Gary Kristensen dipped his double-bladed paddle into the Columbia River and pulled as hard as he could. The effort felt fruitless—it was like he was paddling through peanut butter. Kristensen, 46, had expected a gentle tailwind for his boating journey, but gusts were cresting 35 miles per hour, sending waves splashing onto him. Next to Kristensen, a support kayak was having to paddle backward just to keep even with his sluggish pace.

Kristensen’s journey would have been easier, of course, if not for his chosen watercraft: a 950-pound pumpkin.

From October 12 to 13, Kristensen, a real estate appraiser from Happy Valley, Oregon, spent 26 hours paddling his enormous gourd down the Columbia River. He completed 45.67 miles, which the as the new record for a category titled “longest journey by pumpkin.” Kristensen told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű that the arduous journey was a true test for any paddler—especially when gusting winds kicked up.

“Water was coming over the top constantly,” Kristensen told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű. “It was like paddling a bowl of soup.”

Kristensen is no stranger to using enormous gourds as boats—he’s been growing massive pumpkins since 2011 and paddling them since 2013. He’s raced pumpkins in the West Coast Giant Pumpkin Regatta, an annual festival for seaworthy gourds held in the coastal town of Tualatin, every year since 2013, and has won the event four times since 2018.

Until this year, the standing record for longest pumpkin paddle was 39 miles, set last October on the Missouri River by Steve Kueny and his pumpkin, Huckleberry. But as he watched his own pumpkins grow this season, Kristensen thought he might have one that could rival Huckleberry. He dubbed this challenger “The Punky Loafster,” partly as an ode to the eighties sitcom, but also because he’d jammed wooden boards next to the pumpkin as it formed, so that it would grow in long and skinny, like a loaf of bread.

“If you’re going to race a pumpkin, you want a smaller pumpkin, like around 700 or 800 pounds,” Kristensen said.

Growing pumpkin watercraft is a science, Kristensen explained. For a long distance paddle, on a river like the Columbia, with boat traffic, wind, and waves, you want a larger gourd, to give yourself more space to stretch, and more room to take on water without sinking. You also want the pumpkin to be as long and symmetrical as possible, with a flat bottom and smooth skin.

Kristensen trained for his journey with daily runs, and long weekend paddling trips with pool noodles wrapped around his kayak, to simulate the drag he’d experience with the pumpkin. Punky Loafster—which measured 14 feet around—weighed 1,224 pounds before Kristensen hollowed it out, and it still weighed in at a monstrous 950 pounds before he hopped into it and began paddling. Compare that to the average canoe or kayak, which might run anywhere from 30 to 50 pounds, and it’s easy to see why manning the Loafster was so arduous.Ìę“You paddle, and it just doesn’t move,” he said.

When Kristensen hopped into the Loafster on October 12, he carried a small pump to bail water and a yoga mat to sit on. Aside from that, it was just him, a pumpkin, and a paddle.

Even by pumpkin paddling standards, Kristensen had a rough go. Previous record holder Kueny averaged around 3.5 mph on the Missouri River inside Huckleberry. Kristensen and Punky Loafster recorded an average speed around 1.7 mph. “It was pathetic,” he joked. “At best we had a half mile per hour current. But at times I think the current was even flowing backward, because of the tide.”

The strong winds, which began hammering him when he was only five miles down the river, made things particularly tough. “These were pretty big waves. They’d be a lot for any boat,” he said.Ìę Kristensen tried to stop paddling to pump water, but battered by the waves, without his paddles to balance the pumpkin, he was at constant risk of capsizing. It took an hour for him to get to shore, drain his pumpkin, and let the winds die down, but he managed to do it without sinking.

That evening, disaster struck again. The electric lights strung up on his friend’s support pontoon boat caught fire and were destroyed. “We were trying to use those lights to help us find a beach and a safe place to park the pumpkin,” Kristensen explained. Without the lights, they continued paddling through the night—17 hours of continuous paddling in total—until the sun rose and they could safely dock the pumpkin.

Finding a gentle beach, Kristensen moored his pumpkin and climbed out to take a nap. He woke an hour later to find tides had left the Loafster high and dry on the beach. “I tried to get it back in the water, and I couldn’t budge it at all,” he said. “It would not move an inch.” His friend, David, furiously began digging the pumpkin out, but the pair soon discovered that the beach had been used to moor barges, and there were large industrial cables underneath the ground. Gingerly rolling the 950-pound watercraft around this minefield of cables, it took three hours for Kristensen to get the Punky Loafster back in the water. Kristensen paddled the remainder of the day to finish out his 46-mile trip.

Despite all the obstacles, Kristensen didn’t didn’t end his paddle because his pumpkin sank or broke apart, or because he was too exhausted to continue. The Punky Loafster was still riverworthy, but as darkness fell on their second day of paddling, he and David decided to end their journey. It was Sunday, and they had to go back to work the following day. “I felt strong,” Kristensen said, “but we were running out of weekend.”

Kristensen may have entered the annals of Guinness World Record fame, but there will be no floating off into the sunset for the Punky Loafster. Kristensen left his craft lying on the banks of the Columbia River next to the boat ramp where he put out. “I’m sure it rotted away long ago,” he told me. He plans to return next year with another pumpkin, and see how much farther he can go.

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More than 40 years ago, the then park ranger Jon Waterman took his first journey to Alaska’s Noatak River. Captivated by the profusion of wildlife, the rich habitat, and the unfamiliar landscape, he spent years kayaking, packrafting, skiing, dogsledding, and backpacking in Arctic North America—often alone for weeks at a time. After three decades away from the Noatak, he returned with his 15-year-old son, Alistair, in 2021 to find a flooded river and a scarcity of the once abundant caribou. The Arctic had warmed nearly four times faster than the rest of the world.

The next year, 2022, Waterman took a last journey to document the changes. The following is excerpted and adapted from his prologue in Into the Thaw: Witnessing Wonder amid the Arctic Climate Crisis (Patagonia Books, November 12).

A former ranger in Rocky MountainÌęČčČÔ»ć Denali national parks, Waterman is the author of 17 books, including (National Geographic Books), In the Shadow of Denali, Kayaking the Vermilion Sea, Running Dry, and Arctic Crossing. He has made five films about adventure and wild places.

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The below is adapted from Into the Thaw: Witnessing Wonder amid the Arctic Climate Crisis.

A Certain Type of Fun, July 10-12, 2022

My hands, thighs, and calves have repeatedly locked up in painful dehydration cramps, undoubtedly caused by our toil with leaden packs in eighty-degree heat up the steep streambed or its slippery, egg-shaped boulders. After my water bottle slid out of an outside pack pocket and disappeared amid one of several waist-deep stream fords or in thick alders yesterday, I carefully slide the bear spray can (looped in a sling around my shoulders) to the side so it doesn’t get knocked out of its pouch, an action I will come to regret. Now, to slake my thirst, I submerge my head in Kalulutok Creek like a water dog.

Kalulutok Creek would be called a river in most parts of the world. Here in Gates of the Arctic National Park and Preserve, amid the largest span of legislated wilderness in the United States, it’s just a creek compared to the massive Noatak River that we’re bound for. But in my mind—after we splash-walked packrafts and forded its depths at least 30 times yesterday—Kalulutok will always be an ice-cold, wild river.

It drains the Endicott and Schwatka Mountains, which are filled with the most spectacular granite and limestone spires of the entire Brooks Range. One valley to the east of us is sky-lined with sharp, flinty peaks called the Arrigetch, or “fingers of the outstretched hand” in Iñupiaq.

As the continent’s most northerly mountains, the sea-fossil-filled Brooks Range—with more than a half-dozen time-worn peaks over 8,000 feet high—is seen on a map as the last curl of the Rocky Mountains before they stairstep into foothills and coastal plains along the Arctic Ocean. The Brooks Range stretches 200 miles south to north and 700 miles to the east, where it jabs into Canada. Although there are more than 400 named peaks, since the Brooks Range is remote and relatively untraveled, it’s rare that anyone bothers to climb these mountains. My river-slogger companion, Chris, and I will be exceptions.

We carry a water filter, but it would be silly to use it. We’re higher and farther north than giardiasis-infected beavers and there is no sign of caribou. The creek is fed from the pure ice of shrunken glaciers above and ancient permafrost in the ground below. In what seems like prodigious heat for the Arctic, the taps here are all wide-open.

Thirty-nine years ago, I decided to learn all I could about life above the Arctic Circle. As a climber, I traded my worship of high mountains for the High Arctic. I felt that unlike the study of crevasse extrication and avalanche avoidance—you couldn’t just read about the Arctic or sign up for courses. You have to go on immersive journeys and figure out how the interlocked parts of the natural world fit together. Along this path, acts of curiosity out on the land and the water can open an earned universe of wonders. But you must spend time in the villages, too, with the kindhearted people of the North to make sure you get it right. And you can’t call the Arctic “the Far North”—it is “home” rather than “far” to the many people who live there.

So, after twoscore of Arctic journeys, in the summer of 2022, I’m on one more trip. I could not be on such an ambitious trip without all the previous experiences. (The more I learn, it sometimes feels like the less I know about the Arctic.)

But this time the agenda is different. I hope to understand the climate crisis better.

Chris Korbulic and I are here to document it however we can. Since my first trip above the Arctic Circle in 1983, I have seen extraordinary changes in the landscape. Only three days underway and we’ve already flown over a wildfire to access our Walker Lake drop-off point. And yesterday we trudged underneath several bizarre, tear-drop-shaped landslide thaw slumps—a.k.a. thermokarsts—caused by the permafrost thaw.

In much of Alaska, the Arctic Monitoring and Assessment Programme (AMAP) says that permafrost thaw from 2005 to 2010 has caused the ground to sink more than four inches, and in places to the north of us, twice that. The land collapses as the permafrost below it thaws, like logs pulled out from beneath a woodpile. AMAP believes this will amount to a “large-scale degradation of near-surface permafrost by the end of the twenty-first century.” Roads and buildings and pipelines—along with hillsides, Iñupiat homes, forests, and even lakes—will fall crazily aslant, or get sucked into the ground as if taken by an earthquake.

On this remote wilderness trip, we don’t expect a picnic—known as Type 1 Fun to modern-day adventurers. A journey across the thaw on foot and by packraft for 500-plus miles won’t resemble a backcountry ski trip or a long weekend backpack on Lower 48 trails. We have planned for Type 2 Fun: an ambitious expedition that will make us suffer and give us the potential to extend ourselves just enough that there will be hours, or even days, that won’t seem like fun until much later when we’re back home. Then our short-circuited memories will allow us to plan the next trip as if nothing went wrong on this one. An important part of wilderness mastery is to avoid Type 3 Fun: a wreckage of accidents, injuries, near-starvation, or rescue. We’ve both been on Type 3 Fun trips that we’d rather forget.

Today, to get Chris, a caffeine connoisseur, to stop, I simply utter, “Coffee?” His face lights up as he throws off his pack and pulls out the stove. I pull out the fuel bottle. Since Chris isn’t a conversational bon vivant, I’ve learned not to ask too many questions, but a cup of coffee might stimulate a considerate comment or two about the weather. As I fire up the trusty MSR stove with a lighter, we crowd around and toast our hands over the hot windscreen as if it’s our humble campfire. We’re cold and wet with sweat and we shiver in the wind. But at least we’re out of the forest-fire smoke—this summer more than two million acres have burned in dried-out Alaska.

Today, with the all-day uphill climb and inevitable back-and-forth route decisions through the gorge ahead, we’ll be lucky to trudge even five miles to the lake below the pass. Why, I ask myself, as Chris puts on his pack and shifts into high gear, could we not have simply flown into the headwaters of the Noatak River instead of crossing the Brooks Range to get here? I heave on my pack and wonder how I’ll catch Chris, already far ahead.

Shards of caribou bones and antlers lie on the tundra as ghostly business cards of a bygone migration, greened with mold, and minutely chiseled and mined for calcium by tiny vole teeth. We kick steps across a snowfield, then work our way down a steep, multicolored boulderfield, whorled red and peppered with white quartz unlike any rocks I’ve seen before. As rain shakes out of the sky like Parmesan cheese from a can, we weave in and out of leafy alder thickets while I examine yet another fresh pile of grizzly feces. I stop to pick apart the scat and thumb through stems and leaves and root pieces. This griz appears to be on a vegetarian diet.

“Hey, bear!” We yell the old cautionary refrain again and again until we’re hoarse. I hold tight to the pepper spray looped over my shoulder to keep it from grabby alder branches.

A half mile farther the route dead-ends so we’re forced to descend into the gorge again. With Chris 20 yards behind, I plunge step down through a near-vertical slope of alders and play Tarzan for my descent as I hang onto a flexible yet stout branch, and swing down a short cliff into another alder thicket. A branch whacks me in the chest and knocks off the pepper-spray safety plug. When I swing onto the ground, I get caught on another branch that depresses the trigger in an abrupt explosion that shoots straight out from my chest in a surreal orange cloud. Instinctively I hold my breath and close my eyes and continue to shimmy downward, but I know I’m covered in red-hot pepper spray.

When I run out of breath, I squint, keep my mouth closed, breathe carefully through my nose, and scurry out of the orange capsaicin cloud. Down in a boulderfield that pulses with a stream, I open my mouth, take a deep breath, and yell to Chris that I’m O.K. as I strip off my shirt and try to wring it out in the stream. I tie the contaminated shirt on the outside of my pack and put on a sweater. My hands prickle with pepper.

