Typically, the winter holiday season is the busiest—and priciest—across Hawaii. And for good reason: the surf turns epic and the state’s balmy, palm-swept beaches look extra dreamy as temperatures start to fall precipitously on the mainland. But after unprecedented wildfires swept across Maui this summer, tourists have been wary to visit not just Maui, but other islands as well.

What this has meant for America’s paradise is hard times—tourism generates nearly a quarter of its economy. The economic loss for Maui alone, both in business sales and visitor spending, is estimated to be $11 million a day, according to the Hawaii Tourism Authority, and the fires’ impact has had a ripple effect across the state. Visitor arrivals decreased significantly this summer and are predicted to remain flat this fall but possibly grow again in December.

Jonathan Wilt, a spokesperson for Hawaii Forest and Trail, a tour operator on Hawaii Island, says the company was rocked by cancellations in recent months, something he attributes to the fires. Travelers were most likely on an interisland itinerary, he reasoned, and with the news of the fires, they canceled their entire trip. “All of the islands could use additional guests visiting their places of business in the near future, us included,” says Wilt. Many small businesses on Maui, such as Hali’imaile General Store—located upcountry, more than 30 miles from the shoreline blazes—have had to reduce their hours, if not temporarily close.

More than a few Hawaiians have called the scenario reminiscent of the pandemic.

Brett Sheerin, owner of Maui True North, which offers surf and kitesurf lessons, says it’s been surviving only because locals have booked its services of late. He put it succinctly: “Few tourists have been coming. It’s a huge crisis on top of a tragedy.”

I also understand that there are mixed opinions after a disaster of what is best for the people on the ground who have lost the most. I reported a story right after the Maui fires that addressed this and also a more widely reported story on how to decide when it’s okay to return to a destination after a disaster. While some businesses in West Maui, the area hardest hit by the fires, are eager to get back to work, many locals feel it is too soon after such devastating losses for tourist to return and have have petitioned the state government to postpone the October 8th reopen date.

Other parts of Maui are open and ready for tourists, as are the rest of the islands. As with any place, visit mindfully and respectfully and consider using your tourism dollars, on any island, in ways that will help rebuilding efforts, support locals who heavily rely on tourism for their livelihoods, and give local economies on the islands a boost.

In an effort to woo back visitors, a number of hotels, restaurants, and tour operators are offering deals now and through the end of year. There will also likely be fewer crowds. But the main reason to book a vacation to Hawaii this season is because you’re giving back during a time when residents need it most and you can organize a thoughtful itinerary by using properties donating portions of their profits to helping other locals. Here’s where to look.

Score Deals on Flights

Beginning November 1, Hawaiian Airlines will launch several holiday offers, including HawaiianMiles partner promotions, gift-card deals, and special Black Friday and Cyber Monday sales on select routes, including those to and from mainland U.S. and between the Hawaiian Islands.

Save on Hotels

Hotels are often the biggest expense of a Hawaii getaway. New fall deals, many of which extend through year’s end, can save you up to 30 percent off nightly rates.

On Oahu, hip newcomer Wayfinder Waikiki is extending a through December 31, which includes up to 20 percent off rates, plus a waived amenity fee and a $25 daily food-and-beverage credit. If you’re willing to become a (free of charge), you can save up to 25 percent off ocean-view rooms and 50 percent off resort charges at the Prince Waikiki.

On the Island of Hawaii, Hilton Waikoloa Village recently launched a fall promotion offering up to 30 percent off nightly stays, and if you take advantage of Mauna Lani’s , you can enjoy up to 25 percent off nightly rates.

Kauai’s newest property, the eco-minded 1 Hotel Hanalei Bay, is offering discounts of up to 30 percent, plus up to $800 in resort credits through the property’s . The package at Ko’a Kea Resort on Poipu Beach includes a fourth night free, a $5 donation to a local ocean-education nonprofit, and an opportunity to participate in a beach clean-up.

And on Maui, condo-rental property Kaanapali Alii has packages of up to 15 percent off through December 15, and is donating $50 for each reservation to the People’s Fund of Maui through the end of the year. The 70-acre, oceanfront Hana-Maui Resort is offering 15 percent off (use code 15OFF) to encourage travelers to use Hana as a base for exploration.

Castle Resorts, which has 20 properties throughout Hawaii, including Ala Moana Hotel on Oahu and Hilo Hawaiian Hotel on Hawaii Island, recently launched its , with up to 30 percent off bookings through December 15. You can save up to 25 percent off nightly stays at any of Outrigger Resorts and Hotels’ nine properties across the islands, including the Outrigger Waikiki Beachcomber Hotel on Oahu and the Outrigger Kona Resort and Spa on Hawaii Island; check out the brand’s . And if you’re game to volunteer, you can earn a free night at any Marriott Bonvoy property in the islands, such as Marriott’s Kauai Beach Club and the Laylow on Oahu, through the brand’s .

Restaurant Reservations Are Easier than Ever (and Will Do Good)

Reservations at Mama’s Fish House, a 42-table institution on Maui’s North Shore, usually book out a year in advance. Locals have been taking advantage of canceled dinner bookings, says owner Karen Christenson, but you can walk in for lunch (which serves the same menu)—something unheard of. Christenson notes that dining at Mama’s doesn’t just help the Maui economy. “We buy from farmers on the Big Island and Kauai, and fishermen on Molokai,” she says. “When we don’t have guests, they feel it.”

Matteo’s Osteria, a beloved Italian restaurant and wine bar in Wailea, Maui, is donating 20 percent of all sales to local disaster relief.

Through the end of December, the Four Seasons Resort Maui at Wailea will host Love for Lahaina, a series of pop-up dinners to support the hospitality industry and farmers directly impacted by the fires. The first event was hosted by James Beard Award nominee Lee Anne Wong, who lost her Lahaina restaurant, Papa’aina, to the blazes.

The Marriott Waikiki Collection of hotels (, , , and , all on Oahu) is offering a Mai Tais and Burgers for Maui special: one dollar from every cocktail and burger sold will go toward the Aloha for Sheraton Maui Ohana Relief Fund through the end of the year.

The Places You Visit on Your Trip Can Help Maui Recovery Efforts

Still other hotels and tour operators across the islands are donating portions of profits to relief causes, which you can help bolster during your trip. The Kaimana Beach Hotel, on Oahu, has pledged to donate $20 for every booking through the end of 2023 to partners that include the Hawaii Community Foundation’s Maui Strong Fund and the Council for Native Hawaiian Advancement’s Kako’o Maui Fund.

On Hawaii Island, Volcano Village Lodge and Volcano Village Estates are donating 20 percent of every new booking for stays happening now through November 15 to support Maui wildfire victims. And the Four Seasons Resort Maui at Wailea’s donates up to $200 to the Maui Strong Fund for every night that you stay through December 15.

Tour operators are also funneling funds to Maui charities. Redline Rafting, which offers snorkeling tours of Molokini (off Maui), whale-watching trips, and guided hikes in Haleakala National Park, is donating proceeds from every tour booked to the Community Recovery Fund. Or book its special charity tours, which donate 100 percent of the proceeds to wildfire-recovery efforts.

And if you’ve always wanted to see the coastline from above, Maverick Helicopters on Maui has launched a give-back promotion through the end of 2023 that contributes $10 for every purchased seat on any tours.

Whale season starts in October and is especially good off the coast of Maui. The will be offering 20 percent off its through the rest of the year.

Paradise Helicopters, based in Kona on Hawaii Island, has introduced a handful of for October, which the company says will likely run through the end of the year. You can save $50 off all tours from Waimea on Hawaii Island and the Turtle Bay Resort on Oahu (use code PP50) and $75 off all tours from Kona and Hilo on Hawaii Island (code PP75). When you book six seats on its Kohala Coast and Waterfalls tour on Hawaii Island, you can get them at $299 per seat versus $420, and if you book four seats on the Lava Rainforest șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Tour on Hawaii Island, you can purchase them forÌę $349 per person instead of $469.

You can also save big on exclusive heli charters when you donate to the . Donate $750 and you get a free landing (which typically costs $1,825). With a donation of $1,200, you’ll receive a bottle of champagne to go along with that landing (a $2,787.50 value).

Finally, it’s worth keeping in mind that fewer visitors mean fewer crowds at some of the islands’ key attractions, like the Road to Hana in Maui. “This is a wonderful time to take the bucket list-worthy drive,” says Jon Benson, general manager of Hana-Maui Resort. “We are surrounded by unmatched hikes, waterfalls, lava tubes, and a bamboo forest.”

*This story has been updated to reflect a petition from many locals asking the Hawaii state government to postpone the opening date for West Maui.*

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű correspondent Jen Murphy lives part time in Maui and has been encouraging her friends to visit this holiday season to help bolster the local economy after the fires.Ìę

The post Your Tourism Dollars Can Help Hawaii Right Now appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Put off by summer’s heat, crowds, and high prices, many of our editors pushed their big travel plans to fall this year. They’re also not explicitly headed to do any leaf-peeping but rather are intent on bagging a peak or two in the Berkshires, surfing the swell in Maine, forest-bathing in Japan, and giving van life a go in New Zealand (where it will soon be spring), among other active pursuits.ÌęOne editor was so excited about her upcoming trip, she guiltily confessed she’d been “trying not to wish away the summer.” Here’s what’s in the works.

