond-studded night skies.

5. Las Coloradas Lagoon, Yucatán, Mexico

Why It Wows: These glimmering cotton-candy-colored lakes pop against a backdrop of powdery white-sand beaches and pastel blue skies within the protected reserve of the RĂ­a Lagartos Biosphere. The lagoons get their blush tint from the plankton, red algae, and brine shrimp that thrive in the super salty waters.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel: The biosphere is off the beaten path—around three and a half hours from major tourist hubs like MĂ©rida, CancĂşn, and Playa del Carmen—and area accommodations are limited. Your best bets for an overnight stay are , a four-room, family-run eco-lodge in the reserve that also offers tours (from $95), or the in the sleepy nearby fishing town of RĂ­o Lagartos (from $66).

The biosphere is a birding paradise, home to 380 species, including 30,000 flamingoes that match the water. It’s also possible to spot spider monkeys, coatis, and jaguars, and from April and October, hawksbill and green turtles lay their eggs on the shores. Book a tour at the reserve’s visitor center for a better understanding of this ecosystem, but don’t plan on swimming here; as tempting as it might be to dive into the pink waters, the activity is prohibited, due to the high salinity and because the salt is harvested there for consumption.

6. Rio Sucuri, Brazil

Why It Wows: Eleven miles outside Bonito, the self-declared ecotourism capital of Brazil, you’ll find Rio Sucuri, whose Avatar-blue waters are considered some of the clearest on the planet. Set against the lush jungle, its spring-fed waters glow a surreal electric blue.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel: Bonito is located in the central-western state of Mato Grosso do Sul. It takes some effort to reach. After an approximate two-hour nonstop flight from SĂŁo Paulo to Campo Grande, it’s a three-and-a-half hour drive to Bonito; from there, the access point to Rio Sucuri is another 12 miles away.

and (from $160 and $160, respectively) are both great boutique stays around 50 minutes away, set on the banks of the Rio Formoso, another pristine, spring-fed waterway.

Rio Sucuri has been developed as an ecotourism project and can only be experienced with a guide. To reach the river’s headwaters, it’s a quarter-mile walk through the forest to a reception area at the São Geraldo ranch, which outfits everyone with a wetsuit and snorkel gear. Then you’ll board a boat for the quick ride upstream, where you’ll jump in and allow the gentle current to drift you back, lazy-river style.

You’ll no doubt spy pacu (a vegetarian piranha) and red-tailed pirapitanga darting between swaying emerald-green grasses. With exceptional visibility, you’ll feel like you’re floating in an aquarium.

7. Pico Ruivo, Madeira, Portugal

Why It Wows: Topping out at nearly 6,110 feet, Pico Ruivo is the third-highest point in Portugal and the tallest peak in the archipelago of Madeira. From the top, you’re rewarded with panoramic vistas of the entire archipelago.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel: Two trails lead to the summit. (PR 1.2) is the more direct route; it climbs 1.7 miles to the viewpoint. The more scenic path, however, is the 3.3-mile (one-way) (PR 1.1). Many consider this the most spectacular hike in all of Madeira. It crosses the island’s central massif, tunnels through volcanic tufts that once sheltered shepherds, and heads up steep slopes home to colossal urzes trees.

That said, it’s a test-your-mettle trek. Rise early to score parking at the trailhead at Pico Areeiro, the archipelago’s third-highest peak, and catch the sunrise before heading out.

8. Tarkine Rainforest, Tasmania, Australia

Why It Wows: The second-greatest expanse of cool temperate rainforest in the world could easily have been the inspiration for Fern Gully. Filtered light dances through the canopy of massive eucalyptus and leatherwoods, and velvety moss seems to cover everything. Hugging the island’s rugged northwest coast, the 900-plus-square-mile area boasts wild, remote beaches and sand dunes, waterfalls, and numerous sinkholes.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel: The coastal village of Arthur River is a good jumping-off point for forest and beach adventures, or base yourself at , 67 miles south, for immediate access to river activities (from $176). The hotel has a fleet of 16 canoes and kayaks to rent, and from there it’s a three-hour paddle down Pieman River to 130-foot-tall Lover’s Falls.

Hikes through this 65-million-year-old rainforest are magical. Tackle the 5.5-mile, out-and-back Whyte River and Savage River Trail, keeping an eye out for wallabies, pademelons, and platypuses, which tend to be more active at dawn and dusk. Eco-outfitter runs four-, five-, and six-day hiking and camping expeditions to the region’s most incredible spots.