Then we’re off again. As we clamber up steep scree to exit the gorge, my lips, nasal passages, forehead, and thighs burn from the pepper. The pepper spray spreads from my thighs to my crotch like a troop of red ants, but I can hardly remove my pants amid the incoming storm clouds and wind. With the last of the alders below us, we enter the alpine world above the tree line. By the time we reach the lake, the drizzle has become a steady rain. I’m nauseous and overheated underneath my rain jacket with the red pepper spray that I wish I had saved for an aggressive bear instead of a self-douche. Atop wet tundra that feels like a sponge underfoot, we pitch the Megamid tent with a paddle lashed to a ski pole and guy out the corners with four of the several million surrounding boulders left by the reduction of tectonic litter.

I fire up the stove and boil the water, and we inhale four portions of freeze-dried pasta inside the tent. We depart from wilderness bear decorum to cook outside and away from the tent because it’s cold and we’re tired. Chris immediately heads out with his camera. His eyes are watery from just being within several feet of me.

I’ve been reduced like this before—wounded and exhausted and temporarily knocked off my game. So, I tell myself that this too will pass, that I’ll get in gear and regain my mojo. That maybe, I can eventually get my shy partner to loosen up and talk. That we will discover an extraordinary new world—the headwaters of the Noatak River—from up on the pass in the morning. And that I will find a way to withstand my transformation into a spicy human burrito.

Snow feels likely tonight. It’s mid-July, yet winter has slid in like a glacier over the Kalulutok Valley.

I am too brain-dead to write in my journal, too physically wiped out and overheated in the wrong places to even think of a simple jaunt through the flowers to see the view that awaits us. I pull down my orange-stained pants and red underwear, grab a cup filled with ice water. I try not to moan as I put in my extra-hot penis and let it go numb.

Type 2 Fun for sure.

Jon Waterman lives in Carbondale, Colorado. An all-round adventurer, he has climbed the famous Cassin Ridge on Denali in winter; soloed the Northwest Passage; sailed to Hawaii picking up microplastics; dogsledded into and up Canada’s Mount Logan; and run the Colorado River 1,450 miles from source to sea. He is a recipient of the National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellowship and three grants from the National Geographic Society Expeditions Council. Into the Thaw is available to purchase from Patagonia Books and for pre-order on Amazon for November 19.

For more by this author:

A Former National Park Ranger Reveals His Favorite Wild Places in the U.S.

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One of the most biodiverse places on the planet, Costa Rica is a carefully preserved paradise for adventure travelers. The country’s government has protected one quarter of its land by designating parks, refuges, and reserves, and safeguarded approximately 30 percent of its marine area, too.

I first started traveling to Costa Rica nearly two decades ago, drawn to its then sleepy, surf-swept Pacific coast. As more people started to discover the pura vida vibes of laid-back beach towns like Malpais and Nosara, I ventured further inland and visited the wildlife-packed natural parks and cloud forests in the north. More recently, I scoped out the Caribbean coast, home to stellar waves, snorkel spots, and hiking trails, and a totally distinct culture—food, music, architecture—that made me feel like I was rediscovering a country I thought I knew.

On my latest trip last year, I hiked the country’s 174-mile, coast-to-coast with outfitter (from $565). This cross-country trail is the ultimate showcase for Costa Rica’s cultural and natural diversity, crossing four provinces and seven microclimates. (If you don’t have time to complete the entire 16-day hike, you can piece together an itinerary that delivers just as much variety in a shorter time frame.)

Bottom line: I don’t think I’ll ever tire of traveling to Costa Rica. From kayaking freshwater canals and surfing barrel waves to zip lining through clouded forests and scuba diving colorful reefs, Costa Rica offers the best adventure travel options. Here’s a cheat sheet to experiencing the country’s highlights, including six must-know tips from a local expert if you’ve never been before.

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Map of Costa Rica: Regions and National Parks to Visit

This interactive map of Costa Rica highlights the country’s diverse regions, and pinpoints each national park I mention below—all musts for first-time visitors. (Map: Erin McKnight)

Costa Rica Travel: A Word on Getting Around

Newbies should know that most of the country’s coolest spots require a car to get there. You can rent one at airports for a DIY road trip, or hire a driver to take you from region to region. Below, I share both flight and car options to reach each of destination. Plus, how renting the right rig and interpreting weather forecasts can dramatically impact your experience. Now, to the good stuff.

Costa Rica’s Pacific Coast

Surf swept coastline, laid back beach towns, and intensely biodiverse protected areas—both on land and at sea—make this one of the most popular areas for adventure.

Where to Go in the Nicoya Peninsula

Nosara

One of five official Blue Zones, geographically designated areas people statistically live longer, the Nicoya Peninsula offers an endless choice of dreamy beach towns including Santa Teresa, Malpais, and Manzanillo. But, Nosara stands out for its long, wide, golden sand beach, Playa Guiones, which has perfect waves for longboarding. You’ll find countless surf schools, including ($8,300 per week including room and meals), (lessons from $125; board rentals from $25 for a half-day) and (lessons from $120; week-long retreats from $5,642), where you can finesse your pop up or have a guide take you wave hunting up the coast. And there are plenty of delicious restaurants to refuel you, like (its fish tacos are a must).

How to Get There: Guanacaste’s Daniel Oduber QuirĂłs International Airport, also known as Liberia International Airport (LIR) is roughly 2.5 hours by car. Juan SantamarĂ­a International Airport (SJO) in San JosĂ© is a five to six hour drive.

Where to Stay: Family-friendly is a five-minute walk to Playa Guiones and has its own surf club and school and offers mountain bike rentals and tours (from $168 per night).

Where to Go in the Osa Peninsula

Corcovado National Park

Located in the southernmost region on the Pacific coast, Corcovado National Park packs 2.5 percent of the world’s biodiversity into .001 percent of its surface area. The country’s largest park covers more than 30 percent of the Osa Peninsula and protects mammals like the two and three-toed sloths, cougar, and giant anteaters, birds like the endangered Baird’s tapir, several types of hummingbirds, and one of the largest populations of scarlet macaws, and some 220 species of butterflies. Trails range from the mellow .8-mile out-and-back Quebrada San Pedro that leads to a view of a waterfall to the day-long, 6.3-mile out-and-back La Leona Madrigal, a bird watcher’s dream with epic sea views.

How to Get There: Sansa Airlines has daily 50-minute flights from San José to Puerto Jiménez airstrip (PJM). The drive from San José is around seven hours.

Where to Stay: Founded in 1993, is often called Costa Rica’s original eco-lodge. Rooms are nestled amidst the treetops of a 1,000-acre private reserve of Central America’s last remaining tropical lowland rainforest that skirts the park boundary (from $823 per night).

Where to Go in the Central Pacific

Manuel Antonio National Park

This seven-square-mile protected area combines beautiful beaches, rainforests, and wildlife. The resort town of the same name has all the amenities you’d want from an access point to such pristine nature. Wide, golden beaches including Escondido Beach, Manuel Antonio Beach, and Espadilla Sur can be reached via the main, 1.3-mile flat trail. The government recently capped daily visitors at 1,200 people and you must . The park is closed Tuesdays.

How to Get There: From San JosĂ© it’s a three-hour drive or a 20-minute flight on Sansa to the gateway town of Quepos (XQP).

Where to Stay: Splurge on a stay at , a sustainable, community-minded resort set on an 11-acre, trail-laced, private nature reserve. After a ten-minute walk from the property, a short trail unfurls to the north end of the beach, and the resort’s team of naturalists took me on nature walks to point out sloths and fiery-billed aracari (from $610 per night).

Marino Ballena National Park

One of the country’s newest national parks has a distinctive whale’s tail shape and is committed to conserving the marine systems within its boundaries. Twice a year (mid-July to October and December to March) humpback whales migrate to these waters. Book a whale-watching tour with (from $78). The local outfitter also offers snorkeling tours to Isla de Caño, which lies just outside of the protected area but promises sightings of dolphins, turtles, and colorful fish. hosts camps (one week from $1,795) and one-off surf lessons (from $65) at beach breaks in the park. The park has four entrance points, but head to Uvita—the main gateway to Whale Tail Beach where boat tours depart.

How to Get There: From San JosĂ© it’s around a four-hour drive or connect via a 20-minute flight on Sansa to Quepos, then drive one hour.

Where to Stay: Perched high atop a steep hill, has unparalleled views of Uvita town and the national park from its eight suites, open-air restaurant, and infinity pool (from $788 per night). And the more affordable in Uvita has just 12 rooms, each with terraces from which guests can spot hummingbirds and toucans (from $155 per night).

Costa Rica’s Caribbean Coast

The less trodden east coast offers all of the natural beauty—wildlife-filled rainforests, virgin beaches—of the west, but has fewer crowds and a distinct Afro-Caribbean culture. Expect to hear Patois spoken alongside Spanish, dance to Calypso music, and dine on Jamaican-influenced cuisine like saltfish fritters and rondon, a rich coconut stew.

Where to Go in the Northern Caribbean

Tortuguero National Park

This nearly 50,000-acre patchwork of canals, lagoons, dense jungle, thick mangrove forest, and beaches on the northern Caribbean Coast often draws comparisons to the Amazon. The name is a nod to the thousands of turtles that nest on its shores, mainly from July through October. In addition to leatherback, loggerhead, hawksbill, and green sea turtles, you can see around 400 species of birds, including toucans and spoonbills, 60 some species of mammals, and over 100 reptiles. Within hours of a recent visit, I ticked off sightings of capuchin monkeys, a sloth, red dart frogs, howler monkeys, and the emerald basilisk. A night boat tour along the canals revealed the glowing eyes of crocodiles, a coiled boa in a tree, and my eagle-eyed guide spotted a common potoo camouflaged in a cluster of broken branches.

How to Get There: The park can only be accessed by boat or plane. From San José, you can drive two hours to the La Pavona Dock and catch a two-hour scenic boat transfer. Sansa has a daily 40-minute flight to Tortuguero Airport (TTQ). Most lodges in the parks can arrange van and boat transfers from San José.

Where to Stay: is a collection of 11 humble, off-grid bungalows immersed in jungle and perched in front of the Madre de Dios lagoon. Guests have free use of kayaks and canoes and can join day and evening boat tours guided by wildlife experts (minimum two-night stay from $700).

Where to Go in the Southern Caribbean

Note: These three destinations below are accessible day trips from Limón, so you can pack each hot spot into a span of a few days—or better yet, take more time and relish the diverse nature of each. Our tips below on how to get there and where to stay apply across the board here.

Puerto Viejo de Talamanca

In fall, expert surfers flock to this lively beach town to test their mettle riding Salsa Brava, arguably Costa Rica’s biggest barreling wave. The black sands of Playa Negra are ideal for lounging beneath palm fronds and an excursion to the nearby , which rehabilitates and rewilds the cats, is a must. You can get a taste of the region’s signature Afro-Caribbean flavors and sign up for Afro-Latin dance classes at locally loved . The town is also a jumping off point for Cahuita National Park and Gandoca-Manzanillo National WIldlife Refuge.

Cahuita National Park

Set aside one day to explore the coastal wildlife trails that reveal sloth, monkeys, keel-billed toucan, and paca, a rodent that resembles a big guinea pig. The other should be devoted to chilling on the unspoiled beaches or snorkeling and diving the largest system of reefs in Costa Rica. In autumn the waters are calm and clear, making it easy to view stingrays, reef sharks, and 35 types of coral. guides boat trips to snorkel the reef of Cahuita National Park ($90).

Gandoca-Manzanillo National Wildlife Refuge

Stretching south nearly to the border of Panama, this collection of unique habitats includes a six-mile swath of golden sand, two swamps, a vibrant coral reef, and 740 acres of trail-laced rainforest. The reef teems with brain coral, Venus sea fans, neon anemones, electric blue parrot fish, and along the coastline you’ll find rare mangrove oyster beds. On land, you may spot endangered ocelot, the elusive harpy eagle, and from March to May four species of turtles come to nest here.

How to Get There: From San José, you can drive five and a half hours, or Sansa offers multiple daily 35-minute flights to Limón International Airport (LIO).

Where to Stay: has 15 boho-chic rooms nestled on a forest-fringed beach in Puerto Viejo. I’m a fan of the complimentary bikes and snorkel gear, and applaud the hotel’s commitment to hiring employees and sourcing ingredients locally. The national park is just 25 minutes away and the wildlife refuge, ten minutes; the hotel can arrange tours of both. (Rooms from $365 per night.)

Costa Rica’s Northern Region

You could spend a lifetime park hopping in the north. First timers won’t want to skip Costa Rica’s crown jewels: Monteverde Cloud Forest Biological Reserve and Arenal Volcano. Miravalles Volcano National Park, Tenorio Volcano Park, and waterfall mecca Juan Castro Blanco National Park are less known but equally spectacular.Ìę

Monteverde Cloud Forest Biological Reserve

The cloud forests of Monte Verde, a more than 35,000-acre reserve in the Cordillera de Tilarán mountain range, contain approximately 50 percent of the country’s flora and fauna, including over 420 types of orchids, 200 species of ferns, rare birds like the three-wattled bellbird and iconic resplendent quetzal, and charismatic mammals like the sloth. You can get a bird’s eye view of the wildlife from walkways suspended in the canopies or on a zip line tour. leads night walks in nearby Monteverde Wildlife Refuge where you can observe nocturnal animals like ocelot, sloth, and armadillos (tickets from $25).

How to Get There: It’s about a 2.5-hour drive from either San JosĂ© or Guanacaste airports.

Where to Stay: A hanging bridge connects (from $265 per night) to Aguti Wildlife Reserve and guests get free admission. The reserve is minutes away and the hotel’s in-house naturalists take guests on tours of the adjacent expanse.

Arenal Volcano National Park

The park’s namesake stratovolcano soars 5,357 feet towards the clouds and is one of the northern region’s most popular attractions. But there’s plenty else to see and do in the 30,000-acre protected area including zip lining, river rafting, horseback riding, and hiking. The Heliconias, Coladas, Tucanes, and Los Miradores trails provide views of flora and fauna as well as the remains of volcanic lava tracts. Outfitter offers a trip that combines a hike through the park with a scenic boat ride on Lake Arenal (tickets from $88).

