World Travel Guide Online

My trip began at the Crawfordsville, Indiana train station, which consisted of an unmanned metal hut with about 10 chairs in it. I was boarding the Hoosier train bound for Chicago. I had picked up my tickets for this trip the day before at the Amtrak station in downtown Indianapolis. The train arrived at the station about 10 minutes late at 8:00 a.m. It could be heard clanging and blowing its horn in the distance for about 15 minutes prior to this. Upon boarding the train for the four-hour trip to Chicago, I quickly found a seat in the sparsely populated car. After the conductor came by and checked tickets, I settled into my seat. For the next four hours I watched out the window as the corn and soy fields of the Midwest slowly gave way to the suburban and then urban landscape of Chicago.

After arriving in Chicago at 11:00 a.m., I had a four-hour wait before I could board the Empire Builder. During this time, I explored Union Station, ate lunch and walked outside the train station to watch the boats on the Chicago River, which flows through downtown Chicago next to the train station. At this point, my camera batteries decided to die, so with much frustration I was unable to get any pictures of downtown Chicago.

At 14:15, I boarded the Empire Builder (with recharged camera batteries). Boarding the train brought back memories of a trip that I had taken on the Empire Builder eight years ago during the dead of winter. The farms of the Great Plains had been covered in snow. The train had suffered mechanical failures, such as backed up toilets from frozen water lines, due to temperatures that reached down to -10F to -20F. My most memorable event was going to the lounge car one night after an unsuccessful attempt to sleep and watching a soldier in the British Army play the bagpipes. He then let other people try. I volunteered. I managed to produce a wheezing noise and this was before all the pipes fell off my shoulder and hit a nearby woman in the head. As I was taking my current trip in the middle of summer I was curious to see how the scenery would have changed from my last trip.

I spent all the first evening watching the scenery of the upper Midwest roll past the window in an endless panorama of farms and forests. As night approached, I ate supper in the dining car and then spent a very uncomfortable night in coach perhaps achieving two hours of sleep due to my 6′ 1″ frame trying to sit in a seat designed I am sure for the average 5′ 8″ person. (of course the screaming sick two year old in front of me didn’t help). After finally deciding to abandon my quest for sleep at about 5:30 a.m., I got up and moved to the lounge car with its panoramic windows. After I had regained some sense of lucidity, I realized that the train had not moved in over an hour. There was no announcement as to what was going on. We finally started moving again. Over a pancake breakfast that I ate at a table shared with a priest and an aspiring Army Airborne Ranger, I learned the reason for the hold up. A stowaway had snuck on the train in Grand Forks, ND and had to be removed by the authorities. He apparently was attempting to hitch a ride on the outside of the train to Minot, ND. While this was going on, a car (somehow not seeing the two-story train) ran into the second locomotive on the train (maybe they were also suffering from lack to sleep due to screaming babies and small seats. One can only wonder.) The locomotive apparently suffered very little damage and we were on our way.

Rural North Dakota

The vast majority of the day was spent traversing the great empty landscape of North Dakota and Montana. What on my trip eight years ago had been an endless mind-numbing sea of white was now a combination of browns, greens and reds. Ranches and sunflower fields passed the windows in abundance. The landscape gradually became more barren, rugged and unpopulated. The train made two resupply stops that day – one in Minot, North Dakota and one in Havre, Montana. During these stops, I was able to get off the train and stretch my legs. The train also passed through many small, isolated farming towns. Each one appeared to come equipped with a huge grain silo next to the train station.

During the day I managed to spot a guy wearing the clothes that usually identifies someone going on a long-term trip or adventure (backpack, nylon shirt, the pants that can be zipped off at the knee to make shorts, hiking boots). As I am planning my own long-term adventure I always enjoy speaking to people who are going off on such a trip as it often inspires me when I begin to have doubts. I managed to snag a seat next to him in the lounge car. He was planning on biking from the Portland train station across the coastal range to the Oregon coast and then from there down to California. He was then taking the train (via a different route) back to Chicago. Come to find out, he had not even planned his route out of the city yet! Using maps that he had brought with him, I helped him find the train station and plan a route out of Portland.

