Keep your eyes on Mars in our night sky this week. Our neighboring planet—the fourth from the sun in our solar system and approximately half the size of Earth—will look larger and brighter in our heavens than it has for the past two years, particularly Wednesday night. That’s when Earth will pass directly between Mars and the sun, putting us within 60 million miles of the Red Planet, roughly 42 percent closer than average.

Astronomers call this phenomenon opposition, and it affords prime sky-watching conditions. During opposition, a planet is closer to Earth, and we benefit from seeing the celestial body with the sun’s full glare, which makes it appear exceptionally vivid.

While we can enjoy the opposition of distant planets like Jupiter and Saturn almost every year, Mars is only in opposition once every 27 months because our orbits are closer, according to . And this week marks its long-awaited moment in the sun.

Here’s when and how to best observe Mars during opposition. It won’t be this radiant again for us until 2027.

The Best Nights to View Mars During Opposition

Mars technically reaches opposition between January 15 to 16, but even now it’s already more luminous than usual. If you go outside tonight—or any night until Wednesday—the Red Planet will look spectacular and only get brighter as we near opposition.

Here’s a video of Mars next to the moon during the 2022 opposition, as viewed via a Nikon P1000 camera:

On January 13, we’ll see another interesting Martian sight: , which occurs when this month’s full Wolf Moon slides in front of Mars. According to , this will begin over the contiguous U.S. at 8:45 P.M. EST and will be visible to the naked eye above most of North America. (Exact timing and duration will vary by location.)

Throughout opposition week, if the sky is clear in your location, Mars will shine as vividly as Sirius, the night sky’s brightest star. But if you can only stay up late one night, I recommend the January 15 opposition, when the planet will be more dazzling to us on Earth than any time since December 2022.

Where to Spot Mars in the Sky During Opposition Week

Mars will rise in the east at dusk and set above the western horizon around sunrise. Seek out the planet’s tangerine tinge in the Gemini constellation (the hue will become bolder closer to opposition). Peak viewing begins around midnight, when Mars is highest in the sky.

Even in light-polluted cities, Mars is visible to the naked eye. I shot the following photo on January 7 while I was in San Diego, and visibility was still quite remarkable.

That said, a pair of binoculars—or better yet a telescope—will show off the planet’s surface details, including a vast canyon system and Olympus Mons, a volcano three times as high as Mount Everest.

If you’re new to planet-watching, download a stargazing app to navigate the heavens and to locate other prominent nearby celestial sights, like Jupiter and Sirius.

Regional Astronomy Events Celebrating Mars That Are Worth Traveling To

Consider attending a community astronomy night, where night-sky experts will show you the stars and planets via telescope. I found a half dozen excellent stargazing events across the country that will focus on the Mars opposition this week, but it’s always worth reaching out to your to see if it’s hosting any get-togethers for planet-gazing, too. (Note: all events below are weather permitting.)

The East

Chester, Pennsylvania

The astronomy and physics faculty at Widener University, just south of Philadelphia, are running a public at its observatory starting at 7 P.M. on January 15. . As of publication, this event is at full capacity, but you can join the waitlist. Free

The South

Conway, Arkansas

At 6 P.M. on January 15, the , located north of Little Rock, will open its observatory to the public for night-sky observations through a powerful Meade 14-inch-aperture LX200R telescope. Free

The Midwest

Jeff Davis County, Texas

The McDonald Observatory, located in West Texas but part of the University of Texas at Austin, will host a star party at 7 P.M. on January 14. Come for the amphitheater tour and stay for the telescope viewing. is required. From $25

Kenosha, Wisconsin

Heide Observatory’s aligns perfectly with the Mars opposition. The January 15 event begins at 6 P.M. at the Hawthorn Hollow Nature Sanctuary and Arboretum. Guides will lead guests through a tour of the night sky via laser pointer. $12

The West

Divide, Colorado

The Colorado Springs Astronomical Society is hosting a at Mueller State Park, 33 miles west of Colorado Springs, starting at 7 P.M on January 17. The event will take place at the park’s visitor center; no registration is required, but you will need a (from $10).

Sunriver, Oregon

The , roughly 20 miles south of Bend, is giving the public a prime view of Mars on January 15 starting at 7 P.M. The observatory has one of the largest collections of publicly accessible telescopes in the country, with staff astronomers at the ready to help visitors learn to use them. Registration is required. $28 for nonmembers; free for members

Stephanie Vermillion is șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online’s astrotourism columnist. She’s the author of the new National Geographic book, , and she plans to watch Mars’s opposition on a stargazing getaway to Loreto, Mexico.

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Last month, opened Boyce Bouldering Park—a 6,000-square-foot expanse of artificial boulders. Carved into the edge of Pittsburgh’s urban sprawl—just fifteen minutes from downtown—this free outdoor bouldering gym was designed with an ambitious vision: to bring outdoor adventure to all.

The park boasts more than 100 problems, ranging in difficulty from VB to V10+, which will be reset twice a year by professional setters. It is part of a $4.7 million project inspired by a 2020 Pennsylvania Environmental Council (PEC) study, which highlighted a significant lack of accessible outdoor recreation in and around Pittsburgh. To address this need, planners chose to create a bouldering park and nearby pump track, paired with upgraded restrooms and other park facilities, aiming to foster a sense of community and adventure close to home.

From start to finish, the park revitalization project was designed with climbers in mind—but Dean Privett, a local gym owner, consultant, and longtime setter, did more to shape the park’s climbing functionality than anyone else.

Privett has been in the climbing industry for more than 13 years, designing climbing facilities worldwide, including one of his own in Pittsburgh. When he heard that Allegheny County had plans to build a free climbing-oriented outdoor park, he picked up the phone and got into the right room.

It was a good thing he did.

Lacking climbing expertise, the county was planning to install a 30-foot climbing tower with autobelays. But, in an 11th hour meeting, Privett convinced them that bouldering was a safer, more accessible, more affordable, and more climber-friendly alternative.

We aren’t motivated by profit; we’re motivated by getting folks outside.

“I knew I wanted to make sure whatever got built was as functional as possible,” he told Climbing. “Architect-led artificial climbing wall constructions tend to be more in the miss column than the hit column with true avid indoor and outdoor rock climbers.” His company, Boulder Solutions, ultimately consulted on the project— with ambitious, progress-oriented setting at the forefront of the design. By prioritizing wall shapes that support varied movement and difficulty, the wall design itself ensured that a dedicated team of setters could regularly rotate problems.

Privett and Allegheny County plan to update the routes at Boyce twice a year, aiming to keep the space fresh and challenging for climbers of all skill levels.

For Privett, this approach was crucial.

“I wanted to create a range of routes that catered to the existing climbing community and also welcomed the ‘stumble-up’ climber,” he said. “With the outdoor design, we could control that experience through the wall shapes and by balancing slabs with overhangs.”

The park currently boasts over 100 new climbs, ranging from the smaller, kid-oriented “June Boulder”—named after Privett’s daughter—to a V10+ set by IFSC World Cup route setter . Setters from , , , , and the former director of setting for the Cliffs, also contributed to the park’s initial setting.

“My goal was to provide Pittsburgh with a diverse palette of climbs from incredibly experienced setters,” Privett said. “So we set in a traditional commercial climbing gym methodology, maybe with a slight emphasis on fun over difficulty; we wanted to have things up there that would challenge people so they would come back.”

“My philosophy here was really to introduce people to it as physical problem-solving and not as a physical challenge,” he added, “to hopefully create that hook-line-and-sinker feel of having an enjoyment for solving a puzzle.”

His plan is working. On a recent visit to BBP, he heard a young girl, wearing sneakers, ask her parents to put climbing shoes on her Christmas list.

“°Őłó±đ°ù±đ’s a bit of a mentorship barrier that’s been true of traditional rock climbing,” Privett said. “But here, there’s a nice crossover [between communities]. When climbing is in the public sphere, and in public spaces—it’s easier for people to give it a try.”

Since Boyce is within the jurisdiction of Allegheny County Parks, the challenges that traditional gyms face with liability insurance were minimal—it’s generally accepted that public areas operate with a “use at your own risk” legal structure.

“Within commercial climbing gyms, there’s a lot of liability that we’re obviously exposed to, but parks operate in a different realm,” Privett said. “There are federal laws that protect them. They have tolerances for those types of activities—and that allowed the upkeep and route setting to be a part of the overall budget.”

All of that allows the park to serve its primary goal: making outdoor recreation in Pittsburgh accessible to underserved communities.

