Summer is on. And this is the summer to beat all summers, as millions of American travelers attested over Memorial Day weekend, taking to the roads and skies to kick off the season in record numbers. 国产吃瓜黑料 staffers have plenty of their own exciting getaways planned, including hiking from mountain town to mountain town in Colorado, pedaling and cork-popping in Provence, road-tripping to visit wolves and see iconic high-desert scenery in the American Southwest, and more. You, too, can go聽big.

Reveling in Rocky Mountain Highs and Pies

I take full advantage of my birthday each year by forcing my friends鈥攁 group not quite as adventurous as聽me鈥攖o come along for activities they鈥檇 usually roll their eyes at. This year we鈥檙e hiking in Colorado from Aspen to Crested Butte, an 11-mile day trip over 12,500-foot , with some 3,000 feet of elevation gain. (My friends must truly love me.) We鈥檝e tapped one friend,聽who I couldn鈥檛 convince to trek with us, to drop the rest of us off and pick us up,聽though that service is also offered locally聽by Dolly鈥檚 Mountain Shuttle and Alpine Express. While I鈥檓 most looking forward to gorgeous lakes, vibrant wildflowers, and expansive views of the Elk Range, my pals are excited to spend a night in the towns on each end. We鈥檒l be fueling up on caffeine and pastries at Local Coffee House in Aspen on the front end and celebrating our accomplishment with pizza and beer at Secret Stash,聽my favorite spot in Crested Butte. The decor feels like an Indian restaurant and a Red Robin collided, with a distinctly ski-town vibe, and the weird and wonderful pizzas are to die for. 鈥擬ikaela Ruland, associate content director at National Park Trips

Recreating on the Jersey Shore

I’ll always be a defender of the Jersey Shore, particularly Stone Harbor, located on Seven Mile Island. This East Coast beach town is home to tons of wildlife, soft sand, and the best seafood. It’s the perfect spot for large families to gather. I’m looking forward to my seaside runs and bike rides along the path that extends the entirety of the island. It鈥檚 also fun to kayak the marsh along the bay side or head just over Gull Island Thorofare Bridge to check out the Wetlands Institute. When you鈥檙e looking for a respite from the bustle, stroll down Second Avenue聽to the Stone Harbor Bird Sanctuary. I鈥檝e never considered myself much of a birder, yet I always love walking the sanctuary鈥檚聽trails. A mile north is Springer鈥檚, which makes the best homemade ice cream in the world. On summer nights, the line for a cone can wrap around the block. Other can鈥檛-miss establishments include Quahog鈥檚 Seafood Shack and Bar for dinner, and Coffee Talk for your morning caffeine fix (it鈥檚 the famed establishment where Taylor Swift once performed acoustic shows). 鈥擡llen O鈥橞rien, digital editor

Wheeling About Provence

At some point in planning this summer鈥檚 adventure, I recalled a favorite saying from Oscar Wilde: 鈥淚t is what you read when you don鈥檛 have to that determines what you will be when you can鈥檛 help it.鈥� How true. Every morning I open to peruse the latest highlights from the European cycling scene, and most evenings I consult The New York Times鈥� cooking section for an interesting recipe. Blend those reading habits, add a dash of Francophilia, and鈥攙oil脿鈥擨 find myself heading to Provence. For cool temperatures, zero crowds, and the glorious light of autumn in the Luberon Valley, my wife and I will spend a week exploring back roads and high peaks by bike in the department of Vaucluse. Each morning we鈥檒l stock up at a local patisserie before rolling out of the tiny medieval town of Venasque, whose untouched Gallo-Roman architecture and clifftop views earned it the designation of one of the 126 most beautiful villages in France. We鈥檒l pedal until hunger or a vineyard beckon, with an ascent of Mont Ventoux (an iconic Tour de France climb) as the week鈥檚 big goal. Come evening we鈥檒l meander alongwinding country roads in search of a quiet bistro, perhaps in another village, like Carpentras or聽Roussillon, for a Proven莽al feast of bouillabaisse or black truffle omelet, paired with a bottle of the ros茅 for which this region is famous. For dessert we鈥檒l hope for a slice of clafoutis, a traditional flan-like tart loaded with plump apricots or black cherries sourced from a nearby orchard. All of which merits another maxim, this one from聽the聽legendary 19th-century gourmand Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin. 鈥淒is-moi ce que tu manges, je te dirai ce que tu es,鈥� he said, which translates to 鈥淭ell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are.鈥� Would it come as any surprise that Brillat-Savarin was French, born just a few hours up the Rh么ne River from Venasque? 鈥擩onathan Dorn, senior vice president of strategy and studios

Rafting Down the Rogue

Every summer my family and I go on vacation where I grew up, on the southern coast of Oregon. Gold Beach, a town of some 2,000 people, is nestled between timber-covered mountains and the mighty Pacific, with the mouth of the Rogue River serving as its northern edge. As an outdoorsman, I鈥檝e always loved going back, but I appreciate it more and more each time I return. There are three amazing ways to experience the Rogue. One is rafting the 32.4-mile Wild Rogue section of Class III鈥揑V rapids, a trip that can be tackled in three or four days; it requires a hard-to-get permit or a guide setup, but you鈥檒l never forget floating through this remote section of canyon. The second way to see it is with , a jet-boat operator whose charming staff grew up in the area and are super knowledgeable about the flora and fauna you鈥檙e likely to see, including river otters, black bears, bald eagles, and ospreys. If you have the time, take the company’s Wilderness Whitewater Tour, which stops at Cougar Lane Lodge, famous for its BBQ. The third option, if the bite is on, is to go Chinook salmon fishing in the mouth of the river, preferably with local legend and guide Helen Burns. If you鈥檙e staying in town and want to be close to the beach and amenities, book the Beach Pea Suite at the new 鈥攊t has a glorious soaking tub. Good eats are plentiful in the area, and some of my favorite places are the Barnacle Bistro, Tu Tu Tun Lodge, and the award-winning Redfish Restaurant in Port Orford. For beer, you can’t go wrong with anything from Arch Rock Brewing Company, but the Pistol River Pale is outstanding. You also shouldn鈥檛 miss the short hike down Cape Sebastian: It starts from an overlook about 800 feet above the ocean, giving you views for miles in any direction; from there you鈥檒l descend just shy of two miles through Sitka spruce, salmonberry bushes, and ferns to the beach, where waves break powerfully against sandstone cliffs, even during the summer. Check out the tide pools before the climb back out. And finally, if you have kids, don鈥檛 miss Prehistoric Gardens in Port Orford, where 23 life-size dinosaur replicas are hidden in the old-growth forest. The quiet and solitude of this moss-covered grove is spectacular. 鈥擶ill Taylor, group gear director

Roaming Around Historic Annapolis

Annapolis, Maryland, on the Chesapeake Bay, is where I come from and where I return every year. For one thing, they have flowers鈥攂ursting tulip magnolias in rows, and lilacs鈥攊n spring when scraps of snow still cover my hillside in Colorado, and now the hydrangeas, snapdragons, magnolias, and peonies should be out, with the locust blooms just finishing. In my friend Molly鈥檚 family, the locust blooms are a sign that soft crabs are running. The best time to go is summer, because there are so many things to do. We kids grew up swimming, sailing, windsurfing, and water-skiing. We went crabbing in dinghies with trotlines or by roaming around docks and pilings with crab nets in hand. The historic town (Annapolis was the nation鈥檚 capital from 1783 to 1784) is built around two brick-paved circles; the State House, where the Maryland legislature meets, and St. Anne鈥檚 Church are set in, respectively, State Circle and Church Circle, to symbolize separation of church and state. Near both is the harbor, where the oyster boats used to dock, and the Market House, housing many concessions, where my siblings and I worked. (I scooped ice cream, gaining a mean right arm.) You can buy crab cakes, oysters, soups, cheese, and fruit there, and walk across the street to a statue of Alex Haley, the author of Roots, reading a book to children; it commemorates the shameful fact that his forebear Kunte Kinte was sold here at the City Dock. You might also visit St. John鈥檚 College (established in 1696) and the adjacent Naval Academy. Don鈥檛 miss the clam chowder at Middleton鈥檚 Caf茅 (which dates back to 1750) or the fun scene at McGarvey鈥檚, a tavern where my grown sons now go get beers. On a beautiful day, hike (it is intermittently closed, but you can still walk around the area), looking out at the Chesapeake and the four-mile Bay Bridge, or take the loop trail in Quiet Waters Park on the South River. 鈥擜lison Osius, senior editor

