From strong northern lights to a historic total solar eclipse, 2024 has been quite a year for sky watchers—and it’s not over. Starting Friday evening, a bright comet predicted to be visible to the naked eye will treat stargazers across the northern hemisphere. It was last seen 80,000 years ago, during the time of Neanderthals, and it likely won’t swing by earth again for anotherĚý 80,000 years.

According to space scientists, Comet Tsuchinshan-ATLAS, or Comet C/2023 A3, is the most impressive space sight of its kind to dazzle our skies since comet Neowise in 2020. That it also might be visible to the naked eye is “quite rare,” says Matt Hjelle, spokesperson for the stargazing app . “On average, you get a comet of this brightness roughly once in a decade.”

I’ve already scouted numerous viewpoints to watch and capture this spectacle with friends when it reaches its brightest point in the U.S. this weekend. Since it should remain easily visible through mid-October—and even later into the month with a telescope or binoculars—I’m hoping to admire it from multiple vantage points over the next few weeks. Read on for tips on how and when to find comet A3 in your part of the country, plus picturesque perches to admire it.

When to See Comet Tsuchinshan-ATLAS, or C/2023 A3, from the U.S.

This massive heap of dust, frozen gases, and rock, which calls a “cosmic snowball,” is blasting toward earth from the edge of our solar system, and on October 11 it will reappear in the early-evening sky. It will be closest to earth—passing by our planet at a distance of some 44 million miles—on October 12. So on Saturday, look to the western horizon right after sunset to spot it. Don’t dilly-dally: because the comet’s location is so low, it will “set” about 30 minutes after the sun.

Fortunately, A3 will continue to climb in the sky throughout the month and into early November, setting around 20 minutes later each night, according to . From October 13 to 19, A3 is expected to remain brilliant, resulting in optimal viewing if clear-weather conditions hold where you are. In the days that follow, it will increasingly fade and you’ll need binoculars or a telescope to best admire it.

Comets are tough to predict—they’re light-years away, and therefore we know little about their composition, which affects brightness— so we won’t know exactly how intense A3 will be until it reappears in our sky. Optimistic astronomy buffs it could be as luminous as Jupiter. Others its radiance will be more in line with 2020’s comet Neowise, which was also visible to the naked eye and had a glow similar to the North Star. One feature to look for is its sweeping dust tail.

But even by modest predictions, signs look promising for A3 to become the comet of the year, if not decade. In fact, you likely won’t need to travel far, if at all, from a city to see it, says Hjelle. “Light pollution will play a factor, but if the brightness estimates play out, even many light-polluted areas are going to get a reasonably good view.”

Incredibly, on September 27, astronomers in Hawaii discovered that another comet, known as Comet C/2024 S1 (ATLAS), could be visible to northern-hemisphere stargazers at the end of October—and it may outshine A3 if it survives its passage by the sun. “If all goes as well as the most optimistic estimates, this comet could be visible to the naked eye during the daytime around [October] 28th,” Hjelle says. That’s big news, because only nine comets have been bright enough for daytime visibility in the past 300 years.

For now, let’s keep our sights on A3. Here’s where I suggest viewing it from the various regions of the U.S.

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The Best Places to Watch Comet A3 in Your Region

First and foremost: find a lookout with clear, unobstructed views of the western horizon, particularly during the comet’s initial streak across our sky this weekend, when A3 will be hovering just above it.

I spent hours scouting Google Earth and thinking about my favorite sunset viewpoints from my own past travels to find the most scenic, geographically dispersed, unobstructed west-facing comet A3 viewpoints in every region to ensure you don’t miss this once-in-a-lifetime show.

New England

Head Here: The Colchester Causeway near Burlington, Vermont

The 2.5-mile crosses Lake Champlain to link Causeway Park (nine miles north of Burlington) to the town of South Hero. The gravel route, enjoyed via bike or on foot, offers sweeping panoramas, including near perfect west-facing views with only distant Adirondack peaks on the horizon. The farther north you head on the causeway, the better and more unobstructed the west-facing scenery. Note that the route terminates just before South Hero, and the seasonal across the water and into town is only available in the daytime, so you’ll have to head back the way you came.

Or Here: Cape Cod National Seashore in Provincetown, Massachusetts

The western stretch of , a 40-mile swath of sandy beaches, heather-dotted dunes, and quiet marshes will also offer fantastic views of the comet. Try Duck Harbor Beach in Wellfleet or Herring Cove Beach near Provincetown’s West End. Since October is outside of high season, parking and entry to most national seashore beaches is free. Even better: the national seashore’s beaches are open from 6 A.M. to midnight, which means you can catch the comet, then peer southwest into the Milky Way’s vibrant core, also best viewed in .

Mid-Atlantic

Head Here: West Cape May in Cape May, New Jersey

New Jersey’s southernmost tip allures summer shore-goers with its rainbow of colorful Victorian homes and powdery sands. This month, its western side will offer some of the region’s best comet views, too. Try Pearl Beach or Sunset Beach for unobstructed western-horizon overlooks. During the day, don’t miss the —the return of the migrating raptors—which runs through November 30. It’s best enjoyed at Hawk Watch Observation Platform. Entrance is free.

Or Here: The Edge in New York City

The majority of west-facing waterfront parks and perches in New York State close at sunset, but in city that never sleeps, sky watchers will have excellent views from on the West Side of Midtown Manhattan, especially if brightness predictions hold. Located on the 100th floor of 30 Hudson Yards, The Edge is the western hemisphere’s highest outdoor observation deck, with glass-walled 360-degree views of the metro area. It’s open daily until 9 P.M. Imagine watching A3 soar above the Hudson River and New Jersey. I suggest getting there with enough time to watch the sun set and the comet appear; since golden hour is prime visiting time, get your tickets in advance. From $40

The South

Head Here: Mount Magazine State Park in Paris, Arkansas

Western Arkansas’s is a popular rock-climbing destination. And this month, the soaring crag delivers top-notch comet watching, too. Vistas atop 2,753-foot Mount Magazine, the state’s highest point, may be obstructed by trees, but its Cameron Bluff Amphitheater offers a clear western-horizon vantage point, as do a few portions of the Cameron Bluff Recreation Area. Drive up solely for sunset and comet watching—the park closes at 10 P.M.—or make an evening of it with an early feast of Southern fare at , which overlooks the Petit Jean River Valley. It’s part of the Mount Magazine Lodge and just a mile stroll from the amphitheater (from $153). Entrance to the state park is free.

Or Here: Lake Pontchartrain in New Orleans

If you’re headed here Saturday, why not spend the entire day outdoors making the most of Lake Pontchartrain, perhaps fishing for bass and catfish (both a basic and saltwater fishing license are required) or watching for larger wildlife, such as sharks and manatees. When dusk descends, head to the 2,800-acre , which remains open to the public until 9 P.M. Or elevate your interstellar fun with a stay in the park’s lakefront cabins; the west-facing abodes reopened this fall after years of repairs following Hurricane Ida (from $150). is also available less than a mile from the waterfront (from $18). And if you’re planning on ending the day with stargazing before heading home, your best bet might be at , 28 miles south, where you can admire the cosmos until 11 P.M.

The Midwest

Head Here: Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore in Glen Arbor and Empire, Michigan

Unobstructed west-facing comet views abound along the world’s largest freshwater dune system, . The national lakeshore boasts 65 shorefront miles, with , dune climbs, and scenic drives—and it’s all open well past dark. (In fact, the park starlit visits.) Try the 1.5-mile round-trip for pristine Lake Michigan lookout points, or make a workout out of it with the 3.5-mile round-trip , which climbs up and over the steep sand mounds to reach another waterfront comet vista. is a more accessible option, with numerous scenic stop-offs. While the comet is the main act, keep your eyes peeled north for a glimpse of lower 48 northern lights, which could make a surprise appearance. Park entrance is $25, or use your America the Beautiful Pass.

Or Here: Badlands National Park in Wall, South Dakota

View this month’s magical space sighting from a lookout that’s equally otherworldly: Badlands National Park. A handful of its west-facing vantage points provide the chance to watch the comet above a patchwork of surreal buttes, spires, and pinnacles. Try the sweeping , where the striated rhyolite sprawls to the western horizon. Just south of that is the , where you can gaze across a patchwork of yellow and blush-tinged badlands. The park is open 24 hours. Admission starts at $15 or use your America the Beautiful Pass.