“The climbing work is emblematic of that,” said Brett Hollern, Vice President for the PEC Western Pennsylvania Central Region. “So how does somebody without transportation, without equipment, having never done this before, how do they even approach recreating outdoors or climbing? We bring that experience to them.”

Privett echoed the sentiment: “In places like Pittsburgh, it’s just much less common to think about climbing as an activity that you would or could want to do. But our industry could benefit from more awareness around what climbing is. It’s all of our job to educate and introduce people to it.”

Hollern hopes that the Boyce Bouldering Park model can inspire other municipalities to consider climbing in their park budgets. “We operate on the premise that people who recreate on public lands will, in turn, become stewards of those lands. Outdoor spaces like this can activate communities, whether through economic development or quality of life, and Allegheny County really took that idea and ran with it.”

Joe Perkovich, the Allegheny County Landscape Architect who supported the project, said the proposal’s non-existent barrier to entry was a key reason for the county parks service involvement. “All of our parks are publicly funded assets and are there for people to use and enjoy,” he continued. “We aren’t motivated by profit; we’re motivated by getting folks outside.”

For most, the bouldering park is just another addition to Pittsburgh’s growing outdoor scene—but it’s a game-changer for advocates and climbers like Privett. It’s a space where the barriers to entry are lowered, and anyone, regardless of background or experience, can step up, fall down, and fall in love with the sport.

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In 2005, Temple University college student Liz Pagonis walked into the Philadelphia Runner store to shop for shoes. She’d been running for fitness and “to get around the city,” she says. She soon joined the store’s group runs, then began working the retail floor part-time. She soon became a full-time employee. Ten years later, she’s the store’s chief marketing officer.

Pagonis says joining group runs helped her connect to the city’s running community. With more than 50 running clubs to choose from, the community runs deep in Philly. “A lot of runners run with different clubs throughout the week,” says Pagonis. “°Őłó±đ°ù±đ’s a thread that weaves us all together.”

Runners can retrace the steps of the nation’s founding fathers and visit numerous historical landmarks, run along the path bordering the Schuylkill River, or channel their inner Rocky and charge up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art and past the bronze statue of the character himself.

Beginning runners and those looking to knock out fast mile splits will be happy to know that Philly has a predominantly flat landscape.

Routes

: It’s hard to picture running Philly without a nod to the “Rocky steps” at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Pay homage with a trip up the 72 iconic stairs, then head for this multiuse recreational path that leads from City Center, just behind the museum, and parallels the river on both sides (Kelly Drive on the east and Martin Luther King Drive on the far west side). The path extends for more than 100 miles, connecting the city to the suburbs. “Eventually it’s going to connect to Delaware,” says Pagonis. An 8.4-mile loop, referred to by locals as the Loop, starts behind the museum.

: Roughly 50 miles of trails wind through this urban park, but runners favor Forbidden Drive, named so because cars were banned from the packed-dirt and gravel road in the 1920s. The route hugs the Wissahickon Creek for 5.5 miles. “There are a ton of trails that you can connect to,” says Pagonis. “It’s in the woods, and you would never actually think you’re in the city. It’s just a really beautiful area.”

: “You’re literally retracing the founding fathers’ footsteps,” says Pagonis. You could go see the Liberty Bell or run past Benjamin Franklin’s house.” Touring historic spots by foot, from Independence Hall to the President’s House (home to George Washington and John Adams when Philadelphia was the U.S. capital, from 1790 to 1800) gives you about a 5K run, says Pagonis.

More Options: The Boxers’ Trail, where Joe Frazier trained and young boxers still train today, winds through the city’s Fairmount Park. An annual Boxers’ Trail 5K is held each September. The John Hines National Wildlife Refuge at Tinicum, or Tinicum for short, is “just a really quiet, beautiful part of Philadelphia that I think is very underutilized,” says Pagonis. “°Őłó±đ°ù±đ’s not a lot of people down there, so you’re kind of alone with your thoughts. °Őłó±đ°ù±đ’s good space to get in a solid run.”

Events

: Philly’s flat terrain is a recipe for success when it comes to higher-mileage races. Take the Philadelphia Distance Run, a half-marathon held in usually ideal temperatures each September. “At least six different half marathon world records have been set at the Philadelphia Distance Run,” says Pagonis. This event was among the first to offer elite nonbinary prize money, she adds.

Independence Blue Cross Broad Street Run: With 35,000 runners taking part, Broad Street is the largest ten-miler in the country and has a lottery to get in. The course runs from north to south, “right through the heart of the city,” says Pagonis, and ends in the Navy Yard, which is the southernmost point of Broad Street.

Rocky Run 5K, 10-Mile, and 13.1 combined “Italian Stallion” challenge: Each November, runners toe the starting line in front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art for a Rocky-themed 5K that starts at 7 a.m., or a ten-miler that starts at 8 a.m. Those who run the second race after completing the first earn a special “Italian Stallion” medal and bragging rights for having completed 13.1 miles in this fun and festive event.

More Options: The Philly 10K runs through the South Philly streets is what Pagonis calls “a local favorite.” Bands, vendors, and, some years, specialty beer brewed just for the event make the fast-and-flat course a party. The Philadelphia BMW Love Run Half Marathon takes place each March with a course that passes by many of the city’s historic landmarks. The Loop race has taken place on the 8.4 miles of the Schuylkill River Trail since 1972.

Resources

Clubs

: This 9,000-women-strong Facebook group has had a presence in Philadelphia since 2013. Its mission is twofold: encourage African American women to be active, and lower the percentage of chronic diseases associated with an unhealthy diet and sedentary lifestyle.

: Established in 2022 to create safe spaces for LGBTQIIA+ runners of all paces, this group hosts three free weekly runs.

: The local chapter of this national running community hosts group runs on Mondays to start the week off right. The group also meets one or two other days a week.

: This group aims to transform students’ lives through running and mentorship, delivering positive outcomes from boosting GPAs to increasing graduation rates for program participants.

Stores

: Head to 1615 Walnut Street in the Center City West neighborhood, known for its upscale shops and walkability.

: This independent and locally owned running store has locations in Center City, University City, Glen Mills, and Manayunk. The shop pride itself on personalized, professional fittings of running and walking shoes as well as sports bras.: All of this shop’s locations—in Bryn Mawr and Westchester, plus sister stores in Emmaus, Pennsylvania, and Wilmington, Delaware—offer personalized fittings and a rewards program. The Philadelphia-area stores also host group runs.

Independent since 1906,ÌęÌęempowers people through sport and craftsmanship to create positive change in communities around the world.

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Government-sponsored time off only comes around a few days a year. Labor Day weekend is an opportunity to get outside, hike a lot, see some friends, hear some music,Ìęand then sleep in on Monday, to hell with Slack. Festivals are a great way to cram a lot into these three sacred, carefree days.

I’ve covered dozens of festivals over the past decade, and rounded up some of the best, all with great outdoor access, to help you make the most of your long weekend.

1. Bumbershoot, Seattle, Washington

As large corporations gobble up major festivals, it’s not easy to maintain an event as art-forward, experimental, and strident as , but the Seattle institution hopes it has finally found the right formula. After a four-year hiatus, the decades-old Bumbershoot is relaunching with a lineup of local stars—like Sleater Kinney, Band of Horses, and Dave B—who’ve made it big. The new fest promises a return to its early creativity and chaos: you will be able to pole dance, roller skate, wrestle, extreme pogo-stick, and explore immersive art.

Bumbershoot is an urban festival, but Seattle is spitting distance from Snow Lake, Mount Si, and the Billy Frank Jr. Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge. Both Snow Lake and Mount Si have trails through jagged mountain peaks and tall pines, while the six-mile out-and-back wraps around a lake. For a more kid-friendly or relaxing outing, walk along the Nisqually Estuary Boardwalk, a four-mile elevated path that crosses over the top of Nisqually’s tidal flats, allowing seals, sea ducks, salmon, otters and minks to live peacefully underneath.

2. U.S. National Whitewater Center Labor Day Celebration, Charlotte, North Carolina

The is a one-stop shop for outdoor adventure. On the schedule are a 5K and a 15K trail race, stand-up paddleboard yoga, and a Dry Tri with mountain biking, trail running, and kayaking or paddleboarding on the Catawba River. For $75, you can buy an All Access Activity Pass that gets you into the U.S. National Whitewater Center’s renowned river rapids as well as onto the park’s climbing walls, bouldering routes, and ropes courses.

Evenings bring performances by Amanda Anne Platt, and one of my personal favorite indie Americana bands, The Lone Bellow. (The band’s earnest 2013 ballad “Bleeding Out” got me through high-school drama.)

