Sweden has 267,570 islands, by some counts more than any other nation in the world. They’re so ubiquitous that the Swedish word for island is one letter: ö (pronounced “uh”). Perhaps that’s why Swedes consistently rank near the top of happiness indexes: Here, there are plenty of options to leave the world behind and surround yourself with the healing properties of water.

The largest cluster in Sweden, the Stockholm Archipelago, has 30,000 islands. Once a sheltered trade route for the Vikings, the archipelago became a haven for Swedish glitterati in the late twentieth century. Greta Garbo had a summer home on Ingarö; Björn Ulvaeus from ABBA penned “The Winner Takes It All” in his hideaway on Viggsö.

Now there’s a way for the rest of us to enjoy this summertime haven: via the new 168-mile Stockholm Archipelago Trail. This journey connects twenty different islands. Though it’s called a “trail,” there is no true end or beginning—each island is a hike unto itself.

“Hiking from island to island is extremely Swedish,” says Michael Lemmel, one of the trail’s creators. “Some islands have great restaurants and inns, others have next to nothing. The trail really is diverse, [which] makes it so special.”

The beauty of the new trail is that hikers don’t have to get wet. A ferry services every island on the trail three times per day throughout the summer. Most hikers, however, will want to go for a dip here and there: The islands are full of sandy beaches, protected inlets surrounded by rock slabs perfect for sunning, and—in classic Swedish fashion—saunas.

The average length per section is about eight miles, and the terrain ranges from flat and easy to technical, with rock scrambles and some elevation gain. The longest path is 21.2 miles on the island of Ornö, traversing through dense forests and around inland lakes. For hikers who want solitude, the sparsely inhabited island of Ålö has eight miles of trail, sandy beaches, and a nature reserve where camping is allowed for one night only.

Not interested in camping? There are many chic hotels throughout. , in the village of Landsort, is a retrofitted pilot’s tower with six rooms and endless views of the sea. Arholma’s pastoral sports a classic red cottage and a waterfront sauna. Then there’s the iconic , the one-time clubhouse for the Royal Swedish Yacht Club. The establishment has now been turned into a hotel, restaurant, and “sailing bar, complete with a DJ and partying Stockholmers on the weekends.

This piece first appeared in the summer 2025 print issue of �����ԹϺ��� Magazine. Subscribe now for early access to our most captivating storytelling, stunning photography, and deeply reported features on the biggest issues facing the outdoor world.

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At its best, cross-country skiing is like a graceful dance on snow. At its worst, it can be one big flailing mess. A lot depends on snow conditions, whether the ski is appropriate for the conditions, and the skier’s ability. But other important variables shouldn’t be overlooked: the fit, comfort, and support of a boot, poles that are simultaneously strong and light, and clothing that wicks sweat but still keeps the wind and cold at bay.

This year, seven skiers put more than 60 boots, poles, and accessories through rigorous tests that ranged from striding on a quickly melting base near Flagstaff to skate skiing a shortened American Birkebeiner course in Wisconsin due to lack of snow. Even in less-than-ideal conditions, we found gear that made this sport even more fun.

Check out the best cross-country skis of the year here.

At A Glance

• Salomon Race Skate Boot ($530)
• Salomon S-Lab Carbon Click Poles ($300)
• Julbo Density sunglasses ($250)
• Lé Bent Core Lightweight Crew Base Layer ($105)
• CEP Ski Ultralight Tall Compression Socks ($60)
• Cotopaxi Capa Hybrid Hooded Jacket ($180)
• Gordini XC Split Mitt ($50)
• Craft ADV Nordic Training Pants ($130)
• Buff Thermonet POW Neck Gater ($27)
• CEP Merino Wool Baselayer Tights ($100)
• Skida Snow Tour Neck Gaiter ($26) with Alpine Headband ($26)
• One Way Storm 2 GTX Mag Poles ($199)
• How to Choose Nordic Accessories
• How We Test
• Meet Our Testers

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

Salomon S/Race Skate Boot

Weight: 900 g/pair (size 8 UK)
Sizing: 3.5-13 UK (unisex)

Pros and Cons
⊕ Very light
⊕ Cheap for a race boot
⊗ Finicky BOA system

The happiest skiers tend to be the ones with the toastiest, best-fitting boots. And unsurprisingly, our happiest skiers this year were wearing Salomon’s new S/Race boot, which offers an impressive trifecta of warmth, comfort, and control.

Many elite-level ski boots still have a lacing system that can loosen up over the course of a few kilometers. With just a turn of the knob, Salomon’s new integrated Boa system offers more fine-tuning of the fit when you put the boot on. It’s also easier to adjust while skiing. I loved the ease of this system but found it not entirely dialed (pun intended), needing to stop after every 5k or so to re-tighten the boot on a course with a lot of twists and turns and elevation changes.

The boot comes in two pieces: A carbon shell with an attached cuff and a lightweight interior foam liner that sits inside the shell. The former makes the boot light, precise, and stiff enough to transfer energy from ski to ski. The latter slips inside the shell, with one loop at the heel and one loop at the front of the ankle to easily slip into and out of—a favorite feature for our testers who needed to quickly dry out the liner between sessions.

I have a narrow foot with a high arch, and found the S-Race boot to be the most comfortable option I tested. Often World Cup-level race boots, which tend to be stiffer and less insulated, make my feet numb and my toes freeze. I tested the S/Race in 15-degree weather, and my feet stayed blissfully warm and comfortable, making the boot’s lower price compared to World Cup-level boots, all that much sweeter.

Salomon S-Lab Carbon Click Poles

Weight: 165 grams

Pros and Cons
⊕ Lightweight
⊕ Strong
⊕ Adjustable hand strap
⊗ Pricey

Three hundred may seem like a lot to lay down for ski poles (and it is) but think about how much abuse this piece of equipment takes over a full season.

The carbon-shafted S-Lab Carbon Click is, first and foremost, strong and light. It even survived a messy yard sale of a crash on bulletproof hardpack. But it also offers a few handy extra features that make skiing more efficient. The hand strap clicks in and out with a single push of a button on the grip, so you can drink, remove your skis, or fiddle with your phone easily during your ski sessions. Another plus: the velcro hand strap has a generous tab that makes it easy to tighten while wearing gloves. Having that tight fit makes for a more explosive power transformation when pushing off.

Julbo Density Sunglasses

Weight: 20 grams

Pros and Cons
⊕ Photochromic lens
⊕ Wide field of vision
⊗ Tint too light for bright days

These are the ideal protective sunnies, especially for flat-light days. Designed for bike racing, the Density is just as ideal for nordic skiing, thanks to its huge field of vision, arms made from soft-gripping rubber derived from castor beans that can be bent in multiple ways for a custom fit, and photochromic lenses that adjust to whatever light is on the trail. Plus, at 20 grams, I barely felt them on my face during testing. Ventilation above the bridge prevents fogging.

Lé Bent Core Lightweight Crew Base Layer

Sizing: XS-L (women’s); S-XL (men’s)

Pros and Cons
⊕ Extremely soft and comfortable
⊕ Stretchy neck
⊗ Almost feels wrong to use for exercise
⊗ Too lightweight for ten-degrees and below

The crew-necked Core is so soft that on first touch it feels like it’s made from organic cotton. But the lightweight, 200-gram base-layer is really a blend of non-mulesed merino wool and rayon sourced from bamboo.

This crewneck was a favorite with testers thanks to its breathability, soft material, and perfect fit, especially around the neck, which felt tight enough to trap heat, but not so restrictive as to feel like a choker. As tester Janine Sieja told us after a 15k ski in Minneapolis, “It’s hard to get excited about a plain black base layer.” But, she added, this one is “an ideal weight, has a fit that isn’t too loose or too tight and is very soft against the skin.” Most importantly, it wicked sweat for all testers in temperatures from 15 to 28 degrees.

CEP Ski Ultralight Tall Compression Socks

Sizing: II, III, IV, V (size coordinates with calf circumference)

Pros and Cons
⊕ Durable
⊕ Helps fight fatigue
⊗ Knee-length is a bit overkill
⊗ A tad constrictive

I have tested a lot of socks in my time, but for the last three years, CEP’s compression socks—designed for alpine skiing—have been the ones to beat. This year was no exception with the brand’s Ski Ultralight Tall sock, which sits right below the knee and is made from a durable blend of 64 percent polyamide, 22 percent merino wool, and 14 percent spandex. Some testers found the length to be slightly too tall for nordic skiing, but I’m 5’9” and appreciated the soothing, full-length compression from just below my knee to my toes.

This is a sock that got my feet, ankles, shins, and calves through multiple days of skiing up to 20 miles without succumbing to fatigue. On the compression scale, it provides 22 to 24 mmHG (millimeters of Mercury), a measurement of pressure that ranges from eight to 30. Yes, the sock is on the constrictive side, but it cuts way down on fatigue and is so well constructed that mine still looked brand new after 20-plus consecutive washes.

PAID ADVERTISEMENT BY SEIRUS
Seirus HeatTouch Hellfire Magne Mitt ($599.99)

If you want the warmth of mitts with the versatility of gloves, the Seirus HeatTouch Hellfire Magne Mitt is the blend of comfort and functionality you’ve been looking for. Enjoy up to 12 hours of warmth at the push of a button, thanks to advanced heated technology and rechargeable battery packs. Need to adjust gear or take a call? The magnetic closure provides quick finger access and easily seals back to lock in heat. Plus, never be left in the cold—the viewable battery life indicators make it easy to check how much power you have left.

Cotopaxi Capa Hybrid Insulated Hooded Jacket

Sizing: XXS-XXL (women’s); S-XXL (men’s)

Pros and Cons
⊕ No restrictive points
⊕ Wicks sweat effectively
⊗ Hood adds extra bulk

I tried a number of nordic-skiing-specific jackets, but in mild temperatures ranging in the high teens to the mid-20s, I found myself gravitating toward the Capa Hybrid, a jacket made from 100 percent recycled 20-denier ripstop nylon with PFC-free DWR finish designed for hikers and runners, because it felt the least restrictive thanks to the polyester side knit panels and sleeves. nordic-ski jackets need to accommodate vigorous upper-body movement, but they also can’t be too baggy. The Capa managed that balance perfectly.

Beyond the jacket’s ease of movement, we loved the jacket’s thin layer of Primaloft synthetic insulation in the back and front panels, which kept the Minnesota wind from blowing straight through us, while the panels and sleeves shed heat. The form-fitting scuba-style hood was a welcome addition on days when the wind kicked up, and two zippered hand pockets kept a phone close by.

Gordini XC Split Mitt

Sizing: S-XXL

Pros and Cons
⊕ Dexterous
⊕ Leather palm grips well
⊗ Shows dirt easily
⊗ Not warm enough for frigid days

When Gordini came out with a new ski mitt last year, we passed on reviewing it, giving the company more time to iron out a few glitches, namely with fit and warmth. This year, the company came back with an almost perfect nordic-ski mitt that kept our hands warm in temps in the high teens and above thanks to a shell made from four-way stretch softshell and Primaloft insulation that’s especially beefy in the back of the hand. (Much colder, though, and these gloves felt out-gunned.) The split mitt style adds dexterity, the synthetic leather palm nicely grips the pole, and a handy oversized loop at the cuff makes it easy to yank off after a sweaty workout.

Craft ADV Nordic Training Pants

Sizing: XS-XL (women’s)

Pros and Cons
⊕ Great for cold temps
⊕ Easy on/off
⊗ Small sizing

You’d be hard-pressed to find a serious nordic skier who doesn’t have a pair of Swedish-designed Craft pants or tights in their closet. Protective from the wind and cold, yet still designed to move, the polyester ADV Nordic Training pants have a stretchy windproof panel along the entire front that opens below the knee to allow for maximum range of motion. The interior, meanwhile, is a warm, plush polyester fleece. These pants are so durable, breathable, and comfortable that I use them for every ski outing unless I’m testing other pants. When temps dip below 20 degrees, I simply add a baselayer.

A drawcord waistband feels non-binding, and a calf zip makes the tights easy to quickly get into and out of. Reflective piping on the side of the leg offers increased visibility on after-dark skis.

Overall, this is a cozy, comfortable must-have tight for skiing in any climate.

Buff ThermoNet Neckwear

Pros and Cons
⊕ Highly breathable
⊕ Great for cold, windy days
⊗ Overheats in temps above freezing

Who doesn’t love a buff? But also, who can really pick one out of the dizzying market? For nordic skiing, tester Ellie Hoffman found the sweet spot with the ThermoNet Neckwear, which is made from 96 percent polyester and four percent elastane Primaloft yarn. It was highly breathable, but provided ideal warmth for cold winter days.