Off-Roading in Iceland

My husband and I are beyond stoked: we鈥檙e headed to Ireland and Iceland for a two-week adventure. He hasn鈥檛 been to Ireland, but I lived there as a kid, so I鈥檝e got that country dialed. It鈥檒l be a whirlwind coastal tour, with a climb up Croagh Patrick, near my old cottage on the west coast. Iceland, however, remains untapped for us both. We love a thermal-springs soak after hard hikes and trail runs, and prefer to dodge crowds and drive less, so this smallish outdoor mecca was a no-brainer addition. We鈥檒l play it fast and loose, but here鈥檚 how I think our trip will go down: After we fly into Reykjav铆k, the capital, we鈥檒l pick up our rented Dacia Duster 4X4 camper van with a rooftop tent ($900 for five days, it鈥檚 tricked out with sleeping and cooking essentials and a hot spot for GPS; for more information, visit ). We鈥檒l hit the B贸nus grocery store鈥攊t鈥檚 the cheapest option on the pricey island, according to a seasoned buddy鈥攖o stock up on supplies, and then we鈥檒l head northeast on the Ring Road, a.k.a. Route 1, to the fjords, vales, and 4,000-foot summits of the Tr枚llaskagi Peninsula. Along the way, we鈥檒l take offshoot F-roads (F for 蹿箩盲濒濒, which means 鈥渕ountain鈥� in Icelandic), summer-only gravel tracks restricted to four-wheel-drive vehicles. By crisscrossing over central peaks, we鈥檒l access remote terrain rich with waterfalls, lava fields, alpine valleys, and camping spots that most of Iceland鈥檚 seven million annual tourists don鈥檛 explore. We鈥檒l circle back south to scrub away our dirt and sweat at the geothermal Blue Lagoon ($64 for day tickets) before聽departing. All told, it鈥檒l be an unscripted, abbreviated blast, and I consider this a reconnaissance mission for next time. 鈥擯atty Hodapp, interim digital director

Road-Tripping Through the Native Southwest

This summer I’m focusing on road trips, and luckily I live in Santa Fe, New Mexico, a good place to launch from. I’ve been so dismayed by recent delays and cancellations from plane travel that I don’t feel like spending any more time than I have to in airports. Which is fine, because I’ve had a Southwest bucket list that I’m excited to finally make a dent in. Near the top of my list is a guided tour of the Wild Spirit Wolf Sanctuary in western New Mexico, near El Morro National Monument. The sanctuary takes in both wild and domesticated wolves and protects them for the rest of their lives. Rumor has it that author George R.R. Martin, also a Santa Fe resident, has supported the sanctuary, and some of the wolves are named after his Game of Thrones characters. From there I plan to head west to visit some important Native sites. I want to go to Canyon de Chelly, in northeastern Arizona, and take a Navajo-led horseback tour. Canyon de Chelly, often called a mini Grand Canyon, is part of the Navajo Nation. Evidence of human occupation there dates back 4,000 years. It’s also the tragic spot where Kit Carson forced out the Navajo in 1863. Then I’m going to head to Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park, on the Utah border. Also a part of the Navajo Nation, this stunning landscape and its spectacular sandstone buttes show up on my Instagram feed聽every so often, and I want to learn about the history on a Navajo-guided tour and experience the awe and grandeur. 鈥擬ary Turner, deputy editor and travel director

The post Our Picks for the Best 国产吃瓜黑料 Destinations This Summer appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON in early autumn, Adam Teller pulls up in a mud-slathered blue Wrangler and steps out into a windy motel parking lot in Chinle, Arizona, yakking quietly on his cell phone. A rail-thin Navajo in his mid-forties, he has a standard-issue ponytail, with a few nuggets of turquoise accenting his fine-boned frame, but something about him says right off the bat, “21st-century Indian.”

canyon de chelly

Canyon de Chelly's sandstone walls have been occupied by indian groups for more than 2,000 years.

canyon de chelly

Navajo guide Adam Teller

canyon de chelly

A canyon rock streaked with desert patina.

canyon de chelly

A navajo hogan at Standing Cow Ruin.

Adam removes his shades and waves at me. There’s that moment of tentative recognition all guides must have with their clients: Whoever this joker is, I’m stuck with him now.

I walk over to Adam, and find that I instantly like him. “You surprised by the way I look?” he says, shutting off his phone. “A lot of people say, 聭Why aren’t you in your buckskins?’ They seem real disappointed. They think I ought to be making arrowheads or something.” He chuckles. “Or living in a fucking tepee!”

Oafish bilagaana that I am, I shake Adam’s hand, but he gives me the customary limp-fish grip that Anglos find so unsatisfying. Then he flashes a warm smile of dental calamity, his teeth twisted, banged up, or missing in action. “Used to be a motocross biker,” he says. “Broke my ankle, broke my hip聴man, those were the days.”

I’m not the sort of traveler who ordinarily seeks out a guide, but at Canyon de Chelly National Monument, in the wrinkled recesses of northeastern Arizona’s Defiance Plateau, I have no choice. Although the National Park Service runs the place, and has done so since the monument was created back in 1931, the park is set entirely on Navajo reservation land. And so, by federal and tribal law, a visitor can enter the canyon only when accompanied by a licensed Navajo “interpreter.” The partnership here is unusual, and sometimes strained聴and in fact many tribespeople want the Navajo Nation to reestablish complete control of the canyon.

But the guide requirement is a good idea, all in all. It’s a way to protect the sacred sites and the many Navajo who still farm in the canyon from dumbass, potsherd-stealing tourists聴while ensuring that local Navajo like Adam Teller have a livelihood. Since the Navajo Nation has steered clear of casinos, this sort of enlightened tourism provides one of the few sources of income around Chinle, a dreary outpost of double-wides, snarling rez dogs, and an unemployment rate four times greater than in the rest of Arizona.

Adam is, by all accounts, one of the best guides around. He started leading tours in Canyon de Chelly when he was a gangly kid of 13聴he was the youngest certified Navajo guide ever. Taking people through the canyon is something he’s always wanted to do聴and he still has that wide-eyed eagerness of a boy keen on showing you his tree house.

In some ways he’s a Navajo traditionalist, but he’s put a distinctly modern spin on things. He went to the University of Arizona, where he studied business and anthropology. Four years ago, when he started his guiding company, Antelope House Tours, he constructed his own Web site, and now 80 percent of his business comes from the Internet. He’s become the guide to the stars, it seems聴he says his clients have included Jodie Foster, Bill Gates, John McCain, Sandra Day O’Connor, and, my favorite, Henry “the Fonz” Winkler. He’s a Digital Age success story聴so much so that a number of his envious competitors have tried to tear him down. One even called him a witch!

“Can you imagine that?” Adam says. “I had to hire a medicine man to throw the evil off.”

Now Adam glances at his watch. “You ready to rock?”

Most definitely, I say. I’ve always wanted to go exploring with a witch.

THE NAME HAS a French ring to it, but “de Chelly” (de-SHAY) is neither French nor Spanish in origin. It derives from the Navajo word tsegi (“rock canyon”) and is thus bilingually redundant: “Canyon of the Rock Canyon.” Over the centuries, Spanish conquistadors tried to approximate the unfamiliar sound of the Navajo word, and it came out, in various documents, as Chelli, Chelle, Dechilli, and Chegui, among other renderings聴and finally Chelly, which eventually became the preferred spelling.

Before the Navajo took up residence here sometime in the 1700s聴or possibly earlier聴Canyon de Chelly had been continuously inhabited by various other Indian groups for more than 2,000 years, including, and especially, the Anasazi. I’ve come here to research a book about the life and times of the controversial frontier figure Kit Carson, who arrived in Canyon de Chelly in the winter of 1864 on a scorched-earth mission to bring the Navajo to their knees. Carson’s men rampaged through the canyon, torching cornfields, taking prisoners, and chopping down some 2,000 peach trees聴the pride of the Navajo聴that graced the canyon floor. The Navajo were sent on a 400-mile forced march, known as the Long Walk, and spent four years in bitter captivity in southeastern New Mexico before General William Tecumseh Sherman sent them home. The Navajo still talk about this tragedy as though it happened yesterday聴and nowhere is its currency more keenly felt than at Canyon de Chelly, the high church of the tribe.

“It’s like this,” Adam says. “We feel about Carson the way Jews feel about Hitler.”

While Carson was here, he vowed that “everything connected with the canyon will cease to be a mystery,” but about that he was dead wrong. Canyon de Chelly still has an aura of intrigue and impregnability about it聴which to certain people makes it irresistible. But how does one really describe the peculiar aesthetic of this fabulous sandstone labyrinth? What is it that draws more than 800,000 visitors every year?

Yes, it’s beautiful, and every fine-art photographer from Edward Curtis to Ansel Adams has tried to coax its magical tricks of light onto film. But beauty alone isn’t what makes it, in my mind, the marquee natural wonder of the Southwest. Since it’s in Arizona, comparisons to the other canyon are perhaps inevitable, if a little flawed. Canyon de Chelly, people often say, is a scaled-down Grand Canyon, kinder and gentler, easier to absorb, mind-boggling but not quite mind-blowing. This is true, I suppose, but I’m more inclined to take the comparison in the direction of Manhattan architecture: If the Grand Canyon is the brutishly macho Empire State Building, de Chelly is the Chrysler聴smaller, yes, but also finer, more intricate, more sinuously feminine.