Keeping the Love Alive in Savannah and Surrounds

My husband and I willÌęhead to Savannah, Georgia, to celebrate our first anniversary. I was skeptical when he suggested it—Savannah is flat, and I imagined climbing a massive mountain near our home in Taos, New Mexico—but after Google revealed a shocking amount of wilderness nearby, I got on board. Here’s why I’m stoked: We’ll post up at the downtown Kimpton Brice Hotel (a sweet splurge for us, as we’reÌęchronic campers), where we can walk to several city parks and the Savannah River. The hotel offers free bikes, so we plan to cruise the cobblestone streets and then hit Truman Linear Park Trail and Lake Mayer Park, stopping for fresh seafoodÌę(a luxury we don’t have in the high desert). On the day of our anniversary, we’ll ferry to Tybee Island, a paddling mecca just 18 miles east. We’ll rent kayaks from , scope out sheltered waters between the 1,200 or so surrounding barrier islands, and picnic from the boats before renewing our vows at the Tybee Island Lighthouse. Then it’s back to town and the bar to wrap up the trip. One of the many reasons I married this wonderful man is because he plans unexpected adventures that wouldn’t otherwise be on my radar. —Patty Hodapp, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online interim digital director

Freewheeling on New Zealand’s South Island

My son is studying in New Zealand, so I’m inspired to do something I’ve always dreamed of: live the van life, if only for a while. I’m headed to the South Island in mid-October and have reserved a sweet rig from for about a month. Other than that, my plans are loosey-goosey. I’ll road-trip around in search of the best “freedom-camping” spots: some 500 locations that are free but offer basic amenities.ÌęMy friend Patrice La Vigne wrote a book about her exploration of the country, ÌęandÌęI’ve already cherry-picked some of her favorite spots, including the Queen Charlotte Track and the Nelson Lakes and Aoraki/Mount Cook National Parks, to name a few. I’ll hang in Wanaka for a few days—a supercool mountain town, kind of like the Chamonix of New Zealand—and I’ll check out Queenstown and probably indulge in a or two (according to Patrice, the city’sÌęiconic fast-food joint is not to be missed). When my son finishes up his semester in mid-November, I’ll pick him up in Christchurch and we’ll hit the Kepler Track, one of the country’s ten Great Walks. —Kristin Hostetter, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Inc. head of sustainability and contributing editor

Getting Off the Tourist Track in Japan

Japan has long been on my bucket list, but I didn’t want to take a group tour and was afraid the language barrier would prevent me from adequately planning a trip myself. How wrong I was—you don’t, in fact, need a travel agent or tour operator to build your own trip to this country, but you will need time for research. In mid-October, my brother and I are flying into Osaka and will stay two nights at a ryokan in Kyoto, then fly south to the island of Yakushima, a Unesco World Heritage site whose ancient cedar forests set the scene for Studio Ghibli’s film Princess Mononoke. (I highly recommend the outfitter , whose staff promptly emailed responses and booked our accommodations, a guided hike and stand-up-paddleboard river tour, and a rental car). After roaming around there, we’ll hop an hourlong flight to the city of Fukuoka to pick up another rental car,Ìęand then off we’ll drive to the onsen community of Kurokawa, two hours southeast, for forest bathing while we soakÌęin various hot springs. I’m looking forward to wearing the yukata (a casual kimono) as we walk from bathhouse to bathhouse. We’ll return to Fukuoka, board the bullet train to Osaka (a limited-service that runs this route is just the cutest), and spend our last days hiking two sections of the Kumano Kodo pilgrimage trail. Props to the tourism bureau that maintains this for English speakers: it answered all of our questions, on baggage transfer, nightly stays, bus service, altitude gain and loss, and estimated hiking duration. Aside from feeling anxious about driving on the opposite side of the road, and possibly getting lost, I’m fully confident that this is going to be a bucket-list adventure for the books. —Tasha Zemke, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűÌęmagazine associate managing editor

Running the Desert in Perfect Weather in Joshua Tree

I’m heading to Joshua Tree National Park to race a half marathon with my mom in November. Fall is a great time to visit this national park in California, as the weather cools down from the scorching summer heat, so you can enjoy exploring without feeling like you’re melting. And while the nights can get a little chilly, it’s nothing a cozy jacket can’t handle. We’ve chosen to stay at , a chic and modern cluster of spacious Airstream campers and cabins. A hike around the park is a must! You’ll come across crazy Joshua trees that look like something out of a Dr. Seuss book, cool rock formations, and even hidden oases that you won’t believe exist in the desert. (I like the , a three-mile out-and-back.) Oh, and the sunsets here are mind-blowing. Joshua Tree is also a hub for bouldering, with loads of granite formations to climb, no matter your skill level. In town, don’t miss the Joshua Tree Coffee Company, just a block from the park’s visitor center. Its espresso con panna will wake you right up. —Sierra Shafer, Ski magazine editor in chief

Hiking the Hills over a Wedding Weekend in Williamstown

Over Labor Day, my husband, Mike, and I will travel to Williamstown, in northwestern Massachusetts, for the wedding of a dear former coworker. It will be a reunion, with others from the old crew at Big Stone Publishing coming in from London, Las Vegas, and Asheville, North Carolina. Mike and I will fly into Albany, New York, 40 miles west, on Friday. I always figure that you can hike—or walk, in a city or a park—in most places, even if a trip is not recreational. Of course, it helps that we’re headed to a hiking haven like the Berkshires. For Saturday I’ve pegged , a three-to-four-mile out-and-back up 1,893-foot Pine Cobble Mountain, where we can look out over historic Williamstown (once Mohican hunting grounds, and settled by others in 1749) and the Hoosic River valley. I hope to rally friends! Before the ceremony, we have a window where we could walk around the Clark Art Institute, with its marble gallery, backdrop of rolling green hills, and 140 acres of wooded trails. Mike also wants to head up 3,491-foot Mount Greylock, the highest peak in the state, boasting a 90-mile view; for Greylock, we could fit in the 2.6-mile before flying home late Monday afternoon (the 5.5-mile also looks great but would necessitate way too early a start). And we might as well pack climbing shoes in case of available bouldering. (I wonder if we could pass as students at the Williams College wall?) The town has a good farm-to-table scene, and my friend recommends Mezze, though pricey. Another option, the Barn looks casual, just right. —Alison Osius, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűÌęmagazine senior editor

Celebrating the End of a National șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű in Hawaii

This fall I’m completing a challenge a quarter-century in the making. I grew up going on a bunch of road trips (the most notable being a 19-day, 5,000-mile adventure with my parents and brother in the family Prius), and before I was even able to drive, I’d already visited 30 states. So I turned my penchant for road trips into a project to visit all 50 states before my 25th birthday. The only criteria: I had to do something fun or memorable in each state, and layovers didn’t count. Everyone always asks what my least favorite states have been; I don’t have a least favorite, because there’s something in every state for everyone. That said, I do have two favorites: Utah and Vermont. I love hiking through red rocks and dense hardwood forests, and I’ve gone back many times just to hit my favorite trails in both locales. As the clock ticks closer to my birthday in mid-November, there’s only one state left to check off: Hawaii. I thought it fitting to visit the 50th state as my 50th and final one. I have big plans to fly to Kauai and hike the in Na Pali Coast State Wilderness Park. Because it won’t beÌępeak season, wasn’t too hard. My dream is to cap off that day with a hefty scoop of Hanalei Sunrise ice cream at Pink’s Creamery. Or maybe two scoops. It is my birthday, after all. —Emma Veidt, Backpacker assistant editor

Anticipating a HomecomingÌęin Asheville

My mom grew up in Asheville, North Carolina, and has always wanted to show my brothers and me around her hometown. My boyfriend has ties there, too—his sister moved there from New Mexico several years ago. So I’m headed to this popular outdoor destination in October with both my parents, my siblings, and my partner for four days. We’ve rented a home on a nice plot of land just outside of town, where we’ll be able to have campfires and soak in a hot tub under the stars. Hopefully our trip will happen right as the leaves are firing in all their fall colors. It’s an active bunch, so we’ll hike, maybe ride some singletrack, or fly-fish for trout in the streams of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Beyond that, we’re excited to sample the highly touted food and drink scene. My boyfriend’s sister runs The Garden, a food truck that often posts up at one of three Wedge brewery locations around town, so we’ll definitely check that out. șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű has also run some great stories about Asheville recently, with recommendations from singer Angel Olsen on her favorite hangouts and tips from other locals, so we’ll consult those when planning our day-to-day. –Abigail Barronian, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűÌęmagazine senior editor