“My face was warm skiing in the wind,” Hoffman told us. “The material is very soft and feels nice against my face as I’m breathing heavily.” That said, it’s best used when temperatures are below freezing: Hoffman reported that the material felt too stifling during warmer days.

CEP Ski Merino ¾ Base Tights

Sizing: XS-L (women’s), S-XL (men’s)

Pros and Cons
⊕ Very soft
⊕ Protective padding
⊗ Needs more compression

At first glance, these tights, made primarily from a soft, bio-based modal and merino wool (with six percent spandex for added stretchiness) look entirely unremarkable. In reality, they have four different knit structures throughout to provide more warmth and support where the body needs it most. Think of these as compression lite: they aren’t medical-grade like their running-tight counterparts, but they do give the legs and butt enough support to make you want to take another lap on the trail.

There’s also added padding on the legs to protect from crashes, which came in handy when I fell on a wicked-fast nordic downhill in Duluth, Minnesota. Overall, these are tights that may look deceptively simple, but their fabric and design make them high-tech and extremely functional.

Skida Snow Tour Neck Gaiter with Alpine Headband

Snow Tour Neck Gaiter Weight: 2 oz
Alpine Headband Weight: .8 oz

Pros and Cons
⊕ Colorful, bright patterns
⊕ Soft and lightweight
⊗ Might replace all your other gaiters

When a frigid winter comes around, thinner hats, headbands, and neck gators specifically designed for nordic skiing go out the window. They just didn’t keep our testers warm enough, no matter how hard they were pushing. What did, however, was Skida’s Snow Tour neck gaiter, made from soft, lightweight brushed fleece that breathes well (even when snot is frozen to it), and their Alpine headband, made from a polyester-spandex jersey fabric with a Polartec microfleece lining that’s the perfect width to keep ears warm. Plus, we loved Skida’s fun new patterns and colors, like Penny Lane and Flow State, dropping in the fall of 2024.

One Way Storm 2 Mag Poles

Weight: 75 grams/meter
Lengths: 135-180 cm

Pros and Cons
⊕ Exceptional strength and lightweight
⊕ Easy-off grip
⊗ Baskets are interchangeable, an awesome feature unless you forget to change the basket and your pole sinks in two feet of snow like ours did

The One Way Storm 2 got a thumbs up from all testers for its strength, weight, performance, and especially its easy-off grip. The 100 percent carbon shaft of the Storm 2 is strong enough to withstand freakish plants that would normally end in snapping, light enough (at 75 grams per meter) to prevent fatigue after repetitive motion, and stiff enough to propel us forward. The new Velcro-closure grip is strong and secure, but because it attaches to the pole via a magnetic ball socket that easily clicks in and out, last-minute adjustments can be made without having to painstakingly wiggle the hand out.

One handy feature: The top of the pole shaft has tape marks showing where to cut for a desired length, taking the guesswork out of this process whether you use it for skating or classic.

How to Choose Nordic Accessories

For first-time buyers, we always recommend going to a shop devoted to nordic skiing or one that has a devoted nordic sales person. It really takes a professional to help you fit boots and poles and determine what kind of clothing you might need depending on the kind of skiing you’ll be doing.

Boots

Like any footwear required for an endurance sport, comfort comes first. No matter how well a stiff carbon boot can transfer power to the skis and propel you forward, it’s not much fun if you’re in pain. That said, like an alpine boot, your feet need to fit snug or else you lose control of the ski. If your foot is swimming around in the toe box, for example, it’s tough to efficiently push off and execute clean skating technique. Or if your heel slips in the back, you may end up with a big red blister at the end of the day. Almost always, classic boots are more comfortable than skate boots because they don’t require as much lateral stiffness to power the ski.

World Cup-level skate boots have a full-carbon outsole. That makes the boot much stiffer but also much more efficient in transferring power to the ski, so your body and ski work together in tandem. Carbon technology, however, also substantially increases the price of the boot. While there’s nothing more fun than executing powerful ski technique, a hybrid sole that combines carbon with plastic will probably work just fine for most skiers.

A well-insulated boot adds comfort and keeps your feet warmer. But if you tend to ski in warmer climates and don’t need a lot of insulation, there is also the option, as in cycling, to add a boot cover for the rare cold day.

Poles

It’s incredible how complicated a seemingly simple piece of gear like a pole can be. When buying poles, you should consider four factors: swing weight, weight, stiffness, and strength. “Swing weight” refers to the pendulum motion of each pole stroke. Weight near the tip of the pole requires more energy from the skier than weight near the top of the pole. Considering the average ski racer makes about 30-45 pole plants per minute, swing weight, if poorly distributed, can fatigue arms over time. Most skiers, however, are not going to notice the swing weight while buying poles and will likely need to rely on a pole that provides the best weight-to-strength-to-stiffness ratio, which will almost always be a carbon pole.

Another important factor in a pole is the grip. Grip is essential because you need to be able to comfortably hold your pole over a long period of time. An awkward grip can make for a long day on skis and ultimately lead to issues like blisters or arthritis. The material of the grip matters: Cork decreases vibration and resists moisture, while the foam is soft.

Lastly, a lot of time and energy can be lost in both classic and skate skiing if you have a loose or sloppy strap. It’s important that the strap fits securely so that you can grip the pole while planting yet still allow enough range of motion to release the pole as you push off the ski and glide forward. But the more secure a pole is, the more difficult it can be to take it off to adjust a ski. That’s why it’s ideal to have a system where the strap clicks on and off the pole without having to unstrap and yank out your mitt.

Clothing

Just looking at nordic ski clothing sends shivers down our testers’ spines because it never appears warm enough, especially in Minnesota. But nordic skiing is one of the most sweat-inducing activities on the planet, so the less-is-more theory is important to consider.

Baselayers, jackets, and pants need to wick sweat away, be warm enough for the coldest winter, and allow enough range of motion to effortlessly kick, glide, and plant poles. Layering is essential: a next-to-skin baselayer, a warmer piece of insulation on the coldest days, plus a thin wind and water-resistant outer layer to buffer a breeze and keep snow out. If you stop, you’ll freeze. So the most important rule of thumb is to keep moving.

How We Test

• Number of testers: 7
• Number of products tested: 61
• Number of miles skied: 355
• Warmest day: 47 degrees Fahrenheit at Theodore Wirth Park in Minneapolis
• Highest altitude: 8,000 feet at Arizona Nordic Village

Call it La Niña, climate change, a weird anomaly, or a combination of all three, but the upper Midwest, where most of our testers are located, had one of the worst snow years on record. The warmest day we skied—in a mix of snow and rain—was 40 degrees Fahrenheit. The coldest day, on the other hand, barely hit the teens, an almost unheard of anomaly. As a result, we had to resort to creative testing, shipping skis across the country, timing our lives to the snowmaking and grooming schedule at local ski centers, and racing in shortened events.

Between our four main testers, we skied an American Birkebeiner that was abbreviated from 50 to 30 kilometers, completed a dizzying number of hot laps on the impeccably groomed manmade snow of the 3.3K SuperTour Finals and Spring Nationals course at Spirit Mountain Nordic Center in Duluth, Minnesota, road-tripped to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, and sought out the last patches of spring snow in Jackson, Wyoming. The best snow of all? Arizona Nordic Village is a sweet oasis of 40 kilometers of trails starting at 8,000 feet about 20 minutes northwest of Flagstaff.

Our testers ranged from elite-level racers to club coaches to those who ski for the joy of it. In the end, the extra push to get on snow not only helped us test, it helped us happily get through a less-than-ideal winter.

Meet Our Testers

Adam Meyer

Adam grew up in Maine where he spent winters tubing and skiing in his backyard. His love for nordic skiing blossomed when he began racing in high school and went on to ski for Tufts University. Since college, Adam has coached nordic ski teams in Vermont, Colorado, and now Wyoming.

Jen Pearson

Jen Pearson is a physician and associate professor in the Department of Family Medicine and BioBehavioral Health at the University of Minnesota. She’s raced the American Birkebeiner more than 20 times with multiple top 20 finishes.

Janine Sieja

Janine Sieja is a former �����ԹϺ��� editor who learned to cross-country ski when she moved to Minnesota and has since completed five American Birkebeiners and Korteloppets, yet remains in awe of those with decades of Birkie finishes. She’s also among an army of volunteers who organized a wildly successful FIS World Cup race held in Minneapolis in February 2024.

Ellie Hoffman

Ellie is a PA student at The College of Saint Scholastica. She has been nordic skiing since she could walk and was a former racer for the Duluth East Nordic Team.

Doug Hoffman

Doug Hoffman is an MD who specializes in musculoskeletal ultrasound. He has raced 15 to 25 Birkies, but his first love is soccer. His final collegiate soccer game as a defender for Duke University ended in an eight-overtime loss in the 1982 NCAA final.

Brian Hayden

Brian Hayden is the founder of the Duluth Devo Mountain Bike Program. He’s a former collegiate nordic-ski racer and ski wax technician for the Duluth East High School Nordic Ski Team. His patience at the wax bench made this test possible.

Stephanie Pearson

Category manager Stephanie Pearson grew up in Duluth, Minnesota, cross-country skiing out her backyard. She is a contributing editor to �����ԹϺ��� and a 2023 National Geographic Explorer.

The post The Best Cross-Country Boots and Accessories of 2025 appeared first on �����ԹϺ��� Online.

It’s a new era for nordic ski manufacturing. Between 2022 and 2023, the number of nordic skiers in the United States increased from 17.71 to 18.46 million. As the sport gains traction, ski manufacturers are pushing the envelope to design skis that flatten the notoriously difficult learning curve, are more environmentally friendly, and fast enough to keep professional skiers on the podium.

While the sport itself is booming, nordic testing circumstances have never been more finicky, with snowless conditions across much of the United States. Fortunately, we had testers in multiples regions of the U.S. and we traveled to higher-snow areas like Arizona’s high country to track down the right conditions. Here are the skis that came out on top this year.

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At A Glance

• Best Beginner Ski: Fischer Aeroguide Skate 85 ($449)
• Best Elite Race Skate Ski: Salomon S-Lab Universal Skate ($950)
• Best Expert Classic Ski: Rossignol X-ium R Skin ($500)
• Best Touring Ski: Fischer S-Bound 98 Crown/ Dual-Skin XTRALITE ($439)
• Best Endurance Skate Ski: Madshus Endurace Skate ($425)
• How to Choose Cross-Country Skis
• How We Test
• Meet Our Testers

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

Best Beginner Ski

Fischer Aeroguide Skate 85

Sidecut: 43-40-45 cm
Weight: 1,200 grams/175 cm per ski
Lengths: 165, 175, 185 cm

Pros and Cons
⊕ Forgiving sidecut
⊗ Forgiving sidecut can allow for imperfect technique

There are three design choices that make the new Aeroguide an especially good fit for beginner skate skiers: First, it comes in three relatively short lengths—165, 175, and 185 centimeters—making it easier for beginners to control.

Next, it has a more aggressive, hourglass sidecut (43-40-45) than higher-level skis. The sidecut on Fischer’s top-of-the-line Speedmax Helium Skate Plus is shaped like an arrow. That aggressive side cut provides more grip on the edge, making it much easier to push off when initiating the weight transfer (something beginner skiers often struggle with.)

Lastly, unlike almost every other skate ski on the market, the base has two vertical grooves down the length of the ski, which further increase stability and control when gliding by gripping to the snow.

At its base, the ski is lightweight, with a hollow wood core strengthened by basalt fibers that provide better flex characteristics in a wider range of temperatures than fiberglass. The ski may be slightly heavier than more intermediate and expert-oriented designs, but that also adds stability. With a deeper, coarser base structure (thanks to a grinding process using the hardness of natural diamonds), the Aeroguide is easier to ski in warm, moist conditions—a good thing in a warming world.

Veteran tester Brian Hayden took the Aeroguide for a spin on 12 kilometers of hot laps on the hilly, freshly-groomed, manmade snow at Spirit Mountain Nordic Center in Duluth, Minnesota on a mild, mid 20s winter day. He was duly impressed with the 185-centimeter length, which is seven centimeters shorter than what he normally skis. Despite it being a few hundred grams heavier than the World Cup-level skate skis Hayden normally uses, he praised its stability. “It gave me confidence to get out over my ski.”