The Southwest

Head Here: Antelope Island State Park in Layton, Utah

wows by day with hundreds of free-ranging bison, millions of birds, and that take in the Great Salt Lake. Nighttime turns the 28,240-acre island—a DarkSky International–certified park—into a starry oasis, with a host of west-looking posts to admire the comet of the year. the half-mile out-and-back Lady Finger Point Trail for quick access to a lovely viewpoint, or meander along the largely west-facing and six-mile-roundt-rip Lakeside Trail. You can also catch A3 with the experts during the with the Ogden Astronomical Society, which begins at 6 P.M. at the White Rock Bay event area. The state park is open from 6 A.M. to 10 P.M. daily, with multiple (from $20). Admission from $15

Or Here: Monahans Sandhills State Park in Monahans, Texas

Enjoy a sea of sand dunes, and some of Texas’s least obstructed west-facing lookouts, at , not far from the Texas–New Mexico border. The park sprawls across 3,840 acres, with dunes soaring up to 70 feet and no marked trails. To see the comet, climb up a tall dune and look west as the sun paints the expanse sherbet-like shades of pink and peach—a gorgeous opening act for the luminous comet. The park remains open until 10 P.M., but given its popularity, are recommended (from $4). are available near the park entrance from $15 per night.

The West

Head Here: Newport Beach, California

If you live on the Pacific coast, you’ve got the pick of the litter when it comes to west-facing views. The only issue could be the coast’s signature clouds and fog. So try sunny Newport Beach, in Orange County, which enjoys some of SoCal’s clearest skies, plus shorelines and piers that stay . The city’s namesake beach, for example, offers west-facing lookouts with a waterfront open until 10 P.M. The piers that bookend the shore, Newport Beach Pier and Balboa Pier, both look straight toward the comet and remain open until midnight. Another option is the 30-acre Corona del mar State Beach Park, which is free and open until 10 P.M.

Or Here: Lake Butte Overlook in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

It’s trickier to find unobstructed views for comet watching in the country’s peak-laden Mountain West—but not impossible. Try the in less-trodden eastern Yellowstone, 70 miles west of Cody. Set above the enormous Yellowstone Lake, you’ll have open views toward the direction of the comet, with the distant Teton peaks to the southwest. Yellowstone welcomes guests around the clock, and the east entrance from Cody is scheduled to remain until October 31. Admission starts at $20 or use your America the Beautiful Pass.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř and astrotourism writer Stephanie Vermillion chased 2020’s comet Neowise in Voyageurs National Park, and hopes to get another national-park sighting under her belt by catching comet A3 in Cuyahoga Valley National Park, Ohio, this month. Her upcoming book will be out December 3.

The post You Can See the Comet of the Year Starting Friday Night appeared first on şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Online.

Ever come across an incredible hotel that stops you mid-scroll and makes you think, Wow, wouldn’t it be something to stay there? Us, too—all the time. Welcome to Friday Fantasy, where we highlight hotels, lodges, cabins, tents, campsites, and other places perched in perfect outdoor settings. Read on for the intel you need to book an upcoming adventure here. Or at least dream about it.

Why We Love KitFox

Set under the wide-open sky of northern New Mexico (just 20 minutes south of Santa Fe), between three ranges of the southern Rockies in the high-desert grasslands of the 10,000-acre Galisteo Basin Preserve, feels exquisitely remote and takes wild glamping to a new level. Owner Jenn Kolker grew up in New Mexico but moved away to work in fashion for several years before the magnetic pull of home called her back. With her local roots and sophisticated eye she’s created a safari-meets-the–American West experience. Coyotes howling in the distance at night complete the vibe.

Two other elements set KitFox apart: it’s completely solar powered, and it partners with , a bespoke catering company that specializes in off-the-grid, farm-to-table dining. The best cup of coffee I ever tasted was here—organic, locally roasted, and served by French press with a plunge that was timed to the second—on a frost-laced October morning while watching the sun rise over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Soon to follow was the heartiest egg-and-veggie skillet breakfast I’ve had the pleasure of eating.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Intel near KitFox

A few hundred steps from the private tents is a covered communal deck for yoga and meditation. Also on property are three miles of hiking trails that loop through arroyos, wind-eroded rock formations, and rolling hills filled with cholla and prickly pear cactus, juniper, and piñon. AnĚýarchery range can be set up for special programming, with an instructor and equipment. Within the surrounding preserve there are 40 miles (and growing) of well-marked hiking, mountain-biking, and equestrian trails that roll over the hills. (Bring your own bike or rent one from Mellow Velo or New Mexico Bike N Sport in Santa Fe.) The ever-changing 360-degree view of the sky is an adventure in itself, whether that means watching a summer monsoon sweep in, following a bloodred moon across the heavens, or standing in awe of the glittering Milky Way.

Choice Tent

Ten bell-shaped canvas tents are spaced about 25 yards apart in two rows. All are the same size, roomy enough to include a queen or two twin beds. The remaining interior decor is sparse yet luxurious: a jute rug, a sheepskin throw, a bench for sitting, a purified-water dispenser, and phone-charging cords. A small deck outside has two lounge chairs—ideal for spending an afternoon reading a book. One larger safari-style tent on a raised platform offers a king bed. Some tents are pet friendly, and all offer stellar sunrise views.

Eat and Drink

KitFox offers a weekend package that includes a Saturday camp-style dinner under the stars and a Sunday picnic-style breakfast with a choice of Iconoclast organic coffee from Iconik Coffee Roasters in Santa Fe or Teo.O.Graphy loose-leaf teas from Taos ($250 for two people). Meals are mostly plant based (and made with seasonal, locally sourced food, so the menu changes) and may include a rainbow-colored salad loaded with arugula, carrot, and purple daikon, chile-braised beef short rib that’s grilled outside, or a vegetarian option like seared trumpet mushrooms. Locally made sparkling beverages and herbal bitters are sold à la carte in KitFox’s small general store and are perfect for mixing your own mocktails or cocktails.

When to Go

KitFox is open Fridays to Mondays from May through October, and there’s no bad month as long as you pack plenty of layers. The elevation here is around 6,000 feet, and temperatures can dip below freezing, especially in the fall. A lot of visitors plan their trip around the sky—a full moon, an eclipse, or a meteor shower. Local astronomers claim that October is a particularly clear month to view stars in these parts.

How to Get There

The closest major airport is 75 miles south, in Albuquerque. Or the smaller Santa Fe Regional Airport is 25 miles northwest. The rural town of Lamy is close by, but KitFox prefers not to publish specific directions to keep traffic and nonguests from wandering the property. Make a reservation and they’ll send detailed driving instructions 48 hours prior to your stay.

Don’t Miss

Every summer at the in Santa Fe, folk artists from around the world gather to sell their one-of-a-kind wares; the four-day event draws everyone from Haitian metal sculptors to Peruvian retablo artists to Kazakh jewelers. (The Folk Art Market has already taken place this year, but look for 2024 dates soon.)

There’s also the , which will be held July 29 and 30 this year, showcasing beautiful work from local Hispanic artists, and the on August 19 and 20, an impressive gathering of Native artisans and performers. The Railyard is home to Santa Fe Farmers’ Market, one of the oldest, largest, and most successful growers’ markets in the country, every Tuesday and Saturday from 8 A.M. to 1 P.M.

Farther afield, roughly 50 miles northwest, is one of the most surreal sightseeing combinations: the peaceful canyons of , where the Ancestral Puebloans farmed corn and beans and lived in cliff dwellings thousands of years ago; nearby is the city of Los Alamos, home to the Bradbury Science Museum, which walks visitors through the history of the Manhattan Project. Exploring these two vastly different historical segments of what is now the United States will give you enough to noodle on for months.

Details

To Book:

Price: From $200 per night, not including meals

Check out This Gaia GPS Map of the Area: (Disclosure: Gaia GPS is owned by şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Inc., which also owns şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Online.)

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Edward Abbey, who immortalized the Southwest in his writing, would be turning over in his grave in Cabeza Prieta Wilderness west of Tucson, Arizona, if he knew that Arches National Park had to temporarily close its gates in mid-October because capacity was maxed out. The famous monkey wrencher saved a special venomous wrath for the kind of tourist who drove from one viewpoint to the next only to snap a photo and move on.

But Abbey, who was a ranger at Arches, in Utah, for two summers in the 1950s (when it was still a monument), also understood that there’s no better region than the Southwest, a place of mind-bending geology, impossibly living fauna, ferocious wide-open spaces, sublime light, and millennia of human history, to clear the mind and make peace with the soul.

I lived in Santa Fe, New Mexico, for 18 years, love the Southwest, and believe everyone can benefit from the solace and adventure these majestic landscapes provide. We all, however, need to grapple with how to responsibly recreate within them. If you choose to wander, this wide-ranging southwestern road trip starts and ends in Tucson and hits icons and off-the-beaten-path places, providing an itinerary to the best of the region. It’s ridiculous how much jaw-dropping splendor there is on this trip.

In the words of Abbey: “For god sake folks… take off those fucking sunglasses and unpeel both eyeballs, look around; throw away those goddamn idiotic cameras… stand up straight like men! Like women! Like human beings! And walk—walk—walk upon our sweet and blessed land!”