How to Get There: The gateway town of La Fortuna is around a 2.5 to 3-hour drive from either San José or Guanacaste airports.

Where to Stay: Adults-only is a luxe option in the heart of the park; villas come with private hot spring-fed soaking pools (from $396 per night). And carbon neutral is nestled at the base of the volcano, so you get the up-close experience (from $375 per night). Day passes to Tabacón’s massive hydrotherapy circuit are also available for non-guests.

Costa Rica Travel: 6 Expert Tips for First-Time Visitors

Even though I’ve been to the country over 20 times, I know I’ve barely scratched the surface. So I called Javier Echecopar, co-founder of travel company , to share his top tips for smart travel, to get that extra local’s intel Here’s what he says every Costa Rica first-timer should be aware of to make the most of your trip.

1. Know Your Seasons

Despite the size, Costa Rica has two distinct weather patterns. December through April is hot and dry in most of the country, but rainy on the Caribbean side. May through November is wet and green across the country, but dry on the Caribbean side.

2. Ignore the Daily Weather Forecast

Ask any Tico (a colloquial term for native inhabitants of Costa Rica) and they’ll tell you normal day-by-day weather forecasts are pretty much useless. For example, the forecast might show rain every day for a week but those tropical showers will only last one hour each afternoon.

3. Consider Using a Driver

Costa Rica is one of the safest places to travel but the roads can be challenging. While driving along the coast is easy, you might consider hiring a driver to explore the mountains and rainforest, which can be more challenging with tight roads, sudden rainfall, and early nightfall.

4. If You Do Drive, Choose Your Rig Wisely

Try to rent a high-clearance SUV with all-wheel drive, and if you need extras like a car seat for kids or roof rack for surfboards, book with . It’s the only company that offers all of the above for no fee. Locals avoid Google maps which has been known to confuse rivers for roads. Instead, follow instructions on Waze.

5. Don’t Expect Late Nights

Costa Ricans are early risers. Sunrise is usually around 5:30AM, year-round. And it will be dark by 6PM as well. Expect to shift your day a little earlier to make the most of your time here. If you want nightlife, head to the capital, San José.

6. Carry Small Bills for Tips

American dollars are widely accepted. “I haven’t touched a colón in a long time,” says Echecopar, referring to the local currency. You can pay almost everything with a card, but keep some smaller bills in either currency for gratuities.

Jen Murphy has visited Costa Rica more than 20 times and feels like she has still barely scratched the surface of all the country offers. Last year she trekked the Camino de Costa Rica from the Caribbean to the Pacific Coast and encountered fewer than five other tourists on the trail.

The post Costa Rica: The Beginner’s Guide to șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Travel appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Born and raised in Wichita Falls, Texas, I grew up chasing after horned lizards, flying off inflatable tubes pulled behind boats, and camping in triple-digit-degree summers. Family vacations were a mix of relaxing on the Galveston coast and testing my athletic abilities slalom water skiing on Lake Arrowhead.

Texas sometimes receives eye rolls and groans from the rest of the country, and I get it. We can be a little loud and braggy, and I’ve got a bone to pick with some state policies. But the thing I’ve never understood is why more people aren’t aware of the bounty of outdoor experiences here. There’s something indisputable about the diverse geography of the Lone Star State that I’ll defend time and time again. We’ve got outdoors to rival them all, y’all.

My state has some of the biggest and best landscapes in the country, filled with diverse wildlife, awe-inspiring views, and adventurous activities. I am proud to put on my braggart Texan cap to explain how to experience it all. These are my favorite places and experiences to get outside in Texas.

1. National Parks

It was hard to believe Texas had “real” mountains until, in the most spiritual experience I’ve ever had in a state where churches sit on every corner, I saw them rising gloriously out of the desert in Big Bend National Park. On my first visit, seven years ago, I stayed with an 80-year-old in Terlingua whom I found through couchsurfing.com. He took me to the national park for a hike and we gazed at exposed ancient pictographs, which seem to show darts or arrowheads for hunting, in red pigments on the gold limestone.

Then we soaked in the Langford Hot Springs, outdoor baths above ancient faults where Tornillo Creek enters the Rio Grande. Big Bend National Park offers float trips through canyons, horseback riding, hiking, and stargazing; it’s an International Dark Sky Park.

That night I joined Terlinguan locals and national-park visitors on an impromptu walk through old mining tunnels, followed by porch-side singing of 1990s classics, and then a swim in the Terlingua Creek. I had thought I’d spend most of my time in Big Bend hiking alone; instead I was surrounded by a host of characters with big personalities. Sometimes a trip to a Texas national park takes you on a journey you don’t expect.

You can find many of the same activities at our other national park, Guadalupe, two hours east of El Paso. Guadalupe National Park has eight of the ten highest peaks in Texas, the world’s most extensive Permian fossil reef, and 80 hiking trails through unique geological formations, like thousand-foot cliffs and rocks with dark water-ripple streaks.

2. Kayaking and Canoeing

In 2021, I paddled a folding kayak on a voyage under the downtown Dallas skyline for a 12-mile portion of the 130-mile . The serenity of the experience was only interrupted by a few car honks when I floated under bridges—and the sight of a passing gator.

Texas has located throughout the state, and with 3,700 streams, 15 major rivers, and 3,300 miles of tidal shoreline, an abundance of other places to paddle or row as well. You can kayak with dolphins in the Galveston Bay or canoe with gators through , home to one of the world’s largest cypress forests, the trees covered in Spanish moss. Autumn paddle trips are ideal for fall-foliage views and cooler temps, not to mention a chance to witness thousands of monarch butterflies migrating to Mexico over the Devil’s River in West Texas.

3. Climbing

Rock climbing has become popular in Texas—you now see just as many dating profiles with rock-climbing photos as you do of folks holding up dead fish they’ve caught. Climbers from here and elsewhere are scrambling to places like , a bouldering hub 30 miles east of El Paso featuring problems (meaning short routes done ropeless) from V0-V16, and near Austin, which offers bolted sport climbs. Some Texas property owners are opening their private lands to climbers for limited camping and use. For instance, new routes are being developed among the granite cliffs and boulders at .

4. Hiking

I’ve hiked through flat North Texas fields of bluebonnets, across dinosaur tracks at , and up hills and limestone canyons full of Uvalde bigtooth maple trees at . Even within our cities there are spectacular hiking trails: like Austin’s ; or, just an hour-and-fifteen-minute drive from Houston, the 129-mile Lone Star Hiking Trail, which winds through the , the largest national forest in Texas.

For less crowded hikes, aim for natural areas in the South Texas Plains, Pineywoods, Panhandle Plains, and Big Bend Country. I hiked about eight miles on that follows the rim of Seminole Canyon in in Big Bend Country and saw only two other people.

East Texas holds the four national forests—Sam Houston, Davy Crockett, Sabine, and Angelina—with the Caddo-Lyndon B. Johnson National Grasslands, also Forest Service-managed, located in northeast Texas. All are laced with hiking trails.

Texas hiking tips: Always pack more water than you need, and then pack an extra bottle—and if you hear a rattle, move your ass. We have 15 varieties of venomous snakes, so be careful. But to keep it in perspective, more people die in Texas from lightning strikes than snake bites. So don’t chance the storms, either.

5. Cycling and Mountain Biking

You have to admire how most Texans aren’t fazed about cycling and biking in extreme temperatures in outdoor environments. Take me—I rode 100 miles in 100-degree-heat for a cycling ride aptly called in my hometown. My parents thought it’d be a “fun” challenge for us to do together. They took me to a cycling shop and urged me to buy a bike. “It’s a good investment,” my dad said. “You’ll use it all the time.”

My mom and I completed the Hotter N’ Hell Hundred ride more handily than I expected, while my dad, who was 60 at the time, outshone us by completing the Triple Threat (a 12-mile mountain-bike ride on Friday, 100-mile road ride on Saturday, and a 12-mile trail run on Sunday).

Our big ol’ state has cycling trails of all kinds—like the 30-mileÌę, which passes by historic Spanish missions in the San Antonio Missions National Historic Park. The challenging 133-mile follows the old Union Pacific and Chaparral railroad right-of-ways through small towns and over railroad bridges from northeast of Dallas to Texarkana.

Let’s not forget mountain-biking trails. Looking for steep hills, granite outcrops, and other forms of technical terrain? Hit up Hill Country State Natural Area for 40 miles of mountain-biking trails like the .

6. The Coast

The Gulf of Mexico is warmer than the Atlantic or Pacific oceans—so why suffer the cold when Texas has 367 miles of shoreline and sandy beaches. Camp on the beach at places like or the remote , made up of 56,000 acres of offshore barrier islands and bayside marshes. You can swim, parasail, surf, water ski, boat, fish, kayak, and go horseback riding.

Despite what you may think, there is surfing along Texas’ coastline, at Surfside Beach, Port Aransas, and South Padre, especially during hurricane swells. Corpus Christi has among the largest number of kite-able days in the U.S., making it a well-known kitesurfing destination.

Dying for a surf experience but can’t make the drive to the coast? Do what I did and catch waves at located between Austin and Dallas, an hour and a half from each. The two-acre surf lake makes waves for beginners, intermediates, and pros. I easily caught 10 smooth waves in an hour and had a blast cheering other surfers between the ages of 10 and 78.

7. State Parks

Years ago, my friends and I packed our tents and drove to the Texas Panhandle to stay in the United States’ second-largest canyon, . During the day, we hiked through red strata rock formations, and at night we marveled and sang:

The stars at night

Are big and bright (clap four times)

Deep in the heart of Texas

Texas has 89 state parks, natural areas, and historic sites that display its geological variety. near San Antonio is a tropical getaway with dwarf palmetto plants, while has a 70-foot waterfall and 400 underground caves. Board across sand dunes in the , see the Texas State bison herd roaming in , or jump into the world’s largest spring-fed swimming pool in .

8. Lakes, Rivers, and Springs

We’ve got every flavor of water you could want, from the picturesque swimming holes of to the crystal-blue reservoir at . I have many memories boating on Lake watching daredevil youths (and some adults) jumping off cliffs, sticking my backside in an inner tube to , and trying not to fall off paddle boards. There is scuba diving in , which has 200 artesian springs and the densest population of turtles in the country.

Come on out! Hope to see you on the trails.

Ìę

If you buy through our links, we may earn an affiliate commission. This supports our mission to get more people active and outside.ÌęLearn more.

ÌęAlex Temblador was born and raised in North Texas, the traditional homeland of the Caddo, Comanche, Kiowa, Tawakoni, and Wichita peoples. She lives in the Dallas area, a short drive from hills, rivers, lakes, and springs, and continues to find beautiful places in her state to paddle, hike, and explore.Ìę

The post Texas Is a Great Outdoor-șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű State. I Would Know. appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Yosemite, Great Smoky Mountains, Acadia 
. We spend a lot of time salivating over the national parks in the U.S., but there’s a brilliant system of goodies just across the border in Canada. Try Banff. But how many can you even name?

Our neighbors to the north have 37 national parks and 10 national-park reserves. The latter are managed in cooperation with Indigenous peoples.

As șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű‘s national parks columnist, I decided that it was high time to single out the best national parks in Canada. For starters, the scenery is mind-blowingly beautiful.

The goal of Canada’s extensive park system is just like ours: to protect lands that represent different ecosystems. There are a couple noticeable differences in how those landscapes are managed, though. For one, Parks Canada has embraced mountain biking and is actively developing purpose-built singletrack in many parks; mountain biking is not allowed on the trails in the majority of U.S. national parks. Also, thriving towns are located within many of the park borders, rather than nearby or adjacent as gateways.

Below, you’ll find nine of the most outstanding national parks in Canada that I can’t wait to visit. (All fees and prices are in U.S. dollars.)

1. Banff National Park

Alberta, Canada

Entrance Fee: $7.50

Canada’s first national park (established in 1885), is a 4,126-square-mile swath of the Canadian Rockies 80 miles west of Calgary, Alberta, that includes limestone peaks, glaciers, and icy lakes. A lot of icy lakes, which formed as glaciers retreated, leaving powder-blue pools in their wake.

Banff is the most popular of Canada’s national parks, with more than 4 million visitors each year. The park has an array of resort-like amenities, with the bustling towns of Lake Louise and Banff located within its boundaries, and quaint tea houses on popular backcountry hikes. But there’s also much pristine wilderness, as 96 percent of the park is totally undeveloped.

The 8.6-mile hike offers a great introduction to the landscape, tracing the edge of Lake Louise before climbing to Lake Agnes, where you can grab some tea and cookies at the Lake Agnes Tea House before finishing the loop. You’ll revel in views of the rocky 11,365-foot Mount Victoria, which looks about as wide as it does tall, and the Victoria Glacier, which feeds Lake Louise.

The turquoise water of Moraine Lake is surrounded by almost a dozen peaks, creating a focal point for some of the best views in all of Banff, especially from the hull of a boat. rents canoes from its docks ($102 per canoe for an hour). You can’t drive your own car to the lake, so take a .

Where to Stay in Banff

You have your pick of scenic and historic lodges, but for a treat check out , dubbed a “castle in the Rockies,” with high-end digs on the edge of the town of Banff (from $595 a night).

Campers should head to , with 116 sites and amenities like sheltered camp kitchens with wood-burning stoves. It’s first-come, first-served ($18 a night).