Towards the end of the day, the train entered Glacier National Park which I was greatly looking forward to seeing. It did not let me down. After stopping at the lodge to take on new passengers, the train entered a world of tall trees, deep gorges and mountains. To my disappointment, there was only about 1.5 hours of daylight remaining when we entered the park. I spent most of that time looking at the scenery from the dining car as I ate a hamsteak (the same thing I ate the night before as the train appeared to be running out of all the items on the menu). Much to my surprise, I was able to spot a moose drinking in one of the lakes. I hadn’t realized that Montana had moose.

As darkness fell I returned to my seat to try to get what little sleep I could. Much to my delight, it appeared that I might actually have a row of seats to myself that night to try to sleep in. I stretched out in the unimagined luxury that the extra 2′-2.5′ wide seat provided. After getting about four hours of sleep, I woke up at about 2:00 a.m. and wandered around outside at the train stop in Spokane, WA as the train was being split in two. Half the train was going to Seattle and my half was going to Portland.

Mt. Hood

After getting about one more hour of sleep, I woke up at 5:00 a.m. and went to the lounge car. The half of the train going to Portland got to keep the lounge car while the half going to Seattle took the dining car. I spent most of the morning in the lounge car. The coach car where I had spent two nights began to smell really bad the last day. I believe it was a combination of people not shutting the doors to the bathrooms and just the accumulation of scents from lots of people in a small space for two days. For breakfast I ate a sandwich and free yogurt that the lounge car attendant was giving away. Apparently it was included in the complimentary breakfast provided to sleeper car passengers and some people didn’t want it. The morning was spent traveling on the Columbia River Gorge. First we went through arid Eastern Washington which finally gave way to the scenery that most people associate with the Northwest (big trees and lots of water). It was around this time that Mt. Hood made a cameo appearance. It stood out white and broad against the surrounding brown and green countryside. The train didn’t actually cross into Oregon until we were close to Portland. The train pulled into Portland about 11:00 a.m.

Long distance train travel has its ups and downs. One of the main things I enjoy is meeting new people. Like the group of retirees going to stay at an elder hostel or meeting the guy going on the bike trip. The scenery is also amazing. The only thing I really longed for during the whole 48-hour trip was the ability to sleep in a horizontal position.

We’ve been on the road for three days. We’re four days behind schedule and over budget. We can’t hold back the ongoing sense of joy and giddiness!

Kasmira waves goodbye to Orcas

It’s an adventure that clearly divides the world into two camps. Some people love our spirit for taking four kids and a big black dog halfway across the world, from Orcas Island (top left-hand corner of your map of the USA, with a good skip you can throw a rock and hit Canada) to Europe. Others think we’re insane for thinking that we can all live happily in a Volkswagen van and a big tent.

They’re both right, obviously.

The guy I sold my car to on Orcas sails an old schooner for a living. He used to take rich city folk on a six day tour of the San Juan Islands. He says it takes them about three days to get into the rhythm of the thing, then they never want to leave.

We were just getting into the rhythm of the thing when we had to stop in Spokane, so that I could watch some tennis on ESPN. I’m a freelance writer and one of the things I do is tennis. Sitting on Orcas one day I realized that I could work anywhere that I could plug in my modem. Why, we could be in England, or Spain, or France, or Germany, or Denmark, or Italy…so we’re going to do all of them and more.

We’ll drive all the way across the U.S. to Grandma’s house in Vermont, then down to Miami where we’ll take a cruise ship to Barcelona. I’ll be covering the ATP tennis tour which will lead us from Spain to Germany, to France, the Netherlands, England and finally Italy. In between we’ll be spending time in Denmark, the Netherlands, and God only knows where else.

We’ll hit the Dali Museum in Figueras, the Benedictine Monastery of Montserrat, the alien airfield at Carnac, the ruins at Monts�gur, and the cave village Rocamadour. We’ll hit some major tourist attractions like the Louvre and Wimbledon, but we’re mainly going to stick to the back roads and points of interest off the beaten track.