9. The Sermilik Fjord, Greenland

Why It Wows: This 50-mile-long fjord in eastern Greenland spans is a frozen wonderland of luminous blue crystal cliffs, calving glaciers, and a flotilla of colossal icebergs.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel: Most visitors explore eastern Greenland by ship, but I like ’ new, climate-friendly, human-powered itinerary ($6,750 for eight days). You’ll explore the region on foot or by kayak, and sleep in tents and cabins. Inuit hunter and guide Jokum Heimer Mikaelsen, along with a guide from the Greenland mountaineering company , lead hikes up small mountains, into ice caves, and across glaciers and offer insight on how Native people forage on the tundra.

Powderhounds can discover the slopes on a ski-tour trip with (from $4,910 for eight days). Dogsleds and local boats are used to access different terrain each day.

10. Bisti/De-Na-Zin Wilderness, New Mexico

Why It Wows: These sprawling badlands look like a high-desert fantasy world dreamt up by Salvador DalĂ­. Shaped by wind and erosion, the hoodoos create a natural sculpture park, with rock formations resembling alien eggs and manta ray wings.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel: Two trailheads access the area’s 43,420 acres, both located less than an hour’s drive south of Farmington, New Mexico, or 90-minute drive south of Durango, Colorado. The Bisti Trail on the west side is the main portal and most popular, thanks to its moonscape-like terrain.

The De-Na-Zin Trail on the southeast side features less of the classic badlands topography but is still wildly beautiful. It starts out in sagebrush, transitions to juniper and eventually badlands studded with huge petrified logs and eroded cliffs and mesas.

Most visitors head to Instagram-sensation attractions like the Bisti Wings. But Stan Allison, an outdoor-recreation planner at the BLM Farmington Field Office, recommends a more exploratory approach. “Many of the unnamed areas have features that are just as interesting as the named ones,” he says. “I navigate by following the normally dry arroyos and then veering off or up side drainages when I see interesting features.”

Wheeled vehicles are not allowed on BLM land, and there are no designated hiking trails, so be sure to download a topographic map of your route to a well-charged phone ahead of your visit, because cell signals can be spotty. This is an area where packing a paper map and compass is also a smart idea.

Or considered a guided visit. The wilderness boundaries overlap parcels of private Navajo land, and offers five-hour trips that delve into the history of the area and its cultural significance to Indigenous people.

11. Bazaruto Archipelago, Mozambique

Why It Wows: I visited this archipelago of five dune islands almost a decade ago, and from the plane, they lookedĚýlike a white-and-aquamarine swirl-art painting. A designated national park, the marine life in its protected waters is as incredible as the powder-fine beaches. The archipelago lays claim to the second most diverse coral reefs in the world and supports over 2,000 species of fish, and on dive and snorkel excursions IĚýsaweverything from vivid corals and manta rays to reef sharks and even the endangered dugong.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel: The large coastal town of Vilanculos is the gateway to this cluster of islands, which can be reached by air via or by boat (most hotels provide complimentary boat transfers).

Bazaruto and Benguerra islands offer next-level offshore snorkeling and diving opportunities, as well as hiking/biking toĚý crocodile-filled inland lakes surrounded by towering sand dunes. It’s worth splurging on a stay at or , both barefoot-luxe eco-hotels on Benguerra Island (from $5,744 and $1,108, respectively). The resorts can organize sailing excursions on traditional dhow boats, kitesurfing lessons, kayak trips through mangroves, whale-watching excursions between July and October, and scuba-dive outings to famed sites like Two Mile Reef, accompanied by research scientists.

12. Miyazaki Prefecture, Japan

Why It Wows: Reminiscent of the wild beauty of Hawaii Island, this district in Japan’s southernmost island, Kyushu, has 250 miles of surf-blessed coast, active volcanic craters, and wild horses. More than 75 percent of the mountainous interior is covered with forests dotted with sacred shrines and cascading waterfalls.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel: Located on the east coast of Kyushu, Miyazaki is about a 90-minute flight from Tokyo’s Haneda Airport or a 60-minute flight from Osaka’s Itami Airport. Legendary waterman Kelly Slater has pilgrimaged here to ride waves, a testament to the area’s surf cred. The guide company offers surf trips led by local pros, and if you’re experienced, they’ll lead you to a secret big-wave spot that breaks from August to October.