Might we politely add: leave no trace, BYO water, and respect those who came before you.

1. Route: Tucson, Arizona, to Patagonia, Arizona

Distance: 64.8 miles

Your Base Camp: Patagonia

Patagonia, a no-frills mining and ranching town 20 miles north of the Mexican border, cropped up in the middle of Pima, Tohono O’odham, and Apache territory in the late 19th century. It has been a beloved destination for birders almost ever since.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍřs in Patagonia

• Hikers and trail runners have easy access to the summits of 9,456-foot Mount Wrightson and the historical fire lookout station at the top of 6,373-foot Red Mountain.
• What has more recently put Patagonia on the map is its mountain bike and gravel cycling, with 30 miles of new singletrack right from downtown on the Temporal Gulch Trail and endless miles of dirt roads in the San Rafael Valley. Take note: the takes place the first weekend of November and sells out fast.
• Visit the outside of town. They have documented 247 bird species.

Where to Stay

is built for small groups of cyclists, with a straw-bale house that sleeps six and a wood-framed studio that sleeps two. Both have kitchens and share outdoor space to wrench on bikes or celebrate post-ride with a cocktail.

Where to Eat and Drink

• Chef Hilda at the serves a delicious menu, filled with Sonoran specialties like fresh tamales, carne adovada tacos, and barbacoa.
• The new Queen of Cups restaurant and winery offers fresh pasta dishes and three house-made wines on the menu.

The Best Detour

Tucson’s Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum is a must-stop destination for travelers who want to learn more about the fragile yet resilient ecosystem they are traveling through. A highlight includes daily Raptor Free Flights, where birds only native to the Sonoran Desert, like the Chihuahuan raven, Harris’s hawk, and great horned owl, fly free while an expert describes their attributes, habitats, and behaviors.

2. Route: Patagonia, Arizona, to Big Bend National Park, Texas

Distance: 624 miles

Your Base Camp: Terlingua, Texas

It might take you a few days to get to Terlingua because there are a lot of fun detours along the way (see below). But the wait is worth it. This town, once 2,000 inhabitants strong and rich with cinnabar from which miners extracted mercury in the late 19th century, now stands by its claim as one of the most popular ghost towns in Texas, with 110 residents.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍřs in Terlingua, Texas

• Sitting six miles west of the entrance of Big Bend National Park, Terlingua offers easy access to all the 801,163-acre park has to offer, including rafting or kayaking the Rio Grande River, hiking the Chisos Mountains, or road cycling its low-traffic paved highways.
• Just west of Terlingua is the storied mountain biking in Big Bend Ranch State Park, including the challenging 59-mile Fresno-Sauceda IMBA Epic route, known for long, steep, technical, and rocky climbs and descents. Heavy rains have washed out much of the park’s trails, so check in with , whose owners Mike Long and Jim Carrico (a former superintendent of Big Bend) provide a wealth of knowledge about where and where not to go, and offer shuttles, guides, and equipment.

Where to Stay

founder Lauren Werner settled in the Chihuahuan Desert of far-West Texas to create an austere, cool, and comforting oasis for artists and others longing for open spaces and an unbridled night sky. Twelve private casitas that look like modernist concrete cubes all have stunning views of the Chisos Mountains. Guests can bring their own provisions to grill outside or cook in the main house’s gourmet kitchen, then retreat to the privacy of their own front porch to cozy up under an Alpaca throw and gaze up to the heavens.

Where to Eat and Drink

Stop at the Starlight Theatre Restaurant and Saloon, sit on the front porch and sip a beer, then head inside for tequila-marinated Texas quail, a Scorpion margarita, and a rollicking night of live music.

The Best Detour

• 131 miles northeast of Patagonia. Stretch your legs on the 7.3-mile-long Heart of Rocks Loop that surpasses the most unusual formations in the monument, including the aptly named Pinnacle Balanced Rock, which looks like it might topple over any second.

• Three hundred eighty-two miles east of Chiricahau is New Mexico’s White Sands National Park, home of the world’s largest gypsum sand dunes. Take a ranger-guided hike to Lake Lucero to understand how the dunes are formed. Bring a tent and grab a backcountry permit at the visitor’s center (available the day of camping only) to sleep among the dunes, preferably under a full moon.

3. Route: Big Bend National Park, Texas, to Taos, New Mexico

Distance: 570 miles

Your Base Camp: Taos, New Mexico

I’ve spent many days hiking, mountain biking, and skiing in the stunning land around Taos. To the west of the small town, the Wild and Scenic Rio Grande River has sliced like a hot knife through layers of volcanic basalt and ash, 800 feet below the Rio Grande Rift Valley. To the east, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains top out at 13,161-foot Wheeler Peak, the tallest point in New Mexico. In the middle sits a town of roughly 6,000 artists, cowboys, skiers, free spirits, and others. By far the most established are the Puebloan people, who have continuously lived here for more than 1,000 years.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍřs in Taos, New Mexico

• Respectfully visit the Unesco World Heritage site of , the main part of which was constructed between 1000 and 1450 A.D, centuries before the first Spanish explorers arrived in 1540 in search of the fabled golden cities of Cibola. The visit will help contextualize other historical gems in town like the Kit Carson House and Museum, which the famed trapper, frontiersman, and explorer bought in 1843.
• Eighteen miles northeast and 2,200 feet above Taos is the base of , one of the steepest alpine resorts in the country. In the summer it’s an excellent base from which to launch a hiking expedition to the top of Wheeler Peak via the 8.5-mile out-and-back trail that passes Williams Lake. Power down the peak before 4 P.M. to polish off a 32-ounce stein of German beer and a plate of Sauerbraten Wiener schnitzel at the iconic Bavarian Restaurant back at the base.
• The 12.7-mile loop trail at northwest of town is a good lower-elevation option for intermediate mountain bikers.
• For more of a challenge, and time commitment, shuttle or hitchhike east on U.S. 64 to Valle Escondido for the start of the , a 30-mile singletrack challenge that tops out at 10,729 feet. Some of its gnarliest rocky descents are at the very end.
• For experienced whitewater paddlers and rafters who want a thrill, the Taos Box offers Class IV rapids at the depths of the 800-foot Rio Grande Gorge. Lower down the river is the Racecourse, a mellower section of Class II-III rapids, perfect for a half-day journey for kids as young as five. offers half-day, full-day, or overnight options on both sections of the Rio Grande and other rivers nearby.

Where to StayĚý

Kick in the nostalgia in one of the 21 vintage trailer units dating between 1951 and 1972 at a couple of miles north of Taos in El Prado on the wide-open Hondo mesa. Across the road are the ever-flowing tap beers at Taos Mesa Brewing; above is a blanket of stars.

Five minutes west of downtown is a cluster of five classic and colorful Southwest casitas sandwiched between verdant gardens fed by two acequias, part of the town’s historic agricultural district. Each casita has a kitchen in which guests can cook freshly picked vegetables and eggs gathered daily from the 30 to 40 free-range hens, owner Richard Spera’s “girls,” that roam the property.

Where to Eat and Drink

• in downtown Taos is the more accessible little sister to the Love Apple restaurant, the latter being one of the most coveted reservations in the region. In addition to deliciously healthy meals, Manzanita serves up small batches of ice cream made from local organic cream, eggs, seasonal fruits, and handmade caramel.
• The Love Apple is housed in a 19th-century chapel and serves northern New Mexico specialties, like red chile enchiladas made with local, organic ingredients. I try to eat here whenever I’m in Taos. Make a reservation for sure.
• Meanwhile, , so named for its D.C. and L.A. expat chefs Wilks and Colleen Medley, offers a craft cocktail menu that is as mouth watering as the tantalizing comfort food they serve.

The Best Detour

Carlsbad Caverns National Park, 235 miles north of Big Bend, is worth the time for a visit, especially when you contemplate how long it took to create the 120 known caves. The process began 265 million years ago with the calcareous sponges, algae, and lime-rich mud that formed the underwater reef in the Permian Sea that once covered this region. The largest cave open to the public is Carlsbad Cavern, which stretches 30 miles long and opens into the 8.2-acre Big Room, the biggest cave chamber by volume in North America.