Larch-Peeping Beneath the Peaks of the Dolomites

For part of a longer trip to Europe this fall, I’ve carved out a weekend in the Italian Dolomites when the larches change color. As deciduous conifers (which feels like an oxymoron but surprisingly isn’t), larchesÌęhave needles that turn yellow before droppingÌęoff each autumn. I’ve been obsessed with these weird and wonderful trees since I first saw a photo of them in Washington’s Cascades, and was delighted to learn that they grow thickly near the Italian ski town of Cortina d’Ampezzo. My husband and IÌębooked a bed-and-breakfast in town—the options are many, and quite affordable in the autumn off-season—and plan to spend a few days in late October hiking through the forests under the towering peaks. While I have more trails on my list than I know we’ll be able to accomplish, I’m most excited for the 7.8-mile Croda da Lago circuit. The highlight of this moderate day hike is Lago Federa, a larch-ringed lake beneath the face of one of this area’s most distinct peaks.ÌęLunch at Rifugio Palmieri, one of the only mountain huts in the region that stays open through October, is a no-brainer. —Mikaela Ruland, National Park Trips associate content director

Surfing and Kayaking in Maine

I grew up visiting Maine almost every summer, but next month I’ll be traveling to Portland for the first time, for my older brother’s wedding. Both my brother and his fiancĂ©e also went to school in Maine (she’s a many-generation Mainer), soÌęit feels bizarre that I haven’t been to the state’s largest cityÌęyet. We’re staying in an Airbnb close to the wedding-party venue—, an old church turned restaurant—in between the West End and Old Port districts. The neighborhood is a ten-minute walk from the harbor, where we plan to rent some sea kayaks and explore the plethora of islands that dot Casco Bay. So far my summer has mostly consisted of outings on rivers and lakes, so I can’t wait to get some ocean time in. And if I can swing it, I’ll go surfing at Higgins Beach, nine miles south of Portland. Fall is the best time to surf in New England, and by mid-September there should be some good swells. I also can’t wait to check out Portland’s burgeoning food scene. My friends tell me the is a special low-key place to get a lobster roll overlooking the ocean. —Kelly Klein, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűÌęmagazine associate editor

The post We’re Headed to These șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Destinations This FallÌę appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

This was the summer we all longed to get back out there, despite skyrocketing gas prices and long flight delays. From close-to-home adventures to far-flung explorations, here’s where some șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű editors traveled this season, their secret finds, and the gear that made their trips all that much better.

Lake Tahoe, California

My childhood girlfriends and I get together once a year to catch up and spend a long weekend outdoors, usually doing an activity we’d never otherwise do by ourselves. This summer we settled on Lake Tahoe and spent one beautiful morning on the California side tackling a via ferrata at theÌęÌęresort, run byÌę. The local outfitter leads two-, three-, and four-hour guided excursions; we opted for the three-hour Loophole tour (from $155), which, my thigh muscles agreed later, was the best choice. You’re equipped with a helmet and a harness that clips on a steel cable running the route’s length, and you scale rungs and footholds along the way, ascending 500 feet elevation and then topping out at 7,100 feet before descending in a belay-like manner (which was scarier for me than the ascent). A few of the granite faces felt significant to most of us—and, as someone with short legs, the traverses between gappy points were daunting—but the views over Olympic Valley were spectacular and the whole adventure felt empowering. Twice I couldn’t find my footing and my brain started to veer toward panic, but as our guides reminded us (because several of us asked, several times), no one has suffered a fatal accident on these via ferratas since their installation in 2018. Even little kids can hack it (we saw a brave group of them headed up while we were headed down, which both impressed us and made us feel sheepish). It was a lot of fun and even my friends who thought they’d bail initially out of fear felt thrilled by the end.

Gear I’m Glad I Had:ÌęWork gloves. Alpenglow sells climbing gloves for $3, but I brought a pair of my husband’s and, even a size too big, I was glad to have them to grip the steel cable, which can feel wieldy and get hot.

—Tasha Zemke, associate managing editor

Kauai, Hawaii

In August, my partner and I went to Kauai for the first time. We found a small VRBO house to rent on Hanalei Bay, on the island’s north shore. I’d wake up in the morning and walk a few minutes down the beach into the small town of Hanalei for a fresh vegetable green juice from the , then we’d plan an adventure for the day. My favorite outing was a hike to the 300-foot Hanakapiai Falls on the , located along the spectacular Na Pali Coast starting in Haena State Park. Someone had told me beforehand that this was the hike of a lifetime, and I was like, There’s no way it will live up to that. But it did. It’s freakin’ gorgeous—and steep—with occasional precipitous edges along a sheer cliff dropping hundreds of feet into the turquoise Pacific Ocean. A picturesque beach at the start of the trail called Kee has great snorkeling; then, two miles into the trail, you reach another beautiful beach (where swimming isn’t allowed, due unpredictable tides and rip currents); from there it’s another two miles to the waterfall and its freshwater pool, which you can jump into—and will want to—to cool off. The hike took us six hours round trip. Definitely pack a picnic lunch and plenty of water. You’ll need a reservation to hike, which is good, because the trail is no longer overloaded with tourists. (Make your reservation and sign up for a shuttle ride to the park .) Another fun outing was a trip along the road north out of Hanalei, which is packed with stunning beaches. We spent a day exploring them, landing at to snorkel. If you’re a surfer, you probably know that, in summer, the swells are on Kauai’s south side, so we headed to Poipu one day to check out the rowdy waves at Shipwreck Beach. The north side of the island is rainier and tucked into mist-covered mountains, but the south side is drier and feels like endless summer. In retrospect, I wish we’d split our time between the two, staying a few nights on each. We didn’t make it to the island’s on this trip either—a vast Grand Canyon–like region on the west side for hiking. Probably because we spent a lot of time eating! Hanalei has a delicious food-truck scene; I particularly loved yummy salads made from local greens. We had a festive meal at Ama, a ramen restaurant in Hanalei with a lawn that looks out on the mountains (make reservations well in advance). The best fish tacos we found were at the casual . And of course, you’ve gotta have the shaved ice at the stand and check out the farmers’ market in the village of Waipa, where we picked up some mango and freshly baked banana bread. If you have time on your way to the airport, in the town of Lihue, stop at for some noodles. It’s a diner-like, family-owned spot in a small blue house that offers counter service. Its delicious noodle soup made the red-eye flight home afterward a little less painful.

Gear I’m Glad I Had: I recommend good trail shoes for hiking, and trekking poles if you use them—many hikes are steep. My came in handy when wading over slippery rocks into the waterfall pool, as did a Hydro Flask, which kept my water cold on a hot day. Finally, pack the lightest Capilene quick-dry shirts you have, a pair of sunglasses, and a rash guard for snorkeling and surfing.

—Mary Turner, deputy editor

Northern New Mexico

My six-month-old, Beckett, has thrown a wrench into my typical summer adventures—but in the best way. This year, instead of my usual nonstop weekend climbing, running, and camping trips, I’ve embraced a slower pace. Enter my summer of micro adventures. My favorite close-to-home outing involved hikingÌęin New Mexico’s Santa Barbara Canyon in early June, just before our crazy wildfires started. There are a few stunning trails right by the 29-site , located about 60 miles northeast of Santa Fe, within Carson National Forest.ÌęWeÌęfollowed one that zigzagged over a creek; its super gentle incline would make it a great running spot, too. But I can’t lie: the best part of our adventure was ending in nearby Peñasco at , the most deliciousÌębakeryÌęin northern New Mexico, for brunch. Order the green chile burger ($14), the buttermilk waffles ($12), or any of the often locally sourced seasonal specials. Every single cake there will be your favorite. Pro tip: beat the crowd on Sundays and you’ll get a complimentary scone with homemade berry jam while you wait for your order.

Gear I’m Glad I Had:Ìę, a hand-me-down from a colleague, is by far our most-used carrier out of the five in our home. It transitions from back- to front-facing andÌęwe’ve been using it since Beckett was a month or so old. It’s adjustable but streamlined, without an overwhelming number of straps and ties, and is soft as can be, which makes it comfy for both my baby and me.

—Abigail Wise, digital managing director

Singapore

In a city known for its equatorial humidity, futuristic skyscrapers, and ostentatious wealth, you might not expect to find a cool, quiet oasis of green taking up nearly 203 acres of primo downtown real estate in Singapore. Yet just a stone’s throw from the ultra-luxury boutiques on Orchard Road is the national Botanic Gardens, a verdant escape from the congestion and noise generated by 5.7 million people. The only tropical garden designated as a Unesco World Heritage site, this lush park features thousands of flower, tree, and bird species, which you can admire on trails that meander delightfully in no particular direction. If you have only one day to visit, start with a picnic lunch beneath one of the gazebos or shade trees beside Swan Lake. Then make a loop along the eastern edge of the park via the , to the Healing Garden, and back to the National Orchid Garden—an extraordinarily diverse and colorful collection of constantly blooming flowers (and the only area that charges a fee). For dinner, walk just a few blocks west on Holland Road toÌę, a popular Indian restaurant where the fish-head curry stew is so tasty you’ll be glad you had the courage to order fish-head curry stew.

Gear I’m Glad I Had:ÌęThe heat is fearsome in Singapore. Pack sun protection, lots of water, and a dry shirt for dinner.