Here’s the main difference, though: Canyon de Chelly is a rock world with a human pulse. To an extent impractical throughout most of the Grand Canyon, people live here, and have lived here for thousands of years. The place is crammed with memories, good and bad. Because the water running through it is not a raging torrent but rather a gentle stream percolating along the sandy floor, the canyon has always supported culture, with farming and domesticated animals and huddled lodges tucked safely among its myriad notches and alcoves. The entire length of it is strewn with ruins, many of them world-class sites that over the decades have attracted some of the lions of archaeology, people like Earl Morris and A. V. Kidder. And everywhere, painted and pecked high on the luminous copper-hued walls, is the art of the ancients.

Adam and I have planned various angles of approach聴by Jeep, on foot, and on horseback, crisscrossing this riddle of geology any number of ways. That’s the kind of place Canyon de Chelly is聴a Rubik’s Cube聴and to grasp it you have to look at it from multiple viewpoints. Its various branches and side canyons total nearly a hundred goosenecked miles.

ADAM PRESSES ON into the mouth of the canyon, where the ghostly cottonwoods are just beginning to turn yellow. After a mile or so, I feel a sense of imminent claustrophobia, the sheer rock faces climbing higher with every bend. We’re cruising on the sand floor, moving at a good, jittery clip. The nearby Thunderbird Lodge has a small fleet of World War II聳era open-air troop-transport trucks, called “shake-and-bakes,” touring the canyon today, and there are other 4x4s prowling the flats. Until we all veer off into various side passages, the bucking procession has something of a Mad Max feel.

In many places, the sandstone is streaked with brown stains聴called desert patina聴that curl like a wizard’s long fingers down the massive sculpted walls. There is a convoluted chemical explanation for these streaks, but I like Adam’s explanation better. “That’s Changing Woman’s Hair,” he says, a reference to the Navajo matriarch goddess, who changes her appearance with the seasons and presumably leaves her hair all over the place.

Early on, Adam conducts a seminar on nomenclature. The Navajo are not properly Navajo, he reminds me; they’re Din茅, which simply means “the People.” (“Navajo” is a Spanish corruption of a Pueblo word meaning “People of the Great Planted Fields.”) Similarly, the preferred term for the Anasazi, those prehistoric druids of the Southwest, is now “Ancestral Puebloans,” because “Anasazi,” a Navajo name often translated as “Ancient Enemies,” gives offense to the Hopi and other current-day Pueblo descendants. There are dozens of other lexical do’s and don’ts, all rooted in the basic problem that so many different cultures have intersected here at various times, and all of them have been somewhat at loggerheads, if not plunged in outright warfare, with one another. You can’t open your mouth without saying something that’s either nonsensical or just plain pisses someone off.

Adam doesn’t seem to care much about any of this naming business, actually. “You can call me Butthead if you like,” he says. Nonetheless, in due time, my Indian name develops. “You ask a lot of questions,” Adam says, and so, perhaps inevitably, I become Many Questions.

About eight miles in, we hit our first serious patch of quicksand. You have to be extremely wary driving in Canyon de Chelly聴its famous sloughs are deep enough in places to swallow an entire car.

“If you get stuck here,” Adam says, “AAA won’t come and pull you out.” Like sunken wrecks in the Caribbean, there are lost relics buried all over the place: tractors, ATVs, even a couple of those Thunderbird shake-and-bakes. Canyon de Chelly’s greedy quicksand has been known to mire a packhorse so deeply that it has to be pulled out with a winch. Not infrequently, the animal breaks a leg in the trauma and has to be put down.

The difficulty of driving in the canyon is yet another reason why guides are required. Adam has spent much of his life mastering the technique: steady gas but not too fast, a rhythmic dance of the wheel in the rough spots, never under any circumstances tapping the brake. He’s got just the right touch, and with a few skittery fishtails, we wallow on through.

We push a few more miles into the main branch and round a corner. There, looming before us, is one of the most fabled landmarks in all of Navajo country: Spider Rock, an 800-foot-tall pinnacle erupting from the floor of the canyon. The Navajo say that a great goddess, Spider Woman, lives atop this fantastical spire. Spider Woman is the wise but cryptic old crone who gave the Navajo the gift of weaving.

At the same time, Spider Woman is something of a bogeywoman for Navajo kids. “Grandma used to warn me when I was being mischievous,” Adam says. “She’d say, ‘Spider Woman is going to come and get you. She boils and eats bad little kids.’ Look up there聴see those white banded streaks on top? Those are the bones of disobedient children, bleaching the rocks.”

Although he wears a faint smile, Adam says all this in a perfectly inscrutable tone that suggests he believes it聴or at least doesn’t rule it out. It’s always best to adopt a respectful demeanor, Adam says, and keep your voice down. “Who knows? She might be listening.”

LATER IN THE WEEK, Adam’s father, Ben Teller, takes me down the other major branch of the canyon聴an equally spectacular prong known as Canyon del Muerto. We’re on horseback, clopping through thickets of chamisa, finding shortcuts through fields whose owner invariably seems to be Ben’s aunt or cousin or nephew. “Don’t worry,” Ben assures me. “We’re all related!”

I’m riding an old nag who doesn’t seem to like me much. We turn into a side canyon, and as the walls grow tighter, she fiendishly speeds up while hewing tightly to the rock. Perhaps she’s hoping to knock me off, or at least give my thigh a long, hard pinch on the sandstone while she simultaneously gives herself a luxurious loofah rub.

On this particular day, Ben is wearing a feed cap, blue jeans, and, inexplicably, a fancy pair of tasseled loafers. He’s a stocky, amiable guy in his late sixties with thick glasses. Ben lives alone down in the canyon and is one of the only people who stays here year-round. (The icy winters can be brutal.) He drives an old Massey Ferguson tractor and has a cabin set on family land at an amazing spot inside Canyon del Muerto called Antelope House (after which Adam named his company). It’s the site of an Anasazi ruin constructed in a.d. who-the-hell-knows, a chinked-rock pueblo that once had as many as 91 rooms and several kivas.

Because Ben lives in such a remote place, he sent word ahead for me to bring beans and beer, his usual standbys. I got the beans but failed him on the beer, since Chinle, like the rest of the reservation, is dry. “Dat’s OK,” he said, trying not to telegraph his disappointment. “Next time, though, bring beer.”

Despite my horse’s diabolical nature, I decide that horseback really is the best way to see the canyon. Ben and I can get to places that Adam’s 4×4 can’t, and the pace of a walking horse is just about right for taking in the ever-shifting angles and plays of light. As we ride together, Ben tells stories of the old days, shows me where he used to go swimming at a natural mudslide that formed every spring when the snowmelt brought running water, shows me the place where some Hollywood western was filmed in the fifties (Canyon River, he thinks the title was). He remembers watching fellow tribesmen, all painted for battle, hurling papier- m芒ch茅 boulders down onto the actors. “I know it sounds weird,” Ben says with a chuckle, “but I was rooting for the white guys!”

At a place called Standing Cow Ruin, Ben points out a remarkable pictograph stained on the wall. It’s a realistic rendering of a long train of cavalrymen, wearing flat-brimmed hats, carrying lances and muskets, and riding pinto horses into battle. The ominous figures look like horsemen of the apocalypse, their capes clearly emblazoned with crosses.

“Those are Spaniards,” Ben says. “From your town. Santa Fe.”

The Din茅 inked these haunting images onto the walls to memorialize a painful event聴perhaps the only occasion on which the Spanish successfully invaded this Navajo refuge. In January 1805, a force of nearly 500 Spanish soldiers marched all the way from New Mexico’s capital, killing Navajo warriors by the score and collecting prisoners as they rampaged through the canyon’s meandering course. In Canyon del Muerto, not far from where these images were painted, the Spanish troops were surprised to hear the shrill voice of a Navajo woman shouting strange invectives at them. “There go the men without eyes!” the voice screamed. “You must be blind!”

Puzzled, one of the soldiers climbed up the talus and spotted a group of more than 100 women and children crouched in a high recess of the canyon wall. Another soldier began to crawl his way up the steep wall with the notion of rounding up prisoners. When he crossed the threshold of the cave, a Navajo woman wrapped her arms around him and dashed for the precipice; the two figures, locked in a desperate grip, plunged several hundred feet to their deaths.

From the canyon floor, the soldiers began to ricochet bullets off the roof of the cave. Eventually everyone was killed but an old man, who would relate the story to other Navajo. More than 150 years later, the victims’ bones were still lying on the cave floor when archaeologists examined the site.

Today the spot is widely known as Massacre Cave. But, Ben tells me, the Navajo have their own name for it: The Place Where Two Fell Off.

ONE OF THE interesting challenges about learning history from a Navajo guide is that you’re often forced to consider the age-old question “How do we know what we know?”

On another day, Adam and I take off on foot through Canyon del Muerto, and at every turn he shares a tale that, like Ben’s story of the defiant woman at Massacre Cave, is based on oral history, passed down in sweat lodges and over campfires. Sometimes Adam tells me the wildest things聴about Kit Carson, the Spanish, the Anasazi聴things I’ve never heard even a whiff of before, things I’ve never seen written down in any books.