4. Route: Taos, New Mexico, to Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park, Colorado

Distance: 271 miles

Your Base Camp: Gunnison, Colorado

This four-hour drive pushes the northern limits of what is technically considered the Southwest. There’s a more well-trodden southern Colorado route from Taos that shoots through Durango, and that’s the best bet to take if you’re traveling in winter when the Gunnison area can be hampered by heavy snow and seasonal closings.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍřs in Gunnison, Colorado

• In the summer, the Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park, 61 miles west of the town of Gunnison, is a must-see. The 48-mile-long, 2,722-foot-deep canyon is not the longest or deepest in North America by a long shot. But its two-billion-year-old vertical black gneiss walls have been almost inaccessible for millennia, even to the Ute, the first inhabitants of this region.
• Most of the national park’s annual 308,000 visitors (for comparison, Grand Canyon National Park receives almost five million annual visitors) choose to view it from its north or south rims. The six-mile-long unpaved North Rim Road has six overlooks, some of which offer the best views to the canyon’s near vertical walls. Those who choose to can hike down on one of six wilderness trails—three on the north rim and three on the south rim—all of which require a permit obtained from the visitor’s center on the south rim.
• Expect routes into the canyon that lack stairs and switchbacks and descend 2,000 feet in the course of a mile. It’s essential to come prepared to tackle these tough routes with water, food, and the appropriate clothing for changeable weather. The payoff is some of the best trout fishing in the state on the Gunnison River. All rainbows are catch and release and the brown trout daily limit is four.
• Easier to access and closer to Gunnison is . In addition to containing 19 miles of the Black Canyon, it also has four reservoirs, including Blue Mesa, the state’s largest body of freshwater. All this liquid makes for a utopian setting for standup paddlers, kayakers, and kitesurfers. Lake Fork Marina, 26 miles west of Gunnison on Blue Mesa Reservoir, rents kayaks and SUPs. The 3.5-mile round-trip Dillon Pinnacles hike, on the northside of Blue Mesa Reservoir, is great for kids and trail running and offers open views of the aquamarine water and its namesake 600-foot volcanic formations.
• three miles south of Gunnison has 45 miles of singletrack, 45 miles of dirt roads, and countless crags—a haven for mountain bikers, gravel cyclists, and rock climbers. Three trails, Sea of Sage, Lost Dog, and Broken Shovel, are wide enough for hand cyclists. No place in town offers rental bikes—leftover inventory and staffing shortages from the pandemic—but Tomichi Cycles can tune your bike and point you toward their favorite trails.

Where to Stay

Thirteen miles north of Gunnison, on the Taylor River offers ten well maintained, walk-in, tent-only campsites, each with tent pads, a picnic table, and fire ring. Nearby is free firewood, vault toilets, and a potable well water pump. To make the sites more inclusive to all, the ranch also offers on-site rental and demo camping gear, plus a 50 percent discount to actively enrolled college students.

Where to Eat and Drink

• 1880s Tapas and Spirits in Gunnison serves an impressively authentic menu of the Spanish small plates. Pair Octopus a la Plancha with an eclectic array of cocktails.
• An espresso from Tributary Coffee Roasters a block down the road will get you going the next morning.

The Best Detour

Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve is roughly 100 miles north of Taos. The tallest sand dunes in North America rise 750 feet into the sky under the shadow of the surrounding snow-capped Rockies. The park has seven backcountry campsites along the 11-mile-long Sand Ramp Trail, an ideal spot to stretch your legs and then watch the Milky Way shimmer in the night sky.

5. Route: Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park, Colorado, to Escalante, Utah

Distance: 339 miles

Your Base Camp: Escalante, Utah

Escalante is situated in the midst of everything: Bryce Canyon National Park, Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument, and lesser known state parks like Kodachrome Basin and Escalante Petrified Forest. A few hours farther are Zion and Capitol Reef National Parks. And between all of that bounty are unsung slot canyons closer to town and the nearby lakes, rivers, and trails within Dixie National Forest that covers the Aquarius Plateau, the highest timbered plateau in North America, topping out at 11,328 feet.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍřs in Escalante, Utah

• The options seem endless in every direction, but a good shakedown hike is to Lower Calf Creek Falls, a six-mile round-trip effort that starts at the campground in the Calf Creek Recreational Area 15 miles east of Escalante. When the water is flowing, it cascades 130 feet over streaked Navajo Sandstone into a deep, refreshing pool.
• offers guided fly-fishing to under-the-radar lakes and streams on the plateau and a fascinating and low-key natural history hike of Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument that gives an excellent overview of the ecology, geology, paleontology, zoology, and archaeology of the region.
• Cyclists can stop in at to rent a dual-suspension or e-mountain bike for the day or sign on for a multi-day road cycling tour to Capitol Reef National Park.

Where to Stay

• Don’t be fooled by the “yurt” in , a mile and a half north of town. These seven year-round structures are luxurious, with en-suite bathrooms, air conditioning, heating, hot breakfast burritos, or other hearty eats brought to your door every morning, and a night sky that never seems to end.
• A few miles west of town off Highway 12s has Airstreams, tiny cabins, and plenty of space to park your own RV, car, tent, or camper. Communal areas include a luxurious spa-like bathhouse with heavenly hot private indoor-outdoor showers, an oversize pool, and a nightly movie at the drive-in.

Where to Eat and Drink

A Bighorn Pizza (Kalamata tapenade, prosciutto, ham, goat cheese, and slow-roasted tomato) accompanied by any leafy salad enjoyed while people watching from the front patio at Escalante Outfitters is the ideal way to refuel and re-enter after an epic outdoor adventure. Inside the store, stock up on any last-minute essentials for hiking or camping.

The Best Detour

You could add 57 miles to the journey and spend a week meandering through the 2,000-plus formations of Arches National Park. But we recommend giving beloved Arches and nearby Moab a rest and instead head north to I-70 to hit the trifecta of mountain bike trail networks between , Colorado, which range from a breezy four-mile beginner Rustler’s Loop to the 12.1-mile rocky and technical Lunch Loop Trails to the epic 143-mile-long Kokopelli Trail that will eventually take you southeast back toward Moab.

6. Route: Escalante, Utah, to Tucson, Arizona

Distance: 581 miles

Your Base Camp: Cottonwood, Arizona

Northern Arizona, with its Grand Canyon views, the mountain trails of Flagstaff, and the calming red rocks of Sedona, is anything but a secret. It’s especially imperative to tread lightly through this place that is the traditional home of at least 11 federally recognized nations. One way to disperse the tourism load is to stay 19 miles southwest of Sedona in the Verde Valley town of Cottonwood, so named for the willowy trees that line the Verde River.

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍřs in Cottonwood, Arizona

While it lacks the mystery and awe of Sedona’s red rocks, Cottonwood has its own allure, with the craggy peaks of the Mingus mountains to the west, hiking and cross country mountain biking on the 15-mile Lime Kiln Trail that links Dead Horse Ranch State Park to Sedona’s Red Rock State Park to the east; and exciting energy in the historic Old Town, which include multiple breweries, wine-tasting rooms, and restaurants.

Where to Stay

The charming one-bedroom, one bath Airbnb in the heart of the Verde Valley, has desert and mountain views, a gas stove for chilly evenings, and is only a 15-minute drive to Old Town.

Where to Eat and Drink

Colt Grill BBQ and Spirits on North Main Street in Old Town is legendary for its in-house smoked meats. There’s only one way to eat the delightfully messy pulled pork sandwich accompanied by a side of butter garlic fries: devour it. Expect elbow to elbow dining. Merkin Vineyards, which has a tasting room on North Main Street, sources 100 percent of their grapes from local Arizona growers.

The Best Detour

Of the five million annual visitors at Grand Canyon National Park, only 10 percent take the road less traveled to the North Rim, the traditional homeland of the Southern Paiute. The North Rim Campground sits at 8,200 feet and is open from May 15 to October 15.

The payoff for this 80-mile out-and-back detour on dirt roads is unparalleled views and unpeopled access to the 28-mile-long round-trip North Kaibab Trail, the only maintained trail into the canyon from the North Rim. To see the most spectacular sunrise of your life, get up before dawn and hike 4.2 miles into Cape Final. The trailhead is off the Cape Royal Road.

Contributing editor Stephanie Pearson lived in Santa Fe, New Mexico, for 18 years, has written numerous travel stories for şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř, and is the author of the recent book .

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A new paper written by 20 wildlife biologists and ecologists and this month offers a simple, cost-effective solution to many of the problems plaguing the West: climate change, a loss of biodiversity, and even mega-fires. The authors suggest we replace livestock grazing across large swaths of federal public lands with protected habitat for two controversial and seemingly unrelated species—wolves and beavers.

Dubbed the Western Rewilding Network, the plan is remarkable in both its simplicity and the studied effectiveness of its proposed solution. Cows produce greenhouse gases and harm ecosystems. Grazing them on public lands doesn’t offer much economic benefit to anyone outside of a handful of ranchers. Wolves and beavers restore those ecosystems to health from top to bottom, altering the presence, behavior, and overall well-being of plants and animals—without much input from or cost to humans.Ěý

The authors put the Rewilding Network proposal together in response to President Biden’s call to conserve 30 percent of American lands and waters by 2030. “This is the best possible science on how to do that,” says the study’s lead author, William J. Ripple, a professor of ecology at Oregon State University.