—Jonathan Dorn, vice president of strategy

Idaho, Utah, Washington, and Oregon

This summer involved a lot of joyful journeying: I did a mega road trip,Ìęleaving New Mexico and driving north for a river adventure in Idaho, with a stop en route to mountain bike in Park City, Utah. A group of friends and I put in on the , and I had the most incredible fishing experience of my life. Next I headed west to Washington, where I romped around the Cascades with my parents, mountain-biked, wake-surfed on Puget Sound, and fished for native trout. After a few weeks, I cruised down to Bend, Oregon, where friends and I rode the (which boasts more than 300 miles of singletrack and offers bike rentals) and a bunch of local trails. We also ran up mountains and along river paths, floated the Deschutes, and fished everywhereÌęweÌęcould make a cast.

Gear I’m Glad I Had: A mostly reliable 2006 Subaru Outback with a Ìębike rack, an Orvis ReconÌęrod, and a collection of flies that my dad passed down to me. Also were a drybag, an PFD, my old faithful tent, a two-piece suit from that’s both flattering and secure for water sports, a bike and an airy , and a satellite communicator in case shit hit the fan.

—Abigail Barronian, senior editor

Central Utah

In July, my husband and I and two friends went climbing in Maple Canyon, in central Utah (about 70 miles south of Provo), for five days. It’s hard to get here, and by looking months ahead, we were lucky enough to nab the area’s group site ($40 per night), albeit for the weekdays only. Maple Canyon is set at 6,700 feet elevation. Winding trails and corridors lead through dense maples and up to fantastic climbing spots, where we used twisting, turning and palming moves on often overhanging walls studded with cobbles that ranged from pebble to salad-bowl size. I’d been here three times in the past, once with my husband, Mike Benge, and our then young boys, who mostly built forts and rode their bikes around the trails but climbed some. I remember Teddy, then nine, struggling mightily up the sweeping 80-foot arĂȘte of the , a 5.9, his small body creeping higher and higher.ÌęAnother great time I came with a group of mostly women and their dogs (one of the women was the late of Mount Everest and 8,000-meter-peak fame). But each time we’ve camped here amid the trees, we awake to birdsong from robins and thrushes. This year, one friend stayed in a van, while the rest of us had mondo car-camping tents. We never ate at a restaurant, and I only emerged from the canyon a couple times to check texts and, once, to drive for more water and a flyswatter (which I was then accused of wielding obsessively). That errand run led to a Mormon settlement established in 1852 that’s listed on the National Register of Historic. Out in the street is a simple fountain for the natural springs that stopped pioneers in their tracks long ago. You can fill your water bottles here, free, and a friend had told me the water was delicious. It was.

Gear I’m Glad We Had: A big, airy Big Agnes tent called the .

—Alison Osius, senior editor

Western Montana

My fiancĂ©e and I spent a week in Montana in June, right afterÌęrecord flooding closed Yellowstone National Park. We had to call some audibles—including finding a new place to camp, since the one we booked near Gardiner, Montana, was underwater—but we made the best of it and had a fantasticÌętime exploring the state. While we couldn’t make it to Yellowstone (which is nowÌęalmost all open again, curse our timing!), we explored the incredible mountains surrounding Bozeman, including in the Gallatins. We then took our time drivingÌęfrom Bozeman through Missoula and along Flathead Lake to Glacier National Park. The Glacier area had also experienced lots of late-season precipitation, and one trail to the lake, where we had a backcountry permit to camp, wasn’t passable, thanks to deep snow and a swollen river that would have required a chest-deep crossing. But a backcountryÌęranger was able to find us a lower-elevation zone, and we were blown away by the views while hiking through a burn zone to a site at Red Eagle Lake. Afterward we spent a very comfy night in a handmade wooden trailer atÌęÌęin the town of Columbia Falls, about 30 minutes from the West Glacier Entrance.

Gear I’m Glad We Had:ÌęTrekking poles. Clacking them together at regular intervals while hiking into Red Eagle Lake gave us peace of mind about surprising a bear. While we avoided any encounters with them in the backcountry, we did spot a black bear family and a grizzly just off the road to Many Glacier, on the eastern side of the park.

—Luke Whelan, senior editor

Cape Cod, Massachusetts

What I truly don’t understand, what confounds me to no end, is why the boy catches all the fish. I mean, he’s ten years old. We’re doing the exact same thing, using identical tackle. Sure, I drive the boat and end up fixing most of the line tangles, but still, my gear is in the water almost as much as his. IÌędefinitelyÌęhave a better cast (he won’t admit this, but, you know, kids). And yet the boy takes 90 percent of the catch. Oh, whatever—it’s still such a blast! We had been waiting three years to get back to south coast of Cape Cod, where, in 2019, we’d first experienced the thrill of chasing bluefish on Nantucket Sound. The ferocious predators attack schools of anchovy-size fish like packs of wolves, which attracts terns and gulls that pluck the fleeing bait off the surface of the water. Find the birds and you’ve got the fish. The really fun part is casting a lure into a feeding frenzy. Adult bluefish range in size from about ten inches to two feet, but they all strike like cobras and fight like devils. And the battle doesn’t end when you land one: the suckers have razor blades for teeth and are best handled with gloves and humility. We rented an 18-foot Boston Whaler fromÌęÌę(from $425), and on our first day on the water I caught our first blue, a 14-incher, and gave my son a smug look:ÌęSee? Dad knows what he’s doing. Five minutes later, the boy reeled in an ever-so-slightly bigger fish and gave me a smirk. And five minutes after that, he caught a real whopper (see the image above). “This one is huge!” he crowed. “Like, a lot bigger than yours.” Yes son, I know. Now stop talking.

Gear I’m Glad We Had: Fishing rods. You can get tackle and friendly advice atÌęÌęin Hyannis.

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Whether you’re a veteran backpacker who’s already checked off many long-distance treks or you’re brand new to the idea of carrying everything you need on your back into the wilderness for days, the point is: Backpacking can be for everyone. You just need to find the right trail for you. (Before you go, read up onÌębackpacking basics and make sure you have theÌęproper gear.) Maybe you’re bringing little kids and hiking one or two miles a day, or maybe you’re going fast and light and logging dozens of miles before sundown. It doesn’t matter. We’ve compiled a list of some of our favorite classic backpacking routes around the U.S. Take on the whole thing or just a portion.

Art Loeb Trail, North Carolina

The isn’t an easy trail—it climbs four 6,000-foot peaks—but at just 30 miles, it’s doable in a matter of days. Most hike it in two to five. Named after an activist from the , this trail is one of the more popular routes in but still requires a bit of navigating on the lesser-marked sections of the trail. Hike it out and back for a shorter distance or add a connecting trail to make it a loop.Ìę leads guided, four-day hikes on the Art Loeb Trail (from $705), or do it yourself and book a shuttle withÌę (from $125).

Tahoe Rim Trail, California and Nevada

At 165 miles, theÌę is a gorgeous long-distance route around the ridgeline of the Lake Tahoe Basin that most hikers complete in 10 to 14 days. Or tackle just a stretch of it—the 32-mile section from Echo Lakes to Barker Pass, along the lake’s west shore, passes through the stunning and makes for a great two- or three-day trip. (This is the only section of the trail that requires anÌę.) The best time of year to go is July through September. The Tahoe Rim Trail Association leadsÌę (from $1,100).

Long Trail, Vermont

, the oldest long-distance trail in the U.S., follows the spine of the Green Mountains for over 272 miles, with 70 designated backcountry campsites. Plan on spending 20 to 30 days on the trail for a thru-hike or pick just a section: the 20-mile stretch from Mad Tom Notch Road in the Vermont town of Peru to Route 140 in WallingfordÌędoesn’t see many crowds, has great views of Little Rock Pond and Griffith Lake, and can be done in a weekend. Early fall is the best time of year to avoid the summer’s crowds and catch colorful foliage. Not into sleeping in a tent every night?Ìę arranges self-guided hikesÌęthat include overnight stays at boutique hotels close to the trail, orÌę hosts guided hikes (from $2,690) in the fall, which includes stays at B&Bs.

Kalalau Trail, Kauai

The 22-mile round tripÌę, within Kauai’s , is not for the inexperienced: It involves hundreds of feet of elevation gain on rugged trails with steep, precipitous cliffs above the ocean. Your reward is reaching Kalalau Beach, a secluded stretch of sandÌęat the trail’s terminus, where you’ll camp in an oceanside forest neighboring a waterfall. Because of strong currents, swimming at the beach isn’t recommended, and be sure to check current trail, weather, stream, and ocean conditions before you go.ÌęMost people do this hike in two days, but you can add an extra day or two to hang out at Kalalau. If you’re hiking beyond a day trip out to Hanakapi’ai Valley, you’ll need anÌę—reservations for those are currently available 30 days in advance and book up quickly.

Greenstone Ridge Trail, Michigan

The longest trail in Isle Royale National Park, the 41-mileÌę goes from the southwest tip of the island to the northeast corner and tops out on 1,394-foot Mount Desort, the highest point in this off-the-radarÌępark. You’ll need a free-of-chargeÌę for all overnight backcountry stays within the park, but you don’t need to reserve ahead—you can pick it up when you get there. Speedy hikers can do the whole trail in three days or give yourself extra time to look for moose and enjoy the views of Lake Superior. TheÌę leads guided seven-day treks (from $1,425) on this trail most years.