Though he’s an avid reader, Adam still primarily operates in an oral tradition, and at Canyon de Chelly the stories are out there, on the rocks, along the ground, in the air. He’s spent his whole life absorbing them, and retelling them. Sometimes these stories drive me crazy, even as I find them irresistible. The Navajo sense of chronology, often said to be more circular than linear, can be frustrating for a bilagaana writer trying to nail the cold facts to the wall of truth. The what and where details are often precise, but the when is almost always vague.

That doesn’t necessarily make them any less true, though; the stories have their own logic and discipline聴and an authenticity slowly accrued. Some of these stories are hundreds of years in the making. “We’re a patient people,” Adam says. “We let things develop.”

One day, Adam takes me to see a massive anvil of sandstone called Navajo Fortress Rock and tells me another one of these great mythic stories聴maybe the best one of all. Soaring 700 feet and connected to the main wall by only a thin stone bridge sagging from centuries of erosion, Fortress Rock is a legendary place, one that figures prominently in Din茅 folklore.

In the winter of 1864, Adam says, the Navajo used Fortress Rock as a supreme hideout when Carson’s soldiers came pillaging through the canyon. During the weeks leading up to the American invasion, the women stockpiled foods and supplies聴smoked turkey, pi帽on nuts, wild potatoes聴while the men made improvements to the old network of Anasazi toeholds, gouging them deeper, so that children and even elderly Navajo could safely pull themselves up.

As it started to snow, some 300 men, women, and children, perhaps tipped off by a sentry that an army was on its way, ascended to the top and pulled up the ladders. Hoping the evil might pass beneath them, they planned to hunker down and dwell in silence for months.Then one day, as the bleak winter sun slipped behind the canyon walls, a column of American soldiers came marching into the canyon, laying waste to fields and chiseling their Kilroys into the sandstone. (Some of their inscriptions are still visible today, and on another day, Adam shows me one.) Somehow detecting the Navajo sequestered on top, the Americans camped near the base of Fortress Rock, beside a stream called Tsaile Creek, and attempted to starve them into final submission.

But unknown to the soldiers, the Navajo were already slowly perishing from thirst; the snows had melted away, and the natural cisterns pocking the surface had run dry.

So one moonless night, the Fortress Rock exiles devised a plan: They formed a human chain along the sloping rock, down to Tsaile Creek, where several American guards lay sleeping. A group of warriors crept out onto a ledge over the stream and dangled gourds from yucca ropes, dipping the containers into the cold running water. They filled gourd after gourd and steadily passed the vessels from hand to hand back up the sheer rock face to the summit. By dawn they had replenished their stores.

So what happened to them? I ask Adam.

“They outlasted the siege,” he says. “They were never captured.”

I SPEND A WEEK in Canyon de Chelly and find that I could easily spend another. It takes me several days to trace the extensive network of foot trails聴Bat Trail, Baby Trail, Bear Trail, Barboncito Trail聴many of them making use of the old Anasazi foot- and toeholds. Sometimes it’s hard to believe I’m in the USA, circa 2006. The passing vignettes seem impossibly pastoral, like a scene from ancient Arcadia. A man splitting wood. A herd of churro sheep cropping grass. A ruined hogan. Cottonwood leaves hissing in the breeze. A decrepit plow half swallowed by the earth. Two old women working at their looms. Orchards of scabby peach trees, heavy with fruit.

It feels like another country, another time. And in a way, it is. Maybe this is what Carl Jung meant when he called Canyon de Chelly the “essence of antiquity”聴not just the presence of old things, but the seamless cohabitation of the ancient with the modern. I feel a kind of pleasant chronological vertigo. I know where I am with clarity. But when, I’m not so sure.

All week I’ve been feasting my eyes on the dazzling confusion of the canyon’s rock art: serpents, lightning bolts, fret patterns, whorls. Menageries of headless birds in flight, human figures with insectlike antennae, antelope with crab pincers instead of hooves, bird-headed men, frog men, turtle men. And palm prints everywhere, ancient choruses of hands, hailing from the walls.

At a place called Newspaper Rock, which Adam takes me to on the last day, the designs are so densely painted that there seems to be a kind of frenetic dialogue going on. It’s the Sunday Times up there聴comics, sports, editorials, even crossword puzzles. Adam used to romp around here with his friends as a boy. “It was a cool place to be a kid,” Adam allows. “But I didn’t know it then. It was just home.”

I find the cumulative message of all these queer drawings strangely uplifting. If the Grand Canyon continuously reminds us of our squishable insignificance in the vast timeline of geology, then Canyon de Chelly does much the same thing from an anthropological perspective. It reminds us at every turn that humans have been at this game a long, long time. In the scheme of Homo not-so-sapiens, we American moderns are just a passing phenomenon: nothing special, soon to be forgotten, and destined to be replaced by other folks different, but not very different, from ourselves. We’re specks in a continuous anthropological record.

Those figures up on the walls are us.

The post The Place Where Two Fell Off appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Where to Stay: Campsites within the monument are free and are first-come, first-served, while backcountry camping is allowed only with an authorized guide (928-674-5500, ). Built on the site of a former trading post, the Thunderbird Lodge is located a quarter mile from the canyon’s mouth. The cafeteria-style dining room serves up both Navajo and continental fare, and its canyon tours are popular. Doubles from $102 in summer and $59 in winter; ; 800-679-2473.

Rules and Regs: With the exception of hiking on the 2.5-mile White House Ruins Trail or drives on the North or South rim, an authorized Navajo guide and Park Service permit are required for drives or hikes into the canyon. Guides for your SUV or hikes into the canyon are $15 an hour. Advance reservations with an outfitter are highly recommended, though the National Monument Visitors Center will arrange impromptu tours; 928-674-5500, .

Outfitters: Leon Skyhorse Thomas leads three-hour tours that span 24 miles in the company’s jeep, your own SUV, or a 12-passenger Mercedes Unimog ($50 per adult for Unimog tour; $175 for a four-person Jeep tour). The season runs March 1 to November 1, but tours are available year-round (, 928-674-5433). Horseback tours and overnight camping trips are available through Totsonii Ranch (, 928-755-6209).

The post Canyon de Chelly Access & Resources appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

国产吃瓜黑料 editor at large Hampton Sides has a gift for homing in on some of the most intense and violent moments in history. Winner of the 2002 PEN USA Award for non-fiction, he wrote about Bataan Death March survivors in his first book, the bestselling Ghost Soldiers (adapted into the film The Great Raid), and pivotal moments in modern America, such as 9/11, in his second book, Americana. His latest work, Blood and Thunder (available October 3 from Doubleday) takes readers back to the glory and violence of the American West from 1846 to 1868, when Indians, Spanish, Mexicans, and Americans聴the latter led by Kit Carson聴fought bloody battles while staking their claims in the New World. For his book, and an article he wrote for 国产吃瓜黑料's October issue, “The Place Where Two Fell Off,” Sides explores Arizona's Canyon de Chelly, where, in the winter of 1864, Carson and his men finally forced the Navajo out of their longtime home. In August 2006, Sides spoke with 国产吃瓜黑料's CHARLES BETHEA from his home in Santa Fe, New Mexico, about his five years of research, the controversial Kit Carson, and one of the most tragic, brutal chapters in American history.

OUTSIDE: In “The Place Where Two Fell Off,” a Navajo guide takes you into Canyon de Chelly. Is this one of the overlooked natural wonders of the West?
SIDES: Since it's within the Navajo Nation, a lot of people tend to forget about it. But the place has an extraordinary combination of antiquity and present-day life: People still live down there like they have for the last 3,000 years. Not many places have that. Then there are the marquee vistas and amazing rock art. It's every bit as interesting to me as Colorado's Mesa Verde.

Clearly, you aren't the average tourist. Did your guide know you'd done some background reading?
[Laughter] We traded a lot of stories. It's amazing to me how differently the Navajo view history. The stories I've read in books didn't jibe with half the anecdotes he told me. It presents an interesting problem for a historian who's trying to figure out how to honor Native American oral history-and remain true to what's been written. Sometimes you just can't reconcile it. You have to accept that these stories are never going to intersect.

How difficult was it to sort through those discrepancies for Blood and Thunder?
As an author, you present multiple versions for the reader and say, “This story's been passed down through the Navajo oral tradition” and leave it at that. You can't overcome discrepancies with finesse.

At least Canyon de Chelly is a rock-solid source. What role does it play in your book?
It's the spiritual heartland of Navajo country, and the narrative keeps circling back to it. When the Americans were trying to conquer the Navajos, they felt this need to capture Canyon de Chelly like it was the Navajo capital. It was a meeting place and a sanctuary of last refuge. To control Canyon de Chelly was to control the Navajo people. That was the belief, and it ended up being true with Kit Carson's campaign.