Reintroducing the two species, and protecting habitat for them across 11 major reserves (pictured, top) in Washington, Oregon, California, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, Colorado, Arizona, and New Mexico, would return streams to their natural courses, repair riparian habitats, and restore fish populations. It would also address overpopulation and overconcentrationĚýof ungulates, like deer and elk, while making those species more resistant to disease, improving access to clean water, reducing the severity of wildfires, and helping to restore forests’ ability to capture atmospheric carbon.

What about the cows? The paper proposes removing them from only 29 percent of current grazing areas on public lands in the West. But there’s no need to worry about hamburger supply. The Rewilding Network authors cite a 2008 study that found that cattle grazing across all public lands only accounted for two percent of beef production nationally. The authors propose buying ranchers out of their grazing allotments with “an economically and socially just federal compensation program,” but don’t specify a price. Instead, they write, “the net economic benefits would be substantial given the social carbon cost of livestock grazing on federal lands.”

There’s just one problem: politics. The authors nod to this briefly: “Although our proposal may at first blush appear controversial or even quixotic,” they write, “we believe that ultra ambitious action is required.”

They cite the converging crisis of “extended drought and water scarcity, extreme heat waves, massive fires triggered at least partly by climate change, and biodiversity loss” as being indicative of a need for urgent adoption of the plan. They don’t, however, acknowledge the political reality that many Republican politicians don’t even agree that climate change is real and are actively trying to dismantle the Endangered Species Act.Ěý

The Republican Party controls all branches of state government in Idaho, Utah, Arizona, Montana, and Wyoming—about half of the states in the Rewilding Network. The paper says that “successful rewilding will depend on the reversal of state policies that severely limit wolf and beaver abundances.” But this would require more than a simple policy change. Rather, it would depend on a fundamental shift in the right’s belief systems, dogma, and relationship with voters.Ěý

The Republican politicians who run Idaho, Montana, and Utah have been conducting a war on wolves in recent decades. Montana’s governor received a warning from the state’s fish and wildlife department in 2021 after trapping a wolf without the required permits, and signed an order dramatically expanding wolf hunting right up to the border with Yellowstone National Park.ĚýIdaho legislators signed a new law last year that is aimed at reducing the state’s wolf population by 90 percent. The law is riddled with lies. Across the West, Republican politicians have successfully turned wolves into a culture war issue in which the species and its defenders are cast as monsters trying to destroy the livelihoods of Republican voters. Beavers are less scary than wolves, but frequently run into conflict with homeowners.Ěý

“We’re just scientists trying to put forward the best possible science,” Ripple tells me. He says he hopes that by advancing knowledge of realistic and cost-effective means for addressing the converging natural crisis in the West, he’s giving conservation organizations and policymakers the tools they need to achieve political consensus.Ěý

I asked Ripple if the Rewilding Network could produce significant results, even if the plan is only implemented in a single, Democrat-leaning state like California or Colorado. It turns out, that’s exactly his hope. Citing the example ofĚýlegalized marijuana, Ripple contends that, even if only a single state implements the Rewilding Network plan, it will beĚýso successful that other states would feel significant pressure to do the same.Ěý

“Ultimately, the climate disaster is going to make this a necessity everywhere,” he says.Ěý

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Dear Sundog: I love the desert. From my own muggy home, I try to make it to the Southwest every year: Tucson, Santa Fe, Joshua Tree, St. George. I’m considering moving there. But is it wrong to move to a place that doesn’t seem to have enough water to support the people already living there? —Dry Curious

Dear Dry:ĚýFirst we must consider that all desert towns are not equal. Many have managed to restrict their water use and growth to some semblance of balance with nature, while others— and —continue to expand, even as their current water supply dries up.

While of course water delivery to millions of people is complicated, in this region, the ecological culprit is obvious: grass.

Sundog loves to run his toes through verdant lawn as much as the next guy.ĚýBut the modern American lawn—the half-acre of Kentucky bluegrass sprinkled daily, mowed weekly, petro-fertilized seasonally—has no place in the desert, even as it’s become emblematic of a sort of golfy affluence in Sedona and St. George. The EPA says that in the Southwest, 60 percent of household water use irrigates the outdoors. Put another way, for every four gallons used for cooking, washing, and bathing, another six go for preparing the croquet course. Yet another way: a year’s water supply with a lawn would—without a lawn—last two and a half years.

Lawns are a European import, brought to the arid American desert first by settlers from places like the Scottish Highlands and southern Germany, where grass just naturally occurs, and second by the wave of 20th-century snowbirds from places like Virginia and Michigan where, also, grass just grows. Why must the white man turn Scottsdale into Scotland, even as it quickens the decline of his desert colony?

In , Jared Diamond relates a story about the first Europeans to occupy North America: the Vikings, who settled what is now Greenland, four centuries before Columbus arrived on the continent. They planted their European crops and brought cows, which didn’t fare well in the new terrain. In the harsh winters, food was scarce. The settlers observed the Inuit hunting seals and then heating their homes by burning blubber, eating the meat—surviving. But the Norse considered this slimy meat beneath their dignity and considered the Inuit to be wretches. They refused to consume it. As a result, they starved and fled back across the sea, ending their four-century stay in the Americas.

Mightn’t we say the same, Dry Curious, about the maladaptive desert grass farmers? They see the water bills. They witness the ongoing drought. They know that the artificial lifelines from Lake Powell and Lake Mead, which have existed for just a geological blink of an eye, are filling with silt and approaching dead pool. And still they sprinkle.

Even as the vast majority of these settlers were born right here in the USA, Sundog speculates that their attachment to turf is some sort of emotional inheritance from the Motherland of moors and meadows. Their colonies here are predicated on the notion that their forefathers discovered an unpeopled dry wilderness, which they irrigated into their own slice of Eden.

But it’s not true. Indigenous people built complex, irrigated, agricultural civilizations along the Salt River and the Rio Grande and the Colorado River that sustained them thousands of years longer than our current one. If you visit a reservation or a town settled by the Spanish before the Anglos arrived—think Santa Fe or Old Town Albuquerque or Barrio Viejo in Tucson—you won’t find many lawns. You’ll see cactus and piñons and junipers and native shrubs and rock work and sometimes just plain dirt: a kind of xeriscaping that predates the word xeriscaping.

Long before the advent of gringo water projects, these places were habitable due to natural factors: Santa Fe had a cool high elevation and a snow-fed river, Tucson had the lush summer monsoons and the perennial Santa Cruz River, Albuquerque had fertile soil along the Rio Grande. To be sure, Native people don’t dislike greenery; most of the green parts of the desert were taken from them, along with the water rights. And I should also clarify that modern Americans of all skin tones love themselves a moist lawn: it’s not just a white thing. The point is that the people who have inhabited the desert for centuries are still inhabiting it, and showing others how it can be done.

But for today’s turf warriors to acknowledge all of that would be to question the short-sighted premise of the American petro-state, an experiment that has lasted less than a century. And so instead of ripping up that sod and planting it with native shrubs and grasses, they clench that garden hose more tightly with their sunburned fists.

To continue the Collapse analogy: Anglos can see Natives eating the fish (conserving water) and have the capacity to eat fish themselves (to stop watering lawns), but they would rather go extinct than give up their lush leas that they once saw Mel Gibson charge across in Braveheart.Ěý

The next factor to consider in moving to the desert is your capacity for being hot. Along with cheap water, the modern Southwest was built with cheap electricity to run air conditioners. And it’s only getting hotter. A reports that six counties in Arizona—including Maricopa, home to 4.5 million people in and around Phoenix—are in danger of becoming uninhabitable in the next 30 years as the planet warms. Does that mean that people will flee? Of course not. They will just use more oil and electricity to cool their homes and cars. Let’s face it: there wasn’t some recent past where Phoenix was a sustainable oasis. ItsĚýcentury-long boom has been dependent on electricity produced by burning coal on Navajo land and a major nuclear power plant, as well as cheap gasoline for driving five miles to get a cup of coffee.

Sundog dreams of a future where all desert dwellers inhabit homes with foot-thick walls made of natural materials like straw bales and adobe, where they run swamp coolers from solar panels on the roof, and capture rainwater in barrels and irrigate native plants with drip lines. While that futureĚýhas arrived here and there, the vast majority of desert homes are poorly insulated mash-ups of drywall and fiberglass and pine sticks that dump precious water onto a square of sod and burn hot coal to blow cold air at the eternal sun. Warming the planet in order to chill our homes is madness.

In general, yes, it’s ethical to move to the desert, provided that you’re not intent on growing a green lawn and that you canĚýhack the 100-degree summers without cooling your home to 72. Remember that you’ll be moving to Indian Country; be an ally to tribes defending their land and water and sovereignty. Avoid Phoenix and Las Vegas and St. George, which have placed themselves on a one-way path to drought catastrophe. In the desert, small is beautiful, and there are still plenty of shaded creeks flowing through the canyons, providing life for small bands of humans, where you can build the future as you want it. Sundog won’t tell you where they are, but if you look hard enough you might yet find one.