Teton Crest Trail, Wyoming

This iconic backpacking route traverses through glaciated, granite peaks and high-alpine lakes in Grand Teton National Park, as well as and . It covers about 40 miles and is usually done in three to five days. You’ll need hard-to-snagÌę to camp at any of the 11 designated campsites along the Teton Crest Trail. There are a handful of ways to access this trail and multiple options for starting and ending points. Many people start at the Phillips Trailhead and end in Paintbrush Canyon within the national park, or you can kick off your hike with a lift from the tram at , which dumps you at the Granite Canyon trail that leads to the Teton Crest. Ìęare required.Ìę leads guided multi-day hikes (from $795) on shorter sections of this trail in the summer or full traverses of this trail on skis during the winter.

Three Sisters Loop, Oregon

The is about 47 miles long and passes through alpine lakes and meadows filled with wildflowers and tops out on volcanic peaks in the Cascade Range. The Three Sisters themselves are among Oregon’s top-five tallest peaks. Crowds exist on popular day-hike sections of the trail at the peak of summer, but for most of the way, you’ll have the spectacular views to yourself. With a few variations of the loop, you can tweak the route based on your needs. The hike overlaps with parts ofÌęthe Pacific Crest Trail and score great views of Mount Bachelor.Ìę will plan a custom itinerary for you (from $75) that includesÌęa detailed map and route, plus where to camp each night.

Rim to Rim, Grand Canyon, Arizona

Hiking Rim to Rim on the Grand Canyon is a classic bucket list adventure. Start at the North Kaibab Trail, on the North Rim, and hike down a relentless 14 miles and 6,000 vertical feet to the bottom of the canyon and the shores of the Colorado River. From there, you’ll pitch a tent at or , which requireÌęaÌęÌęthatÌęgets released four months ahead of time. Or if plan way in advance spend a night in a cabin atÌę (from $172), where bookings fill up a year out. From the bottom, it’s a long, steep nine-mile climb up to the South Rim via the Bright Angel Trail. Summer is hot here, so go in late spring or early fall. Unless you want to turn around and repeat what you’ve just done, schedule a ride withÌę. Or let someone else handle the logistics and joinÌę for a guided, five-day Rim to Rim hike (from $2,699), that includes a stay at Phantom Ranch.

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“The pandemic was really the second disaster. The first one was the flood on Kauai,” says Alan Carpenter, assistant administrator of Hawaii’s . In April 2018, a record-breaking storm dumped more than four feet of rain in 24 hours on the north shore of Kauai, destroying hundreds of homes and the one road leading to the Na Pali Coast’s and its popular Kalalau Trail. Suddenly, one of Hawaii’s most visited attractionsÌęwent from seeing over 2,000 tourists a day to none.

Incidentally, just prior to the flood, DLNR and community members had finished drafting aÌęmaster planÌęfor Haena State Park, an effort 20 years in the making. It aimed toÌęcontrol the crowds overwhelming the park and surroundingÌętowns, while also restoring the area’sÌęnatural and cultural environment. The proposal included stream and loi (wetland taro field) restoration, stormwater and erosion mitigation, an overhaul of park facilities, a shuttle service, and a reservation system that would charge nonresidents and limit visitors to no more than 900 a day.

The originalÌętimeline proposed introducing the changes inÌęfive to tenÌęyears (although, because ofÌępermitting and funding challenges, 20 years was more likely). “At that moment, we had exactly $100,000 allotted to implement a multimillion-dollar plan,” says Carpenter. “And boom, here comes the flood, and with it $100 million of state emergency funding and several million tapped for park funding. The combination of that, along with the temporary lifting of all of the typical regulations and government red tape, made it an amazing opportunity. Without the flood, it wouldn’t have happened.”

A little more than a year after the flood, in June of 2019, Haena State Park reopened with all of its new regulations in place. “It changed the whole tenor of that area,” Carpenter says. “Everybody saw the success of Haena and wanted to apply it to other places.”

Visitors to the HawaiianÌęIslands, which have a resident population of 1.4 million, have been steadily increasing overÌęthe past decade, hittingÌęa record high of 10.4 million in 2019. As the number of tourists grew, so did concerns about traffic, overcrowding, and damage to the environment. In a 2019 Hawaii Tourism Authority , two-thirds of the residents polled believed that the state government was running the islands for tourists at the expense of locals. Tourism was leading to diminishing returns—adjusting for inflation, total visitor spending had fallen since 1989, despite anÌęincrease of four million annual tourists since. Hawaii residentsÌęwereÌęgetting fed up. New laws on Maui and Oahu cracked down on vacation rentals, for short-term units that hadn’t gone through the extensive permitting process. An existing Ìęat Oahu’s Kailua Beach, instituted in 2012, extended to Waimanalo beaches on the island’s east coastÌęas a way to curb tour buses and tourism-focused interests. The DLNR instituted at other parks to help pay for eroding infrastructure.

And then the pandemic hit. A mandatory 14-day quarantine for incoming travelers effectively closed Hawaii to tourism for seven months. “The pandemic did for the whole state what the flood did to the north shore of Kauai,” Carpenter says. “It shut it down and reset tourism to zero.”

Will the pandemic be a turning point for the state,Ìęlike the floodÌęwas for Haena?

AtÌęthe beginning of COVID-19, as inÌęmany other places, a stillness descended on Hawaii as residents sheltered at home. Pictures of empty beaches abounded on Instagram and in the media, but if you shifted your camera to the water, you’d see crowds of surfers in the ocean. For a time, shelter-in-place orders closed the beaches, but state law required public shoreline access, so residents were never forbidden fromÌęthe water, and from the unemployed to children unmoored from school, they took to the waves. Waikiki surf breaks were as packedÌęas they were during pre-pandemic times, but with locals.

According to Chana Makale‘a Dudoit Ane, resilience officer at the Maui CountyÌę, there used to be “tourists crowding the beaches” at multiple surf spots,Ìęincluding Honolua Bay and near Kihei, “which made it uncomfortable being there. NowÌęthere are tons of local people, you’re sharing waves, and it’s a different kind of vibe of culture and respect.” Wade Tokoro, shaper and owner of , says his sales have increased compared withÌęthe previous year, something he attributes to locals surfingÌęmore and beginners pickingÌęup the sport.

Without the pressure of tourism, fish seemed to . Stores couldn’t keep fishing supplies in stock, and areaÌęanglersÌę. For months, schools of halalu, an indigenous shad, swarmed Oahu’s usually tourist-dense Ala Moana and Kaimana Beaches like dark underwater clouds, and fishersÌęfollowed. Ane describes how one day she and her family were walking the shoreline in Kaehu, near a surf break called Churches, and “watched an old-timer throwing a net to catch his dinner.” He was tracking schools of nehu. The man told Ane that the ancestralÌęname for both thisÌęplace and the surf break wereÌęcalled Nehu, and that it was a siteÌęfrequented by alii (traditional Hawaiian royalty) and chiefs back in the day.

Even the food banks have become a resource for cultural knowledge in these tough pandemic times.ÌęWhenÌętheÌę, on Hawaii Island, faced a rice shortage, itÌędistributed ulu, or breadfruit, which was brought to the islands by theÌęfirst Polynesian inhabitants. Rice, despite being a staple in local cuisine, is imported, and as food insecurity skyrocketed and supply chains were disrupted, it became hard to come by.ÌęThe , formed in 2016 to promote production of ulu and develop a market for it,Ìęstepped in and supplied the Food Basket with the healthier alternative, introducing many locals to the product forÌęthe first time, says Dana Shapiro, the cooperative’s manager.Ìę“Ulu could save the day in the starch category, which is how we’ve always thought about it,” Shapiro says.

At the start of the pandemic, many hoped that the state would take theÌępause in tourism to address overtourism, as with Haena State Park. But COVID-19Ìęhas wreaked economic devastation on Hawaii. Tourism’s shutdown led to increasing homelessness, and the unemployment rate jumped to 23 percent. So unlike the aftermath of Haena’s floods, Hawaii’s state parks have not seen a swift infusion of federal emergency money; instead, most funding has goneÌętowardÌęhelping households and small businesses directly affected by the pandemic. Between the drop in nonresident visitors and a loss of vendor contracts, the DLNR has estimated its losses at $500,000 a month.

Because of this, minimal state-level action has taken placeÌęsince the start of the pandemic toÌęproactively addressÌęfuture overtourism. Many of the protocols that have been instituted since March 2020 were inÌęthe pipeline before the pandemic hit; namely, a fee increase across eight state parks was finalized in OctoberÌę(though parking and entrance for residents remains free), and a new reservation system will be introduced at on Maui’s Hana Highway in March. The only direct change as a result of the pandemic was outside of DLNR’s jurisdiction,Ìęat Honolulu County’s Hanauma Bay: a first-ever daily visitor cap of 720 was set in January, reducing the number of permitted visitors fromÌę3,000, theÌęaverage daily figure seenÌęin 2019.