Our tentative plans call for winter in Italy, though the Greek Islands, Brittany and Svalbard are ongoing locales of seasonal consideration.

I guess I should introduce the band. There’s me, my wife Theresa, our daughters Kasmira (12), Alexandra (7) and Amelia (5); our son Myles (1), and our black Lab Blackberry (“ya big ol’ Blackberry haid” for short). We all travel well, we’ve been on the road for as long as two weeks at a time before. This trip will only run, what?, maybe 7 months longer than that.

The weather hasn’t been good for camping yet. Hopefully as we cross the U.S. we’ll be heading into Spring, though the weather maps don’t suggest so. So we’ve been spending some time in cheap motels which isn’t really what this trip is going to be about.

There’s a sense of amplification about a journey like this. Usually the girls are satisfied with taking over a hotel room by jumping on the beds. With our heightened sense of ambition and expectations they’re now running screaming through the hallways.

We don’t quite have the necessary road rhythm but we’re getting there. I was banging on the hotel door the other night. When Alexandra opened it I pretended to be mad, saying that I hadn’t yet finished developing our secret knock.

We’re just beginning, we haven’t been to any of the places we’ve been looking forward to yet. The ferry out of Orcas was beautiful, it always is. Seattle was fun, but we’ve seen the Space Needle enough times that it didn’t seem like much of an adventure.

A ski run in the Snoqualmie Pass

The adventure feeling only set in as we drove through the Snoqualmie Pass. We don’t get out that way much, only a few times for concerts at the Gorge. Snow was packed four feet deep on the side of the road in places. Just gorgeous, I considered sending pictures to friends and claiming that we’d made it to the Alps. The Columbia River Gorge is a few miles further, but a thousand feet lower or so, beneath the snow line.

So far the high point of the trip was driving through the high plains between the gorge and Spokane. Darkness had set in and the northern lights (this was the lead story on the news as we pulled into Spokane) were dancing red and green in the southern sky. We love the lights, we occasionally get them on Orcas but never with so much color. It was a fantastic view, a great feeling, a wonderful omen.

“Didn’t the Indians think that the northern lights were a bad sign?” Theresa asked.

“Nah, the astrologically advanced ones thought it was a good sign.” I wasn’t actually lying because I don’t know if it’s true or not.

Good signs or not, there’s a colossal difference between living on 15 secluded acres on an island that regularly appears in National Geographic and clumping together in cars and hotel rooms. Privacy is all but nonexistent, there’s more opportunity to irritate everyone with little traits that might otherwise go unnoticed.

Small things take on a greater dimension. We’re still in the preparatory stages in the sense of arranging our packing so that we have easy access to the things we need the most. Everyone has a walkman so that they can get some space when they need it, but it’s not the same as a walk in the woods or going to your room.

Theresa got so flustered that when she heard some rustling in the corner (Blackberry) that she demanded “Where’s Myles?” fearing that he was trying to eat a crayon or was reassembling my Baseball Weekly again or something.

Turns out that she was breast-feeding him, much to the delight of the girls. As I wisely advised Kasmira, “Yes, that’s right, that’s an excellent time to show off your smart aleck teenage stuff!”

I was returning to the room from wandering around the lobby or something. I knocked at the door and no one answered. I know they’re in there. I bang a few more times, then yell for someone to come let me in.

“Are you done inventing your secret family knock, Papa?” Alexandra asked sweetly.

Tune in next week. We’ll be heading east tomorrow, towards Yellowstone (snow may again preclude camping), the big President heads in South Dakota, and to visit my little (taller) brother at the Art Institute of Chicago.

I’ve been on these roads before, but not in more than twenty years. I grew up in Europe, my parents were teachers at the schools over there for me and the other army brats. Actually I had a rather diverse experience, because my parents were in the civil service I also was able to attend the schools reserved for navy brats.

In any event it’s going to be multi-layered culture shock. First of all we won’t be on Orcas anymore, and second, nothing will be like it was when I lived in Europe in the 1970s.