Your best-known book, Ghost Soldiers, focuses on forgotten violence. Is that what drew you to this time in American history?
There's a national cemetery in Santa Fe that's full of traditional gravestones聴like Arlington, but smaller. A lot of the stones say things like KILLED BY SAVAGES. The guys called out here to fight probably had the same qualities we celebrate in soldiers from other wars, but we now consider their war morally suspect. We swallowed the West up without realizing we'd inherited this bloody series of tribal feuds. The similarities to our current war are striking. Then there's Kit Carson, who fought and led so many of these battles. He crops up everywhere in New Mexico, and I wanted to know more about him.

Does Carson have any living relatives?
There's John Carson, who's a teacher and rancher in La Junta, Colorado. He looks a lot like his great grandfather. He actually played him in a documentary. He basically rode around on a horse and looked like Kit.

How does Blood and Thunder compare with Ghost Soldiers?
Superficially, the stories are very similar. This one's about a long siege, a surrender, a forced march聴essentially another death march聴to an exile experience, and then, finally, the return home. But the question of who the protagonists were is more complicated.

Have the Navajo recovered from their march?
In a lot of ways they haven't. They still talk about it like it happened yesterday. And they really hate Kit Carson聴understandably. What's different about the Navajo war from many other Indian wars is that the Navajos completely surrendered and moved 350 miles to another location. Kit Carson didn't really fight Indians so much as destroy their crops and livestock, arresting anyone he found. He conquered the Navajos by starving them to death. And I think that's a particularly bitter pill for the Navajo to swallow, even today.

Kit made 2,000-mile transcontinental treks the way we take weekend walks. Would you have gone on one?
No. The landscape may have been pristine and full of tribal groups with their own cultural integrity, but in almost every other respect it was a Hobbesian bloodbath. You couldn't travel anywhere without fearing for your life. Medicine was unbelievably crude. There was no law, and thus no outlaws. Anyone who feels nostalgia for this period is na茂ve聟 the bloodshed and the massacres and the torturing and the corpse mutilation聴it's just unbelievable.

The title of your book references this ultra-violence, but is there any subtext to it that readers might not know of?
It comes from the literary genre that originally made Kit Carson famous. The early westerns were these cheap, terribly written, almost comic novellas called “blood-and-thunders.” The title is meant to capture the tension that was part of Kit Carson's life and the myth of the West. It also just sounds like a western.

The Navajo chief Narbona tried nobly, but without success, to make peace between his people and the “new men.” What's his legacy?
The Navajos aren't interested in celebrating individual leaders. Even today they're a consensus-oriented tribe. Whites say, “Take me to your leader.” They say, “We have tribal elders, we have medicine men聟” The Navajos finally said, “OK, if there's a leader, it's Narbona. He's one of our oldest and greatest warriors.” He may be the first Navajo to emerge from tribal anonymity. He's almost the George Washington of the Navajo聴but they would never say that.

How would you classify Carson historically?
He went everywhere, knew everybody, and was something of a gentleman. But he's most known for the brutal war on the Navajos. Kit Carson's name has become shorthand for “white domination” among tribes. He's lately started to eclipse Custer as the bad guy in Indian America. But he was much more complicated than Custer. And his relationship to Native Americans was more varied. I don't let Carson off the hook morally, but I don't think comparisons to Hitler are fair, either.

So who's the villain?
The real villain is his boss, General James Carleton, who came up with the scorched-earth policy of moving the Navajo. He wanted Carson to be more ruthless. He was a Calvinist New Englander, an insufferable disciplinarian, who thought he knew what was right for the Indians and just rammed it down their throats. Everything he said and wrote made me wince.

Does context bail any of these guys out?
There were basically two schools of thought: one was to exterminate the Indians, who were “incapable of being socialized and civilized.” A lot of the enlightened people believed that聴even Mark Twain. Kit Carson believed the alternative: Set aside large land masses, so the Indians won't be contaminated by the white man but will gradually learn to assimilate and become proficient with agriculture. It's still a horribly patronizing and na茂ve view, but little else was discussed in Washington.

Could anyone in Hollywood handle this film? I'd love to see Tarantino's take on the Battle of Mule Hill.
Russell Crowe would be an amazing Kit Carson. He could capture his schizoid side. Kit was, by all accounts, a sweet-natured, wonderful man: a great father, loyal friend, and abiding husband. He learned the culture and languages of different tribes. Everyone was fond of him. But then he'd snap-these unbelievable frenzies of violence. Not many actors could pull that off.

What's your next battle?
Between this book and Ghost Soldiers, it's been one solid decade of mayhem and destruction. I'm going to take it easy for a while and stay away from anything that has to do with massacres and bloodshed.

See Canyon de Chelly
Click here for all the beta you need to experience the canyon for yourself.

Blood and Thunder will be in bookstores October 3. To order an advance copy online, and to see if Sides is coming to a city near you on his U.S. book and speaking tour, go to .

The post Thunderstruck: Q&A with Hampton Sides appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Load up the duffels and crank up the campstove—we’ve handpicked 21 superdeluxe backcountry sites, accessible only by foot, bike, boat, horse, or bush plane. Want more? We scout 18 other locales from Alaska to Appalachia, round up a wagonload of sweet gear, and show you how to stage four-star meals alfresco.

What? You want grocery money, too?





























PLUS:

Sea-Kayak: The rock-and-glide of open-water kayaking meets THE SWEET SOLITUDE OF UNTRAMMELED SHORELINE. We found your paddling paradise in Florida—plus perfect water in Alaska and Maine.

Hauling onto the South Shore of Florida’s little St. George Island

DREAM PICK
Little St. George Island, Florida
THE PITCH After a long day of paddling, coast to an uninhabited island and toss your tent beneath palm trees on a stretch of white sand licked by water the color of lapis lazuli. If it’s hard to imagine this is North Florida, that’s because this thin, nine-mile-long barrier island separating Apalachicola Bay from the Gulf of Mexico is an anomaly—one of the only island wilderness preserves on the Gulf Coast on which you can camp. Cast for speckled trout and redfish in the bay before breakfast. After lunch, explore the dunes and try spotting some of the island’s 200-plus species of birds. As the sun sets, grab a bottle of merlot and hike the southern shore to the recently renovated 1850s St. George Lighthouse.
BETA Put in at the marina on St. George Island, 80 miles southwest of Tallahassee. Paddle west along the island’s north shore for eight miles. Cross Sikes Cut and continue another nine miles to the western tip of Little St. George. Check in with Apalachicola National Estuarine Research Reserve (ANERR) at 850-653-8063 for camping information. No fees or permits required.
PRIME TIME April, October
RESOURCES For general info: ANERR. For guided trips: Journeys of St. George Island, 850-927-3259, .



PLAN B
Resurrection Bay, Alaska
THE PITCH You’d think that Thumb Cove—a protected pebble-and-sand beach ringed by three hanging glaciers and offering rugged hiking, primo salmon fishing, and two state-owned log cabins for rent—would be hard to get to. It isn’t. From Seward, a port town on the Kenai Peninsula, 128 miles south of Anchorage, it’s a challenging nine-mile paddle across Resurrection Bay from your put-in at Lowell Point. Glide past waterfalls and mussel-noshing otters near Tonsina Creek before setting up camp at Caines Head State Recreation Area. Now stretch your legs with the mile hike up to Fort McGilvery, an abandoned WWII-era fortress carved into the hill.
RESOURCES For info: Department of Natural RESOURCESat Morgan’s Landing, 907-262-5581, . For boat rentals and guided trips: Sunny Cove Sea Kayaking Company, 800-770-9119, .


OR TRY
Isle au Haut, Maine
THE PITCH Most folks still get to rural Isle au Haut by mail boat, but kayaking is the more admirable way to reach this seven-square-mile island, 60 percent of which is part of Acadia National Park. Paddle due south four and a half miles from Stonington, Maine, hugging the islands of Merchant Row for protection as you cross Penobscot Bay. Aim for Duck Harbor, which offers shelter in the form of five sturdy lean-tos. Once you’ve established your Camp au Haut, take your pick of activities: Hike the four miles to Robinson Lighthouse, scale the island’s six gentle mountains, or explore dozens of surrounding islands, like York, whose only inhabitants are sheep.
RESOURCES For info: Acadia National Park, 207-288-3338 (call well in advance; permits go quickly), . For guided trips: Granite Island Guide Service, 207-348-2668, .

Crux Gear
Bending Branches’ Sun Shadow Evening kayak touring paddle ($155; 715-755-3405, ) is a two-piece work of art carved from basswood, maple, cherry, butternut, black willow, and alder—almost as beautiful as your surroundings.

Fly In: It’s simple. A ONE-HOUR FLIGHT EQUALS A DAY BY CAR, A WEEK BY BIKE, OR A MONTH ON FOOT. Sure makes an airtight case for the air-assisted outing.