There is some evidence that the Hawaii Tourism AuthorityÌęis shifting its focus from marketing for more tourists to managing visitors’Ìęimpact on the islands. In September, the HTA hired John De Fries as its president and CEO, the first Native Hawaiian to serve in thoseÌęroles, and lastÌęfallÌęit began drafting Destination Management Action Plans for each of the islands, with community input. In February, it released , and the other islands are slated to follow with theirs shortly. Among the recommendations for Kauai tourism: better management of natural resources (to be funded by increasedÌęuser fees), a limitation onÌęvisitors, and enforcedÌęrest days. However, the HTA does not currently have any kind of enforcement authority, so it remains to be seen if anything becomes of this wish list.

In place of larger measures, some of the state’s conservation nonprofits have experimented with small-scale models during this forced pause.

Calling to mind the Depression-era Civilian Conservation Corps, a portion of Hawaii’s CARES money went to hiring and trainingÌęunemployed residents to work in conservation. Among the programs that qualified were , which teachesÌęlocal youth aboutÌęland preservation; the Aloha Aina Workforce Program on Kauai, which gave agricultural roles toÌętwo dozen workers who lost their jobs due to COVID-19; and a partnership with the . The last initiative sought to retrain a workforce previously employed by tourism for positionsÌęin the natural-resources sector, bringing onÌę70 people across seven land and sea nonprofits; workers restoredÌęloi fields,Ìęwhich help retain water and reduce sediment runoff into the ocean,Ìęrecovered ancient fish pondsÌęthat help curb coastal erosion,Ìęremoved invasive plants,Ìęand learned about watershed management and stream maintenance.

“I would say that every one of them would like to continue doing what they were doing, if they could,” says Ekolu Lindsey, a board member of the Maui Nui Marine Resource Council and , another nonprofit that hasÌębeen rebuilding loi fields. After the CARES money ran out at the end of last year, 6Ìęof the 17 peopleÌęhired by Kipuka Olowalu were able to continue employment in the environmental or farming sectors.

“Everyone’s seen the adverse effects that tourism really brings to our natural environment, but also understands it’s a necessary part of our beating hearts. So how do we manage it effectively?” asks Lindsey.ÌęRather than replacing tourism with another industry, he sees tourism as a way to fund investment and provide labor to restore cultural practices. Tourists on vacation in Hawaii might be interested in, say, repairing a native fishpond and learning about the ancient ahupuaa system of land division, he hopes.

His vision is also a way of sharing Indigenous knowledge.ÌęHawaii’s people, language, culture, flora, and fauna haveÌęlong been negatively affected by outside forces.ÌęIn theÌę1970s, a modern Hawaiian renaissance began with a revivalÌęofÌęthe language and cultural practices that were nearly lost, like hula. The next step is to share thisÌęculture outside Hawaii; one such effort wasÌęMalama Honua, a worldwide voyage of the Polynesian canoeÌę, which sailed to 23 countries from 2013 toÌę2019Ìęusing traditionalÌęway-finding techniques.

On Hawaii Island, Kuhao Zane, creative director of clothing retailer Sig Zane Designs,Ìęis active inÌętheÌę, named after Zane’s grandmother, a revered hula and Hawaiian-culture practitioner. The foundationÌęfocuses on sharing Indigenous knowledgeÌęand the role it can serve in this modern time, whether in school curriculums or proper resource management in culturally significant areas. A few months ago, Zane and his cousin were enjoying a relatively empty beach when they overheard a tour guide telling stories about the place. “It didn’t have the right depth of Hawaiian culture that we felt we could share,” he says. They are now working with the HTA and the Hawaii Visitors and Convention Bureau on developing a knowledge-certification program for those employed in tourism.

Right now, Zane is looking to his own heritage for some answers. “Coming from a hula background, we call these kinds of times hulihia, or ‘big upheavals,’” he says. “A lot of the chants talk about big lava flows, earthquakes, whole forests going down. These are times of constant change.” He’s in the process of translating the texts of chantsÌęto “take a look at the chants that happen after hulihia,” he says.Ìę“Maybe that could give you some inkling of what’s to come.”

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We polledÌęșÚÁÏłÔčÏÍűÌęeditors and writers on some of the best trips they and their families have ever taken.

Bulls Island, South Carolina

The alligators were hard to spot at first. But as soon as my nine-year-old twins, Cooper and Addie, saw one, they couldn’t stop seeing them. Sometimes it was just their eyes and snouts poking out of the water. Other times the lazy dinosaurs were full-out tanning on the sand. In theory we came to this uninhabited barrier island 25 miles north of Charleston for its beach, seven miles of undeveloped white sand facing the Atlantic Ocean. But it was this inland hike, where suddenly we weren’t the top of the food chain, that had the biggest impact on us. is part of the lush 66,000-acre Cape Romain National Wildlife Refuge and is accessible only by private boat or Coastal Expeditions’ daily ferry from the tiny town of Awendaw. Camping isn’t allowed, but 35 miles south you’ll find James Island County Park, which has 124 campsites (from $33) and modest vacation cottages (from $169). —Graham AverillÌę

Addie’s Take: “I really liked how I didn’t get motion sick on the boat.”

Johns Brook Lodge, Keene Valley, New York

Early in her life, my daughter Oaklee’s refusal to sleep in a tent meant that my wife and I couldn’t either. But two summers ago, we discovered , a nearly century-old refuge in the Adirondacks’ High Peaks Wilderness. Operated by the Adirondack Mountain Club, the four-bunkroom outpost sleeps 28, offers meal service in the summer, and is accessible by foot from the hamlet of . After a rolling 3.5-mile hike up the Phelps Trail, the forest opened to reveal the unassuming lodge. Inside, the great room was abuzz over a family-style dinner of barbecued chicken and roasted veggies. For the next couple of days we explored the surrounding wilderness, splashing in ice-cold streams and climbing 4,240-foot Big Slide Mountain for panoramic views of the 12-mile-long Great Range. I am happy to report that the trip was Oaklee’s first step to becoming the seasoned camper she is today. From $75 —Peter Koch

Oaklee’s Take: “I loved climbing a ladder to bed because I got to sleep in the top bunk.”

Zion National Park, UtahÌę

“It’s virtually flat,” I told everybody. While that was true, what the description of Canyon Overlook Trail failed to mention was that the footing can be dicey and the mile-long route skirts an airy ledge. At the midway point, I could tell that my kids, Lily, Beck, and Nina, ages seven, five, and two, would rather be back at , with its zip line, climbing wall, mini golf, pool, and hot tub (suites $513; camping from $34). But I also knew that the final view was one of the most stunning in the park. When I first visited Zion 20 years ago, I was floored, and I wanted my family to have the same reaction. Which they sort of did. “It’s so beautiful,” Lily said. Beck agreed, before asking to do the bungee trampoline at the hotel again. Nina, who was awake the whole trek, promptly fell asleep. At least my mother-in-law was all smiles. —Sam Moulton

Lily’s Take: “The hot tub in the rain was the best. We learned how to count the seconds between the lightning and the thunder to know if it was safe.”Ìę

Punta Mita, Mexico

The easy flight into Puerto Vallarta and the hourlong drive to the felt like a manageable undertaking with my daughter, Nora, then age two, and our nine-month-old son, Otis, in tow. We rented beach toys and floaties from a company called , so the kids were too busy building sandcastles with my husband to notice me wading out to a waiting boat. It was my turn on the shuttle we’d arranged through local surf shop WildMex to chauffeur us to La Lancha, a mellow offshore break just minutes from Punta Mita’s taquerias. Unlike touristy Sayulita, 11 miles north, Punta Mita feels sleepy and low-key, and you can snag a two-bedroom place with a pool steps from the sand for just $150 a night through Airbnb or VRBO. El Cafecito de Mita was a daily stop for ice cream for the kids and much needed espresso for me. —Megan MichelsonÌę

Nora’s Take: “We drank out of those big balls—what were those? Coconuts? The juice tasted kind of gross.”

San Diego, CaliforniaÌę

In December, my wife and I had just -welcomed a third child, Zevi, and we were looking for an easy destination with something for the whole family. That’s a concept has been marketing successfully for decades. It’s got the world-famous San Diego Zoo, gorgeous kid-friendly coastal hikes in Torrey Pines State Park, and a string of beaches that cater to everyone from beginner boogie boarders to expert surfers. But if you’d asked my oldest kids, Olive, 11, and Cash, eight, we were visiting for one reason only: Legoland. To children it’s a heavenly theme park with massive Lego installations and scary-fun roller coasters. To parents it’s a hellscape of consumerism 40 minutes north of San Diego in Carlsbad. We indulged them, but if you ask me for the ideal family itinerary for a week in the area, I’d say: skip Legoland, spend the afternoon catching waves on the legendary reef break and easy shore breaks at Swami’s Beach in Encinitas, watch the sunset and the hippie drum circle in the parking lot, and then head across Highway 1 for the ridiculously good ice cream at JoJo’s Creamery. Repeat for six days. No one will be disappointed. —Christopher KeyesÌę

Olive’s Take: “I loved boogie boarding, but you have to watch out for the big waves.”