It’s a grand adventure. I’m siding with the people who think we’re doing something wonderful and wild. I mean, let’s face it, we’re behind schedule and over budget even when we stay home.

Williamsburg, Virginia, USA

Jamestown Church Tower – 17th Century

Apparently this was one of many slogans for Virginia that was dropped in favor of the simpler “Virginia is for lovers” but an apt slogan just the same. Sure, as an archaeologist at the site of Jamestown fort pointed out, you hear more in the popular culture about the pilgrims in Massachusetts, but the first permanent English presence in the Americas was in Virginia. And they beat the pilgrims by over a decade. The really incredible thing is that if one is staying in the Williamsburg area, you have the full width of Colonial American history at your disposal within the so-called Historic Triangle of Jamestown, Williamsburg, and Yorktown.

Colonial America’s Beginning
We are within a year of the 400^th anniversary of the arrival of those first settlers at Jamestown, which took place on May 13, 1607. England was seeking to get a toe hold in the so-called New World despite the fact the Spanish had already staked their claim. One could also comment at length that the land was already occupied by indigenous peoples, but that’s a subject that most modern Americans should be familiar with. At any rate, those first settlers, whether you regard them as pioneers or intruders, did not seek the easy life. The early settlers considered the first year after arrival a seasoning time. Those that survived had acclimated to the New World’s diseases and other dangers. However in those first decades, only about one in seven colonists survived.

When visiting Jamestown today, there are two places to visit. The first site is managed jointly by the National Park Service and the Association for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities. This encompasses the actual site of the fort and the later settlement that grew outside it. The second stop, managed by the Jamestown-Yorktown Foundation, primarily features a re-creation of the first settlement, an Indian Village, and copies of the colonists ships.

Jamestown’s life was brief. Less than a hundred years after the first representative government in the New World met in Jamestown, Colonial Virginia’s capital was moved to the new city of Williamsburg, and the old city was gradually abandoned and fell into larger farm holdings. Near the 300^th anniversary, interest in the old site began and preservation activities began. By that time, what had once been an isthmus had become an island due to the changing shape of the James River. And it was believed that the old fort site was entirely underwater. However, by the late 20^th century, archaeologists digging at the site discovered the fort site was mostly intact. At this time, a visit to Historic Jamestown is probably of most interest to people who want to stand where those first colonists stood, as little is left to see above the land.

At one end of the site, one gets to see an exhibition detailing the first attempt at a colonial industry, glass making. Although it was a failure at the time, after viewing the physical remains of that attempt, one can watch glass workers and buy modern examples of glass blown on site. The nearby fort site itself includes a portion of the rebuilt palisade and the remnants of the last Anglican church built there (only the tower is original). One may watch and speak with the archaeologists on site who are quite happy to educate visitors on the history of the site and how modern day digs are conducted. There are also walking trails and driving trails around the island, but the newest attraction at the time of this visit was the Archaearium, a 7,500 square foot facility. Transparent floors in sections allow one to view the foundations of the first state house that rest beneath. Large glass walls allow views of the James River and the fort. The windows include a modern take on the telescope viewer seen on many observation decks. This one allows the user to toggle between a current view of the site and a digital recreation of what once stood there, including an audio narrative about what is being viewed. These were a big hit with the kids present. This isn’t even mentioning the wealth of treasures on display from more than a decade of digs at Jamestown. Bits of armor, buckles, and bones may not seem like much, but the method of display is everything. The interpretations at this state of the art facility really allow the viewer to get a glimpse of a way of life four centuries gone.

Nearby Jamestown settlement, while not the original site, does afford one a much more three dimensional feel for the times. Worries that it would be a little too much of a theme park were largely unfounded as it was fairly balanced. The first stop, when visited at the right time of the year can be a little overwhelming. That stop is at the main center. This is where one will pay admission, buy souvenirs, grab a meal, or view various introductory films. A few hundred school children can make or break this place depending on your outlook. Nevertheless, this is both the beginning and ending point of your visit, so choose your activities as you may. There are frequent orientation tours leaving from the center to tour the re-created colonial sites. At the Powhatan Indian village, one may notice that most of the actors are pale faces, but they are all knowledgeable about the way of life they are illustrating.