2. Jasper National Park

Alberta, Canada

Entrance Fee: $8

shares a border with Banff, with the 144-mile Icefields Parkway running between the two landscapes. Jasper is the larger of the two, spanning 6,835 square miles of prime Canadian Rockies real estate in the middle of nowhere. This means you have to really want to visit Jasper, which is a four-hour drive west from Alberta’s capital city of Edmonton, or a five-hour drive northwest from Calgary. The trip is well worth it, as the park is loaded with towering cliffs, high peaks, deep canyons, and waterfalls fed by glaciers. The town of Jasper is the hub of activity and perfect basecamp, as roads and trails extend from there into the mountains.

Towards the southern border of the park, the Columbia Icefield covers more than 186 square miles along the Continental Divide. The Athabasca Glacier flows down from this massive icefield, giving day hikers a chance to explore the actively changing landscape. You can hike the 2.4-mile out-and-back to the edge of the ice, but to truly explore the area you can sign up for a guided tour. leads a guided 4.5-hour hike on the Athabasca Glacier with a sustainability focus ($128 per person).

Jasper is loaded with scenic treks, but the begins and ends at a hot-springs resort. The five-mile out-and-back hike climbs to the summit of Sulphur Ridge, ascending through a spruce fir forest via a series of switchbacks until you crest above the tree line to panoramic views that include the Fiddle River Valley below and Utopia Mountain in the distance. Retrace your steps to soak in , a developed series of pools with temps that reach 104 degrees ($13 per person).

Where to Stay Near Jaspers National Park

is the closest campground to the town of Jasper, making it an easy base of operations. It’s large, with 781 sites, and recently renovated with improved sites and brand-new bathroom and shower facilities. You can make starting in January of each year (from $22 U.S. per night).

3. Gros Morne National Park

Newfoundland

Entrance Fee: $8

You want fjords? has fjords. On the western edge of the island of Newfoundland, Gros Morne is a blissful mix of soaring fjord walls, towering mountains, and the bizarre Tablelands, where the earth’s mantle is exposed in an expanse of orange rock, the remnant of a tectonic plate shift that pushed the earth’s crust upward. The 1,121-square-mile park rises from the freshwater Gulf of St. Lawrence and is split by Bonne Bay into two sections, northern and southern, with a ferry running between. Rocky Harbour is home to the visitors’ center and launching spot for most adventures.

Western Brook Pond, a landlocked freshwater fjord with 2,000-foot walls and the occasional waterfall, should be the first stop. Hiking the 9.1-mile loop, which passes through meadows along the coastal headland, is also a must. Drop down to the shore at Old Man Cove, where the beach is flanked by cliffs and waterfalls, and a sea cave is tucked into the rock walls.

Where to Stay Near Gros Morne National Park

has 38 sites in an evergreen forest, with views of the Tablelands in the south side of the park ($21 per night, advance reservations). The campground has quick access to Trout River Pond, a fjord lake (a body of water separated from the Gulf of St. Lawrence) banked by steep cliffs on one side and a forested plateau on the other.

4. Kluane National Park and Reserve

Yukon

Entrance Fee: Free

In the southwest corner of the Yukon Territory, the 8,499-square-mile is a peak-bagger’s dream, encompassing 17 of Canada’s 20 highest mountains, including the country’s tallest, the 19,551-foot Mount Logan. Here, too, are the largest non-polar ice fields in the world, forming glaciers that fill the valleys, turning into rivers as they flow east, feeding lakes and sustaining habitat where caribou, wolves, bears, and mountain goats roam on the eastern edge of the park. The Haynes Highway and Alaska Highway traverse the eastern boundary, providing access to the visitors’ center, front-country trailheads, and campgrounds.

Hike the six-mile out-and-back which follows the edge of Kathleen Lake before climbing up on switchbacks to the saddle of a cirque overlooking the lake.

Where to Stay Near Kluane National Park and Reserve

Campers should head to , which has 38 sites within walking distance of the lake of the same name. Campground availability is a mix of first-come, first-served sites and others you can reserve in advance ($20 per night).

5. Pacific Rim National Park Reserve

British Columbia

Fee: $8

Covering 126,500 acres of the west coast of Vancouver Island, in British Columbia, is really three parks in one, with distinct units. The Long Beach Unit is accessible by car and is loaded with sandy beaches and surfing, while the Broken Group Islands Unit encompasses more than 100 islands within the Barkley Sound, only reachable by boat.

The third unit, the West Coast Trail, features the 47-mile footpath of the same name. Most visitors stick to the Long Beach Unit, but wherever you end up, you can expect dense rainforest full of Sitka spruce and hemlock and mountains rising to the east, while the tumultuous Pacific dominates the west. Bring a rain jacket; summers are warm but wet.

In the Long Beach Unit, hike the 1.1-mile to sample this section’s terrain, as the path moves through dense forest to cliffs to a sandy beach. The surf is gentle in the summer, well-suited for beginner and intermediate surfers. The beach at Incinerator Rock has been a surf destination since the ‘60s and has the most beginner-friendly waves in the park. runs lessons and rentals out of the town of Ucluelet (group lessons from $95 a person, rentals from $33 a day).

Where to Stay Near Pacific Rim National Park and Reserve

Snag a spot at the park’s only front-country campground, , which has a mix of drive-in and walk-in sites among the spruce (from $22 a night).

6. Cape Breton Highlands National Park

Nova Scotia

Fee: $7

The mountains tumble straight down to the sea in Cape Breton Highlands, on the northern tip of Nova Scotia. The park covers an elevated plateau full of forested river canyons and isolated beaches, stretching between the Atlantic Ocean to the east and the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the west. Inside Cape Breton Highlands you’ll find a particularly scenic portion of the 186-mile Cabot Trail, a paved two-lane road circumnavigating the park on its way around Nova Scotia’s Cape Breton Island, offering a variety of overlooks with views of the rocky cliffs of La Bloc and the Fishing Cove, an inlet at the base of MacKenzie Mountain.

Make time to hike , a 5.1-mile loop along a headland cliff that ends at an overlook above the Gulf of St. Lawrence, where you can occasionally spot whales. The 4.6-mile loop is a slightly shorter but tougher outing, climbing more than 1,000 feet to views of a forested canyon and the Atlantic coastline. Watch out for moose on this trail; they cause more injuries in Canadian national parks than bears. Keep your distance (for long-range photo advice, see this șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű guide).

Where to Stay in Cape Breton Highlands National Park

There are eight campgrounds inside the park, but will put you within walking distance of a beach where you can swim. The campground is small, with just 22 sites (from $14.50 per night).

7. Riding Mountain National Park

Manitoba

Entrance Fee: $7

Manitoba is like Canada’s version of our Midwest, full of rolling plains and farmland. It’s a more subtle type of beauty—no massive cliffs or towering peaks—but there is elegance in those shimmering plains. encapsulates the best of that landscape, with 1,864 square miles of grasslands, lakes, wetlands, and forests choked with spruce, birch, and poplar. The fertile fields and oasis-like lakes attract an astounding array of wildlife. Parks Canada estimates there are roughly 1,000 black bears and three times as many moose; there are also cougars, lynx, and wolves.

Clear Lake is the epicenter of action, with the resort-like town of Wasagaming dominating the southern shore. Most visitors start and stop right there. But more than 1,900 lakes and 250 miles of hiking trails are spread throughout the park. For a quick jaunt, cruise through the one-mile Ominik Marsh Trail, a floating boardwalk through wetlands with a healthy population of beavers. For the big picture, hike , a 6.9-mile out-and-back including a .4-mile side hike up to the top of Bald Hill, a knob of loose, tan rock with the best view in the park, overlooking the hardwood spruce mixed forest at your feet and plains rolling to the horizon.

Want to see some wildlife? You have a good chance of seeing bear and moose all over the park, but for bison, head to Lake Audy, where a 40-strong herd lives in a 500-hectare enclosure. They’re descendants of a group that was introduced to the park from Elk Island National Park in the 1940s. The Lake Audy area, where the herd of bison live, has been closed since October 2023 because of roadwork, but according to , that closure should be lifted this month.

Where to Stay in Riding Mountain National Park

Pitch a tent at , where 14 walk-in tent sites have views of Whirlpool Lake (from $13 per night, reserve in advance), a grassy-edged body of water tucked into a spruce forest that’s a known hot spot for wildlife.

8. Auyuittuq National Park

Nunavit

Entrance Fee: $12

What sort of terrain will you find inside ? Here’s a clue: The name is Inuktitut for “the land that never melts.” Auyuittuq is located on the southern end of Baffin Island, protecting a small slice of the Arctic Circle. It’s a frozen tundra throughout winter, but come July and August, the ice and snow melt, revealing a park full of towering granite peaks, glaciers, and river valleys, while the edges of the island are marked with deep fjords.

It’s not an easy park to access. There are no roads or even designated trails inside the park, but provides scheduled flights from Montreal, Ottawa, and Yellowknife to the gateway town of Pangnirtung. From there, you can take a 45-minute boat ride to the park proper.

Pangnirtung will be your home base for exploration. The small outpost is home to the park visitor center, as well as local outfitters that offer trips into the park. Most people stick to the Akshayuk Pass area, a 60-mile corridor between mountains and glaciers, which takes up to two weeks to trek in full. There are no marked trails, but nine emergency shelters are spread a day apart each, and most people use landmarks like lakes and peaks to guide themselves through the area. The southern portion of the Akshayuk, from Overlord Peak to Summit Lake, is a popular five-day trek. , in Pangnirtung, can help with shuttles, trip planning, or guiding.

If you show up in the spring before temperatures rise, you can also take a guided from Pangnirtung into the Arctic Circle proper.The full-day adventure has Parks Canada staff interpreting the landscape and Inuit culture for you ($225 per person, minimum four people).

Where to Say Near Auyuittuq National Park

The park has no developed campgrounds, but there are a couple of hotels in Pangnirtung. The is small, with just three rooms and views of the fjord ($182 a night).

9. Bruce Peninsula National Park

Ontario

Entrance Fee: $7, kids 17 and under free

Covering the northern tip of a strip of land that separates the Georgian Bay from greater Lake Huron, protects 96 square miles of the Niagara Escarpment. Here water meets rock, full of limestone cliffs, rocky beaches, caves, rivers, and some of the oldest trees in Canada: white cedar trees living atop the cliffs believed to be more than 1,300 years old.

Head to the Lake Huron side of the peninsula to explore Singing Sands Beach, where dunes flank a sandy shore ideal for swimming. The Grotto, a limestone cave that opens up to the turquoise water of the Georgian Bay, is the most popular destination in the park. Indian Head Cove, also on the Georgian Bay side of the park, hasÌę access to cliffs and beach as well. From April 30 to October 31 you’ll (parking is $12, with reservations an additional $9). Again, reservations are required, and once the lots are full, visiting the shores and trails is not possible, so plan ahead (and know that autumn is less busy than summer). The beach at has a collection of boulders now managed as a designated bouldering area, where you can climb with the aqua-blue waters of Georgian Bay in the background.

Where to Stay Near Bruce Peninsula National Park Ìę

Book a spot at , and you can bypass the parking reservation system for the Grotto by hiking to it from your campsite. The campground has 232 sites with access to Cyprus Lake, which has multiple canoe launches. It’s a popular campground, so make reservations early ($35 a night).Ìę

10. Fundy National Park

New Brunswick

Entrance Fee: $7

isn’t large—it covers just 50,900 acres on New Brunswick’s east coast—but it packs in a lot of highlights. At the heart of the park is the Bay of Fundy, famous for the greatest tidal-shift differential in the world, where you can walk the mudflats of the ocean floor during low tide, while that same spot will later fill with 50 feet of water during high tide.

At Hopewell Rocks Park, just outside the national park, a series of sea stacks on the ocean floor are exposed during low tide and then almost fully submerged again. The Bay of Fundy might earn top billing (it’s considered one of the Seven Natural Wonders of North America), but there is much more to this park. Miles of rugged coast hem in a dense forest of spruce, fir, maples, and birch trees, not to mention 25 waterfalls, and bogs that hold carnivorous plants.

Experience the tidal shift first hand at , in the Bay of Fundy, where you can wade through the mud searching for crustaceans, but for another perspective on the park’s grandeur, hike the 12-mile out-and-back , which traces the Fundy cliff line, traveling through spruce forest between many overlooks. The trail also drops down to Herring Cove, where you can explore a beach and sea caves.

Where to Stay Near Fundy National Park

Pitch your tent at , which has 155 sites you can reserve in advance (from $21 per night), and hike from there to the Point Wolfe Beach for a swim.

A note: Wildfires are a concern during the summer in Canada, as they are in the Western U.S. Stay on potential impacts to a park you’re hoping to visit and on any open-fire bans. None of the parks on this list are currently under serious threat.

Graham Averill is șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű magazine’s national-parks columnist. He’s been steadily ticking off parks in his home country, and is now expanding north.

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What does a professional kayaker do when he realizes he’s in the twilight of his career? He releases a rap album, of course. Producer Paddy O’Connel sits down with pro kayaker and musician Rush Sturges to find out how the many paths in his life have led to the most eclectic rap album you’ve ever heard.

The post A Pro Kayaker Walks into Some Hip-Hop Bars appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Roads usually leave me lukewarm. I understand they’re necessary, connecting us from points A to B, and they can be cool, but I don’t stay up late thinking about the adventures to be had on a two-lane blacktop. The exception, of course, is a road trip on the Blue Ridge Parkway. I’ve never driven the entire road, which passes right near my home in Asheville, North Carolina, but over two decades I’ve traveled, hiked, and ridden my bike on most of it.

This 469-mile highway, also known as “America’s Favorite Drive,” is a unit in our National Park System, running north and south, connecting Shenandoah National Park in Virginia and Great Smoky Mountains National Park in North Carolina. I get excited about this particular byway as an avenue of adventure, anchoring some of the best road cycling and hiking in the Southern Appalachian mountains.