Nelson, British Columbia

I was wading through a U-shaped cave filled with steaming mineral water, carrying Nora, who was six months old at the time, when she started giggling with delight and pointing toward dripping stalactites. My husband and I came to Nelson for the skiing— and are within an hour of town—but our aprĂšs soak at Ainsworth Hot Springs, which overlooks Kootenay Lake and the Purcell Mountains 45 minutes north of town, was definitely Nora’s favorite part. She cried when it was time to head back to town. For us adults, bohemian feel—with its lakeside ceramics studios and hipster coffee at Oso Negro—made for a killer home base. Whitewater has great ski programs for children three and older and a toddler play area in the lodge. Since Nora wasn’t walking yet, we brought my mom along to help babysit, so we could sneak off to the powder-stuffed glades and stellar backcountry access. The poutine in the resort’s Fresh Tracks CafĂ© was as much of a draw as the skiing, and in town the Alpine Inn has family suites and ski-and-stay deals (from $122). —M.M.

Nora’s Take: “The best part of ski trips is always the hot chocolate and hot tubs.”

Point Reyes NationalÌęSeashore, CaliforniaÌę

I’ve developed a strong distaste for car camping. Mostly it’s the incessant noise of unlocking vehicles and slamming doors, which, of course, reaches a crescendo just as my wife and I are trying to get the wee ones to sleep. Thus my growing appreciation for bikepacking—not the hardcore version in the hinterlands, but the kind involving flat fire roads and two-burner stoves. A couple years ago, when our boys, Oliver, Sawyer, and Adrien, were seven, five, and two, we biked a stretch of , just over an hour northwest of our home near San Francisco. Our ragtag two-wheeled convoy departed from the park’s Laguna Trailhead and skidded into the Coast Campground ($20), two miles away, like heroes. After two days of exploring, we rolled back out the way we came, wondering if we would ever car camp again. —Michael RobertsÌę

Oliver’s Take: “The coolest part was the hill above the campsite where I could spy on everyone. Did you know I was doing that?”

Hanalei, Kauai, Hawaii

The surfing, hiking, and beach strolls brought us to with a then 14-month-old Nora, who learned to walk barefoot on the beach and ate her first star fruit at the Hanalei farmers’ market. We rented a house through Airbnb that came with surfboards, cruiser bikes, and a wagon to tow kids. Or, if you book one of the cabins at Hanalei Dolphin Cottages, on the Hanalei River, you can paddleboard to the ocean right from your porch. The island was hit with devastating floods in April 2018 but has been steadily recovering, with most of Kauai reopened and in need of tourists. One attraction that’s still closed (but expected to open mid-2019) is the famed Kalalau Trail, a 22-mile round-trip that passes the secluded beaches and steep waterfalls of the rugged Na Pali Coast. Until then, you and your little ones can still experience the iconic shoreline from a Napali Coast Tours catamaran. —M.M.

Nora’s Take: “I don’t remember the trip, but I’m sure I liked the shave ice the best.”

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Words matter, and they especially matter when you’re writing about Bethany Hamilton. The world knows the story of how a marauding tiger shark changed the course of Hamilton’s life in 2003, taking her left arm while she was surfing on Kauai’s north shore. She was 13 years old, a wildly talented grommette with her eye on a professional surfing career. Descriptions of that encounter invariably use words like victim and tragedy, but in the aftermath, Hamilton has served notice that neither label applies.

Even as the media referred to her as “shark-bite girl” and tried to categorize her as a disabled athlete, Hamilton, now 28, has never thought of herself in those terms. “At that time in my life, being so young and resilient, and a charger at whatever came my way, the loss of my arm felt like a speed bump,” she says. “A little hurdle to go over.”

That doesn’t mean the experience was easy. The next time you’re tempted to indulge in a spell of whining, consider the following: Hamilton lost 60 percent of the blood in her body that day. Less than a month later, stitches barely out, she was back in the ocean relearning how to surf. (She kicks her legs to counterbalance paddling with one arm, and her father rigged a handle on her board so she can duck-dive.) Two months after that, she returned to competition. She won a national championship in 2005, and turned pro in 2007.

Over the past five years, Hamilton got married; finished third on the television show with her husband, Adam Dirks, a youth minister she met in 2012; won a women’s pro event at Oahu’s Pipeline, an ­infamous wave that has killed at least 11 people; and got barreled at Teahupoo, a Tahitian break even more treacherous than Pipeline. In 2014, she flew to Bali to practice her aerial surfing skills at Padang Padang—a fast snapper of a wave where she fell many times, occasionally coming up bloodied—and ultimately landed a frontside air-reverse 360, which she calls “the gnarliest thing I’ve ever done.” Not for long, perhaps: Hamilton and Dirks’s first son, ­Tobias, arrived in June 2015. Their second, Wesley, followed in March 2018.

Hamilton’s run of accomplishments is chronicled in the new documentary , out this fall. Between footage of her triumphs, the film includes smaller moments from everyday life: breastfeeding Tobias after competition heats, surfing breaks near her home in Kauai, pumping iron while eight months pregnant with Wesley.

The film also reveals what really sets Hamilton apart: her titanium core. She cross-trains up to five hours a day, a mix of surfing, swimming, HIIT gym workouts, trampoline sessions, Pilates, beach sprinting, and underwater running while carrying a heavy rock. Maybe this tenacity comes from her devout Christian faith, or maybe it’s learned and hard-won, but the documentary makes clear that Hamilton is a driven competitor, unafraid of pain, no stranger to setting and achieving the most outlandish goals.

It would be unreasonable not to allow her some lingering fears. She’s respectful of sharks but not enamored of them. If Hamilton has any obstacle it’s frustration, the disappointment when she falls short of her own zenith.

In 2016, seven months after giving birth to Tobias, Hamilton spotted a big swell on the weather maps and island-hopped over to Maui in pursuit of one of the world’s most formidable waves: . She was towed into and rode a 40-footer. Then she decided to raise the degree of difficulty by actually paddling into a giant wave. Her first few attempts resulted in memorable wipeouts, but she returned to the lineup and got one of the day’s best rides. Hamilton laughs as she describes it: “Probably one of the scariest sessions of my entire life, and it was soooo fun at the same time—like this weird, crazy, fun sort of thing.”

Tobias hadn’t even reached his first birthday when he and his parents landed in Fiji, where Hamilton had been chosen as the wildcard entry at the World Surfing League’s elite Fiji Pro event. Few of the sports cognoscenti expected her to place. , Hamilton defeated six-time world champion Stephanie Gilmore and the top competitor on the women’s pro tour, Tyler Wright. “This really isn’t supposed to be happening,” Sports Illustrated .

After Hamilton’s Fiji performance, surf icon Kelly Slater declared himself “ridiculously impressed.” Meanwhile, big-wave legend Laird Hamilton (no relation) says: “She’s a surfer at the core, and her desire and love for the sport has allowed her to do some stuff that even surfers who have all their limbs can’t do.”

Even with two toddlers, Hamilton is not slowing down. “I want to push my aerial surfing,” she says. “That’s the area that feels compelling and exciting to me.” She and Dirks recently published a children’s book, . Next she’s launching a lifestyle app for young women, with fitness, nutrition, and other advice tucked in among tenets of her Christian beliefs. America’s industrial food system, she says, has wreaked havoc on our well-being: “We need to recognize what we’re doing to ourselves, and the earth, with food.”

Bethany Hamilton, nutritionist? Local-food activist? Children’s-book author? App developer?

“It’s almost like I need a challenge,” Hamilton says, giggling at the understatement. With that she hits on one of the reasons people are so moved by her story. We all need a challenge now and then, but those among us who face the most daunting ones with grace and grit we call heroic. In the Bethany Hamilton lexicon, that’s a word that fits perfectly.

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Dylan McWilliams might be the luckiest guy in the world. He might also be the unluckiest guy in the world. That depends on whether you think surviving a rattlesnake bite, a bear attack, and a shark bite within three years is fortunate or if he must have created some seriously bad juju to be bitten by all those animals in the first place.

For the past few years, McWilliams, originally from Colorado Springs, Colorado, has been backpacking around the United States and Canada, making money on odd jobs and as an outdoors survival instructor. That’s partly how he came to be attacked by three dangerous animals, all before he was old enough to legally sip a beer. Below, McWilliams tells the story of each attack—any one of which could have killed him.

In September 2015, I was hiking out of Grandstaff Canyon, near Moab, Utah, at about 7:45 p.m., after an all-day high-angle wilderness rescue training. The sun was setting. I had just switched from my climbing shoes to sandals and rolled up my pants to cool off. My three buddies and I were a few miles from the trailhead.

I was second in line, and as I stepped off a ledge, I felt a sharp, needle-like stab in my right leg. I thought I kicked a cactus. I looked down to see two puncture wounds an inch apart in my shin. Sure enough, a pygmy rattlesnake, dark, reddish-brown with pink spots, lay coiled up under the ledge.

Thanks to my wilderness emergency medical response training, I knew I had two options. I could call a helicopter to airlift me to the hospital, or I could wait it out in hopes that it was a dry bite (no injected venom). Knowing roughly , I decided to take my chances.

I sat down on the red slickrock and waited. I pounded water and kept my heart rate down to dilute and slow the spread of any venom. We watched, ready to call a chopper at the first sign of swelling or nausea. After 20 minutes, when none came, we decided to hike out. It took us three hours to cover three miles. Downhill. I vomited once that night and once the next morning, but after that I was fine and grateful that my gamble paid off.