A short stroll away is James Fort (much closer than it would have been in reality). Inside the fort, the buildings look typically English, primarily being of stick and mud construction with thatched roofs. Later buildings at Jamestown contained more wood as the settlers realized that the supply of wood was abundant, and those buildings are also represented. Here, too, you can talk with actors who represent the type of people who would have lived there at the time. I think the most impressive thing was that adjacent to the church within the recreated fort was a new foundation. When asked about it, one of the re-enactors explained that digging at the original site had shown that the church was in the wrong location in their fort. Rather than just noting this inaccuracy, the foundation is in the process of correcting it.

Williamsburg Magazine

The last re-creation is of the three ships that brought the original men to Jamestown in 1607. Only the Susan Constant is built on the same scale, but even it looks small for crossing an ocean. The other two ships, Godspeed and Discovery (the latter of which stayed in the Americas) are being replaced shortly with new ships of the same size as the originals. All three ships are fun to meander through and imagine being on board them for several months. What must have gone through the minds of those first colonists as they faced such uncertain futures? Leaving the ships, a chance conversation was overheard between a teacher and her elementary aged students. Who amongst them would want to be one of those first pioneers? Even at an age when people are often at their most adventurous, there were very few takers. Most could not fathom the privations that so many of our ancestors, the lucky ones who survived, had endured.

Colonial America – A Turning Point
Further up the Colonial Parkway, a low speed federal highway connecting sites on the historic triangle is the middle of Colonial history, Williamsburg. The city is both a modern home to people of the area as well as a place where the American Revolutionary era really comes to life. The city thus affords a nice base of operations to spend time in the area. Even if one decides not to stay within walking distance of the Colonial city itself, one can still drive to the visitors center where there is ample parking and walk or ride a bus from there. The buses, which make other stops around the city as well as up and down the Colonial Parkway, are included in the cost of admission. In fact, the visitor center is an excellent first stop in the area as one can purchase discount admission to the main historic sites in one stop, as well as making reservations for walking tours and other day and night activities..

Williamsburg was a planned city, laid out on the site of what was called Middle Plantation. It was built to replace Jamestown as the center of the colony and home of the royal governor. The seeds of the revolt in Virginia, the most English of the colonies, were sown here when the governor attempted to remove the supply of gunpowder in reserve for the colony’s militia in the Williamsburg magazine in 1775. The unrest that was already there was sparked into full-fledged revolt. By the end of the Revolution, the capital was removed to Richmond and Williamsburg’s star declined. In the 1920s, the minister at the parish church, sought assistance from John D. Rockefeller to preserve the historic buildings that remained in the sleepy town. Initially, Rockefellers’ involvement was kept a secret so as not to escalate the price of the property.

What began as a simple preservation eventually evolved into what one sees today. Most of the original land the colonial city inhabited was purchased. Original buildings were restored to their colonial appearance, and where the originals were absent, the land was excavated and authentic reproductions of the colonial buildings were rebuilt, often on original foundations. The challenge seems to be figuring out which ones are original and which ones are reproduction. Talking to the guides and re-enactors, all dressed in period appropriate clothing, seemed the best way. While nothing is the same as being in the actual era they are recreating, colonial Williamsburg does a good job of striking the balance. There are daily performances of actual events that took place in the city during the revolutionary period. But there are also tours where one can learn about such diverse subjects as archaeology at the site, preserving heirloom plants and animals nearly lost to history. In this last regards, the foundation does not just limit to colonial era animals. They are actively preserving what many of our grandparents would have considered mundane plow animals. Visitors can even take part in, for example, a witch trial that took place in the 1700′ and choose what verdict to render. The list of tours are staggering and reservations are recommended as during high season, they are typically full days in advance.