Not many hikes on the Whitewater Center’s 1,300 acres are longer than a few miles, but Crowders Mountain State Park offers more. Head up to King’s Pinnacle, one of the two summits in the park’s 5,200 acres, via the four-mile Pinnacle Trail, which involves some rock scrambling.

3. Southern Decadence, New Orleans, Louisiana

, a raucous parade that rolls through the French Quarter, is one of New Orleans’ biggest pride events. Think Mardi Gras but with a little more drag and a lot more leather. I like to watch it all unfold on Frenchman Street, home to some of the city’s great music clubs and close to its LGBTQ+ bars.

New Orleans, however, is not just an overblown party destination. Walk even half a mile out of the French Quarter and you’ll see flowering vines engulfing buildings and oak-lined avenues leading to stellar parks, the biggest of which is City Park. Just 15 minutes from downtown is the Bayou Sauvage Urban National Wildlife Refuge, the country’s largest urban National Wildlife refuge. Its marshland is excellent for fishing, kayaking, canoeing, and, with over 340 species of birds, birdwatching. The Joe Madere Marsh Overlook has a picnic pavilion and a boat launch.

4. Marshall County Blueberry Festival, Plymouth, Indiana

Half a million people turn out for the to celebrate what happens to be my favorite trail snack. About two hours from both Chicago and Indianapolis, hundreds of craft and food booths fill the town’s Centennial Park with blueberry everything—ice cream, cheesecake, smoothies, sausage, and multiple varieties of blueberry beer. (The blueberry donuts are, reportedly, a fan favorite.) This is the most classic Labor Day celebration on our list, with a parade, a carnival, and recreational sports tournaments including pickleball and tractor pulling. It also has fun runs, a bike cruise, and a benefit lake swim.

Plymouth is only an hour from Indiana Dunes National Park, on the banks of Lake Michigan. The park’s best-known hike is probably its 3 Dune Challenge: 552 feet of vertical gain over just 1.5 miles, all in the sand. If you’d rather be able to walk the next day, try the . At nearly six miles, it’s longer, but far less steep, and includes a nice walk along the beach.

5. Mount Snow Brewers Festival, Dover, Vermont

If there is anything I learned working as a ski instructor in Vermont, it’s that the best days here involve going to the top of a mountain, coming back down, and then drinking beer as the sun sets. (Well, I prefer cider, but you get the idea.) The serves a smattering of craft beers from the famous Vermont and New England craft-brewing scenes.

Local bands will supply music, and local restaurants will serve beer-appropriate foods. The festival puts you at the base of Mount Snow, a ski area whose trails are busy hiking and mountain-biking paths in the summer. You can easily spend the afternoon before the festival hiking to the top of 3,600-foot Mount Snow, with its view of Snow Lake.

6. Dancefestopia, La Cygne, Kansas

In most ways, Dancefestopia is your standard EDM festival. It has a whimsical, Wizard of Oz theme, big-name DJs, and dizzying lights and lasers. But it takes place at what is otherwise a lakeside outdoor-education camp, with all of the log cabins and activities thereof. An activity pass buys you access to the camp’s climbing wall as well as fishing and canoeing.

For more of that tree-lined Kansas beauty, check out the further shores of La Cygne Lake and the Marais des Cygne Wildlife Area. You can pick up a fishing license at the

7. Austin Free Day of Yoga, Austin, Texas

In 2019, șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű magazine declared Austin one of the “World’s Dreamiest Spots for Outdoor Yoga.” On Labor Day, you can live that dream for . A coalition of local studios and instructors will offer over 30 free classes, both indoors and out, across the city. °Őłó±đ°ù±đ’s Qigong at the Austin Bouldering Project, Kundalini at the Waterloo Greenway, and at least one class billed as a party, the Sukha revival.

With the rest of your time, this Texan (I grew up in the greater Houston area) encourages you to indulge in a little Texas cliche. Order some Tex-Mex, or maybe a burger at Clark’s, then head to one of the area’s swimming holes.

8. The Best in the West Nugget Rib Cookoff, Sparks, Nevada

Let me save you some confusion. Contrary to what the name suggests, Nugget is not a type of a rib, but the name of the casino sponsoring this extravagant barbecue competition. is a big deal in the rib world, and 250,000 pounds of meat will be seasoned and sauced in pursuit of festival glory.

Build up an appetite before you go with a visit to the Truckee River Whitewater Park, where you can kayak over class two and three rapids in the middle of Sparks. Or leave the city and drive 45 minutes south to Lake Tahoe. You can get on a section of the 165-mile Tahoe Rim Trail at the Tahoe Meadows Trailhead, near Incline Village. Another popular trail is the wheelchair-accessible 1.3-mile Tahoe Meadows Interpretive Loop through the wildflower-laden Tahoe Meadows.

9. Caveman Music Festival, Weston, Colorado

Camping at music festivals usually falls somewhere between the glamping of Coachella; the dusty, trippy party tents of Burning Man; and sleeping in your car. , on the other hand, has real tent camping on its shores and fields. It all goes down at Colorado’s Monument Lake Resort, where you can fish for trout, kayak, canoe, and hike in between performances. The music here is Americana, headlined by JJ Grey & Mofro, Shane Smith & The Saints, and Dawes.

The resort is in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, with a multitude of beautiful hikes. Seasoned hikers can ascend the eight-mile near La Veta, Colorado, for some of the best views in the region. Find out about more trails

Emily Carmichael is a writer, editor, and former ski instructor based in Brooklyn who has covered music festivals since her college days in New Orleans.

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First, a confession: I, like many avid hikers I know, have been guilty of viewing state parks as merely the backyard option. Even as I’ve ticked off visits to nearly half of the 63 national parks, I’ve only recently come to fully appreciate nature’s bounty in state parks.

“The hiking opportunities are virtually endless, and there’s an incredible mosaic of experiences in America’s state parks,” says Lewis Ledford, executive director at the National Association of State Park Directors. Collectively, these protected areas generate a whopping 850 million visits annually, across nearly 7,000 park units, encompassing over 19 million acres.

You might even say that “America’s Best Idea”—creating national parks—was a knockoff of state conservation and recreation efforts. The state park system was born in 1862 with California’s Yosemite Valley and Mariposa Grove of giant sequoias; it was ten years later that Yellowstone, mostly in Wyoming, became the first national park. Sequoia, in California, and Yosemite were second and third, both in autumn of 1890.

State parks have long protected some of our most prized wild places. Based on buzz from fellow hikers, state park staff picks, and personal experience, here’s a short list of great state parks for hiking—and primo hikes there.

1. Letchworth State Park, New York

Dubbed the Grand Canyon of the East, 14,000-acre Letchworth State Park delivers the expansive views typical of the West, but in western New York. At the center of this 17-mile park, the Genesee River snakes along hundreds of feet below overlooks like Inspiration Point—right where I found myself on an early morning in June.

I came to Letchworth, which features 66 miles of hiking trails, to see what I’d been missing. I’d been to Niagara Falls, about 80 miles northwest, but previously passed right by this region. The magic of this place was immediately clear, from the way the sunrise makes the canyon glow pink and orange like a living painting to the spectacle of the 107-foot-tall, 300-foot-wide Middle Falls. It’s one of three major waterfalls on this stretch of river, and I started hiking down Gorge Trail to see another, Lower Falls, up close.

The trail—and I—briefly flirted with the cliff’s edge, 550 vertigo-inducing feet above the Genesee, before meandering down the forested canyon. As I wound along the steeply stepped, mile-long descent to Lower Falls, the river alternated between lazy green ribbons and roaring whitewater. And then Lower Falls, 70 feet tall and as wide as Middle Falls, thundered before me, dropping into a dark green pool fringed by lush vegetation. A bright yellow hot-air balloon cruising high overhead took it all in.

I crossed the river over a stone bridge and followed a trail into the verdant, pine-heavy forest on the gorge’s south rim, threading in and out of thickets. There I joined the Portage Trail and eventually the trail to glimpse the canyon and Upper Falls through openings in the trees—the way I imagined others did long before the days of roads or infrastructure.

Entrance fee: Vehicle-use entrance fee is $10.

Best time to visit: All year. Summer with its warm temps and fall in its fiery foliage are the most popular seasons. Waterfalls tend to be fullest in the spring, when the rains come, and winter brings solitude.

Best hike: As with the state parks themselves, it’s always hard to narrow the list, let alone pick one. But you can’t go wrong with a section of the moderate extending from Middle Falls to Lower Falls, passing Inspiration Point en route.