I don’t even think of the Blue Ridge Parkway as a road, but a 469-mile-long park.

For the most part, the Blue Ridge Parkway (or BRP) is mountainous, hugging the ridge lines of some of the tallest mountain ranges east of the Mississippi, but it also drops down to river valleys and cruises through working farms amid rolling pastures. There are no stop signs or traffic lights on the entire route.

When Was the Blue Ridge Parkway Built?

Construction of the parkway started in 1935, as a Depression-era project meant to create local jobs but also to give the country a drivable destination in and of itself. In the 1930s, motoring around in a car was as much about fun as it was commuting, and the parkway was conceived of for recreation: stringing together scenic overlooks, picnic areas, and parks with hiking trails.

It took 52 years to finish the road, with the last section, the Linn Cove Viaduct, completed in 1987. But the intention is still obvious today, almost 90 years after the first mile of pavement was poured. I get excited about this road not because of the national parks on either end, but what’s along the way.

The Blue Ridge Parkway is a bit of a conundrum. Yes, it connects two well-known national parks, but it’s actually the slowest way to travel between those two points, thanks to low speed limits and near-endless curves. Yes, it’s the most visited unit in the National Park System, welcoming 16.7 million people last year, more than even its southern neighbor, Great Smoky Mountains National Park, which had a huge 13.3 million. Still, many people outside of the Southern Appalachians have never heard of it.

Drive the parkway in the summer, and it’s a roll-your-windows-down-and-cruise experience. Hurrying is counterintuitive to the intent, which was for motorists to meander and enjoy. Here’s a guide to my favorite adventures, from hopping into crystal-clear swimming holes to hiking to cranking out challenging road climbs.

The Best Time to Drive the Blue Ridge Parkway

Much of the parkway closes for winter, usually from November until April. Spring is fine if you want to beat the crowds, but the higher elevations can still feel wintry, as the hardwoods are bare until mid May. Summer is beautiful, particularly at the higher elevations, which stay cool even during July and August.

Everyone goes crazy for the rhododendrons, which will bloom pink and white anywhere from May into July, depending on the elevation (the higher the slope, the later it will bloom). You’ll also find meadows of blueberries and blackberries that ripen in June and July, depending on the elevation. Show up in fall, and the entire landscape will be ablaze with the colors of the hardwoods. The foliage lights up early (late September, early October) at the higher peaks like Mount Mitchell.

Road Closures on the Blue Ridge Parkway

Sections of the Blue Ridge Parkway at times shut down for maintenance. During my most recent trip, a portion traversing the Virginia/North Carolina line was closed, requiring an 18-mile detour. Keep an eye on the parkway’s , which lists all active closures, while planning your trip. But don’t let one or two closures deter you; there’s always roadwork going on here somewhere.

Logistics

The Blue Ridge Parkway has no entry fee, and while it has a beginning and an end, there’s no need for a “thru-drive.” Multiple access points mean you can pick one section to explore, which is how I’ve approached my parkway drives over the years. If you intend to drive the entire 469 miles in one shot, take your time. Give yourself several days, especially to hike, bike, and explore.

How to Explore the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia

Virginia contains just over 200 miles of the parkway. The road begins in Rockfish Gap, where Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park ends. There are some mountainous miles, but in this state the road is mainly pastoral, cruising through small ranches and family farms. With all of the wooden fences and country stores, this part of the road can feel like traveling back in time in the best way.

The Best Hikes Along the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia

Humpback Rocks (Milepost 6): Just six miles from the northern terminus of the parkway is one of the best short hikes in the state. The two-mile out-and-back climbs 740 feet to a protruding rock outcropping with views that take in the southern part of Shenandoah National Park, the mountains of George Washington National Forest, and the farms of the Shenandoah Valley.

Sharp Top Mountain (Milepost 86): This is a tough 2.8-mile out-and-back on which climbs 1,300 feet to the craggy peak of Sharp Top Mountain (3,875 feet), with a view of Abbott Lake and the historic Peaks of Otter Lodge below. The summit is a jumble of boulders, but you’ll also see an old, now shuttered, stone restaurant that sold concessions during the 1950s and ‘60s. The ascent is a mix of double track and stone steps, so you might feel like you’re on a Stairmaster. It’s a popular hike, and there’s even a shuttle that could take you most of the way to the top, but you’ll want to do the steps.

Rock Castle Gorge (Milepost 169): Looking for a challenge? This begins as an easy stroll through meadows interspersed with patches of forest, but quickly drops into a narrow canyon cut by Rock Castle Creek. Early settlers named the gorge “Rock Castle” not because of any notable formations, but for the six-sided crystals they found in the creek, which they thought looked like castle turrets.

The gorge offers steep walls full of rhododendron and ferns, with a “jungle hike” feel, rising for several hundred feet on either side of the creek. There’s designated backcountry camping roughly halfway through the full hike. My favorite part of the trail is the first two miles, with their broad, grassy pastures. Some of those meadows are still active cattle farms (watch for cow poop), while others are the sites of historic settlements that date back to the 1700s. Native Americans hunted and lived in and around the gorge for thousands of years before that.

The Best Road Rides Along the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia

James River to Peaks of Otter (MP 64 to MP 86): Calling all Type 2 Fun cyclists out there; this out-and-back begins on the James River and finishes at Peaks of Otter, respectively the lowest point and one of the highest points on the parkway in Virginia. On it, you’ll tackle the longest sustained climb on the route in the state, gaining 3,500 feet in 12 miles.

You’ll also get copious amounts of views from overlooks, can stretch your legs away from the bike to check out the 200-foot Apple Orchard Falls (it’s a 1.2-mile hike to the falls, so bring a bike lock if you want to go). After grabbing a bite at the Peaks of Otter Lodge’s restaurant, you can turn around and enjoy the descent back to your car.

Mabry Mill to Fancy Gap (MP 176 to MP 200): For a mellower road ride, I really like this section, rolling through farms near the border of North Carolina. You’ll enjoy the occasional long-range view, but mostly you’re pedaling through small cattle ranches and family farms with tunnels of hardwoods and rhododendron scattered between the pastures. There are climbs, but they’re short, and the traffic is light.

Living off the parkway in Asheville, I regularly strike out to bike or hike different lengths of the road. During a recent midweek morning ride, I saw more deer than cars. And check out , a restored sawmill and blacksmith shop that history buffs go bananas over as a slice of Appalachian life from the early 1900s.

The Best Gateway Towns in Virginia Along the Blue Ridge Parkway

Access roads will deliver you to many small communities throughout the 200-plus miles of the parkway in Virginia, but the burgs below are my favorites.

Roanoke: More city than town, Roanoke has almost 100,000 residents, making it the biggest city on this path, with a vibrant beer and food scene. has a massive beer garden right in the heart of downtown. is the most lauded restaurant in town, with a constantly rotating menu that leans heavily into seafood, and offerings like lump crab cakes and BBQ shrimp.

Floyd: This tiny hamlet is the quintessential small farm town, complete with a lively country store, , open since 1910. You can grab a snack and even catch live music here on Friday nights. There are also breweries, wineries, and distilleries around. Check out for traditional German lagers.

How to Explore the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina

After entering the state, the parkway quickly ascends to the ridge lines, and mostly stays up high all the way until its crescendo at the border of Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The road contours around a series of 5,000- and 6,000-foot peaks, even skirting the 6,683-foot Mount Mitchell—the highest mountain east of the Mississippi. There are so many big views from overlooks, you could almost grow bored of them. Almost.

The Best Hikes Along the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina

Tanawha Trail (MP 304): The entire runs for 13.5 miles along the flank of Grandfather Mountain, essentially paralleling the Blue Ridge Parkway. The path is super technical, thanks to all of the rock steps and boulder hopping, and completing the whole thing would be very worthy, but you may not have time for a 27-mile out-and-back. Instead, focus on the five-mile round-trip slice of this trail that begins at the Linn Cove Viaduct Visitor Center and climbs to Rough Ridge, where a granite outcropping provides 360-degree views that include the parkway below and a sea of green slopes.

One of the coolest views comes just a half-mile after you begin, when you’ll find a well-worn and obvious short side trail that leads to a boulder with an incredible view of the Linn Cove Viaduct, a sinuous bridge that curves around the rocky side of Grandfather Mountain.

Black Mountain Crest Trail (MP 355.4 ): Mount Mitchell State Park contains the tallest mountain on the East Coast. Standing on top of Mitchell is a must, and you can drive within 100 yards of the summit but would share that view with dozens of other people. Sure, do it (the Mount Mitchell Summit Trail is .2 miles long) and get the picture, but here is another option.

Begin at the trailhead for the 11.5-mile , which traces the crest of the Black Mountain Range, heading south from the Mount Mitchell summit parking lot, for the chance to bag a series of 6,000-foot mountains in one walk. This three-mile out-and-back from Mitchell on the Black Mountain Crest will take you across two more 6,000 footers, .

Graveyard Fields (MP 418.8): Give the giant views a break with this that takes in three waterfalls and a meadow with excellent blueberry picking in July. The highlight of the hike is the swimming hole at the base of Second Falls along the Yellowstone Prong River, but I always get a kick out of the section through the high-elevation meadow.

The trailhead parking lot may be crowded, but you’ll find solitude if you head up to Upper Falls, which most people skip, since Second Falls is much closer to the trailhead. You might want to bring your fly rod: on the way to Upper Falls are lonely stretches of the Yellowstone that house brook trout.

The Best Road Rides Along the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina

Craggy Gardens to Mount Mitchell (MP 364): Pedaling your bike up 6,683-foot Mount Mitchell is an accomplishment any cyclist cherishes. I try to knock it out once a year, starting from my home in Asheville. That’s a 68-mile day with 7,000 feet of climbing, but you can also decrease your mileage significantly and still hit the highlights if you begin at Craggy Gardens Visitor Center and pedal north towards Mitchell.

The entire route is above 5,000 feet in elevation, and the overlooks on this 28-mile out-and-back are outstanding, giving you views of seasonal waterfalls and distant ridges while gaining a total of 3,500 feet. The real push comes at the end as you peel off the parkway and leg it up the five miles of Highway 128 to the summit of Mitchell.

Pisgah Inn to Black Balsam (MP 408): Another high-elevation romp that barely dips below 5,000 feet, this 26-mile out-and-back delivers some of the best views along the entire parkway. My favorite is the Looking Glass Rock Overlook at MP 417, with the 500-foot granite face of the nearly 4,000-foot mountain popping out of the lush forest below. This ride climbs more than 3,000 feet, so it’s no joke, but save some energy to hike the mile-and-a-half round trip on , which comes at the end of the road climb, leading to a grassy mountaintop with views that stretch for 100 miles. It’s a great way to break up the road ride.

The Best Gateway Towns in North Carolina Along the Blue Ridge Parkway

Blowing Rock: Nestled between MP 291 and MP 294, Blowing Rock is an upscale resort town known for its food and quick access to the outdoors. Main Street is packed with boutiques and restaurants, while wellness resorts dot the surrounding landscape. Grab a wood-fired pizza at , and meander over to for a beer.

Asheville: The parkway curves around Asheville, giving motorists quick access to one of the South’s most beloved communities. The beer scene is off the charts here ( is my personal hometown favorite), and spend some time walking around downtown and see the various murals painted by Native Americans as part of the . If you’re feeling sore from all the hiking and cycling you’ve been doing, pop into for a sauna/cold plunge pairing.

Where to Stay Along the Blue Ridge Parkway

You can drop off the parkway into adjacent towns the whole way, but two lodges and eight established campgrounds are located directly on the road.

Peaks of Otter Lodge (MP 86): Sitting on the edge of Abbott Lake in Virginia, the offers quick access to miles of hiking trails (see Sharp Top Trail, above) and a good restaurant that serves three hot meals a day. Rates start at $138, and every room has a view of the lake.

Pisgah Inn: The offers a ridge-top experience, sitting on the edge of the parkway above 5,000 feet with views of Pisgah National Forest from its observation deck. Rates start at $250 a night, and reservations can be hard to get, so try to book six months in advance. Even if you don’t snag a room at the Pisgah Inn, try to have a meal at the restaurant, where most tables have amazing views.

Otter Creek Campground (MP 60): Sitting at the lowest elevation on the Parkway, gives you the chance to enjoy a lush valley floor complete with a babbling creek running between sites. There are 39 sites you can reserve six months in advance, and 29 spots available first-come, first-served ($20 a night).

Julian Price Campground (MP 297.1): You can’t go wrong with any campground on the parkway, but I like because it sits on the shores of Julian Price Lake, where you can rent a canoe or kayak and paddle the calm waters, which are surrounded by forested slopes. It’s a large campground, with 115 sites available to reserve six months in advance, while 75 more are first-come, first-served ($20 a night).

Cycling Safety on the Blue Ridge Parkway

The Blue Ridge Parkway is a bucket-list destination for road cyclists, and many of us dream about taking a week and riding the entire length. Mile for mile, the scenery can’t be beat, and while the road is full of elevation changes, no climb exceeds an eight-percent grade, which makes the ride challenging but not dire.

You will share the road with vehicles. There’s also no shoulder, which can be intimidating for some cyclists. But generally, the parkway is one of the safer bike routes in the Southern Appalachians. The speed limit is 45 miles per hour or lower, and drivers are accustomed to sharing the road with cyclists.

Still, ride with caution. Try not to pedal alone, make sure to have a tail light and headlight, and avoid earbuds, so you can hear traffic approaching.

Graham Averill is șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű magazine’s national-parks columnist. He spends a lot of time on the Blue Ridge Parkway, usually on his road bike, sweating uphill.

For more by Graham Averill, see:

Boating Turns Me Green. But I Couldn’t Miss a Chance to See the Channel Islands.