Best Elite Race Skate Ski

Salomon S-Lab Universal Skate

Sidecut: 44-43-44 cm
Weight: 970 grams/192 cm per ski
Lengths: 170, 177, 182, 187, 192 cm

Pros and Cons
⊕ Versatile
⊕ Fast and fun
⊗ Not specifically designed for warm or cold conditions

The snow was so sparse in northern Minnesota this year that I timed my testing of the S-Lab Universal Skate to coincide with the morning grooming at Duluth, Minnesota’s Spirit Mountain Nordic Center. That meant perfect corduroy on a 3.3-kilometer loop that would, in a week, host the US Spring Nationals and Super Tour Finals.

Despite 37-degree temps and soft snow, I loved the way the Unis, known for handling a wide variety of conditions and temperatures ranging from 10 to 30 degrees Fahrenheit, rose to the occasion. They were smooth while climbing punchy hills, cornered well on tight, curvy downhills, and effortlessly glided across the flats. They felt fast even as the sun beat down and turned parts of the course to slush.

Why, unlike more temperature-specific skis, is the Universal so fast in variable conditions? It boils down to an ever-evolving blend of three elements: a proprietary “G5” base formula that improved the ski’s performance in warm conditions, combined with a World-Cup-tested grind pattern that has produced winning results across a wide range of testing circumstances (Note: Olympian gold medalist Jessie Diggins skis on Salomon with the same pattern). Finally, the ski’s flex profile is finely tuned with proper length contact zones, its tips and tails are forgiving enough to allow the ski to float through crud and powder, and it’s just stiff enough to edge well and support the weight of the skier.

Like most elite-level skis, the Uni is constructed of lightweight wood sidewalls and a Nomax core—a strong, light, honeycomb-like structure that’s tough to beat for its strength-to-weight ratio. The ski is then wrapped in a thin-ply carbon that boosts transmission with every stride.

The Uni ski design hasn’t changed for 2025, but Salomon’s Shift Race binding is brand new. It offers adjustable positioning on the plate, allowing skiers to move forward and back on the ski depending on conditions: Shift forward to boost grip on ice, shift back to enhance glide in snowier conditions, or keep the binding at zero, the most neutral position on the ski. Despite the lack of heavy snow, I played around with binding positioning and found that it did finely tune the ski’s performance. The downside to Salomon’s system, however, is that skiers have to remove the ski to shift the positioning lever—it can’t be done while skating.

For experienced racers who only want one or two skis, the S-Lab Universal Skate is a do-it-all World Cup-level ski.

Best Expert Classic Ski

Rossignol X-ium R-Skin

Sidecut: 40-44-44 cm
Weight: 550 grams/198 cm per ski
Lengths: 186, 191, 198, 203, 208 cm

Pros and Cons
⊕ An ultralightweight ski fast enough for racing, without the hassle of waxing
⊗ If weight isn’t transferred correctly on the stride, even the mohair skins can’t stop the classic ski from backsliding

The first version of this ski was born around 2016 when Rossignol manufactured about 4,000 pairs of its first iteration of the X-ium R-Skin. In the near decade since, Rossignol has tinkered with the skin ski’s camber shapes and profiles, internal construction, grind patterns, and skin shapes and placements to create the universally beloved X-ium R- Skin. The R Skin is now so popular that Rossignol manufactures hundreds of thousands of pairs—even the most diehard skate skiers have good reason to fall in love with classic skiing all over again with this ski.

Like the Salomon S-Lab Universal Skate, the X-ium R Skin’s core is made from Nomex Honeycomb, the honeycomb structure that offers ultra-lightweight precision and powerful energy transmission. The core is covered in a fiberglass “cap,” a continuous cover that extends from one sidewall over the top sheet and onto the other sidewall. The result is a ski that offers both torsional rigidity and supple flex in the tips and tails, making for a smooth and stiff ride.

This year Rossignol removed the shiny varnish from the ski, which had both intended and unintended results. The varnish contained chemicals that factory workers could have breathed in, so now the ski is more eco- and health-friendly without it. The other bonus: Varnish created a stiff outer coat which affected the tension on the ski. Without it, the ski is slightly lighter and flexes more smoothly, which puts less pressure on the tips and tails when weighted, making the ski easier to kick (and much more fun.)

Our Jackson, Wyoming-based tester Adam Meyer found that while Rossignol’s cosmetic change to the X-ium R-Skin weren’t “trying to reinvent the world of skin skis,” the ski was a blast in multiple conditions. Meyer said that it maintained the classic Rossignol responsiveness, while remaining stable when kicking and gliding thanks to its generous mohair skin. As Meyer reported: “the ski did its job well.”

Overall, this is an expert-level classic ski that’s fun and fast enough to place on the podium.

Best Touring Ski

Fischer S-Bound 98 Crown/ Dual-Skin XTRALITE

Sidecut: 98-69-88 cm
Weight: 2,200 g/179 cm per ski
Lengths: 159, 169, 179, 189 cm

Pros and Cons
⊕ Fun and light
⊕ Grips well on steep uphills
⊗ Not enough heft to cut through heavy powder

If this year’s testing had a motto, it was “Be Prepared.” As in: Be prepared for thin ribbons of snow between patches of mud in northern Michigan; dense, spring corn in northern Arizona, or boilerplate hardpack in Minnesota. The beauty of the S-Bound 98 Crown, a lightweight backcountry touring ski, is that it took all of these conditions in stride, especially excelling in the hardpack.

This adaptable and sturdy ski is a bestseller in the Fischer line. Its new, ultra-lightweight paulownia wood-and-fiberglass core has hollow air channels throughout. Not only does the fiberglass reinforcement make the ski stronger than one with a solid wood core, but the air chambers distribute pressure better, too. A “nordic rockered” tip also makes the S-Bound easier to glide and turn in deeper, untracked snow, and a narrow steel edge makes for stable contact on every surface.

I was especially impressed with how the skis’ fish-scale base gripped while skiing uphill on boilerplate hardpack at my local alpine area in Duluth. I didn’t even need to slap on one of Fischer’s two mohair-and-nylon skins—the short “Easy Skin” or the full-length “Super Skin”— compatible with this ski.

On a day with particularly challenging conditions, when I expected testing to be all business and no play, the S-Bound surprised me. I found plenty of purchase on a steep climb with thin snow, which made it almost as much fun as the downhill. Thanks to metal edging and an enhanced rocker on this nimble ski, the downhill was a blast, too.

Best Endurance Skate Ski

Madshus Endurace Skate

Sidecut: 44-43-44 cm
Weight: 1094 grams /187 cm per pair
Lengths: 172, 177, 182, 187, 192 cm

Pros and Cons
⊕ A powerful ski that can plow through crud on days when the skate deck isn’t perfectly groomed
⊗ Speed is not the defining feature of this ski

World Cup-level skate skis are like Formula One race cars: feisty and deadly until you’ve learned how to handle them on curves, hills, and corners. The beauty of the Endurace Skate—which is two steps below Madshus’ top-of-the-line World Cup Redline skate ski but still “race-inspired”—is that a few design tweaks allow it to occupy that liminal space between an elite-level race ski and a more stable, forgiving endurance ski. The Endurace is all about balance. Its moderate sidecut makes it feel solid underfoot while still being maneuverable at all speeds. And its proprietary foam core has an excellent strength-to-weight ratio, making it responsive but not so jittery that you feel a crash is imminent around every corner. Madshus also dialed back the camber to reduce the Endurace’s aggressiveness while still keeping it lively.

Madshus came late to the testing party at the end of March, which is a notoriously tricky month in terms of conditions. We took it out on ten kilometers of a skate deck that had been left ungroomed through at least two or three freeze-thaw cycles, leaving it terrifyingly rutted and icy in patches and knee-tweaking slushy in others. But we were impressed with how gracefully the Endurace handled the conditions, letting us eke out the last bits of joy during a tough end-of-season snow week.

How to Choose Cross-Country Skis

Nordic skiing has a steep learning curve. But every year, the ski design, technology, and material keeps shortening that curve. The first step is to determine which type of ski you want: classic, skate, backcountry touring, or hybrid touring/track ski. For first-time buyers looking for the best ski for their budget, it’s essential to go to a shop and talk with a nordic expert who can also take your weight, height, and other dimensions to fit you with the perfect ski.

Classic

Classic skis, most often used in a groomed track, are longer than skate skis and require a stride in which you propel your skis forward in a parallel motion. This sport has been around for millennia, but it’s still very challenging to learn perfect technique. All nordic skis require a base with friction that comes in the form of waxless fish scales, a mohair/nylon grip known as a skin, or a smooth base on which you apply kick wax that sticks depending on the temperature of the snow.

Once the standard, waxable classic skis used by elite racers who are used to the speed and grace of a full glide with little friction, are being replaced by skin skis, also a favorite of a wide variety of enthusiasts and waning ski racers who want to eliminate the hassle and extra maintenance of waxing. Today’s skin skis are so fast, light, and stable that they are an excellent option to train or even race on. Most beginners prefer the maintenance-free option of fish scales, which are carved into the ski’s base, thus requiring no waxing.

Skate

Skate skis are used on a groomed skate deck that looks like the horizontal corduroy we see at an alpine resort. Instead of propelling skis in a parallel motion, skiers use a faster skating technique, where the skis are in a V shape and the skier transfers weight from one ski, pushing off and gliding, then transferring it to the other—sort of like a speed skater—except with help from poles, which are generally moved in unison. It’s a difficult technique to learn but feels akin to flying once you have it down.

Skate skis are shorter than their classic counterparts by about 10-15 centimeters and have more rounded tips. In general, shorter skies are easier to handle, while longer skis provide better glide. Flex and structure are two other important specs. A more flexible ski is more forgiving for softer snow, and a more rigid or structured ski is better on hardpack for power transfer but can also be harder for an inexperienced skier to drive. There are so many factors when considering the best skate ski that it’s especially important for first-time buyers to go to a ski shop and get properly fit by a professional.

Touring

Touring skis are for those who want to get off the trail and into the woods or rolling sidecountry in ungroomed terrain. Like alpine skis, touring skis have steel edges that make carving on downhills easier, but even with their sculpted waists and rockered tips, the lightweight touring skis you might use in the Midwest aren’t designed for alpine terrain like ski mountaineering skis are. Depending on how you want to use them, most lightweight touring skis are equipped to handle a touring, alpine touring, or telemark binding. The length is generally shorter than classic yet longer than skate. A touring ski usually requires a slower, more truncated version of a classic stride because the terrain is variable and mostly ungroomed.

How We Test

• Number of testers: 4
• Number of products tested: 24
• Number of miles skied: 415
• Number of states tested in: 5 (MN, WI, MI, WY, AZ)

Call it La Niña, climate change, a weird anomaly, or a combination of all three, but the upper Midwest, where most of our testers are located, had one of the worst snow years on record. The warmest day we skied—in a mix of snow and rain—was 40 degrees Fahrenheit. The coldest day, on the other hand, barely hit the teens, an almost unheard of anomaly. As a result, we had to resort to creative testing, shipping skis across the country, timing our lives to the snowmaking and grooming schedule at local ski centers, and racing in shortened events.

Between our four main testers, we skied an American Birkebeiner that was abbreviated from 50 to 30 kilometers, did a dizzying number of hot laps on the impeccably groomed manmade snow of the 3.3K SuperTour Finals and Spring Nationals course at Spirit Mountain Nordic Center in Duluth, Minnesota, road-tripped to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, and sought out the last patches of spring snow in Jackson, Wyoming. The best snow of all? Arizona Nordic Village, a sweet oasis of 40 kilometers of trails starting at 8,000 feet about 20 minutes northwest of Flagstaff.

Meet Our Testers

Adam Meyer

Adam grew up in Maine where he spent winters tubing and skiing in his backyard. His love for nordic skiing blossomed when he began racing in high school and went on to ski for Tufts University. Since college, Adam has coached nordic ski teams in Vermont, Colorado, and, now, Jackson Wyoming.

Jen Pearson

Jen Pearson is a physician and associate professor in the Department of Family Medicine and BioBehavioral Health at the University of Minnesota. She’s raced the American Birkebeiner more than 20 times with multiple top 20 finishes.

Brian Hayden

Brian Hayden is the founder of the Duluth Devo Mountain Bike Program. He’s a former collegiate nordic ski racer and ski wax technician for the Duluth East High School Nordic Ski Team. His patience at the wax bench made this test possible.

Stephanie Pearson

Category manager Stephanie Pearson grew up in Duluth, Minnesota, cross-country skiing out her backyard. She started at �����ԹϺ��� as an intern in 1995 and has worked in various positions with the magazine, most recently as a contributing editor, for almost three decades. In 2023 she became a National Geographic Explorer.

The post The Best Cross-Country Skis of 2025 appeared first on �����ԹϺ��� Online.