Distance: Four miles out and back. To extend the hike and find more solitude, connect to the Portage Trail, across the river.

2. Ricketts Glen State Park, Pennsylvania

I explored this park years ago with a friend—on a lark, as part of a larger trip that extended to Niagara and east to the Adirondacks—and was blown away by the seven-mile . The hike, with its 21 named waterfalls (and counting, depending on rainfall), is a cascade carnival.

What really got me was how up close and personal—and surprising—the whole experience was. Every twist and turn in the trail revealed something new, hidden until you were on it. One minute I felt as if I was in a trance, drinking in the quiet beauty of a minor 11-foot cascade. In the next, my friend hiked ahead of me to stand at the top of the 94-foot-tall Ganoga Falls, where he was a barely visible stick figure.

Entrance fee: None.

Best time to visit: Any time of year. Spring for the most gushers, or fall for the foliage, when yellow beech trees surround the cascades. Winter or any other off-peak time, such as summer weekdays, lets you avoid crowds.

Best hike: The hike here is the Falls Trail.

Distance: 7.2 miles.

3. Tallulah Gorge State Park, Georgia

The nearly 100-foot-high Hurricane Falls in Tallulah Gorge State Park is certainly Instagram bait. But to truly experience this park, head straight for the bottom of the gorge viaÌęGorge Floor Trail or Sliding Rock Trail—if you can snag a (free) permit. Only 100 are given out daily. The park regulates that number largely for safety reasons, and the permits are gone about as soon as the visitor center opens at 8 A.M., says West Malenke, a park ranger. So be there around 7:30 A.M., since permits can only be secured on the day of your visit.

Gorge Floor Trail is “very, very strenuous,” Malenke says. But it’s also a quintessential summer hike, with many park-goers wearing swimsuits under their clothes in anticipation of a dip at the end. You’ll descend 540 stairs, cross a suspension bridge, and forge the Tallulah River at the base of Hurricane Falls, jumping from rock to rock and wading through the water andÌęboulders to reach Sliding Rock, also known as Bridal Veil Falls. “That is the only place in the river that we allow people to swim,” Malenke says. “You can actually slide down the waterfall into the pool at the bottom.”

Entrance fee: $5 per vehicle, which covers parking.

Best time to visit: Summer if you plan to get wet, spring for wildflowers and to see the river at its peak, and fall for generally mild weather.

Best hike:Ìę°Őłó±đ Gorge Floor and Sliding Rock Trails take you right into the center of it all on a physically demanding loop from the gorge’s north rim. Once you’ve reached Sliding Rock, you can return the way you came or cross the river and head straight up a section of the Sliding Rock Trail that gains 800 feet of elevation in about 1,200 feet.

“Basically, what I would tell people is this is the toughest quarter-mile hike you’ll ever do in your life,” Malenke says.

Distance:Ìę°Őłó±đ loop is three miles. Don’t want to go that deep in the gorge? You can hike flat trails, cross suspension bridges, and check out all the wildflowers—from trillium, asters, and violets to coneflowers and possibly a rare orchid—.

4. Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, California

Although many state parks are smaller than their federal counterparts, there are monsters in this group as well.

At 585,930 acres, Anza-Borrego Desert State Park is the largest of California’s state parks and one of the biggest in the country. It invites hikers into the mountains, slot canyons, palm groves, and wildflower meadows, and its diverse habitat is home to everything from bighorn sheep and jackrabbits to the chuckwalla (a rotund lizard) and red-diamond rattlesnake.

Entrance fee: $10 per vehicle per day.

Best time to visit: Late winter for the mild temperatures and wildflowers, which peak around the last week of February and the first two weeks of March.

Best hike: To check out seasonal wildflowers and see a rare palm oasis where groundwater has been forced close to the earth’s surface by the rock underneath it, you can’t beat

Distance: About three miles.

5. Kachemak Bay State Park and State Wilderness Park, Alaska

The first state park in Alaska is also one of the biggest in the country, boasting some 400,000 acres. No roads lead to this one; it can only be reached by chartered plane or boat or water taxi from Homer.

While people are scarce, the unspoiled wilderness is a habitat for everything from sea otters and whales to black bears and wolves. The pebbly coastline and undisturbed pine forests rise to 4,000-foot glacial peaks, with the Harding Icefield exemplifying the primordial nature of this accessible (by Alaska standards) park on the Kenai Peninsula.

Entrance fee: None.

Best time to visit: Summer for ease of travel and to avoid the snow and cold.

Best hike: Take the to see its eponymous glacier and lake. Optional short spur trails offer additional great views of the glacier and surrounding peaks. Keep an eye on the treetops for bald eagles.

Distance: It’s 6.4 miles out and back. (Further information here.)

6. Big Bend Ranch State Park, Texas

It kind of goes without saying that Texas would have a massive state park, and this one—the state’s largest—covers 311,000 acres of high desert. Located about 100 miles east of Big Bend National Park, the state park encompasses the rugged mountains and steep canyons along the U.S. side of the Rio Grande, as well as theÌęChihuahuan Desert.

Entrance fee: $5 per person year-round; free for visitors age 12 and under.

Best time to visit: Spring, when temperatures are moderate, is perfect. Summertime temperatures can be dangerously hot, rising to more than 100 degrees before noon and reaching as high as 130. Always carry loads of extra water, and avoid or reduce activity from late morning through the afternoon.

Best hike: The heads to the edge of Fresno Canyon and offers vistas of the Flatirons of the Solitario (similar to their counterpart in Boulder, Colorado, but more desolate). The views are seemingly endless, providing a sense of scale that might otherwise be difficult to appreciate in this vast landscape. See more hikes

Distance: Five miles out and back.

7. State Forest State Park, Colorado

Need any more proof that it’s possible to experience max wilderness at a state park? Look no further than this blandly named, 71,000-acre diamond in the rough next to Rocky Mountain National Park.

“It is my favorite place, and I feel it’s still a hidden gem that people don’t actually know about,” says Rachael Gonzales, a spokesperson for Colorado Parks and Wildlife.

Along with jagged peaks, alpine lakes, and other classic Colorado scenery, hikers have a great shot at seeing moose. (The nearby town of Walden claims to be the Moose Viewing Capital of Colorado.) Gonzales estimates she’s been to State Forest about two dozen times and encountered moose all but once.

Entrance fee: $10 for a daily vehicle pass.

Best time to visit: Summer for the most reliably snow-free hiking; fall for the foliage, when aspen leaves turn golden yellow; and winter for deep solitude. Just be prepared for anything, as the weather here changes fast.

Best hike:ÌęThe , which takes in high-alpine lakes, wildflowers in summer, Continental Divide views, and the chance of a moose sighting en route to the Michigan Lakes.

Distance: Seven miles total out and back. If you want to go even further, you can cross the State Forest border into Rocky Mountain National Park.

8. Kodachrome Basin State Park, Utah

Kodachrome Basin State Park holds its own against the five national parks in Utah. Named by the National Geographic Society after the color-reversal film, the rocky landscape is tinged in the red, brown, yellow, and pink of the Southwest palette. Dozens of sandstone spires, or sand pipes, reach skyward.

The park offers 15 miles of trails for all fitness and experience levels, an accessible sample of the hiking you’ll find in the southern half of the state.

Entrance fee: $8 per day per vehicle.

Best time to visit: Spring and fall for moderate temperatures.

Best hike: The offers a glimpse of the best of this 3,500-acre park, from red cliffs to Kodachrome’s ubiquitous sand pipes, plus big desert views with a backdrop of Bryce Canyon National Park.

Distance: Six miles for the full loop.

9. Castle Rocks State Park, Idaho

With its ancient rock formations and cliffs that attract top climbers, this mountainous park has much to offer hikers as well.

Desert meadows come alive when wildflowers bloom in the spring and summer, and the state’s largest piñon pine forest provides cover for many resident animals, including moose, coyotes, mountain lions, and mule deer. In a relatively small area—some 2,000 acres—Castle Rocks showcases much of Idaho’s wild side, which is sometimes overlooked in favor of the iconic national parks in neighboring states.

Entrance fee: $7 per vehicle.

Best time to visit: Summer, spring (but check the weather, as it can still be windy and wet well into this season).

Best hike: encircles the park and eponymous geological area with craggy granite formations that jut upward from the desert floor. Hikers share this multi-use loop with mountain bikers as well as climbers.

Distance: About five miles.