A visit to Cape Toi, Miyazaki’s southernmost point, is a must. The scenery is straight out of a fairytale, with a seemingly endless panorama of sapphire ocean, a forest of rare, native sago palms, and 100 wild horses called Misaki-uma, considered a national treasure. Even cooler: you can camp here, at the (from $20).

13. Lake Willoughby, Vermont

Why It Wows: Nicknamed America’s Lucerne, this five-mile-long, glacier-carved lake is sandwiched between the fjord-like peaks of Mounts Pisgah and Hor. The water is remarkably clear, and come fall, it takes on the autumnal hues of the surrounding foliage—a gorgeous sight.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel: Situated in the heart of Vermont’s rural Northeast Kingdom, Willoughby State Forest encircles the lake’s southern end and is webbed with 12 miles of hiking trails. is a 2.5-mile out-and-back route with fantastic lake views.

Summer is the most popular season for boating, paddleboarding, and kayaking, and public beaches on its north and south ends are popular with swimmers and sun seekers (note that the latter is clothing optional). Willoughby is also a haven for anglers who come to hook jumbo trout and salmon. (Willoughby Lake Store, near Westmore, sells bait.) Visibility is so good some people even scuba dive here.

On the south side of the lake, the family-run has tent sites, RV hookups, and waterfront cabins, plus an on-site café and country store, plus kayak, canoe, and SUP rentals (from $38).

Jen Murphy is şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Online’s travel-advice columnist and a frequent contributor to the magazine. She dreams of returning to the Bazaruto Archipelago to dive its clear waters, and a camping trip in the desert of Oman is on her wish list.Ěý

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There’s no perfect trip. Despite the best planning, the unexpected happens, like the ferry service doesn’t run the only day you need it, or you didn’t know that there are two German towns named Frankfurt.

We asked our longtime travel writers and editors to tell us about their most memorable travel mistakes, the ones that taught them a significant lesson or two. Some of their stories made us chuckle, and most were relatable. If you’ve ever been seriously sick while abroad, frustrated with others on a group trip, or ignorant of the rules of the road in some foreign locale, you’ll appreciate these sticky situations.

1. Desperately Seeking Arctic Apparel

While on my first and only small-ship cruise along the southeast Alaskan coastline one September, I was so excited for the adventures ahead that I mistakenly left my luggage on the airport conveyor belt. The shuttle picking me up transported my group directly to the Mendenhall Glacier for an initial hike before dropping us off at the dock for departure. The boat had set sail before I realized that I had nothing more than the clothes on my back for a chilly seven-day itinerary. I was mortified.

Thankfully, the ship captain and company owner raided the vessel’s supply closet and were able to deck me out with a staff T-shirt and sweatshirt. An angel fellow passenger loaned me an extra puffy and a few essential layers. Disaster averted, with the help of a few kind people. —Stephanie PearsonĚý

2. Double-Check That Google Maps Route

After skiing powder all day in the Alpine mecca of Chamonix, France, my husband and I grabbed a baguette and a hunk of cheese and hit the road in our rental Peugeot bound for Tignes, France, the next stop on our winter European road trip.

Still giddy from our time at the iconic resort, we didn’t consult Google Maps as closely as we should have. It navigated us east through the Mont Blanc Tunnel—a seven-mile-long feat of engineering that cuts through the massif and connects Chamonix to the neighboring ski town of Courmayeur on the Italian side. The one-way toll costs about $55. Baffled but believing in Google Maps, we continued to follow the directions and enjoyed the finest of scenic drives for another 30 minutes. Then the cobbled streets turned into a one-lane dirt road that soon dead-ended at a snowbank, with skiers cruising atop it.

There was nothing to do but turn around and try a different route, which, of course, directed us back through the tunnel (forcing us to pay again) and added several hours to a long day. But it made for a good story afterward. —Megan Michelson

3. Pack Back-Up Meds in Case You Get Sick

I habitually get sick in foreign countries. I’ve suffered numerous bouts of strep throat while visiting family in Sweden, food poisoning on a rural train in northern India, and came down with scarlet fever on a five-day backpacking trip in the remote Alaskan bush. That last trip was a turning point for me. I now always carry antibiotics with me when I travel. —Emily Pennington

4. Why Overpreparing Isn’t a Bad Idea

I was invited to Nepal in 2003 to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the first ascent of Mount Everest. I signed up for a 30-day trip with an outfitter that took the scenic route from the steamy jungle up over a series of very high passes, including 19,100-foot Amphu Labtsa La, and back down into Tengboche, the original base camp for the 1953 climb, which was hosting a big celebration.