Colonial America’s Ending
The last stop on the historic triangle is Yorktown, where the last major battle of the American Revolution took place. It was here in 1781 that the allied forces of the American Colonies and France won a decisive battle against the British under General Cornwallis. Although an official treaty recognizing America’s independence was two years down the road, the war was largely over as the British turned to other issues in Ireland and India. Like Jamestown, there are two sites at which to get a feeling for the period. The first site, managed by the National Park Service is the actual site. The Jamestown-Yorktown foundation also manages a nearby re-enactment site. With limited time, this visitor chose the actual battlefields.

While Jamestown is undergoing massive renovations in order to be ready for the 400^th anniversary, the NPS Yorktown site is fairly typical as battlefield sites from the American Revolution and Civil War go. A wealth of information that many Americans have probably left behind in high school and college history classes can be had, but a lot of imagination is required to imagine the battles that took place. The park service has a film presentation and employees give periodic orientation tours near the main office, pointing out the sites to visit and giving a brief overview of this last battle.

Yorktown’s Surrender Field

During the course of a visit, one can visit Yorktown proper perched above the York River. Several vintage buildings dot the otherwise sleepy village. Once a major seaport, it never quite recovered after the war. This was where the British Army under Cornwallis was entrenched in 1781. The battle here was a siege war, something the French knew much about. Although there was some fighting over territory surrounding Yorktown, the main battle was about position and artillery. And one can visit both the earthworks of the British and the allies. It was from those American and French siege lines that the allied forces successfully overwhelmed the now-trapped British with sheer artillery power. And it was thus that Yorktown took such a pounding. The last site one can visit is Surrender field, where the official surrender took place. British and Hessian soldiers marched onto the field and threw down their weapons here before returning to Yorktown. One can only imagine the sight that day as one stares across the bucolic field. The Future – America’s Colonial Heritage
To say that there’s much to see and do in the Historic Triangle is something of an understatement. In a five day visit, there were still sights unseen and places unvisited. But the mark of any good trip would seem to be such a wealth of options. And given time, the nature of these sites will only yield more to see. While the changes at Yorktown will probably be fewer, its sister NPS site, Jamestown, will complete renovations by early 2007 for the anniversary. And as continued archeological digs, historical research, and interpretations continue to take place at all three sites, one can rest assured that things will not be the same on a later visit. In fact, a trio of ladies who had visited Williamsburg periodically over the past 30 years commented that there was always something new to see, which seems ironic when one is visiting a shrine to the past. If history interests you, plan at least one visit here, allow yourself time to experience it, and be ready to discover you want to return one day.

Virginia is for Lovers, but Virginia Beach is for Lovers of Nature! Virginia Beach, Virginia

Cape Henry and its lighthouses. The one in the background was completed in 1792.

It is a city whose wave action offers surfers a haven to indulge in their passion. Yet nearby the surf and turf action, another different aquatic world of marshlands is available for exploring. 31,000 acres of farmland are included in the make up this metropolis, where people can come to pick such fruits like apples and peaches. It is here where Philippine and Latin cultures manifest themselves in well-attended festivals on its storied three-mile boardwalk. But the Southern way of life is still paramount for this city of well over 400,000 people. The city with all these contrasts is Virginia Beach, Virginia.

Virginia Beach resides at the southeastern corner of Virginia, and extends all the way to the North Carolina border. The city covers some 310 square miles in area. It is an independent city entity of the Hampton Roads metropolitan area, that's made up of six more cities, including Norfolk and Newport News. Because of the vast size of Virginia Beach, travelers can literally find themselves in the midst of a big city traffic jam one minute, yet can bask in the seclusion and peacefulness of a fruit tree orchard just minutes later!

It is the permanence of Virginia Beach's residents, made up of tens of thousands of military workers and light industrial workers, along with their families, that keep this city pulsating even during the off-peak travel seasons for coastal resort cities. Virginia Beach brings in three million overnight tourists a year, but 55% of these visits (1.65 million) come after the Labor Day and before Memorial Day Weekends. Even in the dead of winter, events like the Polar Plunge into the frigid Atlantic Ocean or whale watching along its thirty-five miles of beaches are in full swing. Virginia Beach's beaches are collectively listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the "World's Longest Pleasure Beach".