10. Tettegouche State Park, Minnesota

The world’s largest freshwater lake—Superior—collides with boreal forest in Tettegouche State ParkÌę(pronounced tettah-goosh or tettah-gooch, depending on who you talk to), a rugged landscape designed for hikers.

The park has 23 miles of hiking trails, including the 310-mile Superior Hiking Trail, which follows ridgelines that overlook the lake. One of the best things about it is there are no trafficked roads to these expansive vistas—to top out on its cliffs or reach one of a half-dozen interior lakes, you’ll have to hoof it.

Entrance fee: A daily vehicle permit costs $7.

Best time to visit: Summer for reliably warm weather. Although the area can get busy this time of year, the farther you hike, the fewer people you’ll see—a solid plan in just about any state or national park.

Best hike: abound. The park’s interpretive naturalist, Kurt Mead, suggests starting out on Tettegouche Lake Loop, which circles the interior lakes, then hiking a connector trail to 1,286-foot Mount Baldy on the return trip, a combined loop of about nine miles.

“That’s going to give you really beautiful inland overlooks, as well as a stunning 360-degree panoramic overview of Lake Superior and the surrounding area,” he says.

11. Mount Tamalpais State Park, California

Rustic glamor, redwoods, meadows, and panoramic bay and Golden Gate Bridge views—you’ll find it all here. Even in California, which has more state parks (and national parks, too) than any other, this park is a standout.

Entrance fee: °Őłó±đ°ù±đ’s no main-entrance fee, but you will pay to park in certain areas like East Peak ($8).

Best time to visit: Year-round.

Best hike:Ìę A combination of three—the Dipsea Trail, , and Matt Davis Loop—starts in the town of Stinson Beach and makes it way through lush canyons, past waterfalls, and into groves of the world’s tallest trees while rising high above the Pacific Ocean on Mount Tam.

Distance: 6.7 miles.

12. Petit Jean State Park, Arkansas

Overlooking the Arkansas River, this state park offers a bounty of big views, bluffs, and Native rock art, while paying homage to a troubled past.

Intersecting the park is the which today comprises 2,200 miles of land and water routes and commemorates the journey that Indigenous people from 1830 to 1850 were forced to take from their lands in the Southeast to present-day Oklahoma. En route, the Cherokee and other tribes were led past the mesa of Petit Jean Mountain, 1,120 feet at its highest point, on which the state park is located. Part of their route is visible from Stout’s Point.

In addition to learning more about where the historic trail passes through Arkansas state parks and various , you can head out on trails that wind throughÌęforests and meadows and up Petit Jean Mountain, passing water features like the 95-foot-tall Cedar Falls (reached via Cedar Falls Trail).

Entrance fee: None.

Best time to visit: Fall, when the temperatures cool and the leaves turn, which typically happens mid- to late October or early November.

Best hike:ÌęAfter checking out the Trail of Tears, try the The full Boy Scout Trail loop includes segments of the Cedar Falls Trail, the Bear Cave Trail (a natural shelter formed by huge sandstone boulders), and the Seven Hollows Trail (a path through small canyons and past natural stone arches and featuring pictographs).

Distance: 12 miles.

13. Smith Rock State Park, Oregon

Climbers from all over the world flock to the sheer faces of Smith Rock, a 600-foot-tall cliff system on a 3,200-foot ridge overlooking a bend in the aptly named Crooked River. But non-climbers, too, can access incredible views at the 650-acre state park; it packs a vertical punch with rocky spires and deep river canyons frequented by kayakers, and other adventure-seekers.

Entrance fee: A day-use fee of $5 is required to park at Smith Rock year-round.

Best time to visit: Spring and fall for relatively stable weather and moderate temperatures.

Best hike:Ìę°Őłó±đ charges up 600 feet, traversing the airy ridge for views of the sweeping Crooked River Gorge below.

Distance: 3.5 miles.

14. Hocking Hills State Park, Ohio

I suggested Hocking Hills as a destination for my family, and took my children to meet up with my parents, my siblings and their kids last June because it was the most-visited state park in Ohio. I figured it had to be good, though I’d done minimal research. Even after we arrived and set out to explore, I still had no idea what was around the first bend.

Then we crossed a stone bridge and dropped immediately into a basin ringed by sandstone cliffs. They perfectly framed the 20-foot Upper Falls and its turquoise pool—as if we’d found a Caribbean oasis in the heart of the Midwest! Enthralled, we all pushed ahead to see what lie around the next bend, and the next, and then the one after that, in the Old Man’s Cave hiking area.

The delights just kept coming, though we’d barely scratched the surface of the 2,356-acre park, which is cut by 59 miles of hiking trails. Within it is a portion of Ohio’s 1,440-mile Buckeye Trail, which circles the whole state. The park trails at Hocking Hills twist through cavernous stream beds, past more waterfalls, around and into caves, and through hollows, and then stretch out over rolling hardwood-covered hills.

Entrance fee: None.

Best time to visit: Year-round. You can’t beat the winter solitude, and I’d withstand the summer heat just to visit this area again. But of course spring can be cooler (if rainy sometimes), and fall offers bug-free hiking and leaf-peeping.

Best hike: The starts at Upper Falls and connects the Old Man’s Cave hiking area to Cedar Falls and then Ash Cave, the largest recess cave in the state.

Distance: Six miles.

Honorable Mentions

Many other deserving state parks didn’t make this list.ÌęThose include Baxter in Maine and Custer in South Dakota, which got the close-up treatment in another șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű story, plus many others across the U.S. and close to my home (like my favorite Indiana state park, Turkey Run). The hiking options go on and on—like the trails themselves—no matter which agency manages the land.

Michael Schroeder has hiked, backpacked, and camped on a variety of U.S. public lands from Maine to California and Alaska, including state parks across his home state of Indiana. He’s learned that one state or national park, forest, or other public land is often just a gateway into another.

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When I turned 30, I moved from Atlanta to Philadelphia, into a new job and out of a toxic relationship. My life had become a spiral that astrology-minded friends attributed to my Saturn Return—a planetary alignment that asks us to make pivotal decisions about our lives. (Think on steroids.) When my birthday rolled around, I wanted to honor my personal new year in some way—and establish a clearer vision for my life. It seemed like a good time to get away, get still, and spend time figuring out where my new path would take me.

As an introspective introvert, I didn’t want a splashy vacay. My life was calling for some quiet time away from the fray, the phone, and other distractions. I needed time to get my head together and think about my Next. A retreat seemed in order.

I didn’t have much time (or money) to go far, but I found a nearby retreat center that looked secluded and quiet. I booked a weekend trip, packed a bag, and jumped in my car. The lush green campus was 30 minutes from downtown Philly, but a world away from my city life. It was exactly what I needed–and the first of many solo retreats. They have become a personal tradition that I rely on for rest, recovery, and recalibration.

What is a solo retreat?

°Őłó±đ°ù±đ’s , where intrepid travelers take off on some private adventure. But those kinds of trips are often more about getting “out there” than about “going within.”

And you can find plenty of yoga and meditation retreats at wellness centers around the world. In fact, carefully curated yoga retreats have become something of an industry. But they tend to be scheduled dawn to dark with activities–yoga classes, meditations, cooking classes, bodywork, dancing, drumming
.Ìę °Őłó±đ°ù±đ’s always something to do and you don’t have to be alone at all.

When I say solo retreat, I’m thinking of the kind of intentional withdrawal periods that Christian priests, Buddhist monks, Hindu renunciates called , and other ascetics in every spiritual and religious tradition have been taking for centuries. These seekers of enlightenment may spend periods in contemplation and prayer or doing intentional work, away from the distractions of the world. Hindu retreat in order to spend time in meditation, studying philosophical texts, and performing acts of devotion. In the , a retreat requires “a series of days passed in solitude and consecrated to practices of asceticism.”

That “series of days” is an important element of retreating. An overnight in another bed somewhere hardly gives you time to resolve your jet lag or recover your land legs, much less spend time in deep contemplation. Retreats take time.

Finding Elements of Ease

To me, a retreat has an element of ease and simplicity. When I’m on vacation, I may be concerned about the threadcount of my hotel sheets or how many stars the restaurant has. On a retreat, I want a clean and comfortable bed, and clean and comforting food. Ideally, I’d like a place to practice yoga and a place to meditate, and I’ll accept a massage or a sauna if it’s offered, but the lavishness of the surroundings is not the point. In fact, that can be an outer-world distraction from the inner world I’m trying to access.