Back in the 1980s, my left-leaning dad used to joke at the dinner table that if a certain right-leaning President were re-elected, we would be moving to Sweden. In his mind, the country of his forebears was an egalitarian society of hale and hearty outdoor people who lived among nature and cared deeply about the welfare of others. My dad had never actually been to Sweden, but all of his grandparents (and my mom’s) emigrated from the old country and we lived in Minnesota where, every year my grandma almost lit my hair on fire by topping it with a crown of candles for December’s St. Lucia celebration. I also graduated from a Lutheran college named after a Swedish king and spent my summers at our lake cottage sweating in our wood-burning sauna. It’s surprising then that I was 28 years old by the time I was finally able to visit the actual country.

The expectations were high on my first visit in 1998. What I found in Sweden was a fascinating mix of familiar and exotic. A land of freshwater lakes lined with rocky shorelines sprouting tall pines, Sweden’s interior was reminiscent of northern Minnesota. But everything else felt elevated. Stockholm’s Arlanda airport was so quiet, lacking blaring TV screens and rushing crowds, that I could hear the overhead fans circulating. The city itself was a sophisticated mix of ancient fortresses and modern architecture inhabited by fit and beautiful people. In Gothenburg, on the west coast, my cousin Ulrika’s husband Roger was the first person I met who spent most of his free time running around in the woods (26 percent of the city is forested) with a compass, which is orienteering, one of the most popular sports in Sweden. In the village of my great-grandfather’s birthplace, I took fika, the ritual coffee break, with my relatives, while ribbons from midsummer festival May pole flapped in the breeze.

What struck me most about Sweden was how seamlessly everyone integrated the outdoors into their lives.�� Since my first visit, I’ve returned to Sweden a handful of times to dogsled across the Arctic, hike in , , and dance to live music at an “Outdoor Village” on the Gulf of Bothnia with a few hundred mostly Swedes.

But it wasn’t until a couple of years ago when I spent a month in Sweden recovering from emergency eye surgery that I finally put my finger on how Swedes and Americans differ when it comes to their relationship with the outdoors. During my healing sabbatical, I wasn’t allowed to hike, run, ride a bike, lift anything over ten pounds, or sleep on my left side. The mandates were maddeningly restrictive, especially after coming off a summer of chasing Strava medals.

But I could walk. Out the front door of my rental cottage were miles of pastoral country roads lined with beautifully maintained homes whose owners always seemed to be burning brush, painting doorways in pastel shades of blue, or otherwise improving their properties. Beyond the pines and houses, one road led to Näsbokrok nature reserve, a solitary, wind-swept peninsula that juts into the Kattegat Strait between the North and Baltic Seas. One chilly September morning, I passed a rugged-looking maintenance worker in a fluorescent vest taking a lone fika at a picnic table by the sea. It hit me then: Swedes place a premium on being in the outdoors, whereas Americans place a premium on conquering the outdoors.

As Jerry Engström, the founder of FriluftsByn and the former marketing director of Fjällräven outdoor clothing and gear company told me at the time, “The U.S. way of [experiencing the] outdoors has roots in the explorers setting off west to find new lands and conquer nature. In Sweden, nature is more of a home, part of everyday life.”

Sweden had its share of conquerors, too, like the Vikings, of course. More recently there’s Charlotte Kalla, the country’s most successful-ever Nordic skier, who was the first Swedish woman to win both an individual Olympic gold and World Championship Gold medal. Or Armand Duplantis, a world-record-holding pole vaulter. His father is American, but Duplantis competes for Sweden, where the 24-year-old is revered as a demigod. It’s not that Sweden doesn’t foster competition—high school-age students have the choice to apply to boarding schools where the primary focus is to develop elite athletes. The difference, however, is that from birth Swedes are taught to foster a relationship with the outdoors that goes beyond competing in it. Even the Swedish Environmental Protection Agency defines “outdoor life” on its website as: “Being outdoors in natural and cultural landscapes for well-being and nature experiences without the expectation of competition.”

That definition reminds me a lot of the way I grew up in northern Minnesota. My parents’ need to be outside was embedded in their DNA. They had naturally lived by two Scandinavian principles: “Friluftsliv,” (a term that originated with Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen when Norway was part of the United Kingdoms of Sweden and Norway), which literally means “Free-Air-Life;” and “lagom är bäst” a Swedish parable that means “enough is as good as a feast.”

Getting their kids outside was Mom and Dad’s top priority, oftentimes in the form of chores.�� In the fall we’d chop, split, and haul wood, and in the winter and into spring, we’d shovel snow. If there were no chores we’d cross-country ski, all five kids waddling behind our dad chasing the ever-dangling carrot of the rare breakfast out at our favorite café. In the summer we’d swim or fish for walleye or roam free, playing in the woods. Every night we’d clean up by sweating in our wood-fired sauna and jumping in the lake.�� The end result: happy kids, sound sleep, and, finally, a little privacy for my parents.

Sweden’s Outdoor History: Why Access to Nature Has Mattered for Centuries

It’s no accident that Sweden, a country of only ten million has produced people like Greta Thunberg, Time magazine’s youngest-ever Person of the Year; companies like Icebug, an outdoor shoe manufacturer trying to re-envision its oil and chemical-intensive industry; Fjällräven, Sweden’s precursor to Patagonia; and even Ikea, whose CEO Jesper Brodin, pledged to take the world’s largest furniture retailer climate positive by 2030. His most recent step in 2023 was to replace fossil-fuel-derived glues with bio-based adhesives in products. In total, Sweden has 26 national authorities that work toward achieving environmental goals and eight more that monitor and evaluate those goals.

Swedes have had a robust relationship to nature since the days of the Vikings, who were sailing off to what is now Greenland around 980 A.D., half-millennia before Columbus reached The New World. In the centuries since, Carl Linnaeus, the 18th century botanist, zoologist, and physician formalized the modern system of naming organisms. He also laid the foundation for Sweden’s modern conservation ethos. In 1892,��Frilufsfrämjandet, the Swedish Outdoor Association, was founded in order to promote and protect Swedes’ constitutional Allemansrätten, or “right of public access,” which allows anyone to walk on any land, public or private, as long as the land is left the way it was before they arrived and nothing is destroyed. Today the Swedish Outdoor Association has 316 local clubs and 7,000 guides that offer adventures from hiking to biking to skiing to paddling to skating for all ages. And there’s still plenty of room to roam. Ninety-seven percent of the country is uninhabited and the 173,860-square-mile nation (slightly larger than California albeit with 28 million fewer people) has 30 national parks and 5,400 nature reserves.

It seems as if every major event in Swedish history resulted in prioritizing Swedes’ relationship with the outdoors. In 1905 when Norway dissolved its union with Sweden, the Swedes realized they had a long, mountainous border to defend against their former allies, who were legendarily good skiers. As a result, the government began programs that taught their populous to ski. And in 1938, after a period of rapid industrialization, the government legislated a mandatory two weeks of summer vacation for everyone, which expanded to three weeks in 1958, which expanded to 25 days in 1977. (Time will tell how��Sweden’s newly minted NATO membership signed on March 7 will affect the country’s neutrality, a central part of their citizens’ DNA for eons—there has been no major conflict on Swedish soil since Napoleonic times.)

“People needed something to do with all this spare time, and hiking, fishing and camping became common,” says Cajsa Rännar of the Swedish Outdoor Association. “Sweden was not a rich country at this time and most people had little or no money to spare, so traveling was out of the question for most. Being outside was a lot of fun at low or no cost.”

To outfit all of these outdoor-loving folks, a Swedish Army paratrooper Åke Nordin started experimenting on his mother’s sewing machine in Örnsköldsvik, an industrial city of pulp and paper mills on the Gulf of Bothnia.�� He made packs from heavy cotton canvas and attached them to a wooden frame. In 1950, he created Fjällräven, whose ethos has been simplicity, sustainability, durability, and functionality for more than 70 years. Today everyone from Swedish schoolkids to Malaysian fashionistas commute with their Kånken backpack.

In 1968 it was Sweden that first suggested to the United Nations Economic and Social Council the possibility of having a UN conference that focuses on human interaction with the environment. The first conference, held in 1972 in Stockholm, focused on “stimulating and providing guidelines for action by national government and international organizations facing environmental issues.”

In 1989 Karl-Henrik Robert, a renowned Swedish cancer scientist founded “The Natural Step,” a framework that lays out the conditions required for a sustainable society. Robert received permission from the king of Sweden to circulate his framework to households, schools, businesses, media, and organizations. His template was a way for Sweden—from individuals to corporations—to plan for strategic, sustainable development, which is the model still used by companies like Icebug. In a , Roberts explains his system this way: “You cannot plan ahead if you don’t know what you want for the future.”

In 2017, Sweden announced its plan to become the first ever fossil-free welfare society in the world, reaching net-zero emissions by 2045 at the latest. The country is well on its way. In 2023, it was tied for number one (with neighbor Finland) out of 150 countries assessed on the independent , a tool that assesses a country’s investment risks and opportunities based on 40 indicators across environment, social welfare, and governance. (The US is ranked 40.) And for the past ten years, Sweden has been among the top ten in the global from Columbia and Yale Universities for exceptionally clean air and water and low emissions.

Stockholm, the capital, is one of Europe’s climate-smartest cities according to , and Gothenburg—26 percent of which is wooded—has been named the world’s most sustainable city for the seventh year in a row by the , thanks to electrified trains, more than 90 percent eco-certified hotels, a clean harbor, and accessibility for walkers and cyclists.

Living Sweden’s Free-Air Life

After my final eye-doctor appointment four years ago, my cousin Ulrika and I celebrated with a walk through the forest surrounding , a palatial 18th century estate on the outskirts of Gothenburg. It was full of Saturday joggers, kids orienteering through the woods on their mountain bikes, and multigenerational families out to enjoy the fresh air and eventually end up, as we did, at the Kaffehus och Krog, a restaurant that has a pastry case filled with decadent sweets. In an effort to eat like a Swede, I chose one small chocolate cupcake and it tasted divine while eating at a picnic table under the sun.

The Swedes’ saying “Lagom är bäst” (in essence: everything in moderation) goes a long way toward explaining their relationship to sustainability and the outdoors. ��As David Ecklund, founder of Icebug explains it: “You have to take responsibility if you make products. First of all, you have to create products that people really need. The next phase is making them so that people wear them as long as possible, so they have to be durable, sustainable, comfortable, and don’t look dated after a year or two. Then you have to minimize the impact of the product after it’s finished—how much do you have to wash it? How long will it be until it ends up in a landfill?”

To make getting outside easier to do for its employees, Icebug rehabbed an old factory on the outskirts of Gothenburg that is a two-minute walk to the trails. Three times per week, the company closes down for an hour per day of paid time so that employees can take off to the forest to hike, run, or walk together.

“Swedish society is unique in that it all comes back to people getting together and doing things outside. It’s not necessarily about big adventure, but that feeling that you are a part of nature,” says Ecklund.

That’s exactly the philosophy Jerry Engström used when he left his position as marketing manager of Fjällräven to start his new endeavor, FriluftsByn, or “The Outdoor Village,” in the heart of a World Heritage site, the Höga Kusten, or High Coast, a land of steep granite cliffs and rocky islands that runs 66 miles along the Gulf of Bothnia coast and includes the old-growth spruce forests of Skuleskogen National Park.

The luxurious, yet rustic village, composed of cottages, chic tiny homes, and a tent and RV-camping area, surround a gathering place with multiple fire pits, a stage for live music, and two restaurants, one at the top of a mountain, with outdoor tables topped by flowers. Its dreamy Scandinavian aesthetic is Instagramable from every possible angle.�� The compound sits at the base of a 1,000-foot mountain, where trails link up to the 85-mile-long High Coast Trail; and next to a small lake, perfect for SUPing, saunaing, and swimming. Five minutes away is a sheltered bay in the Gulf of Bothnia, an ideal launch pad for a paddling trip on the 18-mile High Coast Kayaking Trail and Via Ferrata Skuleberget, a climbing area with four routes of varying difficulty up 1,000-foot peak Skuleberget. At the top is a restaurant with 360-degree views of ocean, forests, and sky.

The access to communal outdoor activity at FriluftsByn is unparalleled, but Engström wants to take outdoor living to the next level, using his compound to, as he says, “contribute to a new 21st century outdoor movement.”

“Places like this have values that city centers cannot provide,” Engström explained to me in an email after my trip. But, he adds, “we do not intend to share only teaching the names of plants or birds.” Instead, Engström envisions FriluftsByn to be a place to “showcase that nature is a root of creative output that can take the form of architecture festivals, song-writing camps, and other creative opportunities that allow his guests to, as Engstrom says, “feel human again.”