DREAM PICK
Wilson Bar, Idaho
THE PITCH Buzz the airstrip at least once before your final approach into Wilson Bar, a remote canyon fly-in on the banks of the Salmon River in central Idaho’s Nez Perce National Forest: The landing—a skinny turf strip bracketed by 3,000-foot granite escarpments—leaves little room for error, and elk have been known to graze on the runway. Pitch your tent along the grassy banks, shaded by 75-foot lodgepole pines and painted with flowering lilacs. Here, next to the massive Frank Church- River of No Return Wilderness, the only signs of human habitation are a crumbling root cellar and a few rusted machinery parts—relics of a Depression-era prospecting claim. Cast for cutthroat and steelhead, bushwhack to gin-clear swimming holes, or scramble up the steep canyon slopes for huge, wild views of the solitude that surrounds you.
BETA Wilson Bar is about 30 minutes by air northeast of McCall, Idaho. Pilots can hone their backcountry landing skills through McCall Mountain Canyon Flying School, 208-634-1344, www.mountaincanyonflying.com. No permits required.
PRIME TIME July-August
RESOURCES For general info: Nez Perce National Forest, 208-983-1950, . For maps: Galen Hanselman’s Fly Idaho! ($40; 800-574-9702, www.flyidaho.com). For charters: McCall Air, 800-992-7137, .

PLAN B
Punta San Francisquito,
Baja, Mexico
THE PITCH There are two ways to get to Punta San Francisquito, an isolated spit halfway down Baja’s east coast: Drive 60 miles of wretched, washboard dirt road south from Bah铆a de los Angeles, or touch down on San Francisquito’s runway, only a few feet from the Sea of Cortez and just over an hour from San Diego. Easy choice. Pay camping is fair game anywhere on this idyllic sweep of beach, and the simple but homey Punta San Francisquito Resort rents thatch-roofed cabanas and serves up ceviche de pulpo (octopus) and grilled lobster.
RESOURCES For charters: Lundy Air, in San Diego, 800-574-9702, . For maps: Galen Hanselman’s Air Baja! ($50; 800-574-9702, ). For info: Punta San Francisquito, 011-52-6681-0709.

OR TRY
Twin Lakes, Alaska
THE PITCH The water’s your runway at Twin Lakes, a spectacular backcountry base camp 140 air miles southwest of Anchorage in little-visited Lake Clark National Park. There are no roads to the park and its more than four million acres of trailless tundra, dense coastal forests, and glacial tarns, so you’ll need to hop a float plane to your camp beneath the ragged summits of the Chigmit Mountains. Set up along the lakeshore and spend days scouting for caribou and red fox along the rolling, dwarf-birch-covered slopes, or fishing for plump grayling on the wild and scenic Chilikadrotna River.
RESOURCES For charters: Iliamna Air Taxi, 907-571-1248. For guided trips: Alaska Wildtrek, 907-235-6463, . For info: Lake Clark National Park and Preserve, 907-781-2218, .

Crux Gear
Stranded? Unspool the antenna coiled inside BREITLING’s EMERGENCY MISSION wristwatch to BROADCAST a distress signal that can travel up to 220 nautical miles. It keeps pretty good time, too. ($3,975; 203-762-1180, )

Climb: LOOK UP: You’ve got your work cut out for you. Now LOOK AROUND YOU: You’re in the perfect camp for the vertically inclined.

DREAM PICK
Spring Mountains National Recreation Area, Nevada
THE PITCH More than a mile above the burning sands of Las Vegas, a lush wilderness of tilted limestone peaks stands draped in bristlecone and ponderosa pines: 316,000-acre Spring Mountains National Recreation Area. Settle in at the old Boy Scout camp near Cold Creek. Don’t worry—the rugrats are gone and the site is now just a Brigadoon-like clearing with hyaline springs. Check out the views of the Nevada Test Site to the north, and turn in early: Tomorrow you’ll hike into the 43,000-acre Mount Charleston Wilderness for a Class 3 scramble up the seldom-climbed 10,744-foot McFarland Peak. Next day, bust out the ropes and choose from several dozen sport routes on Mount Charleston’s limestone walls.
BETA Follow U.S. 95 north from Las Vegas; 5.5 miles north of Highway 156, turn left on 202. Head southwest for about 13 miles to the former Cold Creek Ranger Station. The trail starts three miles past it. Camp at the Bonanza Trailhead, an eight-mile hike to McFarland Peak. No fees or permits required. PRIME TIME June-August
RESOURCES For info: Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest, 702-515-5400, .

PLAN B
Twin Lakes, Montana
THE PITCH Say hello to the Crazy Mountains, a 50-mile stretch of 11,000-foot peaks screaming out of the Montana grasslands northeast of Livingston. Take the 2,400-vertical-foot, 3.5-mile hike along Big Timber Creek, which will bring you to four-star open camping at the turquoise Twin Lakes. An exhilarating Class 3 climb awaits on the southern face of 10,795-foot Big Timber Peak. For other tasty nearby summits, parties should check in at the ranger station to find out how to gain access to private land (much of the Crazy Mountains is privately owned).
RESOURCES For info: Gallatin National Forest, Big Timber Ranger Station, 406-932-5155, ; Barrel Mountaineering in Bozeman, 800-779-7364, .

OR TRY
Buffalo National River, Arkansas
THE PITCH Kyle’s Landing, a primitive camping area on the scenic limestone cliffs of the Ozarks’ Buffalo National River, is the epicenter of some of the most varied cragging east of the Rockies. Within 45 minutes of your riverside campsite on the western fringes of the Ponca Wilderness, plunder hundreds of sandstone and limestone routes. Check out Cave Creek for the classic Stems and Seeds (5.10), the crags at Sam’s Throne (beginner-friendly top ropes to 5.11 crimperfests), and the not-to-be-missed sport climbing in Horseshoe Canyon.
RESOURCES For info: Pack Rat Outdoor Center in Fayetteville, 479-521-6340, www.packrat.biz; Horseshoe Canyon Ranch, 800-480-9635, ; Buffalo National River, 870-439-2502, .

Crux Gear
The Grivel Monte Bianco Replica Mountain Axe ($175; 801-463-7996, ) reintroduces the classic Italian mountain ax, complete with solid-ash shaft and chromoly pick and adze. Rope up on Bluewater’s dry-heated 9.7mm Lightning Pro (60 meters, $180; 770-834-7515, ), which is at home on ice, rock, and everything in between.

Hike: “THE SWIFTEST TRAVELER IS HE THAT GOES AFOOT,” wrote wayfaring exemplar Henry David Thoreau. These treks put the pleasure back into going pedestrian.

DREAM PICK
Virgin Falls Pocket Wilderness, Tennessee
THE PITCH Adjacent to the Bridgestone/Firestone Centennial Wilderness, 62 miles north of Chattanooga, this privately owned but open-to-the-public swath of the South Cumberland Plateau is a verdant 317-acre wonderland of rolling ridgelines, caves, creeks, rock shelves, and misty waterfalls. Camp is a short, varied trek along the eight-mile, lasso-shaped Virgin Falls Trail: Hop streams, boulders, and python-thick roots as you pass through an embarrassment of rhododendrons, then climb to the top of a stone shelf and feast your eyes on the hawk-dotted vista of the Caney Fork River Valley. Now descend a boulder-strewn path to reach Big Laurel Falls, your home for the night (or longer), and shelter in the mouth of Big Laurel Cave, the enormous, sandy amphitheater behind the cascading water. Come morning, it’s a moderate two miles past another cavern—Sheep Cave—and over a ridge to 110-foot Virgin Falls, the gem of the trip, which escapes a cave only to reenter the earth at the bottom of a fern-carpeted sink.
BETA From Sparta, take Highway 70 east for 11 miles, to Eastland Road in Derosset. Go 5.9 miles south to Scott Gulf Road. Head south for two miles to the trailhead, on the right, 150 yards past the Polly Branch Falls trailhead on the left. No permit required.
PRIME TIME April
RESOURCES For info: Bowater Inc. (which owns the VFPW), 423-336-7205; or .

PLAN B
Baxter State Park, Maine
THE PITCH Bypass Baxter’s main attraction, 5,267-foot Mount Katahdin, and head for the less-trammeled reaches of one of Thoreau’s old stompin’ grounds. Twenty-seven miles north of Millinocket in the North Woods is the 19-mile Russell Pond/Davis Pond/Chimney Pond Loop, where all three watering holes offer top-notch camping. When not catching peekaboo views of Big K, keep an eye out for ospreys, owls, foxes, and minks. Not pooped by the end of the loop? Try the side trip up 4,751-foot Hamlin Peak.
RESOURCES Baxter State Park, 207-723-5140, . Maine Trails Guide Service, 207-353-7394, .

OR TRY
Modoc National Forest, California
THE PITCH In NoCal’s spectacular Shasta Cascade region, dominated by 14,162-foot Mount Shasta, the 1.6-million-acre Modoc is home to bald eagles, wild horses, and petroglyphs. Did we mention the obsidian cliffs, up which you can scramble to survey your own wild kingdom? Hoof it from icy Skull Cave, 16 miles south of Tulelake, down the Lyons Trail through once-molten Lava Beds National Monument, traversing volcanic highlands at 4,700 feet and exploring 30,000-year-old lava-tube caves. At day’s end, put up your feet and your tent at the base of Juniper Butte.
RESOURCES Lava Beds National Monument, 530-667-2284, . Roe Outfitters, 877-943-5700, .