When I look for a retreat, I try to find a setting that offers quiet paths to walk and places to sit undisturbed–whether that’s in a sun-dappled chapel or a grove of trees. The retreat spaces I like have set meal times and buffets of nourishing food, so I don’t have to decide what to order from the menu or calculate a tip. And there’s always tea.

Over the years I’ve taken many of these solo escapes. Here are some things I’ve learned about planning the most fruitful personal retreats.

1. Peace and Quiet is a Commodity

My first solo retreat was at , a center run by the Society of Friends. As you’d expect from a place run with Quaker values, the accommodations were simple but comfortable. There was the option to rent a hermitage, a cottage set away from the main campus where I would be totally alone. For my first time, I didn’t need quite that much solitude. I chose a room in one of the main lodgings.

The communal dining area included “silent” tables for people who wanted to remain in quiet contemplation. But all of the conversation was gentle and quiet. This was not the place for raucous laughter or boisterous debate–indoors or out. During the day, I would find a place to sit in the October sun and write in my journal. Or I’d take a walk around the grounds. I might come across other people wandering alone or huddled together in muted conversation, but the contemplative mood infused the whole experience.Ìę When you’re trying to go within, it helps if you’re around other people with the same intention.

2. Going Alone Doesn’t Mean Being Alone

For me, being at a solo retreat means I can choose to keep to myself as much as I need or want. Or I can get out of my comfort zone and strike up a conversation with someone I feel drawn to. Often, people who see that you’re alone will introduce themselves and begin a conversation. If you set an intention about how much engagement you want to have, it’s your choice about whether to respond politely and go on about your way, or to engage fully and make a connection.

At Pendle Hill, I met a young woman from Canada who had come for an extended retreat. We ended up taking meals together and having long talks. She invited me to a Quaker meeting in the city; that became my spiritual practice for a number of years. Being open to that serendipitous connection influenced my path in ways that I could not have predicted.

3. It’s Okay to Be Myself and Feed My Own Needs

I’ve done girls’ trips and group excursions. I find that people quickly settle into roles. The Organizer suggests activities; the Outspoken one sets the agenda; the One with the Food Restrictions determines the restaurants we’ll choose. Traveling with a group means being willing to compromise so that everyone’s needs are met.

A solo retreat involves only one person’s needs: yours. That means you get to decide what to do each day. At the beginning of a retreat, I tend to make those choices as I make any other decision–based on logic or strategy or whatever my intellect tells me is best. I find that as I settle into my retreat, I can feel my left brain give way to my creative side, and I sense myself reconnecting with intuition. Then, where I go and how I move on any given day is determined by a sense of flow.

4.Ìę When Spirit Moves, Move With It

One year, my annual retreat took me to a rambling house in upstate New York that a friend had recommended. I found it cold and uncomfortable—no heat against the fall chill and not enough blankets. When I went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea, I found an infinite variety of tea boxes—each of them crisscrossed with spider webs. It was more than I could take. I cut my trip short and came home the next day. Had I been traveling with someone, I might have been tempted (or convinced) to stay. In this case, I didn’t have to compromise. I didn’t have to explain. I could move with my own spirit.

5. Take Time for Contemplation

Solo travel may involve all kinds of activities and adventures, but you don’t go alone on a retreat unless you plan to spend at least some time with only yourself. For me, an ideal retreat space will have opportunities for quiet walks, a place to practice yoga, and meditation space. Because journaling is my preferred way to get out of my head and tap into my heart, quiet places to sit and write are essential. If hiking or swimming or walking a labyrinth help you feel meditative, look for a retreat location where those options are available.

6.Ìę Let Go of Expectations

One fortunate summer, I received a scholarship for a week-long retreat at the By this time, I was a divorced single mom, living on the modest salary of a liberal-arts professor. A free week anywhere was a blessed opportunity to get away, but also a chance to get some writing projects done. While I was disciplined enough to make it to early morning yoga classes, most afternoons found me sitting on the deck outside the cafe with my bare feet propped up on the railing, doing nothing. Or I’d retire to my little vine-shrouded cabin, fling open the windows to let in the breeze, and fall into deep naps, lulled by the hum and chirp of the insects. After the first couple of days, I realized that my lack of motivation to “get something done” was the result of how burned out I was from work and responsibility. I let go of the idea that I needed to produce something and devoted myself to the rest I needed.

The Reason for Retreat

In my daily life, I have responsibility for
 everything—myself, the house, work tasks, my child, and now my parent. I wouldn’t give up the freedom to make my own decisions, but I admit there are times when I might relish a sounding board or a helping hand. So why would a trip alone seem so nourishing? I think it comes down to being able to attend more fully to your own needs.

Whether you’re living solo, coupled, or in community, your days may be busy and full of distractions. It’s easy to find yourself moving around the world on someone else’s timeline and, if you’re not careful, on someone else’s agenda. Solo retreats are a time to remind yourself of your own rhythms. I ask myself pointed questions: What do I like? What do I need? What pleases me? If I pick the right spot and spend enough time, I can find my own flow again.

Or course, a solo retreat tests your ability to enjoy your own company, to tolerate the voice in your own head. But if you allow yourself the time and space to do some helpful introspection, you may come away with a sense of clarity and direction. Or you may not.Ìę The product of your time alone makes little difference if it gives you a chance to practice self-acceptance and self-love. The ideal solo sojourn allows you to see the value of spending time with someone as special as you.

is a senior editor at Yoga Journal.

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St. Patrick’s Day lasts about a week in Breckenridge, Colorado. Wear green on the mountain, hear live music, look around town for specials, like the all-you-can-eat Irish buffet. Green beer, blue skies. Spring breakers and other people plan trips around such fun events and festivals.

Recently, a deadly spring-vacation accident, this one on St. Patrick’s Day, broke our hearts, and it involved someone just trying to be outdoors, healthy, and active. As reported in the and confirmed to șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű by Wanda Wilkerson of the Summit County Sheriff’s Office, on March 17 a visitor died after falling from a chairlift at the Breckenridge ski resort. John Perucco, 60, of Elgin, Illinois, was on the Zendo Chair when he fell 25 feet onto a hard-packed slope. He was trying to brush snow from the chair when he slipped, and according to the sheriff’s officeÌęhad not yet put the safety bar down.

In a statement to șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű, Vail Resorts confirmed the accident (but didn’t share details on if the safety bar was up or down) and wrote that the skier was “transported to Saint Anthony Summit Medical in Frisco, Colo., and after further emergency care and evaluation, was pronounced deceased.”

Jody Churich, vice president and chief operating officer at the resort, was quoted as saying: “Breckenridge Ski Resort, Ski Patrol and the entire Vail Resorts family extend our deepest sympathy and support to our guest’s family and friends.”

“Bar down?”

Some skiers ask this question as the ride up begins to anyone they’re sharing a chairlift with. I have generally liked having the safety bar down; it provides a footrest and sometimes, on the armrest, a trail map—which I need at Snowmass, a vast mountain I still barely know despite having lived in the Aspen, Colorado, area for decades.

The recent death at Breckenridge, in addition to others I’ve read about over the years, got me thinking: why don’t we all put the bar down? Meaning, as a hard rule and with a conviction I haven’t seen or felt over a lifetime of skiing.

I haven’t put it down every time I ride a lift and often don’t even think about it. Did all lifts have safety bars when I first started skiing in Pennsylvania and Maryland back east at age 13? No—and some still don’t.

One friend who is 6-foot-3 says he usually doesn’t bring the bar down because it bonks him on the head. Others online cite similar ergonomic cons. One guy said he was nailed in the crotch by a bar’s vertical divider when a petite woman reached back and thunked the thing down unannounced.

Bars can be awkward or heavy. But really, using the bar every time comes down to creating a habit.

Bar use is encouraged but not mandatory in most ski areas in North America. It is law in Vermont.

Yet on chairlifts, we skiers and snowboarders glide 25, 50, and 100 feet above ski trails, rocks, trees, and other humans. Falls are rare and are often due to user error, but freak things can happen; lifts bounce, gusting winds roar in.

What if anyone I was with—or I—became ill or faint, and started sliding off? I’ve seen someone suddenly pass out while standing on flat ground, because she was unused to altitude (and also hungover and dehydrated). A person can be hurt or worse by falling a short distance, and lifts get high fast.

A 2001-02 through 2011-12 by the National Ski Areas Association attributed 86 percent of all chairlifts falls to skier error and 4 percent to medical issues, with just 2 percent as the result of mechanical or operator error.

So maybe that takes us back to the which stipulates that you must be able to use lifts safely. Consider that a bar won’t prevent disaster, but surely it could only help.