I’m more solitary in my wilderness pursuits and was at first tepid at the thought of hanging out with a few hundred strangers for a long weekend. But I spent four days at FriluftsByn one September a few years ago, kayaking, hiking, dancing to live music, and eating breakfast in the chilly outdoors around a campfire talking with whoever came my way. And while, like every introvert, I needed to duck for cover into my sheepskin-rug-strewn tiny home at around ten every night,�� I spent most days energized by the positive energy of all the Swedes, most of them wearing multi-hued Fjällräven hiking pants, who were having the time of their lives building fires from wood shavings, goofing around on paddleboards down at the lake, and taking off at sunset for hikes to the moonlit summit of Skuleberget. FriluftByn’s simple, clean, elegant digs surrounding a communal gathering area with healthy food and ample beer, were facilitating something larger than a mere camping experience or outdoor music festival. It was more akin to a spiritual gathering.

The Joy and Ease of Public Access in Sweden

After my three-week recovery, the weekend before I flew home, my cousin Ulrika, her husband Roger, and I set out on a day-long adventure that they had planned for the three of us. It was a simple outdoor epic, but it didn’t take me long to realize that I couldn’t have replicated it at home because the right of public access doesn’t exist in the U.S. and, had we tried it there, we would have inevitably run into private property or a fence or a salivating guard dog.

From their house in a bucolic bedroom community on the sea that sits roughly halfway between Gothenburg and Varberg on Sweden’s west coast, Roger drove ten miles through town and parked the Volvo at the public lot next to a beach.�� Then the three of us started walking on the sand north and west toward their home. The morning was sunny and cool. We passed sleek glass houses and classic red Swedish cottages, unified by their Swedish flags flapping in the breeze. We kept walking along the sea, passing one neighborhood after another, all of which had a community sauna, some with smoke puffing out of the chimney, and a marina, where locals moored their wooden cruisers or sailboats. The farther north we walked, the wilder the terrain became. At Nasbokrok nature reserve, the beaches got rockier—a good point to regroup and stop for fika, with hot coffee from a thermos and thin and lacy sugar cookies Ulrika had made from scratch. After the sugar infusion we resumed our quest, jumping across large boulders and crevasses, laughing and route-finding our way back home, caught up in the simple joy of being outside together.

Almost five years have passed since that trip to Sweden. I still get queasy when I think about how close I came to losing my eyesight. But the gift I received during that month was even greater than a restored left eye. I was also given renewed vision for how I want to live.

�����ԹϺ��� contributing editor Stephanie Pearson has been to more countries than we can count and loves a good Sven-and-Ole joke.

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For the past two decades, Dan Buettner��has traveled the world gathering the wisdom of the world’s longest-living centenarians. The result is seven books for National Geographic on longevity and happiness, the most recent, The Blue Zones Secrets for Living Longer, published in 2023; the Netflix documentary Live to 100: Secrets of the Blue Zones, which claimed the number three spot shortly after its debut in August; and the Blue Zones diet, whose guidelines have inspired millions of people to eat more beans.

Before he became an oracle, Buettner, who is 63, rode his bike from Alaska to Argentina, around the planet, and across Africa, setting three Guinness World Records. Then he became my boss. In September 2000, Buettner convinced eight of us, including archaeologists, biologists, photographers, videographers, and writers, to cross the Australian outback on bicycles while on a mission to solve the mystery behind the��, which Australia’s Indigenous people believe are routes, or land markers, to their ancestors. We interviewed knowledgeable experts and tasted staple foods like witchetty grubs, and beamed our discoveries via satellite to schoolkids following our adventure in real time.

During that six-week quest, however, our lifestyle was the antithesis of one that would ensure a long life. We ate gas station junk food, stayed up until dawn squinting at computer screens, and downed shots of tequila to soothe frayed nerves and celebrate milestones. Months later our team drove through Mexico and Guatemala for another six weeks, this time trying to solve the mystery behind the collapse of the Maya civilization. Had Buettner not shifted his focus to finding the world’s longest-living people, our hard-charging life might have killed us all. But it sure was fun.

In 2009, I wrote a story for �����ԹϺ��� as his Blue Zones project started gathering steam worldwide. Buettner is on an ever-evolving quest, but today his lifestyle habits are comparatively monk-like, aligning more closely with his Blue Zones findings. “When you marinate in this stuff, you start to taste like it,” he joked when I spoke with him recently, adding that he abides by 90 percent of what he’s learned (although the Blue Zones diet frowns upon over-imbibing, he did confess to ringing in the New Year with one shot of very fine tequila).

As the result of the Blue Zones and books like , by Peter Attia with Bill Gifford, and , by David Sinclair, more and more travelers are seeking the fountain of youth. Wellness tourism reached $651 billion in 2022, according to the , and international wellness tourists spent $1,746 per trip that same year—41 percent more than a typical international tourist.

For those who want to travel to the original Blue Zones instead of couching it through the Netflix series, we tapped Buettner’s experience on how to soak up the centuries of health and wellness wisdom found in these five places. Then��we added our own adventurous �����ԹϺ��� twist for each destination.

Why Are the Blue Zones So Healthy?

In the early 2000s, the awarded Buettner a grant to identify the world’s longest-living populations and learn their lessons. Independent from Buettner’s work, demographer Michel Poulain and medical statistician Gianni Pes identified Sardinia, Italy, as the region with the highest concentrations of male centenarians. In 2004,��they published in the Journal of Experimental Gerontology��identifying the region as a “blue zone.” (Pes used blue ink to denote villages of exceptional longevity, hence the name.)�� Buettner eventually partnered with Poulain and Pes, and extended the Blue Zones attribution to four additional longevity epicenters around the globe, eventually identifying nine common lifestyle habits found in every one.�� He calls these lessons the (outlined below).

“People in the Blue Zones don’t do any of the stuff that is relentlessly marketed to Americans,” such as eating junk food and going to a gym or a spa, says Buettner. It’s not that people in Blue Zones have better genes, he adds, “it’s that their day-to-day unconscious decisions are appreciably better.” And that adds up over decades to more than eight years of additional life expectancy. “Blue Zones has become a movement to change our environment, so we mindlessly make better decisions about our health, and that’s what works,” says Buettner.

Blue Zones Map: Where in the World Are They?

As you can see from the Blue Zones on this map, all five fall in middle latitudes with temperate climates. Additionally, says Buettner, “Blue Zones are always hill people. They are not coastal. These cultures “grew beans and grains and garden greens and tubers, and brilliant women over the course of 100 generations got really good at making this food taste gorgeously delicious.”

The Five Blue Zones are:

The Nicoya Peninsula, Costa Rica: The residents of some of the mountainous villages of this Pacific coastal peninsula are twice as likely as Americans to reach a healthy age of 90.
Okinawa, Japan: Located 400 miles south of the Kyushu (the country’s southwesternmost main island), this 463-sqare-mile destination is home to the oldest women in the world.
Ikaria, Greece: Less than 100 square miles, residents of this tiny north Aegean island live eight years longer than Americans, have half the rate of heart disease of Americans, and almost no dementia.
Loma Linda, California: This bedroom community of Los Angeles is a bedrock for many Seventh Day Adventists who view their health as an integral part of their faith.
Sardinia, Italy: The island’s eastern Ogliastra and Nuoro provinces have the greatest concentration of male centenarians in the world.

The 9 Healthy-Living Principles of the Blue Zones

“Only 25 percent of how long you live is dictated by genes. The other 75 percent is something else,” says Buettner. Given that information, Buettner reasoned that if he could isolate the places where people lived the longest without disease, and then find common denominators between each place, that “ought to be something to pay attention to.” The following are the commonalities he’s coined the Power 9.

• Move Naturally: The world’s longest-living people don’t pump iron or go to a gym. They live in environments that constantly nudge them to move naturally, as in working in a garden or walking uphill to visit a neighbor.
• Purpose: Whether it’s called ikigai in Okinawa or plan de vida in Nicoya, Blue Zones residents have a reason to wake up every morning.
• Downshift: Each Blue Zone has a daily routine that diminishes stress; in Sardinia, one such option is happy hour, and in Ikaria that may mean an afternoon nap.
• 80 Percent Rule: Okinawans recite a 2,500-year-old Confucian mantra before mealtimes, “Hara hachi bu,” reminding them to stop eating when their stomach feels 80 percent full. Also, in the Blue Zones, people eat their smallest meal in the early evening and then stop eating until the next day.
• Plant Slant: Beans are the foundation of most centenarian diets. Meat—mostly pork in the Blue Zones—is eaten only five times per month on average, and one portion is three to four ounces, about the size of a deck of cards.
• Wine at Five: People in every Blue Zone except Loma Linda drink alcohol moderately and regularly, which means one to two glasses per day, consumed with friends and food. Sardinian Cannonnau (known elsewhere as grenache), a robust regional red varietal, has three to four times the antioxidant and anti-inflammatory flavonoids of other wines.
• Belong: All but five of the 263 centenarians Buettner and his team interviewed belonged to a faith-based community. Denomination doesn’t seem to matter.
• Loved Ones First: Successful centenarians in Blue Zones put their families first. They keep their aging parents or grandparents nearby or at home, commit to a life partner, and invest in their children with time and love.
• Right Tribe: Blue Zones centenarians were born into or choose social circles that support healthy behaviors. In Okinawa, they create moais, a group of five friends committed to each other for life.

�����ԹϺ���’s Ultimate Travel��Guide to the Blue Zones

Some Blue Zones are more amenable to mainstream travelers than others, says Buettner. In the two decades since he began to research these five destinations, some have changed dramatically. In Okinawa, for example, U.S. military bases have brought increasing numbers of fast-food restaurants to the island, and many of the original centenarians Buettner interviewed have died. But there are still idyllic pockets in each place where travelers can glean the wisdom and lifestyle of its residents.

Before you book plane tickets, heed Buettner’s advice: “If you’re the type of traveler who likes to meet the locals, are not in a hurry, are intellectually curious, and don’t mind staying in a rustic place to really absorb the culture, the Blue Zones are nice places to go. But if you’d rather party, get a massage, and order room service, go elsewhere.”

Nicoya Peninsula, Costa Rica

“The gateway destination for the Blue Zones is the Nicoya Peninsula,” says Buettner. “It’s an easy place to start, because you can book a nice hotel, do a yoga class, eat good food, and meet health-minded people.”

Although it’s an hour away from the nearest official Blue Zone, Buettner recommends staying in Nosara.�� The resort town is lined with five idyllic beaches and outdoor activities��that spiral out in every direction. The real Blue Zones, where the centenarians live, however, are the small villages in the mountains above the ocean, like Hojancha and Nicoya, less than 40 miles northeast by road.

Where to �����ԹϺ���: Nosara is the perfect oasis for beginner and intermediate surfers, thanks to consistent year-round waves with clean breaks. You can also enjoy mountain biking and hiking in the tropical forest, Pacific fishing charters, and yoga everywhere.

Where to Stay: Buettner recommends the brand-new , which opened January 25 steps from four-mile-long Playa Guiones, one of the most beautiful beaches in Costa Rica. Each of its nine plush private residences has a fully equipped kitchen and other amenities like private barrel saunas. Above is a rooftop bar lining an infinity pool. Buettner will be speaking at the hotel on February 2, but if you miss him, there are plenty of other distractions. Silvestre also offers a studio with a range of wellness classes including yoga, boxing, breath work, tai chi, and movement options for kids and teens.�� Three-night minimum stay, from $960 per night

The has been a family-run community hub for the past 40 years. More recently it added a surf school, guided hiking and mountain-biking outings. Additionally, the hotel can arrange a custom tour of the nearby Blue Zones with local Spanish-speaking guides—because the centenarians don’t speak English. Airy rooms accommodate two to six people. From $276 per night in the low season (May, and September through October) and from $480 per night in the high season (November 1 to December 19, and January 6 to March 31)

Where to Eat: Buettner recommends heading to one of the original Blue Zone villages to eat a casado breakfast, a word that translates to a “marriage,” in this case between fresh corn tortillas and beans. “Until the year 2000 or so, that was 80 percent of these villages’ caloric intake,” says Buettner. He also recommends stopping at a roadside fruit stand to stock up on mangoes, papayas, guavas, “and all these wonderful fruits that grow in their gardens like weeds.” In Nosara, Soda Rosie’s also serves casados. Expats hang out at the Destiny Café, known for its smoothie bowls, avocado toast, and organic roasted “cloud” coffee with fresh coconut milk.