Crux Gear
Going light doesn’t require skimping out, and at 4,800 cubic inches, Lowe Alpine’s four-pound, 12-ounce warp pack ($199; 303-465-0522, ) can haul all your featherweight freight. Unlike other packs of its size, the warp has a big shovel pouch, front pockets, and zipper access to the main compartment.

Horsepack: HOW TO VISIT THE BACK FORTY WITHOUT ABUSING YOURSELF? BY HORSE, OF COURSE. Three equine outings that serve up the best of the American outback.

The jagged face of Idaho’s Sawtooth Wilderness

DREAM PICK
Canyon de Chelly National Monument, Arizona
THE PITCH In the Southwest, the Grand Canyon tends to hog the spotlight—and, therefore, the crowds. Steer clear of that clogged chasm and beat it to Canyon de Chelly (pronounced “shay”), three miles east of Chinle, Arizona, on the Navajo Reservation. There, trundle along the base of soaring sandstone cliffs, gaping at spectacles like the White House and Sliding House ruins, ancient Anasazi dwellings built high above the canyon floor. Hitch your steed and unpack your bedroll beneath the Russian olive trees and cottonwoods at the foot of Spider Rock, an 800-foot tower that is the spiritual home of the Navajo deity Spider Woman.
BETA From Chinle, follow Route 7 east toward the national monument. No entry fees, but you must arrange for a Navajo guide or park ranger to travel with your group to most destinations. Park Service permit required.
PRIME TIME April-May, October
RESOURCES For info: Canyon de Chelly visitor center, 928-674-5500, www.nps.gov/ cach/index.htm. For commercial trips: Equitours, 800-545-0019, .
PLAN B
Sawtooth Wilderness, Idaho
THE PITCH Horsepacking isn’t the only way to get into the heart of south-central Idaho’s vast Sawtooth Wilderness, but it’s the best. The perfect home corral in this more than 200,000-acre expanse of mountains and meadows: the Ten Lake Basin region, 22 miles from the Grandjean trailhead. After a 3,000-vertical-foot clop up to camp, park the ponies and set up shop near the shores of pristine Lake Edna, keeping your eyes peeled for bears, cougars, and mountain goats.
RESOURCES For info: Stanley Ranger Station, 208-774-3000. For trips: Sawtooth Wilderness Outfitters, 208-462-3416, .

OR TRY
Pisgah National Forest, North Carolina
THE PITCH Welcome to one-million-acre-plus Pisgah—a lush hardwood empire with an endless network of galax-lined paths. After leading your steed from the Buckeye Ridge trailhead, 16 miles southwest of Hot Springs, on a half-day ride through fields painted with blueberries, blackberries, and wildflowers, arrive at a secluded campsite atop high Buckeye Ridge. Give the horses some post-ride TLC, then take care of yourself while watching a sunset in the Smokies gild the mile-high Black and Bald mountains.
RESOURCES For info: Pisgah’s French Broad Ranger District, 828-622-3202; Big Creek Horse Campgrounds, 828-456-7053. For trips: Little Creek Outfitters in Hot Springs, 800-653-9984, .

Crux Gear
Forest rangers swear by White’s boots: foot armor with double the versatility of hikers or cowboys. Horsemen, try the ORIGINAL PACKERS ($345; 800-541-3786, ). Your high-tech jacket is Kleenex next to the oil-finish cotton of FILSON’s OUTFITTER SYSTEM ($388; 800-297-1897, ). This weather-beating beast comes with wool zip-in jacket and vest.

Canoe: In lake-and-river country, FLATWATER NIRVANA IS ONLY A PORTAGE (OR TWO) AWAY. Dip a paddle in these waters, all sure to please the adventuring open-boater.

Upstate serenity in New York’s Adirondack Park

DREAM PICK
Quetico Provincial Park, Ontario
THE PITCH Just over the border from Minnesota is a lake-riddled mecca boasting the kind of numbers that make otherwise calm canoeists go nuts. No, not the Boundary Waters. It’s Quetico Provincial Park: 1.2 million acres of pristine glacier-carved wilderness, 600 interconnected lakes, more than 2,000 paddle-in campsites—and only 20,000 visitors a year. The perfect landing? Emerald Lake’s southwestern point, a breezy jetty that gazes over incandescent waters and rocky shoreline. From this north-woods oasis, cast for smallmouth bass in neighboring bays at dawn, scan for moose with your binocs, and paddle across Emerald to the short Plough Lake portage to picnic under a 500-year-old, barrel-thick white cedar—one of the park’s largest.
BETA Provision in Ely, Minnesota, four hours north of Minneapolis. Fifteen daily permits are available at the closest entry point, the Canadian town of Prairie Portage. Follow the well-marked, modest portages from Birch Lake to Carp Lake, and into Emerald.
PRIME TIME July-August
RESOURCES For trip planning, permits, and maps: Ontario Parks, 807-597-2735, . For general info, maps, and guided trips: Piragis Northwoods Company, 800-223-6565, .

PLAN B
Adirondack Park, New York
THE PITCH Around here, even the most sprawling lakes are called ponds. And the small island in the middle of St. Regis Pond (a mere six hours by car north of the Big Apple) is a pine-shaded treasure, with camping on soft, sandy soil and views of 2,874-foot St. Regis Mountain. One portage away from the put-in at Little Clear Pond, the lake is the namesake of St. Regis Canoe Area, New York’s only wilderness canoeing park (read: no motorboats). From your shoreline base camp, trace the eight-pond Seven Carries Route, hike up St. Regis, listen to loons from your hammock, or—what the heck—all of the above.
RESOURCES For info: The New York Department of Environmental Conservation, in Ray Brook, 518-897-1200. For guided trips: Adirondack Lakes and Trails Outfitters, 800-491-0414, .
OR TRY
Green River, Utah
THE PITCH Ah, springtime on the Green—the water is high, temperatures are in the seventies, and the bugs are vacationing elsewhere. Start floating just south of the town of Green River, below the wind-varnished 1,000-foot sandstone cliffs of Labyrinth Canyon, at the Ruby Ranch put-in. Seven miles down this shimmering waterway, you’ll float into the cottonwood-lined cove at Trin-Alcove Bend, 43 miles north of Canyonlands National Park. Nestle into one of several campsites at the base of the 300-foot-tall amphitheater, and explore the many slots and dry waterfalls branching off from Labyrinth’s main canyon. Feeling ambitious? Keep paddling to within five miles of Canyonlands.
RESOURCES Free, self-serve permits are available at most put-ins. Camping is available at any point along the shore. For general information, call the BLM office in Price, 435-636-3622.

Crux Gear
Somehow, the two-person, 17-foot Wenonah Spirit II Kevlar Ultra-light ($2,095; 507-454-5430, ) confounds the water gods by being both a capable whitewater canoe and an easy-to-steer open-water cruiser that weighs in at a portage-friendly 42 pounds.

Bike: Europe’s not the only place for bike camping. Gear up for open spaces, vintage vistas, and BIKE MECHANICS WHO JUST MIGHT CROSS THE LANGUAGE BARRIER. Dude!

DREAM PICK
Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, Colorado
THE PITCH You’ll find plenty of choice campsites along the Continental Divide, but none quite as spectacular as those dotting the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route, especially the section between Silverthorne and Platoro, Colorado鈥攁 network of Forest Service roads more prosaically known as Section 4. (The entire six-section GDMBR runs all the way from Montana through New Mexico.) For a weekend taste of high-altitude touring, try the 97-mile, overnight leg from Breckenridge to Salida. Highlights include a surprisingly forgiving spin over 11,482-foot Boreas Pass, an exhilarating descent through quaking aspens, and one of the sweetest stopovers of Section 4’s entire 318 miles: a lofty emerald meadow just off a dirt lane (County Road 175), past a cluster of shacks called Everett Cow Camp. Unload your panniers, make yourself at home, then aim your point-and-shoot at the Imax panorama of the 14,000-foot Collegiate Peaks, soaring out of the Arkansas River Valley.
BETA For the Breckenridge-to-Salida overnighter, take I-70 west from Denver to Frisco, then drive south to Breckenridge for the start of the ride. Follow 国产吃瓜黑料 Cycling’s fine (and really only) comprehensive map of the bike route south toward Salida. For the entire Section 4 trip, continue on AC’s mapped route to Platoro.
PRIME TIME July-September
RESOURCES For info: 国产吃瓜黑料 Cycling, in Missoula, Montana, 800-721-8719, .