Say you drop your pole or a glove and instinctively reach to grab it? Maybe the bar would stop you or restore your senses. As say, “Let it fall!” What about the beginner or drunk person who might accidentally knock you off? Things happen. We ride with strangers.

a 31-year-old with mental-health issues pushed a stranger 20 to 25 feet off the Loge chair at Aspen Highlands Ski Resort over a perceived (unintended) insult. The incident occurred just past the last lift tower, before the exit and bull wheel. The victim, age 28, landed uninjured in soft snow. It was a powder day, thank heavens.

This year has already marked a change for me. Skiing over the holidays at the impressive Palisades resort in Tahoe, California, where one of our sons lives, I could see with fresh eyes how high above the steeps and granite cliffs our chair was. You bet I pulled the bar down.

It is our option as users whether or not to use it, so let’s choose it.

Look how easily many of us have changed other habits over the years. None of us used to wear a ski or bike helmet. At first I found it hard to get used to a ski helmet; that took about one day. Now I wear them without thinking about it. Everybody I know does. They’re warm, too.

I never wore seatbelts growing up, either. Did our station wagon even have them in the back seat? On long drives to ski, my siblings and I would lie in the way back on sleeping bags spread over suitcases.

Later I spent a year at the University of St. Andrews, Scotland, where a billboard campaign featured pictures of people’s stitched-up or scarred faces, with the words, “If only I had worn my seatbelt.” Sometimes an image or a certain reminder is all it takes, to form a habit way into the future.

“Bar down” could be a campaign. This past weekend, skiing at my home area of Aspen Highlands,ÌęI found it easier said than done: even after announcing my new plan to my husband and our friend (both were amenable, and neither helped at all), I forgot until halfway up on three of the nine or so runs we took. Still, if I keep trying, and pass it on, and you do, it could go into the future.

Just ask your fellow lift riders before lowering, and do it slowly, please.

Alison Osius is a senior editor at șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű. She learned to ski at Elk Mountain, Pennsylvania, with family trips to several areas in Vermont; worked as a ski instructor at the Middlebury Snow Bowl; put in a ski-job (cashier) stint at Snowbird, Utah; and now lives, skis, and vows to put the bar down in Western Colorado.

Here’s Where We’ll Be Skiing in Late Spring—and Maybe Even Into Summer

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The change was immediate. The country opened up west of Harrisburg and suddenly we could drink from streams and build fires without getting caught and sleep pretty much anywhere we wanted. We’d walked the railroad tracks from Washington to Baltimore to Philly and then turned west at the Main Line and made Amish country by winter. The Pennsylvania fields lay bare and hard in the cold but there were seams and folds in that country—strips of woods along stream bottoms, windbreaks between the cornfields, ridges left wild for hunting—where a man could easily pass the night unnoticed. Once, we cooked dinner on a steep hill above the town of ChristianaÌęand went to sleep in a snowstorm listening to the clatter of carriage horses on the street below. At dawn we walked into town for pancakes and coffee and then headed on up the railroad tracks before anyone whose job it was to stop us even knew we’d been there.

But outside Harrisburg, where the Juniata River runs into the Susquehanna at her great breaching of Blue Mountain, we seemed to have been simply released into the wild. Early settlers tended to push up the major rivers until they ran into the first set of waterfalls—the “fall line”—and those spots became jumping-off points for people who were even more desperate or adventurous. At Blue Mountain the Susquehanna drops down a series of ledges and deepens in the alluvial soil of the coastal plain, and that was where a Welsh Ă©migrĂ© named John Harris established a business poling rafts across the river in the 1730s. What was then called “Indian country” effectively started on the other side, and when Harris’s passengers stepped ashore they found themselves in a forest of enormous hardwoods that extended almost unbroken for the next thousand miles, to the Great Plains.

Three hundred years later we walked through a cluster of camper-trailers between the river and some standard-gauge railroad and then climbed onto the tracks themselves. We could hear trucks downshifting on the last hill before Harrisburg on Route 22, across the river. It was late April, and the Juniata was running fast and full in the spring flood, an occasional tree rolling in her current that had been undercut along the banks and toppled. She flowed between ridges that looked too steep to climb and ran compass-straight for miles at a time. There were creeks for fresh water and floodwrack for firewood and the woods so thick you could practically sleep within sight of a church steeple or police station and no one would know.

It struck us as serious country, the kind where you kept an eye on the weather and slept next to whatever weapon you had. All we had was a machete but after dark we all knew where it was—usually thunked into a tree somewhere central. Gunfire occasionally bounced off the shelf rock and detritus of the upper ridges and one morning an A-10 thundered through so low that we could almost make out the pilot in the cockpit. Not two days’ walk from Harrisburg we passed a sign nailed to a tree that warned the federal government that the property “would be defended by any means necessary.” There were meth addicts in the towns and black bears up on the ridges and the remains of old locks and canals along the river that almost looked ready to be returned to good use if history ever required it.

We walked single file on the cinder maintenance road that ran between the trackbed and the river. Creeks chased down off the ridges like they were fleeing something. Swarms of gnats worked the sunlight and bass boats spun past on the current below us. Where the tracks ran straight we saw trains from a mile or more, headlights boring toward us like fierce little suns, but even on the curves we often had a sense that a great force was headed our way. The trains were so heavy and fast that they seemed to set the whole world in motion, vibrating the air and raising a strange pitch from the rail that fell at the edge of human hearing. But we got so attuned out there that we’d know a train was coming without even knowing how we knew—but we knew. We’d step into the underbrush and sit on our packs and some of us would roll a cigarette or drink water and we’d wait for the beast to come through. Freights moved at familiar speeds and took a full minute to go by, but the passenger trains could hit 140 and walloped past so suddenly they’d just leave you in a vortex of dead leaves and trash.

We took ten-minute breaks every hour and walked all afternoon. Occasionally, in the distance we’d see a pickup truck nose out onto the tracks at an ungated farm road and then bounce across. Once we saw a car stopped in the middle of a bridge a mile or so ahead, and we put our binoculars on it to make sure it wasn’t a cop. (It is illegal to trespass on railroad property, and on high-speed lines it is even considered a national security issue.) At the end of the day we came to an old quarrystone kiln at a place called Bailey Run, where a creek sawed through a ridge and ran under the tracks into the Juniata. The water was ice-cold and filtered through the chert and limestone of the country and tasted as though civilization was still something in the future. We walked up the creek and made camp in a little stand of sycamore and hemlock that was nestled into the curve of a ridge. The only way to see our cookfire was to come down on us quietly through the woods at night, but we had a dog and that wasn’t going to happen, either.

The tracks had all the dangers of heavy industry but also ran smack through nature. The trains were so heavy and loud, though, that it was easy for us to forget they weren’t the only danger out there. In central Pennsylvania we got caught in a summer thunderstorm that soaked us immediately and sent runoff boiling out of culverts and sheeting down hillsides. It was almost dark and there was nowhere to sleep that wasn’tÌębadly angled or completely underwater. One of the men finallyÌęlooked at me and said, “You know that I must really want to be out here because I have way better options than this.”

We’d all been in a certain amount of combat and there was something about our endeavor—the simplicity, the hardship, the proximity of death—that reminded us of those days. Most of the trip was done in segments over the course of a year. Halfway through, one man dropped out and others later filled in; one section was just two of us. We called our trip “the Last Patrol,” and it seemed like a long hard weird thing to do until we were actually out there, when suddenly it was so obvious that we rarely even caught ourselves wondering why we were doing it. The things that had to happen out there were so clear and simple—eat, walk, hide, sleep—that just getting through the day felt like scripture: a true and honest accounting of everything that underlies the frantic performance of life.

The night of the downpour we slept under a hardware-store tarp in a patch of skunkweed near the river, and I stayed awakeÌęlistening to the wind in case it ramped up to that high shriek thatÌęmeans treetops are going to start snapping. I’d decided that if that happened, we would wade into the current and sit out the storm on a little brush-covered island I’d spotted. No falling trees couldÌęreach us there, and I doubted the river would rise beyond what we could handle.