Ikaria, Greece

“Ikaria is my personal favorite, because I know and love the people,” Buettner told me, adding that rooms in the guest house where he always stays are still affordable, there’s great hiking on the island, and you’re still likely to meet a longevity all-star. “When I started coming here, it wasn’t known, but today you will sit down with people from Israel, Australia, Italy—all over the world.”

Where to �����ԹϺ���: This�� island in the Aegean Sea has been off the beaten path since it was first inhabited in the sixth century B.C. There are rugged mountain paths for hiking—you’ll be sharing them with goat and sheep herders—a growing sport-climbing and bouldering scene, and incredible beaches that require not insignificant descents. On Messakti Beach, which beckons with a sandy-bottom break and gentle waves, is a one-stop shop offering daily surf and SUP lessons, as well as�� rentals and yoga on the beach. For an insiders’ view of the interior, sign up for a trek with , whose local guides who know the inland paths like the back of their hand.

Where to Stay: Buettner always boards at , in the northwestern village of Nas. The owners, Thea and Ilias Parikos, are dear friends of his. The inn “has a gorgeous deck overlooking the Aegean, and the family gets most of their food from an enormous garden right next door.” Plus, notes Buettner, “Thea herself will always sit down and talk to you.” Beyond the familial vibe and incredible food (some of her recipes can be found in the Blue Zone Solution cookbook), the property is directly above one of the island’s best beaches. Choose from one of five rustic rooms, each with personal bathrooms and French doors that open to a private balcony overlooking the sea, plus a small refrigerator for storing fresh herbs foraged on a hike. Time your visit for Thea’s cultural-immersion retreat, designed to teach guests how to incorporate the Blue Zones’ Power 9 habits into their daily lives. From $33

Where to Eat: It will be difficult to find better meals and views than the restaurant terrace of Thea’s Inn. She and her staff serve Ikarian specialties like soufiko and bean stew, a version of ratatouille, the vegetables of which “will likely have been in the garden five hours earlier,” says Buettner. Another beautiful spot Buettner recommends is , run by George and Eleni Karimalis, who work with grapes from a revived 500-year-old vineyard. “They have great cooking classes and make a very satisfactory wine,” says Buettner.

Sardinia, Italy

Sardinia’s Ogliastra and Nuoro provinces are worth the travel time. “It’s a road trip to get there,” says Buettner, but the cluster of five villages—Arzana, Talana, Baunei, Urzulei, and Triei are the most picturesque. Seulo, farther south, is home to the highest concentration of centenarians.

Where to �����ԹϺ���: Test yourself on the 33-mile Selvaggio Blu route, seen in the video below. It starts near the coastal town of Santa Maria Navaresse, involves sketchy scrambling and via ferratas, has jaw-dropping views of the cliffs and Tyrrhenian Sea, and is dubbed the toughest trek in Italy. offers a less extreme option with its seven-day Wild Blue Zone Trek (not affiliated with Buettner’s Blue Zones), where you’ll explore the 25-mile-long Orosei coastline, hiking to unexplored beaches, on narrow rocky trails along white sea cliffs, and spending two nights on a private boat anchored in cerulean waters. The tough limestone in Nuoro also makes it one of the premier sport-climbing destinations in Italy, with slabs, steep walls, and wicked overhangs.

Where to Stay: Santa Maria Navaresse, while not in the official Blue Zone, is a “nice seaside town with decent restaurants,” says Buettner. Base yourself there and you’re less than 20 miles from the nearest Blue Zone of Arzana. , a family-run, 12-room hotel, sits 150 feet from the beach and near an 11th-century church next to a thousand-year-old grove of olive trees. With free beach towels and umbrellas and sunbeds available, the beach of Santa Maria Navarrese is an extension of the hotel. From $178

Where to Eat: According to Buettner, to experience a true Blue Zones meal, you’ll need to be invited into the home of a local, because restaurants in these villages cater to special events like birthday parties and, as a result, “the menu looks like a roasted petting zoo, with goat and piglet”—more celebratory foods than staples. The Nascar hotel’s restaurant menu is more seafood heavy than a traditional Blue Zones diet, but the red prawns are freshly caught.

Okinawa, Japan

“Okinawa as a Blue Zone is gone. The only vestiges of it are the oldest people. You have to be a committed traveler to find them and also need to hire a guide, because nobody speaks English,” says Buettner. Sadly, the island now has the highest rate of obesity in Japan, largely due to the fast food introduced with the creation of the U.S. military bases. It may be lost as a Blue Zone, but Okinawa still has pockets of beauty, with stunning waterfalls, white-sand beaches, and dreamy resorts on the outer islands.

Where to �����ԹϺ���: The Yanbaru region, which includes on the main island of Okinawa, was designated a Unesco World Natural Heritage site in 2021. Its name translates to “densely forested mountains,” and�� its lush forests and limestone peaks make for incredible sightseeing. Hike to 75-foot-high Hiji waterfall, the highest on the island, paddle the Gesashi Bay Mango Forest, and camp near off-the-beaten-path beaches. There’s also an incredible undersea world off some of Okinawa’s satellite islands, like Ishigaki, where you can snorkel among healthy coral reefs, dive with manta rays, and soak up some vitamin D.

Where to Stay: In Yanbaru, the whimsical accommodations at the boast 360-degree views of the sub-tropical evergreens, and offer a symphony of bird sounds along with a sauna for increased relaxation. (From $826 per night for up to six people.) On Ishigaki, the lines a half-mile long, sugar-sand beach. With 17 room and villa types surrounded by subtropical gardens, and activities on offer from resort diving courses to swimming off remote islands, there’s plenty of space to find privacy. From $147��

Where to Eat: Buettner recommends in the seaside village of Ogimi, which relies on the same seasonal vegetables that have been harvested from nearby fields for centuries. Because of its popularity and authenticity, reservations are required.

Loma Linda, California

“Loma Linda is a very hard Blue Zone to see, because it’s about residents’ Adventist lifestyle—no drinking, no smoking, a 24-hour Sabbath, and church on Saturday morning,” says Buettner of the 9,000 Seventh Day Adventists who live here. But it’s possible to live the Loma Linda lifestyle for at least a day, then retire to nearby Palm Springs, 50 miles southeast on I-10, for further adventure.

Where to �����ԹϺ���: Do as the Loma Lindans do and spend a day at the University of Loma Linda’s , a one-stop shop for fitness classes, aquatics, nutrition classes, and, of course, a wicked game of pickleball.

Where to Stay: , in Palm Springs, offers a respite from the world. Set on 1.5 acres, two historic villas were combined to create a lush Mediterranean-and-Moroccan-themed oasis of bungalows, guesthouses, gardens and pools. Wake up with a yoga class, head to the Tahquitz Canyon for a short, rigorous, sweaty hike to a 60-foot waterfall, then return to lounge poolsidethe rest of the day. From $220

Where to Eat: Being in one of the world’s five Blue Zones, claims to have the largest vegan and vegetarian meat selections in Southern California. It also has treats like gluten-free, vegan, chocolate peanut butter cupcakes.

�����ԹϺ��� contributing editor and 2023 National Geographic Explorer Stephanie Pearson lives in northern Minnesota and gives herself a solid B average when it comes to maintaining the Power 9.

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If you’ve never tried it, we’re here to tell you that sleeping outside in the winter is way more fun than it sounds. Today’s winter bags are constructed like mobile sleep spas: Our three favorites for 2024 are so technical and luxurious that they outpuff the comforters at most five-star hotels. With water-repellant outer fabrics and silky, breathable interior liners that keep damp—and stink—at bay, cozy hoods that cradle your noggin on a billowy pile of down, and roomy-yet-swaddling mummy shapes, these three bags put our testers into deep hibernation, even when temps dropped below zero. The challenge was waking up the next morning to face the cold.

The Winners at a Glance

• Most Versatile: NEMO Sonic Down Mummy
• Most Comfortable: Feathered Friends Widgeon ES -10 (men’s), Arctic Finch -10 (women’s)
• Best Expedition Bag: Therm-a-Rest Polar Ranger -20

The Reviews: The Best Winter Sleeping Bags of 2024

Most Versatile: NEMO Sonic Down Mummy ($600)

Weight: 3 lb, 4 oz (Regular)
Size: Short, Regular, Long
Pros:

• Great temperature regulation

Cons:

• Small top vent zipper pulls
• Tiny exterior pocket

The Sonic mountaineering mummy was already Minnesota-based tester Patrick Greehan’s go-to bag for winter camping. And that was before NEMO gave it a significant upgrade last year, improving its ability to adjust to varying temperatures, giving it greater warmth retention, and making it more sustainable. We’re happy to report that over three campouts, nestled in a bivvy sack atop multiple feet of packed snow in northern Minnesota, with temperatures that ranged from three to 20 degrees Fahrenheit, Greehan slept better than ever before.

The most notable upgrade for Greehan was the bag’s redesigned “Thermo Gills,” the two vents on top of the bag that can be opened or closed to regulate body temperature. The improved gills, which run vertically down the top half of the bag, now have internal and external zippers that work independently of each other to more finely tune ventilation and comfort. On the 20-degree nights when he fully unzipped, he was able to prevent himself from overheating. On the three-degree nights, he remained in that same comfort zone by zipping them back up.

To improve warmth retention, NEMO redesigned the draft tube along the side zipper and added a velcro tab to the draft collar to keep cold air from sneaking in. New chevron-shaped baffles hold the 800-fill power hydrophobic down in place and provide more uniform lofting. As a back and side sleeper, Greehan was able to snooze in both positions with no cold spots. A layer of synthetic insulation in the toebox protected the down from wetting out, a common occurrence at the bottom of a bag.

To complete the overhaul, NEMO updated the shell and liner fabrics, using plush, 100-percent recycled, bluesign-approved nylon for the shell and a silky, 100-percent recycled polyester for the liner.

Other exceptional features? The roominess of the hood, which Greeham could cinch tightly if needed, the bag’s excellent packability—it scrunches down to an XXL roll of paper towels despite an only average weight—and a robust zipper that never got caught up on the lining.

Bottom Line: With its versatile temperature range, solid construction, and impressive packability, the NEMO Sonic Down Mummy is the only winter bag most of us will ever need.

Most Comfortable: Feathered Friends Widgeon ES -10 ($889)

Weight: 3 lb, 2 oz (Regular)
Size: Regular, Long
Pros:

• Extremely warm and comfortable

Cons:

• Narrow footbox

The Widgeon cocooned our testers in so much warmth and silky comfort that they could have happily hibernated all day. Already a frigid-weather favorite, the handmade-in-Seattle bag—originally designed for a K2 expedition back in the ’80s—received a major facelift this year. Feathered Friends added three additional ounces of responsibly-sourced 900-fill power goose-down. That down is sandwiched between a gossamer 10-denier nylon Pertex taffeta lining made from PFC-free recycled yarns and a water-resistant, breathable Pertex nylon shell with a DWR coating. The collar and hood keep your face snug, warm, and protected (but not claustrophobic) thanks to a gradually contoured cut. It can be cinched nearly all the way closed using a nylon cord that runs around the perimeter of the top of the bag.

With all that plush comfort, one might think the bag would sleep too hot. But even when camping in late March, Duluth-based tester Brian Hayden and category manager Stephanie Pearson never overheated while cowboy camping in temps that ranged from 15 to 28 degrees—balmy compared to its negative ten degree rating. The reason? An additional Pertex nylon panel over the top of the bag vastly improves its breathability and venting. That Pertex layer blocks moisture, too: Despite waking up to a thick layer of hoar frost, they stayed dry in their bags, even as the morning sun warmed their tent.

Additional small-but-mighty upgrades include a second sidewall to ensure even insulation all around the circumference of the bag; more streamlined internal construction that cuts weight despite the extra down, and a generous draft tube to stop cold air from seeping through the zipper. That might sound like splitting hairs, but every warmth-preserving measure matters when you’re winter camping—especially on the flanks of K2. And, for a bag so lofty, it packs down impressively to the size of a 64-ounce beer growler.

Bottom Line: The Widgeon’s warmth-to-comfort-to-weight ratio is exceptional for nights in the zero-degree range.

Best Expedition Bag: Therm-a-Rest Polar Ranger -20 ($790)

Weight: 3 lb, 4 oz. (Regular)
Size: Regular, Long
Pros:

• Side zips for venting and hand-use

Cons:

• Three-quarter zipper is hard to get in and out of for taller sleepers

The Polar Ranger was one of the best expedition bags on the market when it came out in 2018 thanks to polar explorer Eric Larson, who helped design the mummy for its natural environment. The result was a pioneering three-quarter length zipper straight up the middle to cut weight and increase warmth. Zippered side vents made it possible not only to dump heat, but also sit up, shoot your arms out, and do anything from write in a journal to fiddle with a sat phone. “In an expedition situation, every ounce of energy saved is key,” Larson explained over email. “After spending years of my life in a sleeping bag, I found full length zippers unnecessary in most situations.”