The post The Ultimate Guide to Driving the Blue Ridge Parkway appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

From lightweight packrafts that weigh less than some tents to whitewater rigs that can take on the gnarliest rapids, there are hundreds of different types of boats on the market these days. Last year, we tested canoes, kayaks, rafts, and everything in between from Colorado’s rivers to Florida’s estuaries. Below you’ll find a sampling of some of the best paddle craft for hitting the water in 2024.

Be sure to check out our favorite boardshorts and women’s swimsuits as well.

At a Glance

• Best Raft:
• Best Canoe:
• Best Packraft:
• Best Whitewater Kayak:
• Best Recreational Kayak:
• Best Fishing Kayak:
• How to Choose a Boat
• How We Test
• Meet Our Lead Tester

All gear in this guide was tested by multiple reviewers. If you buy through our links, we may earn an affiliate commission. This supports our mission to get more people active and outside. Learn more.

Best Raft

Sotar Rogue Argo

Length: 12 ft
Exterior Width: 68 in
Tube Diameter: 21 to 17 in
Air Chambers: 4 (including thwarts)
Capacity: 675 lbs
Weight: 60 lbs

Pros and Cons
⊕ Nimble enough to get through creeks while also big enough for the biggest rapids
⊕ Diminishing tubes makes it extremely responsive
⊗ The guide position is hard to get used to if you have three people paddling

Taking advantage of the growing small inflatable market, Sotar set out to make the ultimate R2/R3 raft (which means it can carry two or three paddlers) and came up with its new Rogue Argo, a 12-footer that paddles like a paddle cat but has a floor like a raft. The result is a craft that’s small and nimble enough to charge creeks while beefy enough to run meaty Class IV-V rapids, like on the Gauley River in West Virginia. Diminishing tubes in the front (but not the stern), two thwarts, and a weight of only 60 pounds—lighter than some of the 10-footers on the market—are just a few of the features that had our testers sold. It’s so light that it turns your strokes into speed when you need it most and lets you cartop or shoulder-carry it single-handedly. All these features make for a craft that dishes up the same fun as a paddle cat but with a raft’s space and buoyancy.

That said, don’t assume the Rogue Argo is just a shrunken-down expedition raft. The durable RF-welded urethane construction and new design features are built specifically for the category. Perhaps the raft’s most noticeable feature is its diminishing tubes, whose diameters are smaller up front and larger in the stern (17 inches to 21 inches). “It creates additional rocker which lets you go up and over oncoming features while keeping the back buoyant,” said tester Aaron Ball, a Swiftwater Rescue instructor for Colorado’s Southwest Rescue. “It was super responsive for two people, tracked well, and took hits with ease. The Reverse Mullet might have been a better name for it.”

A mesh floor keeps the weight down while draining water quickly, maintaining buoyancy. While water can enter it in wave trains, it sits up high and out of the water most of the time thanks to cam straps securing the mash to the thwarts. It also drains fast—our testers on Colorado’s Animas River found it dryer than expected. “Its mesh was great—it didn’t let much water through and made the boat lighter for an already small craft,” Ball said. His only concern: “With frigid water temps, it could lead to cold feet.”

The two thwarts and grab handles were ideal for holding on when the going got rough. The thwart spacing is adjustable, which made it easier for testers to lock their feet in. “It’s nice that two thwarts are included,” said tester and former international guide Miles DeFeyter. “A lot of rafts don’t have that. And the grab handles are awesome—I held onto them several times—this thing was made to run the gnar.”

The only knock? Paddling it as an R3. “The guide position takes a little getting used to,” added Ball. “Sitting on top of the 21-inch tube feels a bit different than the standard 19-inch of a classic raft. It takes a while to figure out what position feels most comfortable to guide from.”

Best Canoe

Esquif Huron 15

Length: 15 ft.
Width: 35 in.
Weight: 55 lbs.

Pros and Cons
⊕ Durable material so it doesn’t get dings easily
⊗ Can’t be loaded with too much gear, or it becomes sluggish

It’s rare for a new canoe to hit the shelves, but Esquif’s new Huron 15 impressed testers enough last fall to make this year’s cut. It can be paddled solo or in tandem and has a hull based on its popular Prospector design, but trimmed slightly lower from 14.5 inches to 12.5 inches—making it more sporty and less susceptible to wind. It’s designed for cottagers and recreational paddlers who want a solid canoe for calm water and small rivers but don’t need the depth and capacity of the Prospector.

Tester Nick Hinds took it out with his son, Finn, on Washington’s Cottage Lake, putting it through its paces on a quiet morning with glassy water and moody skis. “I could load it by myself—which is hard with most canoes—and I could paddle it solo or with my son,” he said, calling it agile and forgiving. “It seemed like the hull knew where I wanted it to go.” Hinds also prized its efficiency. “Each stroke was felt instantly,” he said. “It carved turns right when needed and tracked when we needed to go straight. And while limiting its use on whitewater, its low sidewall prevents it from being blown off course.”

The only drawback Hind noted was its carrying capacity. “Perfect for mild moving water—as long as it’s not loaded too heavily,” he said, explaining that it was best for two lighter people or one heavy person, and not too much gear. As for outfitting, the webbing seats “were comfortable” and the ash yoke “formed well for one-person carrying.”

Tester Alan Schmidt, who owns eight canoes and has been paddling for 40 years, put it through its paces on Washington’s low-water Class I-II Skykomish with not a child, but his 80-pound Labrador, who had no trouble centering his weight. Schmidt said that despite the Esquif 15’s rock and log dodging, the canoe tracked well, requiring “minimal correction strokes,” and was responsive to sharp turns. He also appreciated the seat height and tumblehome (the inward curve of the hull above the waterline), which “allows for easy and efficient solo paddling.”

Best of all, testers don’t need to worry about dings. It’s made from T-Formex a layered plastic with flotation and abrasion resistance, which has supplanted Royalex. Schmidt loved the material, especially on the unavoidable submerged rocks. “It slid over them easily instead of sticking, as some composite materials do.”

Still, Schmift did manage to flip the Esquif 15 in the tight confines of the canyon, putting him and his dog into the drink. Luckily, they had no trouble getting back in. “The recovery was simple and easy due to the positive buoyancy and the handles on each end,” he said.

Best Pack Raft

Alpacka Refuge

Length: 87 in. (medium)
Width: 34.5 in. (medium)
Weight: 6.7 lbs (medium)

Pros and Cons
⊕ Super lightweight but very river-worthy as well
⊕ Re-rigging time takes just five minutes
⊗ Might replace all your other rafts

Devotees of uber-lightweight backcountry craft with whitewater chops, rejoice: Alpacka’s new 2024 Refuge will have you re-thinking where you can paddle, whether you’re shouldering it to a high-alpine fishing lake, accessing remote rivers, or even bikepacking with it as part of your shuttle.

This packraft combines features of its earlier Refuge and whitewater version into one model, checking all the boxes for exploring wilderness waterways. Already known for its material’s bombproofness, Alpacka upgraded the new version to a beefier 840-denier nylon, along with a 210-denier high-count nylon hull. Now available in medium (7 feet 3 inches long) and large models (7 and a half feet and 5 inches long), it also comes standard with a backband, inflatable whitewater foot brace, and two-point thigh straps to hold you in when the going gets rough.

We tested it on the rivers and lakes of Northwest Colorado, assessing its whitewater mettle and its packability. First off, the weight comes to just 6.7 pounds for the medium (barely more than a three-person tent), making it easy to carry. It’s also fit onto the outside of our daypack easily, with plenty of weight to spare for beer, bread, and Brie. After carrying it into Jonah, Whale, and Martha lakes, we were also impressed with its game-changing cargo fly and airtight zipper that lets you stash gear inside the tubes, keeping it out of the way and your center of gravity low for added stability. “You just have to make sure you load it evenly so it’s not lopsided,” said one tester. Deflating it between lakes, we had the re-rigging time down to just five minutes. Simply roll it out, insert the nozzle of the micro-weight bellows bag, fill ‘er up with a pump, and top it off by blowing.

Another tester took it on the nearby Class II+ Colorado River, sussing out its whitewater cred by assessing the thigh straps, backband, footbrace, and sprayskirt, which attaches to a PVC rim. In the Eye of the Needle rapid, it slipped into the scouting eddy effortlessly and easily punched through the wave train. “It rode up and over the waves like a raft,” he said. “And the skirt kept all the splashes out.” The beefier floor shrugged off all abrasions, including a bottom-dragging landing.

Tester Dan Ransom, a 6’1” packrafter who paddles 60 days a year, took it out on Oregon’s Class II-III Rogue River and appreciated its river worthiness and roominess. “The whitewater rigging makes it a super capable boat for the size and weight,” he said, adding it packs down smaller than comparable whitewater models. “I was impressed by how stable, fast, and nimble it is. A fun little playboat for go-karting around on rivers with easier features. And it’s the easiest-rolling boat Alpacka makes.” Its biggest strength: “A capable boat that’s very light when it’s on your back. Ideal for trips that require a lengthy approach or exit, moderate whitewater, and where weight is at a premium.”

Best Whitewater Kayak

Pyranha Firecracker

Length: 7’11”
Width: 26 in
Weight: 41 lbs

Pros and Cons
⊕ Great for every skill level
⊕ Higher knee placement provides comfortable paddling position
⊗ None

Pyranha’s new Firecracker is plain, well
explosive. With its volume loaded up front for river running and a slicey stern for more playful paddles, the new half-slice lets you whip into micro eddies, snap onto waves, and get vertical wherever you want, all while retaining river runnability, Our testers put it to the task on various sections of Washington’s Skykomish River and the East Coast’s Nolichucky River, and found it extremely capable in both settings.

Whether you’re a pro or an average Joe, you’ll be comfortable running rapids on the Firecracker. The boat’s planing hull keeps it stable, spinnable, and surfable, while its rockered but short bow keeps you dry and relaxed. “A nice balance of playfulness and forgiveness,” said 145-pound tester Judah Harms, who put the medium through its paces on Washington’s Skykomish. “And the volume up front keeps the bow dry when surfing.” He added that playboaters will like how it sprays water away when its surfing.

Wider than many of Pyranha’s other kayaks, the Firecracker’s planing hull also eases into a gentle edge for carving. “It’s just enough to work with but novices won’t find it too aggressive,” said Harms. And the stern, he said, “is super fun—what little volume it has is distributed nicely, which helps it engage.” He found it did really well when he got vertical on rapids, too.

Tester Nick Hinds took it on Washington’s Class III Teton River at low water, ripping up three surf waves and stern squirting eddylines (stern squirting is the kayak-equivalent of doing a wheelie on a bike). “It carves great on a wave, without kicking out from too much rocker,” he said. “It sits in the wave’s sweet spot. I was able to surf until I was sore.” Calling it an “agile little kayak—fast on a wave for its length,” he added that it’s great for catching waves on the fly, making hard cutbacks, and splatting rocks and stern squirting. One demerit: “There’s no drain plug, so don’t forget your sponge.”

Our testers also liked its higher knee placement, providing a comfortable paddling position while freeing up foot room. In particular, Harms calls out the boat’s forgiveness, which lets it accommodate a wide variety of paddlers. “I’d put a beginner in it and recommend it to intermediates wanting to get more playful on their hometown runs, while experts will love it to up their freestyle game.”

Best Recreational Kayak

Old Town Ocean Kayak Malibu Two XL

Length: 13 ft
Width: 35 in
Weight: 90 lbs

Pros and Cons
⊕ High weight capacity
⊗ Not for windy conditions

You’ll look at lakes, bays, and easy-flowing rivers in a new light while paddling the Ocean Kayak Malibu Two XL recreational kayak. Perfect for heading out with your kid, spouse, pooch, or friend, it’s the ultimate family machine that can be paddled solo or tandem, with 491 pounds of weight capacity.

Our testers took it throughout the bays and inland waterways of Florida and found it perfect for the Sunshine State and beyond. “Very dry with a well-planned out deck,” said tester Tony Lai of St. Petersburg, who paddled it in wind with a little chop and touted its built-in seats with backrests, storage hatches, cup holders, molded footwells and cooler spot, and front and rear tank wells. “Plenty of space for whatever you want to bring.” He also relished its higher sitting frame seat (an upgrade) and center deck space for fishing. “Super easy to stand up on and get back down,” he said. “A great poling platform for sight fishing.”

Sarasota’s Ryan Nowakowski took it out with his 70-pound son Jackson,10, on a calm bay with an outgoing tide and winds around seven knots. “Roomy, comfortable, stable and versatile,” he said, acknowledging its tracking ability and AirComfort seats, which have an adjustable backrest and position your knees at a natural bend. “Can handle family beach days, lazy bay paddling, and wind, waves and chop. Not for super long distances, but great for shorter jaunts with stability and comfort.”

Testament came when they were drifting in about three feet of water, and out of nowhere the bow beneath Jackson was hit and launched up in the air by a very startled manatee. “Jackson was scared but the kayak didn’t capsize,” he said.

Nowakowski also applauded the waterproof hatches in front of each seat, which are deeper than those on other models and able to carry phones, wallets, keys, and more, as well as improved scupper locations so any water that gets in drains back out quickly. “You can stuff your accessories right in front of you for easy access, which frees up the tank well for coolers or other items,” he says. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t grab our phone quick enough for the manatee.”

Noting it didn’t want to track as well in windy or up current conditions, we wouldn’t recommend the Malibu Two XL for more serious expeditions.