In 2006, the 400-year anniversary celebration of Captain Christopher Newport's and Captain John Smith's landing at Cape Henry (the northeastern tip of Virginia Beach), on April 26, 1607, will get underway. Beat the upcoming rush and plan your own Virginia Beach history in the making by taking part in some of Virginia Beach's best nature-related activities:

Contemplate History and the Meaning of Life at Cape Henry

When three ships carrying over 100 Englishmen landed at what would eventually become an integral part of Virginia Beach on April 26, 1607, history was be made. These pioneers would set up the first elective government in English America before ultimately settling in Jamestown. Cape Henry was named for Henry Prince of Wales, the eldest son of King James I. One of the last battles for American Independence took place here in 1781, called the Battle of the Capes. The French fleet, led by Admiral Comte deGrasse, defeated British ships trying to send reinforcements to Yorktown. With the British stifled, General Cornwalis would eventually surrender to Washington's armies. America was finally free of British rule. The first federally funded lighthouse ever built by the new American constitutional government resides here, completed in 1792. It would help navigate ships safely in and out of the Chesapeake Bay for nearly 90 years. A new lighthouse, constructed nearby, would replace it in 1881. In the 21^st century, Cape Henry makes up part of a military installation known as Fort Story. I could've just stood at the edge of this fateful cape and stared out at the ocean blue for eons of time, watching the dolphins at play and sailboats moving across, but the realities of life would prevent me from hammering permanent stakes into this slice of paradise. Cape Henry Lighthouse: 583 Atlantic Ave., Fort Story, VA. 757-422-9421.

Kayaking the Back Bay National Wildlife Refuge

Back Bay National Wildlife Refuge resides in the Sandbridge (The Outer Banks of Virginia) region of Virginia Beach, which is due south of the touristy boardwalk area. It contains 8,700 acres of beaches, dunes, farmland, marshes, and woodlands, many types of edible plantlife and wildflowers. Some 300 species of birds have been documented to reside here, and during migratory seasons, thousands of ducks and geese make a stop at the Back Bay. Ocean Rentals is one of the outfitters that offer tours of the Back Bay National Refuge via guided and independent eco kayaking expeditions. This writer had never kayaked before in his life, but within a fifteen minute span, after initially spinning around and hitting the shoreline several times, I was gliding easily down the saltwater marshlands by finally keeping in mind and heeding the initial lessons on land given to me by my guide Dougie. She, too, became hooked on this enjoyable outdoor activity after her first lesson years earlier, and then became a guide for Ocean Rentals. My eyes took in many different kinds of trees and plant life indigenous to this region, and even an eagle's nest. Unfortunately, the cottonmouth snakes decided not to make any public appearances for our benefit (at a safe distance from our kayaks). Dougie told me that no one has ever been bit by a snake on their tours because everyone has used common sense and caution in this environment. But for me, experiencing self-transport by watercraft was my biggest thrill. My tour was well over 2 hours long and covered 3.5 miles of marshland. I was so tired the last 1/3 of the way back that Dougie towed me back in her kayak in the same manner a tugboat tows a great ocean liner. She did it with ease, thanks in part to the fact that the lightweight kayaks Ocean Rentals uses move on the water quite effortlessly. Back Bay National Wildlife Refuge: 4005 Sandpiper Rd. 757-721-2412. Ocean Rentals: 577 Sandbridge Dr. 757-721-6210 or 800-695-4212.

The Virginia Aquarium and Marine Science Center's Nature Buffet

This family-friendly venue is rated as one of the top aquariums in the United States. No wonder, for a whole day can be spent with the interactive exhibits, 3D IMAX Hollywood and educational releases, and over 700,000 gallons of aquarium and live animal habitat space. Ever seen a giant sea turtle or shark up close before? Well, it's possible to do so at the Virginia Aquarium without getting your Italian shoes wet!