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Dear Sundog:ĚýI hate Lake Powell. Is it OK to throw trash in it?Ěý

—Lľ±łŮłŮ±đ°ůľ±˛Ô˛µ

Dear Littering:ĚýYour question is absurd. This is a magazine for nature lovers, and nature lovers don’t litter, especially not in nature! Sundog’s attorney has advised him to state that chucking trash in Lake Powell, part of the national parkĚýsystem, is a crime punishable by up to six months in jail and up to $5,000 in fines.

Yet, let’s take a closer look at this ethical query. Lake Powell is the 254-square-mile reservoir behind Glen Canyon Dam that fills the sandstone canyon upriver from the Grand Canyon. For many, the redrock, green water, and blue skies are the essence of beauty: a summer haven for houseboats and waterskis. For others, it’s an ugly graveyard, the evidence of one of our nation’s most hideous acts of industrial hubris, damning the Southwest’s largest free-flowing artery, the Colorado River.

Sundog first arrived on the lake nearly three decades ago after his first run through Cataract Canyon, which at flood stage boasts America’s biggest whitewater, ending unceremoniously in the slackwater of Lake Powell. I was a rookie boatman. The white-bearded guide had just successfully piloted our J-rig snout pontoon boat through the series of 30-foot waves in a single day. As we puttered through the hot canyon, the 100-degree breeze driedĚýour soaked clothes.ĚýWe broke into the cooler for beer and snacks.ĚýThe guide chomped at an apple and then, from behind his silt-spotted sunglasses, muttered, “Lake Foul,” and chucked the core overboard.

We rookies looked at each other in shock. We’d just completed our training on the principles of Ěýand would soon beĚýguiding across these waters our own rafts of greenhorns, who would invariably ask what to do with their own banana peels. We were also aware that the reason we were motoring across a reservoir instead of running a dozen or so additional rapids was because those rapids had been flooded. With a sudden burst of taboo glee, we flung our orange peels and soggy bread and paper sacks into our wake, watchingĚýthem swirl in the foam as we putted past.

Answering your question, Littering, pits two of the West’s prophets against one another. On one side is , who quoth: “Give a hoot, don’t pollute.” On the other is Ed Abbey,Ěýwho gleefully tossed empty Schlitz cans out the window of his Cadillac: “Of course I litter the public highway,” he wrote. “Every chance I get. After all, it’s not the beer cans that are ugly; it’s the highway that is ugly.”

We must consider the difference between the environmental and the social impacts of our behavior. Most of what we learn from Woodsy Owl and Leave No Trace is social. For example, on a river trip, it makes no difference to the ecology of a desert river canyon where you pee. But peeing on the beach stinksĚýand turns an otherwiseĚýpristine camp into a skeezy freeway underpass. So we piss in the river, not to protect the “environment” but to improve the aesthetics for the next human visitors. If our only concern was nature’s well-being, I’m afraid to tell you that our best behavior would be to stay far away from natureĚýand not buy the gasoline, pickup trucks, polyester garb, and plastic rafts that must be manufactured for us to enjoy it.

Abbey’s line of thinking is correct: the devastation to the Colorado River and its plants and animals and fish wreaked by Lake Powell will forever dwarf any damage we could do with our outboard motors, pee and poop, sunscreen residue, and piles of trash. The only real impact is social—that is, houseboaters and wakeboarders down the lake will be irritated to find litter bobbing against the otherwise pristine rock walls. How irritated? So much that the Park Service has established a confidential tip line called “Powell Watch”Ěýfor lawful jet skiers to rat out the litterbugs. Employing the familiar War on Terror tagline “If you see something, say something,” the gubment would have us believe that dropping a wee turd on the sand is tantamount to dropping a suitcase bomb on the subway.

Let me suggest a societal lesson. The pristine beauty of a reservoir allows people to confuse it for God’s creation; indeed, Ol’ Sundog himself squandered afternoons of his youth racing speedboats in circles on Reservoir Powell for no purpose other than draining the gas tank and letting the hot wind feather his hair. But we can’t confuse the simulation of nature with the real thing. Lake Powell is industrial blight, a government boondoggle whose purpose was to provide the water and power that has allowed nearly 5 million souls to settle in air-conditioned comfort in greater Phoenix, a desert that might otherwise be classified as unsuitable for human habitation.

Not only is your litter ecologically negligible, but it alsoĚýserves a valuable function in teaching us the difference between nature and industry. As far as Sundog is concerned, the only thing that might improve Lake Foul more than litter would be graffiti spray-painted on its walls. (This also is illegal, by the way.) Ultimately, when a tourist arrives at the shores of the lake, instead of thinking, “This is gorgeous! Let’s jump in!” she should declare, “What a mess! Let’s get rid of this eyesore!”Ěý

Let’s get down to specifics. Is it OKĚýto throw glass in the reservoir? On a river expedition in Central Asia, SundogĚýwas instructed by the guides to fill his beer bottle with river water and fling them into the current, where they would sink to the bottom of the channel and be ground to sand by the rocks. Great idea! However, since what remains of Lake Powell’s channel is caked with silt, bottles will not disintegrateĚýand, as water levels ebb, will likely end up underfoot, ending someone’s vacation with a trip to the ER, which is in Sundog’s opinion too high a price to pay for this political lesson. I advise against it.

As for your basic organic materials—apple cores, banana peels, orange rinds, brown sacks of gorp soaked upriver in the rapids—your own heart will provide the answer. Hold the litter in your hands as you gaze over the glistening water. Scan for rangers. Maybe toss a peanut or a cherry pit as a test. Does it bring you joy? If yes, then chuck the rest. Chuck it all!

Except, of course, for plastic bottles and aluminum beer cans.

You should recycle those.

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Ask a professional adventurer to share the most important lesson they’ve learned from their time in the wild, and you’re bound to get a good story. Which is exactly why we posed this question to Steven Rinella, host of the Netflix series , and , an adventure photographer based in Australia. For Rinella, a dangerous decision on a trip to Alaska’s Arctic made him see how being steadfastly committed to a goal is a kind of recklessness. On a footloose pilgrimage to the American Southwest, Wright realized that sometimes the best approach to a creative project is to just wing it and hope everything works out. In this episode, the two talk about seminal experiences that helped shape their careers and lives, and that offer the rest of us invaluable guidance for our own trips.

This episode of the şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Podcast is brought to you by Bose, maker of the new Bose Frames Tempo, high-performance sports sunglasses that deliver high quality audio. It’s the sound you expect from Bose with everything you need from sport sunglasses. Learn more about how they can elevate your running and cycling at .

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In late August, smoke from the California wildfires made it difficult for Ken Layne to step outside his home in Joshua Tree, California. But that didn’t stop the writer and producer from doing what he does every week: recording ,Ěýa radio program that airs each Friday evening on California’s KCDZ 107.7 FM and also as a podcast. “I have no doubt the climate situation will be fixed by the same species that got us here: humans,” he told his listeners in a nasally voice backed by eerie synth music that one might expect to hear in a sci-fi film. “The question is this: does this happen when you’re alive or after you’re gone?” By the middle of the episode, Layne was onĚýa different topic entirely, asking listeners if they’d like to conduct a psychic experiment with him.

Desert Oracle is hard to explain. For one thing, it’s not just a radio show—it’s also a (more or less) with the same name. Both mediumsĚýcover an odd mix of desert-related miscellany, from the political and paranormal to the historical and environmental. In any given episode or issue, Layne might dive into the dangers of consumer culture or the strange dreams he’s having because of the pandemic. But mostlyĚýhe focuses on local lore: stories of missing hikers, ghost stags, and sightings (the regional equivalent of Bigfoot). The project’s tagline isĚý“The Voice of the Desert.”Ěý

The desert is a strange and complicated place, andĚýthe depth and weirdness with which Layne explores it has earned the radio show and publication a cult following. The print periodical has more than 3,700 subscribers throughout the United States, and another 3,000 to 4,000 copies are distributed inĚýshops inĚýCalifornia, Arizona, Nevada, and Utah. The podcast carries a five-star rating, with more thanĚý430 reviews on Apple Podcast.ĚýAnd this month, MCD Books, a division of Farrar, Straus & Giroux, is releasing a collection of the periodicals as .Ěý

“We are a fractured and confused people in this strange century,” Layne writes in the collection. “Most of what once connected us to a place—knowledge of the land and the animals, origins of the regional beasts and abominations, shared rituals and traditions—has been lost or taken away. We are strangers in our own land. But it doesn’t have to be like that.”Ěý

For 30Ěýyears, Layne, now 54, maintained a successful career as a journalist and political blogger, co-founding several tabloid and alt-news publications, like Tabloid.net and LAExaminer.com (both now defunct). He garnered the most notoriety in the early 2000s while working with Gawker Media and laterĚýas co-owner of political satire site .