Then, last July, I was teaching wilderness survival skills at Glacier View Ranch near Boulder, Colorado, and five of my co-workers invited me to sleep outside with them. We spread out our sleeping bags and dozed off.

Around 4 a.m., I woke up to a crunch—like someone squeezing a handful of chips—and felt a jerk from the base of my skull. A 300-pound male black bear had . He dragged my six-foot, 180-pound body by the head 12 feet from my bag. I punched the bear hard and jabbed his eyeballs. He was pissed, and he dropped me and stomped on my chest a few times before running away.

The whole thing lasted less than 25 seconds.

I grabbed my head and blood gushed down my arms. It soaked my flannel shirt and my jeans, dripped on to my bare feet, and ran into my eyes. I couldn’t see. I am going blind, I thought.

That was the scariest part. I knew it was bad.

Someone called Boulder County EMS, and an ambulance took me to a hospital, where doctors told me I had five bite marks in my head, deep cuts from claws across my face, and bruises on my chest and neck. Colorado Parks and Wildlife caught and caged the bear. They tested him, found my blood and bits of scalp under his claws, and put him down.

The attack puzzled me. We knew better than to leave food out. We were in the middle of an established campground, and there were dozens of kids in cabins 100 feet away. The shock was nerve-wracking, but I camped again two days later and haven’t looked back.

Then, this April, I was while surfing off the coast of Shipwreck Beach in Keoniloa Bay, on the south shore of Kauai, Hawaii. It was day five of my two-week trip, and I had just finished helping emergency response teams with flood rescue and mitigation on the North Shore. I was ready for a break and eager to get on my board. I went out at 7:15 a.m.—just three other surfers in the water and incredible waves. I caught one, rode it in, and turned around to paddle out again.

About 30 yards offshore, I felt a hard bump and sharp twinge on the inside of my left calf. For a split second, I was confused, then saw my body and red board shorts marinating in a cloud of blood. Shark, I thought.

I kicked out and connected with its nose. It felt like hitting a giant rubber inner tube underwater, in slow motion. Then I saw it: a huge six-foot silhouette circling below my board. I spun around and paddled swiftly toward shore, praying I still had my leg. Time stopped. All I could think about was getting to land. It took an eternity.

I crawled onto the sand. Blood pumped out of holes in my leg. A local lady saw it happen and called an ambulance. I got seven stitches, loosely sewn so the wound wouldn’t become infected. Three days later, determined not to miss this opportunity, I duct-taped my leg and surfed the same beach. My trip clock was ticking, and I figured if I didn’t get back on my board, I never would.

I don’t think I’d call it lucky or unlucky. Stuff happens. I was just in the wrong places at the wrong times. I’ve revered Davy Crockett since childhood—experiencing outdoor adventures and honing my survival skills are a huge part of me. Now I travel the United States giving wilderness seminars to people who want to learn how to thrive outside.

Statistically, I might be the luckiest man in the world, but even so, these fluke attacks won’t keep me from doing what I love most: being outdoors. And being able to do what I love? That, to me, is lucky.

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It’s around midnight on Saturday, April 14, and Laird Hamilton lies awake in bed. For the last six or seven hours, he’s listened to the cracks of lightning outside his house—the worst he’s heard in a lifetime spent on Hawaii. Every minute, electric bolts flash through the sky, followed by deep rumbles that seem to shake the small island of Kauai. At 4:30 a.m., Hamilton gets a call from a worried neighbors. The waters have nearly reached their house. Hamilton gets to work.

He leaves from a river access point by his home, the same he’s used to tow out on jet-skis to the the massive waves that made him a legend, and he heads toward the family’s home.

It would be the first of 75 rescues made by Hamilton over the next six days as Hawaii was flooded by . According to NPR, a gauge in Hanalei measured 28 inches of rain in less than one day—just an inch short of the all-time record. The downpour has probably exceeded this, asÌęthe gauge recentlyÌęstopped working.

A series of mudslides followed the rains, cutting off road access and stranding families, as well as flooding most of the boat access points that could serve as launching pads for rescue—nearly all except Hamilton’s. Almost immediately, Hamilton and and a group of lifetime residents of Kauai—whomÌęHamilton calls his ohana, or family—turned his access point into rescue operation headquarters, where they’ve been gathering supplies and resources, and, when needed, scooping up families from atop their roofs and taking them to safety.

We caught up with Hamilton Friday to better understand the gravity of the situation and how the island is responding.

OUTSIDE:ÌęWhat’s it look like out there?
HAMILTON:ÌęIt’s flooding at entirely new and catastrophic levels. During the first few days, I traveled with a crew of guys helping get people out of homes where they had lost all road access. We took them to shelters at higher ground and rounded up as many supplies as we could. Now that the rain has died down a little bit, our worry is infectious disease. Septic systems are busted and, in a tropic place like this, there’s tons of organic material that’s now composting, which creates a real opportunity for things like staph infection or mosquito-borne diseases to fester and breed.

What about your house?
I’m actually at my house right now, trying to assess the damage. I’m lucky that my place sits at a higher elevation, so I was far better off than many. That’s why I’ve been so insistent on helping those who I can. When the mudslides started, part of a nearby hill crashed through the walls of my garage and gym. It threw a ton Ìęof debris onto the property, cutting off a substantial portion of the road. But it hit my neighbor worse. It was nearly pushed into the river. It likely would’ve gone all the way if not for a big tree that stopped it.

What will this do, long-term, to the island?
There are people who have lost their homes entirely and can’t afford to just buy a new one, areas that will never see vegetation grow again, and roads and other infrastructure that will take years to rebuild. But, all that said, I always tell people that Hawaii is unlike any place you’ve ever been or will ever go. The community that we have here and people’s willingness to give what they can is incredible. That’s where ohana comes from. It’s your family, your community. Sure, we have some people looting and stealing, but we have a far larger group of people who doing everything they can to give back. And that’s pretty special.

How about you? How are you feeling?
I’m definitely exhausted. I have a few ailments that I’m used to living with, but they flared up after days of 4 a.m.wake-up calls and days spent pushing 50-plus pounds of diesel and propane tanks, moving boats, climbing up on things, and the like. But, honestly, I don’t even care. When you get into these kind of physical endurance challenges, it’s almost like your body switches into a whole new gear and sets a new normal. You don’t need sleep, you don’t need food. And, when it’s all said and done, I have no reason to complain. I want to be out there helping.

How can people on the mainland help?
At this point, we have a number of different organizations and agencies that have been hugely helpful in airlifting people out of dangerous situations, providing food and clean water, and helping to restore road access. Many of those people are still using my river access as a launching pad, since it remains one of a small number of navigable areas on island. Right now, what we need most is money. I know that it’s not the most glamorous thing to give, but many of the people who have lost the most are the ones who don’t have the means to just replace it all.

This conversation has been edited for clarity.Ìę

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Perfect white-sand beaches exist all over Hawaii, but many are filled with sand castles, surfers, beach towels, and oceanfront resorts. Get ready to wander a little off the beaten path on your way to these six blissfully empty beaches.

Kanaio Beach, Maui

The starts at a parking area at and traverses through a barren, lava-strewn landscape for about 2.5 miles to this desolate black-and-white-sand beach. The trail is also known as the King’s Highway because it was once a walking path reserved for royalty. You’ll find remains from an old fishing village along the way.

Kauapea Beach, Kauai

You’ll walk 15 minutes down a steep path before arriving at this flawless strip of gold sand on the north shore of Kauai, bordered by steep cliffs. It isn’t that hard to get to, but and is secluded enough that folks occasionally sunbathe naked without anyone noticing. The trailhead isn’t marked, so ask around for directions. You’ll find it near the town of Kilauea, off a dirt path accessed from Kalihiwai Road.

Kapukahehu Beach, Molokai

Also known as , after a Japanese ship that wrecked near here in the 1920s, this half-moon-shaped favorite sits in a tiny cove on Molokai’s isolated western shore. It’s a well-protected beach flanked by a reef, making it an ideal spot for swimming and snorkeling. You can drive here via a roughly paved road that looks a little like someone’s driveway, accessed from the endpoint of Pohakuloa Road.

Pololu Valley Beach, Hawaii

Drive to the very end of the Kohala Coast’s Highway 270, and then hike the short but steep down a couple of dirt switchbacks to this striking black-sand beach surrounded by sharp lava. The trail to the beach is less than a mile, but if you want more of a trek, the path continues onward to the . Water currents are strong here, so it’s best to avoid swimming, and camping isn’t allowed, but you can linger on the beach as long as you’d like.

Halepalaoa Beach, Lanai

The only way to reach Lanai’s Halepalaoa Beach is with an off-road vehicle on a rugged dirt road. (If you’re staying at the , you can rent a 4×4 Jeep from the adventure center and staff will direct you to the beach.) Located on the eastern side of this sleepy island, this glittering sand beach is named after the whales that once washed ashore here. Once you get there, you’ll likely have the place to yourself.

Alan Davis Beach, Oahu

To get to Alan Davis Beach, you’ll park at the lot for the and walk the mellow for about 15 minutes to reach this secluded spot. You’ll spend your day swimming in a protected cove, cliff jumping, and exploring the towering rock formation above the bluff called .

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