The trek was absolutely stunning and supremely remote. It was also nerve-wracking. Every day we had reports that Maoists were going to intercept us. That never happened, but incompetence among some in our own group proved to be far more dangerous.

The crux of the trip was an almost impossible ask: we had to summit a “minor” 17,000-foot pass, cross an ice field, and then get both up and down Amphu Labsta La— all in a day.

I was toward the front of the group when I reached the top of Amphu Labsta La in the afternoon and took a gander at the descent. What I saw terrified me: a 50-degree slope of solid blue ice running at least 400 feet. Getting everyone down was going to be a huge ordeal, since not everyone could rappel on their own.

We ended up having to sleep atop the pass for two nights. Because much of the clients’ gear had been lowered with the porters after the initial night (everyone thought the full group would have rappelled down that day), we found ourselves stranded atop the peak with insufficient equipment. A quick tally revealed we had just three tents, three sleeping bags, and two sleeping pads for 11 people. Four of us piled into my three-person tent, and I spread my sleeping bag as best as I could over us. I didn’t sleep at all, just shivered and prayed a storm wouldn’t roll in. At first light, exhausted and pissed off at how miserable I’d been, I packed up, clipped into the rope down the pass, and rappelled myself, not waiting for anyone to lower me. You can bet I partied my ass off when we finally got to Tengboche. —Tim Neville

6. Bugged Out

Failing to zip my backpack after sleeping outside in the jungle of Panama had me toting not one, not two, but three massive (and I mean massive) cockroaches with me back to the Panama City hotel where I stayed the night at before my flight home. Between the surprise discovery and the aftermath of dealing with them, I got zero sleep and am still haunted to this day. —Stephanie Vermillion

7. Renting a Car in a Foreign Country Can Come with Pricey Curveballs

In 2019, my wife and I bought cheap tickets to Milan, rented a Fiat, and road-tripped through northern Italy. It was thrilling to speed on the mountainous highways and cruise through quaint villages via winding roads that topped out on ridgelines with views of the Mediterranean below. Because it was spring, there were few tourists, so we’d simply park, walk around visiting a plaza or ancient buildings and churches, and continue on. It was all perfect—until we got home.

On a monthly basis, I started getting fines in the mail—for improper parking, speeding, and driving in restricted residential areas without the requisite permit. At first I thought this was a mistake. Then I realized that every fine was in the place we’d visited that day.

After paying hundreds of Euros in penalties, I swore off ever traveling to Italy again. I took to retelling the story of my travails to any Italian who would listen, only to discover this is a common occurrence. One Italian told me that when he returns home, he borrows his mom’s car, breaks countless rules, and racks up ticket after ticket.

My stance on Italy has since softened, but I still get occasional fines in the mail. I refuse to pay them and try to view them as mementos of one of the best trips of my life. —Ryan Krogh

8. Start Earlier than You Think You Need To

Lesson one: Don’t underestimate the approach to a backcountry cabin. My friends and I had booked the Eiseman, a popular Tenth Mountain Division hut in the Gore Range outside Vail, Colorado, and getting there required a six-mile ski tour with nearly 3,000 feet of elevation gain. No problem, we thought. We were a hardy crew of experienced backcountry skiers.

What we didn’t consider was that April’s warming temperatures had turned the snowpack to mush. Combined with a later than expected afternoon departure, the soft, sticky snow glommed to our skins, making travel considerably slow and challenging.

Lesson two: Less is more in the backcountry. We naively stuffed our packs with margarita fixings, avocados, jars of salsa, a foam roller. Needless to say, the ski in took twice as long as expected—we didn’t get to the hut until after dark—and half our crew ended up dropping gear there and returning to lighten the load of the slower folks. We were a total junk show. That said, the taco party sure was fun. â€Äâ.˛Ń.

9. The Pitfalls of an Undocumented Pilgrim

When I thru-hiked Spain’s Camino de Santiago, I carried the obligatory pilgrim’s passport—a thin leaflet littered with official stamps, tucked in a protective plastic bag. It proved I’d walked what amounted to nearly a marathon a day, and it was also my ticket into cheap albergues: glorified hostels reserved solely for pilgrims, where I could soak my feet, thread blisters, rinse my clothes, and crash hard before rising to repeat it all again.