In 2014, Layne decided to leave digital media behind. “My sense was that nobody who is consuming digital content really cared if the writing was good,” he says. Less than a minute after one of his articles would be posted on Gawker, there would be 100 comments. Nobody was actually reading the stories.

At 48, he wanted to do something more meaningful. It took Layne about a year to figure out what that should be.ĚýHe decided on two things:ĚýFirst, he wanted to create an old-fashioned print periodical, believing that people who put the time and effort into purchasing something would make a better readership. Second, the project was going to combine all the things that mattered to him: desert history, conservation efforts, and the paranormal.

Layne moved to Joshua Tree in 2003 and hasĚýbeen enamored with the desert since he was a kid. But until this point, it hadn’t played much of a role in his career. “You get to a certain age,Ěýand you realize you don’t have a lot of time left to put off starting over again, if you’re going to do it,” he explains.

So he made the jump and started building his new publication. Layne settled on the name Desert Oracle, a nod to the sometimes ominous-soundingĚýnames of 19th-century newspapersĚýand toĚýthe town in Arizona where one of Layne’s idols, writer and explorer , kept a post office box.Ěý

Initially, Layne didn’t put much thought into the traditional meaning of the word “oracle’’: a priest or priestess through whom a deity speaks. But as the project grew, he realized he hadĚýbecome a voice in the wilderness, warning listeners about the dangers of humanity’s lack of purposeĚýand our tendency to ignoreĚýsigns that we’re killing our planet.

Even the ghost stories that fill Desert Oracle’s pages and soundbites serve a greater purpose: saving the desert. “The mission of Desert Oracle is desert and wilderness conservation,” Layne told me in an email. He often sneaksĚýthe conservation messages into his show and his publications. The first issue, published in 2015, included a listĚýof small desert land trusts that readers could support. “I’ve been doing stuff with theĚý since then, too, and I like to believe I’ve injected some lifelong conservation and ecology ideas into people’s heads,” Layne continued in the email.

And the desert needs saving. Massive population growth in the Southwest has put increased stress onĚýlimited water supplies and other natural resources. That overuse, combined with climate change, is leading to longer periods of drought, higher temperatures, and an increased risk of forest fires. This year, tens of thousands of desert acres have burned in unprecedented wildfires, and the Joshua tree became the because of climate change.

Layne is not alone in combining environmental activism with the spiritual or paranormal. The U.S. environmental movement has early roots in the spiritual, starting with the transcendentalists. Layne points to John Muir as an example: he was a mystic, transcendentalist, and early environmental activist. “He really explicitly connected spiritual pursuit, and particularly an American Western open-air approach to spirituality and ecstatic experience, with the preservation of wild places,” Layne says.

Layne has seen and heard a lot of strange things in the desert:Ěýdresser drawers opening on their own in an old building in Death Valley Junction; a vanishing car on a country road; strange lights in the sky over the exact area where hikers would later discover two dead bodies. For Layne, the paranormal and the spiritual are two sides of the same coin, andĚýas he explains on his radio show, “Anybody who spends much time in the High Desert eventually has some sort of experience with the anomalous.”

The desert has a history of attracting those seeking purpose or answers. As Layne pointed out in our interview, there’s a reason the prophets of most major religions sought out the desert landscape. There’s just something about its spaciousness, its quiet, its dangerousness, andĚýits staggering beauty that appeals to seekers of all kinds.

Not all ofĚýthose seekers have good intentions, however. Desert Oracle also tells the stories of cults that have formed in the Mojave, such as Charles Manson. He includes the stories as “an acknowledgment that the things that push and pull people tend to be somewhat universal, and seekers are maybe a little easier to get involved in something that they’ll later regret.”

After this historic year, perhaps more people than ever are seeking purpose, or simply an escape, and the desert has a little something for everyone. If you want to have an experience with a UFO, a ghost, or God, the Mojave is a good place to go, and Desert Oracle can be your guide. The periodical is an invitation to explore the desert, and Layne made it intentionally pocket-sized so you can carry it with you. “The publications that you can put in your jeans pocket or whatever you’re wearing when you’re walking are the ones that usually get read, even if it’s not the best, right?” he says. “I wanted it to be small and kind of intimate.”Ěý

Layne’s not-so-secret hope is that those who learn about the desert and choose to explore it will also fall in love.ĚýAs Layne says in his introduction to the new collection,Ěý“If this landscape affects your soul in this manner, you may have no choice but to join the noble and holy effort…because when you love a place that is what you do.”

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As we navigate the new travel normal, making decisions about where to go—or whether to go at all—during a pandemic requires flexibility and informed planning. By the time this issue reaches you, the COVID-19 news will likely have shifted again. We hope it’s for the better. As some Americans have decided to venture out, a road trip close to home is one of the safest and most popular options. That’s why we put together our favorite in-state itineraries in every region of the country, to make it easy for you to explore your own backyard—think uncrowded spaces, camping, and lots of fresh air. We also gathered expert advice and resources on how to plan effectively, stay up-to-date about changing conditions, and ensure your safety and that of the communities you travel through. Whether your state has reopened and you can go now, or you save these itineraries for more opportune times, you’ll be amazed at the adventures right outside your door.

The Northeast

Hit the Range: Branbury State Park to Burlington, Vermont

, at the foot of Vermont’s Green Mountains, has over 40 family-friendly campsites and lean-tos that are a quick walk from the beachfront of Lake Dunmore. After a day of hiking and swimming, head north on Route 116 along the western edge of the Greens. Follow the highway east into the mountains and to the idyllic town of Bristol for a maple soft-serve at the . Continue east through Lincoln along River/Lincoln Gap Road, then pull over where the Long Trail—the oldest through-hiking route in the U.S., and part of the Appalachian Trail—­intersects with the road. Hike it to the top of Mount Abe, one of the state’s five 4,000-foot peaks; the rocky summit pokes above the timberline and offers stunning 360-degree views that span from the Adirondacks in the west to New Hampshire’s White Mountains in the east. Spend the night at the Battell Shelter, a first-come, first-served lean-to maintained by the . Post-hike, drive to the quaint town of Warren, order the Number Six sandwich to go at the , and eat it on the banks of the Mad River. Your final stop? Vermont’s largest city, Burlington. Bike along the shore of Lake Champlain before popping in for a dry-ale-style cider at . 80 miles one-way—Luke Whelan

The Southwest

New Mexico, Three Ways

Santa Fe is the perfect place to base out of for road trips, with dramatically different landscapes in every direction. Here are a few of our favorites.Ěý—Mary Turner

The High and Low Roads to Taos

The High Road (Highway 76 to 75 to 518) goes through scenic alpine villages, including the weaving town of Chimayo, where theĚý is famous for its healing dirt. Be sure to pick up baked goods at in Peñasco on the way up. The Low Road home (Highway 68) hugs the Rio Grande. 150 miles round-trip

White Sands National Park

If you can’t make it to the Sahara, is your next best bet. Take a few hours to hike the surreal gypsum dunes that stretch on forever. The park’s camping sites are currently closed, so head to (from $7) at the base of the Organ Mountains, 40 miles southwest. 575 miles round-trip

´ˇ˛úľ±±çłÜľ±Ăş

This is Georgia O’Keeffe country, an otherworldly landscape of stark red and white cliffs, and the lush Chama River Valley. The artist spent decades painting in the town of ´ˇ˛úľ±±çłÜľ±Ăş and at nearby , where you can hike the spectacular Chimney Rock Trail. 122 miles round-trip

Get Your Mineral Fix: Fish Lake Valley Hot Springs to Soldier Meadows Hot Springs, NevadaĚý

Four of the Silver State’s most scenic hot springs reside on remote public lands that offer free dispersed camping and skies brilliant with stars. (Pitch your tent at least 300 feet from any water source.) Start atĚý, 60 miles southwest of the town of Tonopah. The concrete tub is surrounded by marshlands, ponds big enough for paddleboarding, and 13,140-foot Boundary Peak, Nevada’s highest point, summited via a challenging five-mile hike. Three hours northeast, you’ll share with a resident herd of wild burros. Quench your thirst with a beer on ’s porch in nearby Kingston. Some 260 miles northwest, at the Black Rock Desert playa, head out with Gerlach local Philippe Steinmann for an e-bike tour of the area (from $36) that finishes at . Backtrack 40 miles to High Rock Canyon—a sanctuary for peregrine falcons and great horned owls—followed by a soak at nearby . An adjacent BLM cabin is first come, first served. For more creature comforts, detour to the ghost town of Vya and the (from $45). 534 miles one-way—Tasha Zemke