PLAN B
Methow Valley, Washington
THE PITCH On this, the dry side of Washington’s Cascade Range, mountain-bike on jeep roads 28 miles northeast from Winthrop to the Tiffany Springs campground, just below timberline on the grassy flanks of 8,242-foot Tiffany Mountain. The next day, when you’re through gawking at the craggy Cascades and their marbled snowfields across the valley, press on for the 108-mile tour up through the bald eagle country of the Sinlahekin Wildlife Area to Loomis, and then back through the pines along trout-choked Salmon Creek.
RESOURCES For info: Methow Valley Ranger District, 509-996-2266, ; Winthrop Mountain Sports, 800-719-3826, .

OR TRY
Monongahela National Forest, West Virginia
THE PITCH This three-day outing in the 909,000-acre Monongahela launches in the mountain environs outside Davis, West Virginia, spins above Blackwater Canyon, stops off for panoramic views from Table Rock, and winds up at Glady Fork Creek, a stream crowded by hemlocks. Bring your rod: The water’s brimming with trout. Wrap up the 60-mile loop (43 miles on dirt, 17 on pavement) with a mellow rail-trail climb along the Blackwater River until you reach Coketon, 1,000 feet below Table Rock.
RESOURCES For info: Blackwater Bikes, in Davis, 304-259-5286, ; Blackwater Falls State Park, 800-225-5982, .

Crux Gear
The Bruce Gordon touring bicycle is custom-built to fit you. Bruce Gordon’s top-shelf Rock N’ Road Tour-Ex comes spec’d with a Deore XT drivetrain and 26-inch wheels that’ll accept knobby MTB tires, yet it still maintains the low center of gravity ideal for stable loaded touring. ($2,595 as shown; 707-762-5601, )

Advanced Base Camp

Home on the range is a concept best taken literally. And the perfect rugged hideaway should be furnished with absolute comfort, absolute efficiency, and absolute cool in mind.

Bent-knee-style poles push out the walls, cleverly adding an extra five cubic feet of usable space to Marmot’s Mercury three-season tent—your spacious five-pound, four-ounce, pumpkin-hued home on the range. ($299; 707-544-4590, )

Sierra Designs’ Gobi 600-fill down bag is a single sleeper with multiple ratings. Two zip-on, zip-off optional layers turn the 15-degree sack into a cozy minus-15-degree cocoon. ($199, bag only; extra layers, $89/light, $139/heavy; 800-635-0461, )
The gold-titanium-nitride coating on the SOG Powerlock S60 elevates an already manly utility tool into museum-worthy art. And, yes, it also shields this 13-function brute from corrosion. ($110; 888-764-2378, )

Advanced Base Camp, Pt. II

Petzl’s nine-ounce MYO 5 headlamp offers five screaming-white L.E.D. bulbs and—finally—a tiltable housing so you don’t blind anyone when you check the map. ($70; 877-807-3805, )

With a removable foot section (shave weight!) and a slide-in foam pad (sleep great!), the Therm-a-Rest Fusion Ex is one mighty versatile mattress. Slip on the game sleeve and it gets better: Enjoy chess, checkers, mancala, and backgammon while the storm blows over. (Pad, $140; game sleeve, with pieces, $25; 800-531-9531, )

Top off the eight-ounce Brunton Glorb lantern with lighter fluid, pop out its built-in tripod, and bathe your tent site in 60 watts of warm light for two hours. ($60; 800-443-4871, )

Moveable Feast

Want to dine properly in the bush? You need the right tools, real ingredients, and an uncompromising vision. A primer on going deluxe when you go wild.

The Real Meal Ticket

Chef Boulot’s secret to four-star camp fare? Pre-trip food prep and a quality vacuum-packer. Boulot uses TILIA’s FOODSAVER system ($120-$320; 800-777-5452, ). You can vacuum-pack virtually anything for space and weight savings, from undies to wine. And after a bag or two of Bordeaux, even ramen tastes pretty good.

Chef Boulot outside the kitchen of the Heathman restaurant

EXTREME CUISINE
A celebrated chef serves up artful backcountry cuisine

PHILIPPE BOULOT mocks you and your pathetic ramen noodles, your disgusting boil-a-bag meals, your nasty energy bars.

“I will not eat ziss sheet,” insists the Normandy native, currently the most celebrated French chef in the Northwest. “Even if I am starving in zee wheelderness.”

Not that there’s any chance of that, mind you. On this October fly-fishing float trip down the Deschutes River, in the high desert of northeastern Oregon, le grand fromage of Portland’s Heathman Restaurant has brought along a supply list that reads like one of his dining room’s prix fixe menus: smoked salmon, two-year-old serrano ham, leg of lamb, handmade apple-and-pork sausage, Snake River Kobe beef, Pierre Robert cheese, and Oregon pinot noir.

Heading into the backcountry with Boulot is a lesson in extreme cuisine. Stacked in three rafts, as we navigate Class II-III+ rapids, are tables and chairs, a dining canopy, sterling, crystal, 24-karat-gilded china, a 60,000-BTU dual-burner propane stove, three guides who work for food (including two waiters from the Heathman), and one pear-shaped sommelier rattling on about everything from his home-tied fly collection to the history of hand-blown stemware.
On this special trip for All-Star Rafting and Kayaking, Boulot is determined to show just how good the grub can get. It’s an inspiring performance. At camp above a pounding rapids, the sky fading from brilliant blue to star-stained black, Boulot has pots and saute pans steaming under a centuries-old juniper as his guides/waiters run plates to a formally set banquet table. Finally he takes his seat, ceremoniously unfurls his linen napkin, and toasts the Deschutes. Crystal gongs. Then everybody tucks in for five courses: a silver platter of Yakima Bay oysters to spark the appetite; Dungeness crab salad layered with mango and avocado in blood orange vinaigrette and lemon aioli; leg of lamb braised seven hours in Bordeaux, with hand-rolled potato gnocchi, chanterelles, and grilled bread; a wheel of obscenely rich triple-cream cheese; and croissant bread pudding. The moon sets with the meal.

And Boulot rises with the sun, groggy and disheveled, automatically producing plates heaped with custard-soaked brioche French toast, sausage, and pan-fried potatoes. There is Kona coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice mixed with a rare vintage of Oregon bubbly.

We spend only two days on the river, but it feels like two weeks in the French Alps. The river thrums as the guides pack up. Before we shove off, I ask Chef if it isn’t all too much, going to such lengths to eat well in the wild. “For me,” observes Boulot, sipping from a champagne flute as a herd of mustangs graze the opposite riverbank, “it would be difficult not to do beautiful cooking in a place as spectaculaire as ziss.”

A Moveable Thanksgiving Feast

Cooking ultralight

CORE ACCOUTREMENTS FOR THE BACKCOUNTRY KITCHEN

Manufactured in Japan to near-aircraft-grade tolerances, the ingenious three-ounce Brunton Crux canister stove will boil a bucket of pasta. Yet it folds up like a paper crane small enough to tuck away in the concave space beneath a standard isobutane fuel canister. ($70; 800-443-4871, )

You aren’t truly going fast and light until you’ve maxed out the titanium gear in your pack. MSR’s superstrong and ultra-spare Titan Mini Cookset鈥攖wo pots, one lid鈥攖ips the scale at just under 11 ounces. ($90; 800-531-9531, )
CHEF BOULOT’S TURF ‘N’ SURF
Seven-Hour Leg of Lamb

Serves 8

Ingredients:
Leg of lamb
1 tsp crushed ground garlic, plus one head of garlic
1 tsp fresh rosemary
1 tsp fresh thyme
1/2 tsp black peppercorns
1/4 cup tomato paste
2 yellow onions
2 carrots
2 celery stalks
1 tsp coriander
1 tsp juniper berries
2 bay leaves
1/4 cup flour
1 bottle Bordeaux
Salt to taste

Rub lamb with crushed ground garlic, thyme, and rosemary, and season with salt and pepper. Marinate for 24 hours. Place the lamb in a roasting dish and into a hot (400 degrees) oven for 20 minutes鈥攐r until lamb is golden-brown. Remove lamb from dish and set aside. Pour remaining lamb juice into a braising pan. Chop the vegetables and brown them in the braising pan on top of the stove. Add 1/4 cup flour. Then add tomato paste and bottle of Bordeaux. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally. Season with salt, pepper, remaining spices, and one head of garlic. Place lamb in braising liquid and be sure meat is completely covered (add water or chicken stock if necessary). Cover with a tight lid or tinfoil. Simmer in a slow (300 degrees) oven for seven hours. Take out, let cool, remove meat, strain vegetables, and vacuum-seal in bag with liquid. Freeze. In camp: Defrost, reheat in bag or pot, and serve.

Roasted Salmon on River Stone with Blanquette of Leeks

Serves 8

Ingredients:
8 oz salmon fillet per person
4 oz leeks per person
1 cup heavy cream
1 tbsp French mustard
3 tbsp olive oil
2 tbsp sherry vinegar

Heat flat stones (one per person) in a fire. Fillet salmon, leaving skin on. Season with salt and pepper and coat with olive oil. Move stone to edge of fire pit and cook, skin side down, without turning. Sauce with a vinaigrette of French mustard, remaining olive oil, and sherry vinegar. Simmer leeks in heavy cream until tender, and serve on the side.

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