Best Fishing Kayak

Old Town Sportsman BigWater ePDL+ 132

Length: 13’2”
Width: 36 in
Weight: 143 lbs

Pros and Cons
⊕ E-bike technology makes it easy to go against ocean tides while fishing
⊕ Lifetime hull warranty
⊗ Have to cut off the power to go into reverse, which can waste precious seconds with a fish on the line

The BigWater ePDL+ is Old Town’s most innovative pedal kayak, essentially using what is best described as e-bike technology. In short, its battery-powered pedal-drive lets anglers switch between manual paddle, pedal, power-assist pedal, or fully motorized cruise control, upping the versatility for kayak fishing. The LED screen shows you the mode, speed/assist level, and battery consumption level.

“Very intuitive, not much of a learning curve,” said tester Christi Holmes, who paddled it on lakes and tidal bays in Maine and Florida. “Excelled going against ocean surf and tides when trying to get to my fishing grounds.” She loved that she could take breaks for snacks, photos, and changing lures while the kayak kept cruising. “Liked knowing that if my battery died, I could just pedal back,” she said, adding it was great for trolling and heading against Maine’s powerful tidal rivers. “It works best in tidal areas or areas with strong currents and you need to get somewhere. Less work meant I could go farther and fish longer.”

Tester Bill Sikora used it on the fresh and saltwater of the South Florida canal. “Stable hull and lower speed great for trolling for gamefish and against the tide,” he said, adding that while trolling a small blade bait he hooked into a peacock bass. “I locked the rudder in place and just enjoyed the ride. The drive never felt glitchy and maintained speed even during extended use—and never felt it would die thanks to the power indicator.” The only weakness he noted was that you had to cut the power off to go into reverse. If a hooked fish turns toward a structure on a bank, he said, pedaling backward lets you pull it back out into open water. “With the power-assist engaged, you have to pedal a few times before it kicks off and the drive goes back into manual mode,” he said, which takes up precious seconds when you have a fish on the line.

Other features include a lifetime hull warranty (two years for the ePDL+ drive), a 36-volt lithium-ion battery, EVA foam floor pads for standing, rod and cup holders, a tackle box, full-length accessory tracks for customization, a wide stern tank well, and an offset shallow water anchor mount.

How to Choose a Boat

Generally, there are canoes and sea kayaks for touring lakes and bays, hardshell recreational and inflatable kayaks for user-friendly flatwater paddling (and also inflatable kayaks for Class I-III whitewater), and whitewater rafts and kayaks designed for running rivers. It’s important to decide what kind of paddling you’re most interested in before making any decisions about which boat to buy. Factors should include your proximity to water (and what type of water that is), skill level, and storage access. Below is a quick rundown on the types of crafts you can choose from.

Sit-Inside Kayaks

These are good for folks paddling in cooler climates or taking longer trips, since sitting inside a closed cockpit keeps you drier and more out of the wind. They also offer better in-hull storage for gear, making them better for extended jaunts. Touring models such as sea kayaks are generally longer and narrower, making them faster and better suited for bigger crossings and multi-day trips (most come with a nylon spray skirt to keep splashes at bay). Recreational kayaks cater more to entry-level paddlers and are shorter, wider, and more stable, plus they usually have larger cockpits. The tradeoff is they’re a bit slower and require more effort to paddle long distances.

Sit-on-Top Kayaks

These are touring and recreational kayaks that let you sit outside in a self-draining depression in the hull rather than inside a cockpit. They’re great for entry-level paddlers since you can climb back on if you tip over, and are well-suited for warmer climates. In general, wider means more stable, and longer means faster, even though they’re generally slower than their sit-inside brethren.

Inflatable Kayaks

Let’s call them IKs instead of duckies; it sounds better and is more in line with their performance. As with rafts, abrasion-resistant rubber makes inflatable kayaks well-suited for rivers and other rocky environments. What inflatable kayaks lack in hull speed they make up for in stability, durability, and portability—when you’re through paddling, simply roll them up for transport and storage back at home. Available in both single and double models, most also have inflatable self-bailing floors.

Fishing Kayaks

Fishing kayaks are the same as sit-on-tops, but with options to add accessories such as rod holders, bait platforms, anchors, tackle compartments, electronics, and more. They’re generally wider, heavier, and more stable (some let you cast while standing), with large maximum capacities for gear—and fish. Pedal kayaks are propelled via a removable system that drops through the hull in front of your seat (note: you can also use a paddle). They can reach speeds of five miles per hour (faster than you can paddle) and are steered with a hand-operated rudder. While their origins stem from fishing (i.e. they keep your hands free for casting), they’re becoming popular for general recreational use as well, and are good options for birding, sightseeing, exploring, and other uses. Most also come with a forward and reverse mode, which can be handy for retrieving a snagged lure.

Whitewater Kayaks

Whitewater kayaks run the gamut from tiny playboats built specifically for surfing waves to more bulbous creek boats for charging through hydraulics, to well-rounded river runners, built for easy paddling downstream. Determine what kind of water you’ll be paddling before making your decision. “Half-slice” boats are becoming increasingly popular, with a forgiving bow for river running and a flat stern for playing, squirting, and surfing.

Pack Rafts

This burgeoning category consists of uber-lightweight, bathtub-shaped inflatable rafts that are easy to carry into hard-to-reach lakes and other waterways. They come in a variety of shapes, weights, and sizes, from super light (under four pounds) for easy portaging, to more robust models complete with sprayskirts and thigh straps for whitewater.

Whitewater Rafts

These durable boats are generally made for carrying gear and passengers down whitewater rivers. They range from heavy-duty haulers for multi-day trips to light and fast fishing vessels complete with raised seats and casting platforms.

Other Considerations to Ask Yourself

There are a lot of choices when it comes to design and materials. Ask yourself a few questions to narrow your search to the best craft for your needs, such as:

What kind of paddling do I want to do?

The water conditions will greatly affect the type of boat that is right for you. Will you be sticking to flatwater lakes and rivers or tackling whitewater?

How much space do I need?

For longer day trips and overnights, you’ll need room for extra gear, so consider slightly larger, or even tandem models.

What’s my budget?

There’s a wide range of prices depending on size, design, and material, for everything from rec to whitewater kayaks. Decide how high-performance you want to go and what your budget constraints are before narrowing it down.

Do I want a tandem or single?

Many rec and touring kayaks are made in single- and two-person versions. While it is possible to paddle a tandem kayak solo, it’s more difficult, so only get a tandem kayak if you’ll be using it mostly with someone else.

What type of material should I choose?

As with most things, you get what you pay for. Weight and durability are the big variables to watch for. Some higher-end boats are made of fiberglass and composite, making them lighter but more expensive and less durable. The majority of recreational and whitewater kayaks are made from plastic, which is affordable and durable.

How We Test

• Number of testers: 14
• Number of products tested: 19
• Miles paddled: 136
• Cumulative put-ins reached: 24
• Post-paddle PBRs: 36 (minus the one that exploded)
• Cups of coffee: 25
• Hull bumps by manatees: 1

To test boats this season, we assembled a team of expert paddlers from around the country who took some of the newest paddle craft on the market everywhere from the manatee-filled estuaries of Florida to the Rockies and rivers of Washington. The group consisted of guides, retailers, whitewater junkies, fishing aficionados, and more, all sharing a love for being on the water as often as possible. Overall, we got our feet wet on 19 different tester boats, whittling the list down to the above five based on performance, weight, and durability.

Meet Our Lead Tester

Testing manager Eugene Buchanan is the 14-year publisher and editor-in-chief of Paddler magazine and founder of PaddlingLife.com. He’s written about the outdoors for more than 30 years. He’s a former ski patroller, raft, and kayak guide whose passion for paddling has taken him to more than 30 countries on six continents. A Fellow member of the , he was also the recipient of W.L. Gore & Associates’s prestigious Shipton-Tillman grant for a 27-day, white-knuckle whitewater trip down Siberia’s Bashkaus River, a trip he chronicled in one of his five books, .

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Welcome to Tough Love. We’re answering your questions about dating, breakups, and everything in between. Our advice giver is Blair Braverman, dogsled racer and author of and . Have a question of your own? Write to us at toughlove@outsideinc.com.

I grew up at my family’s kayak company, and have been helping to guide trips ever since I could hold a paddle. As I got older, I started bringing my friends along. Two of them got really involved with the company, and this summer, they’re both working as guides. Now it seems like they think they own the place, and it feels disrespectful. Do you have any advice for handling one’s own friends in a workplace?

Here’s the thing: your friends are insiders at your family’s company. They’re not as close as you, of course. No one will ever be. But they work there. They’re on the inside track.

That changes your relationship with them—and your sense of authority—and it’s gotta feel weird and unfamiliar.

For years, you’ve been the one in charge. You’ve welcomed your friends on adventures that they couldn’t access any other way. You’ve granted coveted invitations. You’ve shared your family’s gear, and more than that, you’ve shared your world. And what a world it is! The only thing cooler than having a friend with a family kayak company is being the friend with a family kayak company.

Trust me, I know. I grew up with a pal whose dad was a rafting guide (as it turned out, he had guided my parents on their honeymoon) and she invited a small group of us on a multi-day float trip each year. It was incredible. We left school early on Friday. Slept on the shore. Spent hours twirling in the current, cracking open cans of root beer, and leaning back to dip our hair in the water. I remember floating on my back in the brown river, watching my toes breach the surface, and thinking that there was absolutely, definitely, nothing better in the world than this.

My friend, the guide’s daughter, captained the kids’ boat. She knew how to navigate rapids, identify birds and turtles, and set up camp in the evenings. She did this kind of thing all the time.Ìę

She was our queen.

Until now, that monarch has been you.

But now your friends are guides, too, and that’s destabilizing. You were the cool one because you got them access to kayaks. Now they don’t need you for that, and it makes your role seem superfluous. Where does that leave you? What do you have to offer? I want to assure you that kayaks are cool, and you’re cool, but not just because you’re doling out kayaks. And the fact that your friends are moving up in the kayaking world doesn’t mean that you’re moving down.Ìę

You’re always going to be more of an insider than they are, because this is your family’s company. Even if your friends start their own kayak companies, you’ll have something they don’t, which is the experience of growing up with this. Seriously! You can be 50 years old and mention that you grew up at a kayak tour company, and people will be impressed and want to hear about it. I know I do.

Although by then, I hope you’ll feel confident enough in your own worth that you won’t feel the need to measure yourself against the people you care about. I don’t say this with judgment, truly. It sounds like you’re young, which means you’re still negotiating all that you are, and all that you have to offer. That’s a big journey. It’s destabilizing by necessity. Your identity, your authority, your passions—all of those things will evolve, and the feelings and insecurities you struggle with now will work themselves out with time.

Which is all to say that if your friends’ new roles make you uncomfortable, that’s not necessarily a bad discomfort, but an important one. If it helps, try to find another friend (someone you don’t work with) who will help you process all the worry and annoyance this brings up. Ideally, this should be someone who’s not prone to drama, and who can empathize with the ways you’re feeling challenged without assuming that someone must be at fault.

If the problems with your newly-employed friends shift from the emotional to the practical—if, for instance, they’re going places they’re not supposed to, using equipment that’s not permitted, and so on—then that’s a different kind of challenge, one that puts you in a tough spot. Your best bet for managing their behavior (while maintaining your bond) isn’t to issue demands, but to appeal to their friendship: “Hey guys, this is against the rules, so it puts me in a weird position. Can you not?” Good friends will stop. They’ll value your friendship more than their personal goal of a moonlit naked kayak trek or whatever. And if they don’t, then maybe their friendship wasn’t that real to begin with.

But it doesn’t sound like things have come to that, and I doubt that they will. The season is just starting. Pretty soon, you’ll be less startled when your friends bust through STAFF ONLY doors. And by then, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re well on your way to embracing your best summer ever.

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What is a national monument, anyway? That’s what I kept asking myself as I rode a mountain bike down a rocky trail on sedimentary layers in the Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument. I was rapidly approaching a lower point on the northern rim of the canyon, which is more than a mile deep at some sections. I stopped 2,000 feet above the bottom of the gorge and watched the Colorado River curve through steep cliffs.

The scenery is stunning, the landscape huge
so how is it different than a national park? Turns out, not all that much, at least from a visitor’s standpoint. Most national monuments protect vast landscapes of environmental, cultural, or scenic importance. Ditto national parks.

The real difference is how they’re created: national parks are voted into place by Congress, national monuments are designated by presidents via the Antiquities Act. With monuments there’s less red tape, but sometimes more drama (see Bears Ears, below). Also, while many national monuments are managed by the park service, some are managed by the U.S. Forest Service and others are run by the Bureau of Land Management.

There are 133 national monuments scattered across the U.S., usually no less magnificent than their more famous national-park cousins. Sometimes they have fewer amenities (many lack visitor centers, some have no paved roads), and most of them have fewer crowds. Traveling more than 100 miles around last May, I never saw anyone outside of my own group. That would not have been the case in Grand Canyon National Park. Meanwhile the adventure was just as epic.

I’ve gathered 11 of the greatest national monuments in the country, from green mountains on the East Coast to canyons full of cliff dwellings in the Southwest, to fields of wildflowers on the West Coast. Most of these monuments aren’t famous, but all deserve to be on your bucket list.

Katahdin Woods and Waters National Monument, Maine

Katahdin Woods and Waters encompasses 87,563 acres of remote mountains, rivers, and backcountry ponds in northern Maine, sustaining healthy populations of moose and black bears. The monument sits to the east of Baxter State Park, where the Appalachian Trail finishes on top of 5,269-foot Mount Katahdin.