But the Polar Ranger wasn’t without its imperfections. The newest iteration comes with a slew of upgrades that make the bag even more livable. A fresh, 100-percent recycled DWR-coated nylon ripstop shell and a buttery-smooth 100-percent recycled nylon liner are silky to the touch. The newer version is also slightly larger in both length and girth after feedback from the field that the bag was too tight with heavy winter layers on. A redesigned snorkel hood is stiffer and shorter, too, which means improved breathing and ventilation, with a magnetic closure that makes it easy to break free in case of a claustrophobia emergency. Small but critical details? An added internal drawcord in the draft collar for cinching the bag around the neck and shoulders, and an internal pocket for keeping small electronics warm.

Our testers found the 800-fill hydrophobic down bag up to the task of keeping them warm on a -10 degree overnights with lots of wind in Minnesota’s Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. “I used the arm holes way more than I thought I would,” reported Minnesota-based tester Hansi Johnson who, as a side sleeper, was also impressed with the roominess of the bag and how it maintained its loft on all sides as well as on the back. The snorkel hood, on the other hand, took a little getting used to. “It felt claustrophobic at first, but it kept moisture off my face. I was so warm I tossed my Buff.”

Bottom Line: If you have an Arctic expedition or winter mountaineering project in your future, this is the bag to take along.

How to Buy

As a general rule, men tend to run hotter and women tend to run colder—although, as with anything, there is a spectrum. Throw in varying sleeping positions, body shapes, and sizes, and it’s quickly evident that while some bags offer superior materials and design, there’s not one magic winter bag that works for all. To find the one that will work best for you, here are four things to consider that keep you from investing a significant chunk of change in the wrong bag.

Intended Use

Are you purpose-buying the bag for a specific mission like Eric Larson’s 14-day or to climb Denali? If so, you’ll need one with an excellent warmth-to-weight ratio that will be relatively easy to haul, yet keep you warm enough in potentially life-threatening situations. Or do you intend to use it on shorter missions like weekend ice-fishing jaunts into Minnesota’s Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness? In that case, you’ll likely be hauling a sled and will have fewer size and weight restraints. Or maybe you need an ultralight bag for a winter bikepacking trip that you can strap to your handlebars and only use in case of an emergency. Whatever the reason for buying the bag, think through the logistics of the journey and how that will affect the size, weight, and warmth of the bag you want to buy.

Insulation

Down bags are generally warmer for their weight and more compressible than bags with synthetic insulation. But if down bags get wet, they lose insulating capacity and take longer to dry out than synthetic bags. Many manufacturers use down processed with a hydrophobic chemical that prevents it from absorbing as much water. Others keep the insulation dry with a water-repellant finish or fabric. Pay attention to fill power. That number measures the volume taken up by the amount of down in your sleeping bag; the more loft your sleeping bag has, the more efficiently it will trap warm air. It will also weigh less and pack down smaller than bags with a lower fill power rated to the same temperature. Synthetic bags are more affordable, and therefore an excellent choice for new campers who are unsure how often they want to sleep outside, or backpackers who are headed to wet environments.

Shape

Most winter bags are mummy bags or modified mummy bags. Traditional mummies have a hood that gently tapers into the bag, is wide at the shoulders and narrows all the way to the footbox. Mummies are great for winter because they minimize dead space inside the bag and help keep you warmer by giving air less space to circulate. Some people find them cozy and cocoon-like, others find them claustrophobic.

For claustrophobes, a modified mummy comes in handy. While it’s generally tapered like a mummy, it’s cut more loosely in certain areas. Some offer slightly flared footboxes to give your toes more room, while others are wider in the body to accommodate side sleeping. Some have hoods that gently taper into the bag, others have removal hoods.

Temperature Rating

All bags on the market have EN (European Norm) or ISO (International Standards Organization) ratings, which is a standardized, independent test across manufacturers. The most commonly used since 2017 is the ISO rating. Note: ISO stops rating at -20C/-4 F, which means your -20 degree bag may require a test run before you head into truly frigid conditions.

With these standards, most sleeping bag manufacturers use a sliding range of temperatures for which a bag can be used. The “Comfort Range” is roughly the temperature range at which the average female will remain warm. The “Lower Limit” is the temperature range at which the average male can remain comfortable. This Lower Limit number is the temperature rating of the bag. That being said, your temperature tolerance will depend on much more than your gender, so it’s always best to err on the conservative side. Some bags offer a “Risk” range, which indicates the lowest temperature in which the bag should be used. At this temperature, the bag might not prevent hypothermia, but it may prevent death. It’s always best to buy a bag rated ten degrees colder than the average temperatures you intend to use it in. For example, if you plan to camp in conditions no colder than 10 degrees, you’ll want a 0-degree bag.

How We Test

Given the increasingly wild weather swings we’ve experienced from climate change in the last few years, we gave our testers—who were spread out between northern Arizona, Minnesota, and Norway—as much true winter time as possible. We started testing in mid-January and wrapped up the process in mid-April. During that 90-day window, temperatures swung from -20 to a freak 70-degree thaw. Northern Minnesota and northern Arizona had record snow years, which meant wintery wind gusts and white on the ground long after the calendar told us it was officially spring.

Each bag was sent to category manager Stephanie Pearson for testing before heading off to secondary testers around the globe. One tester took his kid ice fishing in Minnesota’s Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in January. Another went to Lillehammer, Norway for a late winter camping trip. Others spread their testing out over the course of the three months, bikepacking and sleeping out in their backyards to catch frequent aurora borealis sightings.

After the season was up, Pearson gathered the data, compared notes, and picked the winners.

• Number of Testers: 6
• Number of Nights Slept �����ԹϺ���: 20
• Coldest Night: -20
• Warmest Night: 50
• Highest Latitude Tested: 61°6’54.5″N (Lillehammer, Norway)

Meet Our Lead Testers

Stephanie Pearson has winter camped at Mount Everest Base Camp, in the Swedish Arctic, and in northern Minnesota. A fitful sleeper, she often gets better rest outside in a bag than in her own bed.

Hansi Johnson is a lifelong backcountry camper. His go-to winter spot is the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness to camp, ski, and fish. Johnson works for the Minnesota Land Trust advocating for Minnesota’s Natural spaces. He lives in Thomson, Minnesota with his wife Margaret and his son Tae.

Ian Derauf spent a year studying at a Norwegian Folk School based in Tromsø, where he learned the art of survival in the Arctic. He recently graduated from St. Olaf College and is headed to Sitka, Alaska, where his warm winter bag will come in handy.

Chloe Leege, a recent graduate of Duluth East High School, competed on the Duluth Devo Mountain Bike team for six years and is an aspiring bikepacker. She will attend Northland College, an environmentally focused liberal arts school in Ashland, Wisconsin, in the fall.

Patrick Greehan is an assistant coach for the Duluth Devo Mountain Bike Program. He currently races gravel, mountain, and fat bikes with a focus on long distance and ultra events. He is an avid bikepacker who pedals year-round in Northern Minnesota.

Brian Hayden is the founder of the Duluth Devo Mountain Bike Program who has logged a few months in Antarctica in a former life. He’s a reluctant winter camper, but can sleep through just about anything.

The post The Best Winter Sleeping Bags of 2024 appeared first on �����ԹϺ��� Online.

In an era of escalating climate crises, crippling student debt, and an ongoing political war over women’s reproductive rights, it’s no wonder living child-free has become a movement, complete with its own set of. A 2021 Pew Research found that 44 percent of American non-parents aged 18 to 49 don’t think they will have children, up from 37 percent in 2018.

Being child-free hasn’t always been so openly accepted—in, the year I turned 30, only 28 percent of American women between the ages of 30 and 34 were childless. I felt no direct pressure from family or friends to have a baby, but I was also surrounded by subtle social cues that parenthood was the nobler path, even though having children wasn’t a choice I felt I had.

I grew up in the seventies and eighties when overpopulation was the looming existential threat. My parents had wanted a lot of kids, but out of concern for the planet they had three biological children and adopted two, a complex and sometimes painful dynamic.

By the time I was 30, I had separated from my husband of four years, I was still paying off graduate school debt, and I was struggling to make ends meet. Plus, I wanted to see the world. Having a kid in my situation seemed irresponsible, if not impossible.

Deciding whether or not to become a parent is deeply personal, which is why I’ve never felt compelled to write about my own experience. But I was excited to read Maria Coffey’s new book, in hopes that she would articulate emotions I’ve been carrying around for decades.

Coffey, who splits her time between British Columbia and Spain, is 71 years old and a hard-core traveler in the vein of her contemporaries Tim Cahill or Paul Theroux. She’s paddled a kayak all over the world; started the adventure travel company, Hidden Places, with her partner Dag Goering; and co-founded the non-profit Elephant Earth Initiative.

She’s also an award-winning author of 12 books. In 1989, seven years after Joe Tasker, the love of her young life, disappeared while trying to summit Mount Everest, Coffey wrote . She followed it up with , exploring what happens to the people left behind by tragedy through interviews with the world’s top climbers and the families of climbers who had died. It won a 2004 National Outdoor Book Award.

Coffey’s books are honest, full of inquiry, and beautifully written. But what intrigued me about Instead is the hard-earned wisdom: It’s one thing to proclaim the joys of a child-free life as a twenty- or thirty-something influencer. It’s another thing to examine that life as a septuagenarian facing old age without any biological offspring. Perspectives change as we age—was Coffey still happy with her decision?

“Yes I am,” Coffey told me in an email. But there are caveats. “It was only around my mid- sixties, when I realized others were seeing me as elderly, that I began to think about the reality of being old and child-free, and fear started creeping in. What happens to old child-free nomads when they get really �DZ���?”

With Instead, Coffey sets out to answer that question. In the process she offers readers a generous glimpse into her lifetime of wanderings, which makes her book feel like the best kind of old-school adventure travel yarn.

It begins with a Covid-era anecdote that would chill any traveler: While they’re living in Catalonia, Spain, Coffey’s husband Goering fails to return home after a routine e-bike ride. He’s crashed, destroyed a leg, and dragged himself more than a mile to the nearest country road, where he flags down a passing vehicle. Maria is on her own to navigate the complications of care and recovery in a foreign country during a pandemic.

The book then skips back in time to Coffey’s own precarious brush with death, a near drowning at age 21 off the coast of Morocco. She survives, barely: “I had been returned to life—but differently,” she writes. “The invincibility of youth had been stripped away. Underneath was a raw understanding of the fragility of existence. It was a knowledge that would impel me to chase my dreams and inform the biggest choices I was to make in the years ahead.”

The trouble, however, is that Coffey grew up in England and her Irish Catholic parents, who lived through World War II and only want peace and stability for their children, resist most of her choices. That sets her at odds with her mother, a woman she describes, in part, as “a fierce and controlling matriarch who branded guilt like a weapon.”

Coffey backpacks through Europe, staying in youth hostels, hitchhiking, and experimenting with drugs. Upon graduating from university, she tries to appease her parents, accepting a teaching position at a Liverpool high school, but longs for something “bigger and exciting” and soon quits that job to follow her boyfriend to Peru. That relationship blows up and Coffey returns to Manchester, which leads her to a new circle of friends and to Tasker, who disappears on Mount Everest 30 months into their relationship. His death sets off three years of despair, inspires Coffey’s first book, and fuels her exodus to Canada.

In Canada, Coffey falls in love with Goering, a veterinarian five years her junior who wants five children. His wish forces her to face her fears around motherhood that “are rooted in loss,” she writes. After Tasker’s death, she writes: “I understood there was no way to defend oneself against such pain, except not to love so deeply….No matter how I tried to rationalize it, the thought of having a child, of opening myself up to the possibility of the worst kind of bereavement, terrified me.”

The couple delay their decision to have kids and instead set off around the world on a tandem kayaking journey. The years tick off as they survive many near-misses while paddling, Goering’s cerebral malaria in the Solomon Islands, and a riot in Kenya. They start an adventure travel company to feed their wanderlust. In lieu of having her own kids, Maria forms bonds with children along the way, like Agnes, a Samburu girl from Kenya who she helps support through university and who calls her “mother.”