But one day near the end of the trek, in Galicia, a massive storm rolled in while I was eating a sandwich on the side of the road. I hastily repacked my gear and booked the remaining four miles to the nearest town. When I arrived at the albergue that evening, soaking wet and exhausted, I couldn’t find my pilgrim’s passport, and no pleading with the check-in lady in Spanish would persuade her to give me a bunk without it.

So I retraced my steps, blisters bursting, leg muscles screaming, my head hammered by hail, until I found it blown up against a fence near where I’d stopped for lunch. I never misplaced that passport again. —Patty Hodapp

10. A Different Kind of Wildlife-Watching

Last year on an off-trail backpacking trip to Wrangell–St. Elias National Park, I learned the importance of carrying two to three days of extra food in Alaska. My group was dropped off by a bush plane for a five-day expedition and halfway through the trip, an adolescent grizzly bear ran off with one of our bear cans packed with food. We had to ration supplies for our remaining time, but fortunately, our resourceful guide cobbled together some pretty creative and delicious meals for the final two days. â€Ě§.±Ę.

11. A Case for the Carry-on

At the check-in counter for my flight to Germany, where I’d be joining friends to climb in the , I noticed that airline personnel were chatting as they tagged bags. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: Always look at the tag before your bag sails away. But I didn’t.

I arrived in Nuremberg to watch an unfamiliar duffle bag circle around on the carousel, while someone in Newfoundland was looking at mine. I was in northern Bavaria in late autumn, with no sleeping bag, tent, or puffy jacket. I did have my climbing shoes and harness in my carry-on, so I went on to a house in nearby Erlangen owned by extremely generous German climbers, who were letting some of our group occupy their basement.

When I explained my dilemma to the leading free climber (RIP and bless him forever), he shrugged, waved me toward his closet, and told me to take any of his clothes. There was only one problem: I’m five foot seven, while he was easily six foot one. I wore his stuff for two days. —Alison Osius

12. Frostbite Has Never Felt So Imminent

When I camped on the Greenland Ice Sheet two years ago, I learned the hard way to test my gear before bringing it on a trip. I brought “waterproof gloves” that actually weren’t waterproof at all. My hands were soaked and freezing within minutes of pitching my tent in a very wet, cold snowstorm. It was 14 degrees out. The next morning I had to thaw the gloves over the mess-tent cookstove. —S.V.

13. Tetotaling at Elevation

Alcohol and altitude don’t mix, a rule of thumb that took me two notable times in my life to learn. Once I flew from New York City (sea level) to Vail, Colorado, (8,239 feet) for a fun trip with a friend who was writing a story about a professional skier. The skier was going to take us all around the mountain to his favorite spots. The night before, I enjoyed two large glasses of red wine at dinner but had failed to drink much water that day. I woke up nauseous at 2 A.M., threw up for the next three hours, and missed the ski tour.

The second time I was in Chile’s Atacama Desert, located at 8,200 feet. I was staying at a gorgeous lodge with fantastic food and wine. This was a few years after Vail, and I had long forgotten that incident. So when the beautiful Chilean cabernet was served at dinner, I drank it, but I was hugging the porcelain again early the next morning. I missed an amazing hike up a volcano. Suffice it to say I now don’t drink at altitude and focus on hydrating instead. —Mary Turner

14. Tiny Things That Bite When You Least Expect It

I was working for the student newspaper at Montana State University when I got a fax announcing ridiculously low airfare to Costa Rica for spring break, so my brother, girlfriend, and I all went down there to dirtbag it for a week. We were poor, so we packed hammocks, intending to string them between trees on the beach and sleep there.

We made our way to Montezuma, on the Nicoya Peninsula, which back then had one restaurant and a few houses on sandy “streets.” It was pitch-black when we arrived at the beach, and none of us had a headlamp. My feet felt wet as we crossed what must have been a small stream slipping out of the jungle through leaves. But then the sensation changed and my legs and feet exploded in what felt like fire.

“Ants!” my brother yelled. We’d stumbled right into either a nest or a train of fire ants that proceeded to bite the piss out of our legs. There was nothing to do but strip down and race for the ocean, which we also couldn’t see. Waking up to howler monkeys and swimming the next morning made everything right. —T.±·.

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