While this neighbor park hosts the last, most difficult gasp of the “A.T.,” Katahdin Woods and Waters has 30 miles of the (a northerly variant that begins here and extends through New Brunswick, Quebec, and a ferry route to Newfoundland), along with a tumultuous portion of the East Branch of the Penobscot River, which flows for 25 miles south through the monument, dropping more than 200 feet in its first 10 miles in a series of waterfalls. Cross-country skiing is popular during the winter; hiking rules in the summer.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű: If you want a quick taste of the monument, the 17-mile Katahdin Loop Road offers short hikes and grand scenic overlooks. But to truly experience Katahdin Woods and Waters, tackle the 10-mile round-trip hike to the summit of via a portion of the Appalachian Trail. You’ll have to ford the thigh-deep Wassataquoik Stream and climb almost 1,600 feet, but 360-degree views and a historic fire tower reward you at the 1,942-foot summit. The monument is primitive, without a lot of developed facilities (nor any flush toilets). There are , but you need reservations.

Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah

Sandwiched between Bryce Canyon and the Grand Canyon, gets its name from the series of plateaus that descend between those two massive and scenic ditches. Not to be outdone by its more famous neighbors, which cover 36,000 and 1.2 million acres respectively, Grand Staircase is nearly 1.9 million acres of colorful sandstone canyons, cliffs, and arches.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű: Connecting in the Dry Fork area of Grand Staircase-Escalante makes for the perfect entry into this unique terrain. It’s a three-mile loop, but plan on a whole afternoon exploring the narrow red- and purple-walled gulches. Some of the passages in Spooky get tight, and there is mandatory scrambling, but no technical climbing is required. If you want to explore more technical canyons, has been guiding canyoneering trips in the monument for more than two decades, and offers a rotating roster of full-day adventures packed with rappels (from $225 per person).

Bears Ears National Monument, Utah

Named after twin buttes rising from the desert floor of Southeastern Utah, has seen more than its share of debate since it was established by President Obama in 2016. The 1.36-million-acre monument is a place of scenic glory and cultural significance: massive red rock cliffs and canyons abound, and a bevy of Native American historical artifacts, from cliff dwellings to pictographs, have been found here.

Today, the Ute Mountain Ute Tribe, Navajo Nation, Hopi Tribe, Ute Indian Tribe, and Zuni Tribe all participate in stewardship of Bears Ears as a sacred place. In 2022, the Biden administration signed an agreement that gives those five tribes input into management of the area, and the five Tribes of the Bears Ears Commission (the Commission) and federal agencies released a this year. As for recreation, the Indian Creek Unit, in the northern section of Bears Ears, is a mecca for climbers, who come for the seemingly endless number of cracks in the red rock cliffs. Hikers and bikers follow trails and view artifacts across the region.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű: Bears Ears holds world-class climbing. Sadly, I’ve never climbed in the area (it’s on my list), but I’ve bike-packed through the monument and was awestruck by the sheer volume of towering rock. There are thousands of climbing routes, though not many for beginners. Supercrack Buttress has a high percentage of classic climbs, including the historic Supercrack of the Desert, a sustained and strenuous 5.10+. Consider a full-day guided climbing adventure in Indian Creek with the Moab-based (from $220 per person).

To see some of the cultural artifacts within Bears Ears, hike an easy through Mule Canyon where the payoff is access to a series of cliff dwellings tucked into a sandstone overhang. The most notable home has been dubbed “house on fire,” because of the fire-red-toned rock that forms its ceiling. The hike itself is relatively flat as it traverses the dry gorge, with some optional scrambling up sandstone slopes at the end.

There are three designated campgrounds in Indian Creek, all first-come, first-served ($15 a night). has 10 sites tucked into mushroom-shaped outcroppings. Always bring plenty of water; there’s no potable water at any of the established campgrounds.

Devils Tower National Monument, Wyoming

Created by Theodore Roosevelt in 1906, was the first national monument in the country, and it’s still one of the most distinctive. The center of the monument is Devils Tower, a solitary butte rising almost 900 feet from the prairie. The monument is not large, at just 1,346 acres, and there are only five hiking trails within the designated area, and all can be combined for a full day of hiking. Tackling only the will give you a good sense of the landscape, as it delivers views of the massive tower and the more serene Belle Fourche River Valley.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű: Climbers have been drawn to Devils Tower for many decades. Parallel cracks divide the formation into large hexagonal columns, and create a variety of crack and corner climbs for experienced traditional climbers. Routes range from 5.7 to 5.13. Durrance, a 500-foot, six-pitch 5.7, is widely considered the easiest way to the summit. Register your climb at the trailhead to Tower Trail, the approach to the monolith, and heed the June voluntary climbing closure, which was implemented out of respect for Native American tribes associated with the tower, which perform ceremonies at the tower during the month. has 46 first-come, first-served sites under cottonwood trees ($20 per night).

Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado and Utah

preserves 210,000 acres of western Colorado and eastern Utah, where the mighty Green and Yampa rivers converge, creating 2,500-foot-deep canyons. Within the monument are whitewater rapids, red rock canyons, dinosaur fossils encased in rock, and 1,000-year-old petroglyphs and pictographs left by the Fremont people. You can get a sense of the monument by car; Harpers Corner Road is a 32-mile one-way scenic road with views of the Green and Yampa rivers.

If you have a 4WD, peel off the paved road and head to the Echo Park area, the monument’s signature landscape where the Yampa flows into the Green and the conjoined river wraps around the massive Steamboat Rock. There’s a picnic table if you just want to take in the view, or you can camp (see below).

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű: Raft the Green River through the heart of the monument. The classic run starts at the Gates of Lodore in Colorado and ends at the Split Mountain Campground in Utah. It’s a class III trip, appropriate for families. runs four-day trips with catered meals (from $1,499 per adult). There are six established campgrounds, all of which are located on either the Green or Yampa rivers, within the monument. has a small campground with 22 sites, first-come, first-served ($10 per site).

Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument, Arizona

While Grand Canyon National Park encompasses arguably the most dramatic swath of “the great ditch,” the lays claim to more than 1 million acres in northern Arizona, including the less crowded and still awe-inspiring northern stretch of the Grand Canyon. The terrain is a mix of Mojave desert, ponderosa pine forest, broad plateaus, and deep canyons.

Just traveling through the monument is an adventure, as there are no paved roads, only 4WD routes and hiking trails. Don’t come looking for a visitor center or developed campgrounds. You’re on your own. I spent a few days driving ATVs, biking, trail running, and camping in and around this monument and was amazed at the views and solitude.

The roads in this monument are rough. This is legitimate 4×4 terrain, so always bring spare tires, and if you’re not comfortable with that sort of travel, this may not be the monument for you. There are others!

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű: If you have a high-clearance 4WD, Grand Canyon-Parashant offers nearly limitless options. Try the 80-mile trek to , which passes through ponderosa pine forest and fields of grazing cattle on its way to a three-sided perch on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, with views of Sanup Plateau, Burnt Canyon, and Surprise Canyon. The dirt road turns to clay as it approaches the Grand Canyon, which can be impassable after a heavy rain. There are a number of primitive campsites along the rim of the canyon; only pitch a tent in sites with existing fire rings.

There aren’t a lot of designated hiking trails within the monument, but check out the six-mile out-and-back up , which leads to a doozy of a view of the Grand Canyon. The trail follows an old roadbed up the side of the 7,072-foot peak crossing over chunky, volcano rock towards the summit. On a clear day you can see Mt. Charleston, outside of Las Vegas, on the horizon, as well as the western end of the Grand Canyon.

Colorado National Monument, Colorado

High on the Colorado Plateau, near Grand Junction, the 20,533-acre could be considered a mini Grand Canyon, as the red rock canyons the monument encompasses are full of towers and rock formations, like the puffy-looking Coke Ovens pinnacles. You can glimpse much of the monument from the 23-mile Rim Rock Drive, which runs along the edge of the canyon with near-constant high views.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű: Climbing Independence Monument, a sandstone spire that rises 450 feet from the heart of the canyon, might be the signature adventure in the monument. A number of different routes ascend the tower, most of them four to five pitches, followed by a double rappel to descend. The 5.8 Otto’s Route is the classic line. leads day trips up Independence (from $375 for the first climber). has 80 sites, with half first-come, first-served, while the other half can be reserved in advance ($22 a night).

A number of short hikes begin at Rim Rock Drive. is my favorite, as the 1.5-mile out and back leads through some impressive sandstone outcroppings, including the Devils Kitchen, a large natural opening surrounded by towering upright boulders.

Misty Fjords National Monument Wilderness, Alaska

is quintessential Alaska: 2.2 million acres of rainforest, coastal cliffs, and narrow fjords where glacier-carved rock walls rise 3,000 feet from the sea. In this monument, part of the Tongass National Forest in Southeast Alaska, waterfalls drop directly into the bay, while backcountry lakes and streams are surrounded by thick vegetation. Most people experience Misty Fjords via a scenic flight or boat cruise from nearby Ketchikan, but kayakers have free rein.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű: Kayaking is the best way to explore this monument, with its complex shores and many secluded coves. The Behm Canal, a natural channel of calm water carved by glaciers, slices through the heart of Misty Fjords like a highway for boaters. On the east end of the canal, Walker Cove and Punchbowl Cove, where 3,000-foot granite walls rise from the edges of the water, are popular boater destinations with day hikes leading from rocky beaches.

Punchbowl Lake Trail is a two-mile out and back that climbs through the rainforest to a small lake with its own granite walls forming a ring around it. runs a six-day guided kayaking trip into Misty Fjords that will have you paddling up to 12 miles a day, hiking to interior lakes, and camping on remote beaches ($1,800 per person).

Thirteen public-use scattered across the monument can be reserved in advance (from $45 a night), as can four first-come, first-served shelters. Punchbowl Lake Shelter, in Punchbowl Cove, might be the best of the lot, as itsits on the edge of a small lake, with access to a canoe.

Carrizo Plain National Monument, California

No cliffs, no caves, no canyons
 is just a massive expanse of rolling grassland, 15 miles wide and 50 miles long, butting up against the 3,000- to 4,000-foot Temblor Mountains in Southern California. This stretch might sound ho-hum until you realize that the vast prairie is absolutely popping with colorful wildflowers in the spring.

The Nature Conservancy, which worked to protect the Carrizo Plain, acquiring the land and partnering with the BLM and California Department of Fish and Game to manage it, compares the landscape to that of the Serengeti because it’s home to California’s highest concentration of threatened and endangered species, including the pronghorn antelope and San Joaquin kit fox. The centerpiece of the monument is Soda Lake, a normally dry alkali lake bed that occasionally fills with water after heavy rains andÌę shimmers white with deposits of sulfates and carbonates after that water has evaporated. It looks like a circle of baking soda surrounded by tall grasses and wildflowers.

(Photo: Courtesy Gaia GPS)

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű: Soda Lake sits near the north entrance of the monument, and you can see it via the 2.1-mile Overlook Hill Trail. But for a real sense of the scope of these plains, bring your gravel bike and pedal a big loop through the rolling hills past the remnants of former ranches, and look for elk and antelope on the prairie. Show up in spring and you may be greeted by colorful fields of poppies, goldfields, and white and yellow tidy tips that stretch toward the horizon. Traffic is minimal, and you can put together a variety of different rides. A great one is a 60-mile all-day adventure on mixed surfaces, combining Elkhorn Road, Panorama Road, Soda Lake Road, and Simmler Road, covering the heart of the monument and with views of Soda Lake.

Bandelier National Monument, New Mexico

Protecting the traditional lands of roughly 23 tribal nations, is worth visiting from a cultural perspective alone. But the landscape is also remarkable, as the 33,677-acre monument is packed with mesas, canyons and a federally designated wilderness with 70 miles of backcountry hiking. Ancient culture and dramatic terrain mesh in the monument’s cliff dwellings, homes that the Ancestral Pueblo people built directly into the sides of rock walls.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű: Take your time and explore the archeological sites in Bandelier. The 1.4-mile winds through a series of small alcoves carved in the soft rock walls that you can access via ladders, and into the ruins of large stone houses. From the Pueblo Loop, tack on a one-mile out-and-back side trip to the Alcove House, a massive carved niche that was once home to 25 people. You can reach it by climbing a series of steps and ladders.

(Photo: Courtesy Gaia GPS)

has 57 campsites, 16 of which are first-come, first-served, while the rest can be reserved up to six months in advance ($20 per site).

San Juan Islands National Monument, Washington

Not to be confused with the San Juan Islands National Historic Park, the protects 1,000 acres of the Puget Sound islands, covering a contrasting mix of green-forested coves, sheer bluffs, rocky beaches, and lighthouses, all managed by the BLM and scattered throughout the larger 450-island San Juan archipelago adjacent to the Canadian border.

șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű: The monument is scattered throughout the Puget Sound, so you need a boat to do it justice. It’s tough to decide where to focus your energy in the San Juans, but Patos Island should be on your itinerary. This 200-acre spit of land is managed by the BLM in conjunction with Washington State Parks, and has beaches, hiking trails, a historic lighthouse, and established (from $12 a night). It’s also the northernmost point in the Lower 48.

If you want to explore more of the monument, offers a variety of kayak tours throughout the San Juan Islands. Check out their five-day expedition that features amping on small islands and peeping at orcas from the belly of a boat (from $1,199 per person).

How to Be a Conscientious Traveler

National monuments often lack the same infrastructure as national parks, which means they may not have the staff on-site to help with questions, clean up campsites, or offer guidance. It’s super important to practice principles in these monuments, and be aware of the cultural importance of the landscape. Many of these properties encompass the historical territory of Native Peoples and contain artifacts that are important to their heritage. Be kind and respectful, leave what you find, and whenever you have the opportunity, use local guides and purchase items from local shops.

Graham Averill is șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű magazine’s national parks columnist. In his opinion, national monuments represent the best of America’s public lands: with all the beauty of national parks, but none of the crowds.

For more by Graham Averill, see:

The 5 Best National Park Road Trips in the U.S.

The 9 Best Gateway Towns to U.S. National Parks

And the 11 Least Visited National Parks Are


The 10 Best Backpacking Trails in Our National Parks

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