Coffey’s life is full. She has friends and family across the globe who have replaced the need for a nuclear family. But as she ages, doubts creep in: “All those warnings during my reproductive years about not having children started looming up again,” she writes. “‘You’ll regret it. You’ll be lonely when you’re old.’ At the time, I’d easily sloughed them off. Now I kept thinking about where parenthood might have led us.”

Reading comments like these, I had an inkling that Coffey wasn’t as sold on her child-free life as her book title implies. Or that she may have written it to finally free herself of the guilt brought on by her mother. She later clarifies, however, that it’s not regret she’s feeling. It’s more, as a friend helps her realize, “counterfactual curiosity, wondering about ways you could have lived life differently.” Ultimately, Coffey concludes that “the life I chose is the one I wanted.”

That knowledge, though, doesn’t help Coffey and Goering circumvent the realities of aging. One of the more poignant and humorous moments in Instead comes when they decide to play it safe and move off their island to an inland co-housing project where meals and chores are shared by neighbors. It’s a cloying mismatch from day one. They quickly sell the house and move to Spain, where Georing’s near-fatal accident takes place.

Coffey is almost 20 years older than me, but our lives have parallels. I, too, have had an overpowering desire to see the world since I was a girl. And I had childhood experiences that made me ambivalent toward motherhood. As a child-free adult I’ve also felt as if people perceive my life as more frivolous and less meaningful than that of a mother’s, and I’ve even been told outright that I’m selfish. Unlike Coffey, however, I had support from my parents. Instead of feeling guilty, I was free to make the best choice for me at the time I was able to bear children.

I picked up Coffey’s book hoping that it would be a ringing endorsement of a child-free life. But I quickly realized that Coffey is too honest to oversimplify such a fundamental, complex choice. What she offers instead is an articulate grappling with the great cosmic irony of being a woman: whether you bear one child, many children, adopt, or have none at all, each of these decisions will bring joy and pain. This reality should bond, rather than separate women, no matter which path we choose.

“Having a child is taking a big risk,” Coffey wrote me in an email. “Deciding not to have children is also a risk. Life is a risk. You have to follow your own heart, trust your gut instincts. Don’t make the decision to make someone else happy. Make it entirely for yourself.”

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Ever come across an incredible hotel��that stops you mid-scroll and makes you think, Wow, wouldn’t it be something to stay there?We do, too—all the time. Welcome to Friday Fantasy, where we highlight amazing 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 Manshausen

Børge Ousland was the first person to cross Antarctica solo and part of the first duo to reach the North Pole during the darkness of winter. Which means he’s spent a lot of time shivering in a tent, envisioning a cozier place to sleep. In 2010 the legendary explorer turned his dreams into a reality, buying a nearly above the Arctic Circle in the Norwegian Sea’s Grøtøya Strait and setting to work creating , a chic, modern, sustainable adventure oasis.

A haven for anglers��since the 1600s, Manshausen Island had one salvageable building, a farmhouse from the 1800s that Ousland renovated into the main lodge. He then built seven austere glass-sided cubes cantilevered over the water. In June he finished two more “towers”—two-story structures, each with��a glass-roofed bedroom that provides jaw-dropping views to the sea, 392-foot Skotstindan mountain to the east, and��the heavens, often lit with the aurora borealis.

Ousland’s ultimate goal is to make Manshausen 100 percent carbon-neutral. It’s tough to charge solar panels in winter when there are only a few hours of daylight, but he plans to supplement the sun’s energy with��a windmill that delivers power��back to the grid. His small staff also maintains a garden, fishes for cod and halibut, raises sheep to cut the grass (there are��currently 11 lambs on island), and barters with locals for what the property can’t produce.

Considering that Manshausen (a name derived from mannshaue, or “man’s head,” after a rock resembling a human head that was quarried there) was the dream of a world-renowned explorer, it’s no surprise that the place offers all manner of rugged day trips (for an extra fee), from expedition-style hiking to sea kayaking, led by experienced staff guides. But Ousland mostly built Manshausen as a place for visitors to��enjoy the scenery. “Many people just need to fill up their batteries, relax, and connect with nature,” he says.

�����ԹϺ��� Intel

You, too, can fish. The lodge provides gear and shares beta on where cod, pollack, and halibut are biting. I would opt for a short ride on one of Manshausen’s private power boats to the mainland to attempt the , a technical climb of 1,998-foot Sørskottinden peak, followed by a 15-foot rappel to a nearly mile-long traverse of an exposed ridge that ranges in width from 15 to 45 feet. The views to the surrounding mountainous Arctic islands are uninterrupted. I’d also love to paddle a sea kayak with a guide to their secret coves for a swim. And this being Scandinavia, I’d spend quality time in the stoked and ready wood-fired sauna to steam away my aches at the end of each day.

Choice Accommodations

Book one of the two new and identical solar-powered twin towers, named after Norway’s two greatest polar explorers, Fridtjof Nansen and Roald Amundsen. Built on a pier, the towers��appear to be floating on water. In each, the primary bedroom on the second floor is covered by a full glass roof, perfect for viewing the midnight sun during the summer and the stars and northern lights in the fall, winter, and spring. Downstairs is a twin��bed, a full bath, and a sitting room with a floor-to-ceiling glass wall facing the sea. The cozy feeling of hygge here is one of the draws. Or opt for the single-story glass cabins, whose views are also incredible:

Eat and Drink

Hyperlocal cuisine is on full display at the , housed in the main lodge, where a simple yet sophisticated menu includes sea urchins, sandwort, pine shoots, wood sorrel, fish, moose, and elk, most of which is grown, foraged, caught, or harvested on or within close proximity of the island. I’ve been told that the head chef, Ondrej Taldik,��has more range with a beet than perhaps anyone on the planet, serving them fried, baked, rehydrated, crisped, pickled, and fermented.

When to Go

Ousland prefers spring, when the light returns, the weather is calm, and the fishing for halibut is fantastic. But I might prefer fall, with its cooler days and cold nights. The aurora borealis is best viewed September through March, but the resort is closed November to January.

How to Get There

There are direct flights to Oslo from New York, Miami, and Los Angeles. Once there, you’ll hop a 90-minute flight north to the town of Bodø, on Norwegian or SAS airlines. Head to the ferry terminal (a 15-minute walk or short taxi ride from the airport) and board ; the passage takes 1 hour 20 minutes and leaves daily at 6 P.M. year-round, and twice daily in the summer months. The lodge will pick you up by shuttle boat at Nordskot if they know when you’re arriving.

Don’t Miss

If you have time to spend in Bodø before heading toward Manshausen, visit, the most powerful tidal stream in the world. A 33-mile drive north of Nordskot will get you to , one of Europe’s largest coastal fortifications from World War II. It guarded the entrance to Vestfjorden, a 96-mile-long fjord to Narvik, an important route used to ship iron ore from Sweden to Germany. The , 75 miles north of the island in the municipality of Hamarøy, is a museum dedicated to the life and work of the Nobel Prize–winning author.

Details

To Book:

Price:��Glass sea cabins are 5,600 Norwegian kroner ($523 as of press time) per night for two people, including breakfast. The new towers are 8,900 kroner ($830) per night for two people, including breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Address: Mannshausen 3
8283 Leinesfjord, Norway

Stephanie Pearson’s maternal and paternal great-grandparents emigrated from Sweden, but she loves Norway almost as much, especially the cool air, cool people, healthy living, and long coffee breaks. She’s been there twice, most recently to dog-mush above the Arctic Circle from Tromsø back to Jukkasjärvi, Sweden.��

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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.

�����ԹϺ��� 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. An��archery 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 �����ԹϺ��� Inc., which also owns �����ԹϺ��� Online.)

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Death or serious injury by my pink crocs would have been an embarrassing way to go. I’m in southern Utah, on my mountain bike, with my partner, Brian Hayden, and two old friends, Jen Judge and Aaron Gulley. We’re navigating the tough and disorienting Cassidy Trail, which is named after Butch Cassidy. According to local legend, the outlaw used it to evade an angry posse after he got in a fight over a woman at a dance in his nearby hometown of Panguitch.

It’s the end of September, and we’re riding at elevations higher than 10,000 feet, so I’m loaded down with a few necessities: bike tools, clothing layers, two EpiPens (I’m allergic to bees), a full-size bottle of sunscreen (cancer-prone Scandinavian genes), Crocs to wear in camp after riding. I have enough snacks to survive for a week if we get lost, which is highly unlikely, considering that we’re also carrying cell phones, a Spot tracker, and sophisticated GPS units to lead us to our destination each night, one of five backcountry huts made from shipping containers, most of them located in the two-million-acre Dixie National Forest.

Each hut is stocked with fresh water, energy-food staples like peanut butter and M&Ms, a fridge full of front-country food like filleted salmon, the occasional guitar, and 1.5 beers per person—just enough to celebrate the day’s accomplishments, but not so much that we get sloshed.

The Crocs are clipped to the rear pack on my dual-suspension cross-country mountain bike. Despite a 25-pound gear load, the carbon bike has operated heroically for the first 80 miles of the 190-mile, six-day trip. The singletrack on the is a good test. It isn’t part of our official route on the Aquarius Trail, but the guys were intrigued by comments on , the app we’re using, such as: “Probably one of the most scenic trails you’ve never heard of, likely due to its difficulty in the steeper uphill sections.”

The more punishing it is, the better for Aaron. A writer and former editor at �����ԹϺ���, he’s survived some of the toughest bike races in the West, including the 800-mile Arizona Trail, the 500-mile Colorado Trail Race, and multiple Leadville 100’s. Jen, who is married to Aaron, has a professional résumé that includes photographer (she took the shots for this story), hunting guide, and founder of , a company that teaches clients how to sustainably harvest and process animals. She has also raced road bikes, bike-toured throughout South Africa, and won all sorts of 12-hour mountain-bike races.

Brian is the founder of the 350-kid-strong Duluth Devo Mountain Bike Program in Minnesota. A former Category 2 road cyclist, he’s raced the Almanzo 100 in southern Minnesota, which kicked off the gravel craze, and is a five-time finisher of the Unbound 200, held in Emporia, Kansas, keeping his suffering to the Midwest. Me, I’ve been riding a mountain bike since the mid-1980s and have dabbled in trail and gravel races, but I get the most joy riding free from the stress of competition.

Plan your with to get all the stats, conditions reports, and beta you need for an epic ride and to make sure you don’t make any wrong turns along the way.

The deeper we go on the singletrack, the more undulating and otherworldly the trail becomes, pushing up and over white limestone hoodoos sandwiched between Bryce and Zion National Parks. We plateau at 7,880-foot Brayton Point and stop long enough to admire the vast red canyon below us. In the far distance are jagged peaks lit up with bands of golden aspens. Above are billowing thunderheads. If I were Butch Cassidy, I’d have hung out here, too.

We push ahead. The steep downhills followed by punchy climbs are making me ornery. On one transition, the Crocs get lodged in my rear wheel and it seizes up. I lurch over the bars in a slow-motion, f-bomb-riddled crash. Thankfully, the only carnage is the mangled shoes.

“Now this is bikepacking!” Jen gleefully cries as I walk to the top of the climb.

At the end of the singletrack, eight bolts of lightning sizzle down from the bruised heavens. We pedal up a Forest Service road, top out on the wide-open plateau, and fly for miles down another Forest Service road, outpacing the storm. The last push is a five-mile ascent to the Pine Lake Hut. Just when we can almost taste the beer, Brian drops back and disappears. I wait for what feels like an hour as Jen and Aaron keep riding.

“All OK?” I ask, as he rolls into view.

“Uh, I found out why I might be getting a stomachache,” he says, showing me the bite valve on his pack’s bladder, which has green and black fuzz growing inside it. “I guess I forgot to clean
this part.”

One last wrong turn sets us back about a mile. Brian and I finally roll into the hut at 3:30 P.M. It sits at 8,110 feet elevation, at the base of a monolith banded by red and white sandstone. Just as we enter the shelter, a hailstorm rips through, dropping pea-size pellets. They ping off the steel container that, with its propane heater, has been warmed like an oven.

“That was some riding!” Aaron says, stoked. “That’s more like what you get in an endurance race.”

“I’ve ridden 45 miles, climbed almost 4,537 feet, and shifted 372 times,” adds Brian, checking his Garmin.

When the hail stops, I return outside to find a barrel of sanitized hut shoes for guests. I toss the broken Crocs, which are marked with tire burns, into the garbage. Too lazy to unclip the packs from my bike, I unzip the rear bag and the contents spill out onto the dirt. I crack beer number one and ruminate over the First Rule of Bikepacking, which also seems an apt metaphor for life—carry less baggage.

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