The West

Lose the Crowds:ĚýDenver to Snowmass, Colorado

This part of south-central Colorado is rich in public lands, dramatic 14,000-foot peaks, and picturesque mountain towns. Set out from Denver and drive about 140 miles south to one of the state’s most unusual man-made landmarks: . Its namesake architect, Jim Bishop, started building the three-story stone fortress—with its winding staircases, wrought-iron causeways, and enormous dragon’s head—in 1969, and is still working on it. Stay the night ten minutes away at Lake Isabel, where you’ll find a quiet body of water, easy trails to explore, and designated Forest Service (from $20). Start day two off with a 100-mile scenic drive to the stunning Arkansas River Valley and the town of Buena Vista, the gateway to the Collegiate Peaks, including eight fourteeners. Day hikes abound, and you can decompress afterward at the . If you want to go big, get an early start on the 8.6-mile hike up 14,440-foot Mount Elbert— the highest point in the state—by securing a spot at (from $15). If water is more your element, book a trip on the Arkansas with (from $71). Next up? A two-hour drive to , a small ski town just north of Aspen with 3,342 acres of premium winter terrain that’s just as beautiful and adventure packed in fall. Hike, raft, fish, bag another fourteener, but beware: the technical, exposed route to Capitol Peak isn’t for the inexperienced. Be sure to catch the striped peaks of the Maroon Bells before ­taking I-70 back to the Front Range. 387 miles one-way—Maren Larsen

The OtherĚýSide ofĚýOregon: John Day to Eagle Cap WildernessĚý

Start your tour in the city of John Day, five hours east of Portland, where you can search for fossils at the nearby . Grab a fly rod and head southeast to the alpine lakes teeming with trout in the , then spend the night at its (from $8). Backtrack via Prairie City, then on to Bates, and turn north onto Highway 7, a scenic byway that meanders through the southern Blue Mountains. Finally, head north on I-84 before taking Highway 82 all the way to Joseph, a charming artist town at the base of the Wallowa Mountains. Pitch a tent at (from $20), the perfect base camp for forays into the nearby , where you’ll find 534 miles of trails for hiking and horseback riding. 292 miles one-way—Chris Keyes

TheĚýSoutheast

Circuit Train: Harpers Ferry to Pipestem Resort State Park, West Virginia

Pack up your bike, hiking boots, and swimsuit for this spin through the state’s rugged Appalachian Mountains. Start in historic , at the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers, where hikes include the 4.5-mile , with its bird’s-eye view of the peak-cradled town. Then drive about an hour up Route 9 to Berkeley Springs; 16 miles east, a scenic offshoot of the 250-mile Ěýwanders up to Devil’s Nose, a large rock surrounded by splendid autumn plumage. From here, head about 110 miles southwest to , at the Canaan Valley’s northern tip, where a boardwalk descends to a front-row view of the falls and backwoods trails wind through towering hardwoods. Mountain biking has long reigned supreme in the valley, with popular rides like the technical, nine-mile and the 3.8-mile legendary Moon HooDoo Rocks Trail. Hiking, fishing, and cross-country-skiing options are abundant in the park as well. The tiny nearby towns of Davis and Thomas serve as hubs for outfitters and eateries, and both (from $18) and (from $27) have cabins and campsites. Then head south through , one of the nation’s most biologically diverse landscapes. You’ll pass by , famous for hardcore hiking and epic vistas. Check out the mountain-biking trails around Slatyfork, or explore farther south, where boardwalks hover above bogs that are similar to those found in the Arctic tundra. Campsites and cabins abound in the national forest, including along the Williams River (from $8). Wind up your trip about 95 miles south at , where the adventure smorgasbord includes hiking, mountain biking, trout fishing, kayaking, tubing, and rock climbing. 403 miles one-way—Barbara Noe Kennedy

Escape Bourbon Street:ĚýFontainebleau State Park to New Orleans, Louisiana

This three-day circuit offers everything from hiking to history. From the city, head 40 miles north along the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway to , on the northern edge of the lake, where you’ll find sandy beaches and miles of hiking trails. Take a free guided tour from the visitor center to learn about the park, a former sugar plantation, and its ignominious slavery-era past. A converted railroad track, part of the 31-mile trail that runs from downtown Covington to Slidell through five communities, offers cycling and ­hiking, and stops along historical sites and breweries. Spend the night at one of the park’s more than 140 campsites (from $18) and lakefront cabins (from $150). The next day, drive 50 minutes north to and hike the 5.7-mile loop trail, which offers prime birdwatching. In the afternoon, rent a kayak to paddle the namesake river, then stay at one of the park’s cabins ($150) or campgrounds (from $25). On day three, head back to New Orleans, and embark on the guided African Life in the French Quarter walking itinerary (from $17) with . 140 miles one-way—Dodie Arnold

TheĚýMidwest

Explore the LP Route: Traverse City to Mackinac Island, MichiganĚý

Michigan’s Lower Peninsula makes it possible to pack the best of the Midwest—pristine coastline, good seafood, and charming beach towns—into a long weekend. From Traverse City, head 40 minutes west to hike ’ 3.5-mile Dunes Trail, which takes you over rolling sand hills to a beach on Lake Michigan. Afterward, pick up cherry lime soda at in nearby Glen Arbor, then detour to the town of Leland for a loaded sandwich from and enjoy it on wooden docks of its historic Fishtown. Next up, drive 75 miles east to rent a kayak at Ěý(from $28), then paddle the South Arm of Lake Charlevoix, followed by a meal of soft pretzels and beer at in the town of Bellaire. Set up camp at , just east of downtown (from $15). From there, it’s a 45-mile drive to the town of Petoskey, your departure point for a scenic bike ride down Highway 119 with stunning views of Lake Michigan. Another 35 miles north brings you to Mackinaw City. Board the ferry to and step back in time; there are no cars allowed, so horses, pedestrians, and bikes rule the streets. Bring your bike on the ferry and cruise around the island on 8.2-mile Lake Shore Drive, making pit stops at , , and one of the many fudge shops in town. There’s no camping on the island, but there are plenty of options back on the mainland, including cabin rentals and lakefront RV sites at (from $13). 220 miles one-way—Kelsey Lindsey

Local Intel: Minneapolis to Ely, Minnesota

From Minneapolis, it’s a little over two hours north to Duluth, home to Lake Superior, the world’s largest freshwater lake by surface area. Set up your base at (from $40), where you can fish on the Saint Louis River, rent canoes and ­kayaks from the camp’s hosts, and access a network of mountain-bike trails right across the street. Swing by Ěýfor alfresco cocktail hour before heading to to grab wings to go. In the morning, take a 54-mile detour to and hike to the namesake falls. Finally, continue 80 miles north to the city of Ely to rent a canoe from (from $35), and paddle out to explore some of the 1,175 lakes in the remote wilderness area, which has more than 2,000 designated (from $16). 278 miles one-way —Abigail Wise

Play Geologist: Badlands National Park to Custer State Park, South Dakota

The theme of this trip: rocks. Western South Dakota has some of the finest hunks of sandstone, mica schist, granite, and phonolite porphyry in the American West. Kick off your trip at , a maze of bizarre and beautiful canyons and spires you can explore from a handful of easy to moderate trails. A campground (from $23) and 26 cabin rentals at (from $182) make this a great place to bunk down on your first night—seeing the sun rise on these formations is worth it. On day two stop by , perhaps the most widely advertised tourist trap in the world, with billboards from Minnesota to Amsterdam; the interconnected shops sell everything from jewelry to jackalopes. Grab a hot beef sandwich and doughnuts to go from the . Ninety miles west is Sylvan Lake inĚý, a wildlife reserve home to 1,300 bison. The surrounding area offers some of the best roped climbing in the state. You’ll also find a via-ferrata-esque hiking experience at the park’sĚýĚýand, just two miles east, a scenic drive that takes you through the Needles Eye Tunnel, a narrow path through granite rock pinnacles. Stay at one of the state park’s nine (from $7). 119 miles one-wayâ€Äâ.ł˘.

Ride it Out: Hartford to Pere Marquette State Park, IllinoisĚý

According Shawn Fechter, of motorcycle-adventure outfitter , one of the best ridingĚýroutes is the Great Rivers Byway, starting where the Mississippi, Missouri, and Illinois Rivers converge.

“Some of the most scenic pockets of the 2,552-mileĚý which follows the Mississippi River from Minnesota to Louisiana, are found in Illinois. Start in the small town of Hartford, where the Meeting of the Great Rivers Byway begins. The 22 miles between Hartford and Grafton offer spectacular views of the rivers to one side and limestone bluffs to the other, and are filled with stops to take in the area’s diverse flora and fauna, like the 300-acre , home to more than 150 species of birds. Farther west, at the , you can catch the great southerly bird ­migration in fall. The trip can be completed in a day, but if you want to take your time, spend a night in a riverside shelter at (from $25), which has plenty of hiking, fishing, and rock climbing.” 67 miles one-way

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