In the morning the river was at our toes and the island was gone. If we’d gone out there, we’d probably be dead. That was scripture. That was the world letting you know where you stood.Ìę

FromÌę, by Sebastian Junger. Copyright © 2021 by Sebastian Junger. Reprinted by permission of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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It’s been a hard year for everyone. This summer, how about we let the kids pretend like everything is OK in the world? These getaway spots offer perks for the grownups, like mountain bike trails, surf breaks, and rooftop bars, as well as the drive-in movie theaters, hot-springs-fed pools, and skate parks that will keep the kids happy.Ìę

Escalante, Utah

is paradise for young explorers.Ìę°Őłó±đy can wander among slot canyons, gape at sandstone arches and natural bridges, and dig for dinosaur fossils. If your kids can handle a six-mile round-trip hike, it’s worth the trek toÌę, which drops 130 feet into a pool below. Take a drive onÌę to explore hoodoos inÌę or hike the family-friendlyÌę slot canyons. The reward: burgers and shakes atÌę in the town of Escalante afterward.Ìę (RV sites from $69; cabins from $249) opened this year on the grounds of an old drive-in movie theater and has custom-designed A-frame cabins, vintage Airstreams, and RV sites. You can watch an outdoor movie from the seat of a restored classic car.ÌęÌę

Ouray, Colorado

This high-altitude town is famous for its ice climbing in the winter, but Ouray is gorgeous in the summer, too. A newÌę—a European-style cable climbing route—opened here in 2020, crossing the Uncompahgre Gorge via a 35-foot-long cable wire bridge.Ìę leads guided climbs (from $139) on the new routes, which are geared for all ages and abilities. The geothermally heated pools at make for a nice post-climbing activity. (from $105) openedÌęin 2020 in a historic building that was once a saloon and brothel and now has six rooms, a rooftop bar, and a wood-burning sauna.

Woodward, Pennsylvania

Admittedly, your kids are going to like this destination more than you, but there’s still a lot for adults to enjoy—from paddleboarding to hiking trails—atÌę, the premier action sports training facility in the U.S. Whether you’re coming for theÌę (from $200) or you’re signing your teen up for a skate or BMX camp, this place is all about fun. The 48-acre campus has skate parks, BMX race tracks, go-karts, a pool, and more. Families can stay at the Woodward Lodge (from $280) or pitch a tent at the nearby (from $30), a campground adjacent to one of the largest underground caverns in Pennsylvania (private cave tours available by reservation).

York, Maine

If you’re looking for a laid-back beach destination on the East Coast, head to this small town 45 miles south of Portland.ÌęTake a stroll on the one-mile Long Sands Beach or hike up 692-footÌę—the kids will enjoy it all, too. Afterward, take in the view ofÌę from Sohier Park and watch saltwater taffy get made at the , which has been making candy for over 100 years. Stay at the oceanfrontÌę (from $249), which is opening this summer in a restored motel property with a new heated pool, bungalows, and rooms that are decorated to celebrate the area’s long-standing surf culture.

Eureka, California

This Northern California coastal townÌęis home to some of the world’s tallest trees, the towering redwoods of Humboldt County. The coolest new way to see those trees? From 100 feet above the forest floor on theÌę, a suspended, self-guided walkway opening in early June amongÌę60 acres of old-growth and second-growth redwoods in the city’s beloved Sequoia Park Zoo. Book a suite at theÌę (from $166), and enjoy itsÌęlawn games, hot tubs, and beach access. Your kids are going to love roasting marshmallows at the fire pits and taking a bath after the beach in the outdoor clawfoot tubs that are part of the property’s historic bathhouse.

Sister Bay, Wisconsin

Door County, the peninsula that juts into Lake Michigan from eastern Wisconsin, hasÌę300 miles of shoreline, dozens of surrounding islands, and a culture that celebrates its Scandinavian heritage. Don’t missÌę, a designated Dark Sky Park with hike-in campsites, 30 miles of trails, and excellent stargazing. The kids will dig theÌę to Washington Island and a movie at theÌę, which opens for the summer season in May. This four-bedroom, mid-centuryÌę (from $399), newly listed for this summer via Airbnb, will house the whole family.

Jackson, Wyoming

By midsummer, the town of Jackson and its neighboringÌę andÌę will be busy. But Memorial Day into early June is still early for the summer crowds.Ìę (from $549)—named after the Cloudveil Dome in the Teton Range—is a new hotel in the town square that’s opening on May 26. The kids will enjoy the outdoor pool, but you’ll love the rooftop terrace and in-house bar and restaurant. Hotel staff can help curate itineraries for the whole family, ranging from fly-fishing or rafting on the Snake River to guided mountain biking and hiking. Or head toÌę for hiking and biking trails for you; alpine slide and ziplines for them.

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In his essay “,” Thoreau wrote that “two or three hours’ walking will carry me to as strange a country as I expect ever to see.” The piece was published in 1862, but the sentiment feels contemporary. Perhaps it’s that we’ve all just endured a year’s worth of pandemic-induced travel restrictions. Or maybe it’s because an increased awareness about the environmental impact of long-distance air travel has given rise to . Why jet halfway around the world to seek out strangeness and adventure when strangeness and adventure can be found just down the road? Sometimes there’s nothing so exotic as going for a long walk.Ìę

Just ask . The 61-year-old former Wall Street Journal reporter set out from Washington D.C. on March 29, and is making his way, on foot, to New York City, where he expects to arrive later this week. Rather than cleaving to the I-95, King took an arching route through the pastoral idylls of Pennsylvania, which is where he was when I recently gave him a call.Ìę

When he answered the phone, I could hear birds in the background. He was just walking through the last suburban stretch of Lancaster, King said, before adding rapturously that he was “smelling manure for the first time.” He was entering “one of the most fabled and beautiful stretches of Amish farm country” and his destination on that particular day was the town of Ephrata, where he’d arranged to meet the main archivist at the ,Ìęa repository of old Mennonite artifacts. When I asked King if he was at liberty to talk, he replied that he was “at liberty in pretty much every way.” My kind of guy.

As King explained it to me, his walkÌęstarted as a kind of personal joke: What would it be like to make a slow, ambulating journey from D.C.Ìęand New York—a journey that most commuters try to put behind them as quickly as possible?ÌęOnce he decided that he was going to find out, he felt that the right way to do it would be to take a meandering detour to visit sites of historical significance. Valley Forge. Philadelphia. Trenton.Ìę

Originally, King wanted to make the trek in 2020, but COVID forced him to postpone. The trip was always intended as a kind of history-infused exploration of our national psyche, but the events of the past year—protests for racial justice, the November election, the Capitol riot—gave the project an additional sense of urgency.

“We’ve gone through this period where, more directly than we ever have, we’ve wondered at our founding,” King told me. “Was slavery one of our foundational principles? °Őłó±đ°ù±đ’s a huge debate about whether we should have Robert E. Lee statues, or whether we should have schools named after certain people. So this is a very potent moment to walk through an area where so many of those people lived.” He noted that Lancaster was the final resting place of both James Buchanan, that “grim-faced caretaker before the Civil War,” who served as the 15th President of the United States, and representative Thaddeus Stevens, Buchanan’s ideological rival and a . Stevens’ grave, , is located at Shreiner-Concord Cemetery, which the congressman had specifically chosen because other cemeteries at the time were segregated. (Part of the epitaph reads, “I have chosen this that I might illustrate in my death the principles which I advocated throughout a long life.”)Ìę

As for the lingering threat of the pandemic, King says that he was recently vaccinated and figures that, now that the country is gradually emerging from its COVID hibernation, people would be more likely to chat with a sauntering stranger. There was another motivating factor: four years ago, he was . He’s OK now, but all the more aware that time is finite.Ìę

“Even in the way we tend to look at any one day, we think we can pack all kinds of things in when we really can’t,” he says. “We never quite learn that the day doesn’t contain time enough to do it all—and in the same way we go about our lives thinking we have this very long runway.”Ìę

What has he been doing to make the most of this fleeting existence? Some of his encounters over the past few days have felt like contemporary parables, King says. In an affluent suburb of Maryland, he hintingly asked the owner of a palatial residence where he might fill his canteen and was informed that there was a store two miles down the road that sold bottled water. One time, disoriented after his iPhone battery died, he asked an old Mennonite auctioneer for directions and was given an extended sermon (in a barn) about how the country had lost its way.Ìę

King, for his part, is wary of expanding such anecdotes into a metanarrative about the corrupting influence of wealth or modern technology. As he put it: “A lot of these parallels are really fascinating to me, but what does it mean, really? It just means what it is. But that’s the way these parables go. I take the people and the encounters along the way for what they are and who they are, but I’m not interested in trying to extrapolate and say: Therefore, the entire country is like this person, or that person.”Ìę

We’ve been on the phone for about 20 minutes when King encounters another one of central Pennsylvania’s bucolic delights—“Holy shit, I’ve just come to this amazing covered bridge”—and politely says that he needs to let me go. Understood. Time is brief, and he’s still got a lot to see.

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