A US Fish and Wildlife Service officer clears a fallen tree from the path to Lake Drummond, located in the Great Dismal Swamp.

The nature trail runs 1/3 of a mile, and consists of 40-plus acres of salt marsh and wood preserve. Thousands of living species like lilies, blazing stars, and osprey exist here. This trail leads to the Marsh Pavilion, an absolute must-see when visiting this venue. It's located on the Owls Creek salt marsh. Some cute little otter may stick its head up at you, and then yawn for lack of interest. I, a lifetime Wyoming native, finally got up close and personal with a large brown pelican that was just a few feet from me at the half-acre bird aviary, which is just outside the pavilion. Kids will get a kick out of such interactive exhibits like being able to touch stingrays, which don't sting at all….well, at least not these! I watched children effortlessly sticking their hands into the water to touch these creatures while some of their parents showed ambivalence towards imitating the actions of their offspring. Virginia Aquarium and Marine Science Center: 717 General Booth Blvd. 757-425-FISH.

Day of the Dolphins

To see bottlenose folphins in their natural habitat, why not cruise the Virginia Beach shoreline to see these creatures at play? After all, Virginia Beach hosts the largest concentration of these mammals in the mid-Atlantic. I took a 90-minute boat ride along the Virginia Beach shoreline, and witnessed scores of dolphins at play with Rudee Tours. This firm offers guided dolphin tours in their water craft called the Rudee Flipper, beginning and ending at the Rudee Inlet (just south of the Virginia Beach Boardwalk). Some of the dolphins came up close to the boat, but they disappeared back into the ocean every time I was about to take a snapshot of them. Still, I was able to get some awesome photos of landmarks like the Cape Henry Lighthouses and the legendary hotel called The Cavalier. This hotel is where beer tycoon Adolph Coors fell to his death in 1929 under mysterious circumstances, and has been a playground for the rich and famous, including seven US presidents. Rudee Tours: 200 Winston Salem Ave. 757-425-3400.

The Great Dismal Swamp Tea Brew

The Great Dismal Swamp is a necessary little side trip from Virginia Beach. It's located about 45 miles southwest of Virginia Beach in the Hampton Roads City of Suffolk. After his heart was broken, the struggling poet Robert Frost tried to kill himself in 1894 by simply walking from Norfolk into the swamp, hoping to actually disappear into it forever. Yet what he found instead was a new purpose to live and to keep on writing. The rest is history after he took the road less traveled! The swamp now makes up part of the Charles Kuralt Trail, in honor of the late CBS TV journalist and outdoor trekker Charles Kuralt. In the middle of the swamp is a 3,100 acre lake that was discovered in 1665 by William Drummond, then governor of North Carolina, while on a hunting trip. When William Byrd II surveyed this swamp in 1728, he made the comment that this was the "most dismal place" he'd ever been to; and thus, the name Dismal Swamp is purported to have possibly come about from such comments. George Washington first visited it in 1763 to drain and log the area. One of the drainage ditches bears his name to this day, of which a trail for driving and walking along the Washington Ditch exists. The Great Dismal Swamp was even a stop on the legendary Underground Railroad for slaves fleeing their masters. Though its been logged, altered, and reduced in many other ways by man and mother nature, the Great Dismal Swamp remains a haven for nature-lovers. At one time, it covered over one million acres, but now is just barely a tenth of that (over 110,000 acres). Trees like the red maple, Atlantic white cedar, and sweetgum oak-poplar are plentiful here. The nonforested areas include a makeup of marshland, sphagnum bog, and evergreen shrubs. Other species of plant life like the dwarf trillium, the log fern, and silky camellia can be found at the Great Dismal Swamp. Our feathered friends in the sky abound here, including the American goldfinch, barred owl, and the pileated woodpecker. Black bears and bats make their home in the Great Dismal Swamp. The 87 species of reptiles and amphibians include turtles and 21 types of snakes which slither around here. Once again, just like my trek to the Back Bay National Wildlife Refuge, I didn't get to witness any snakes in action. But I did have to help the US Fish and Wildlife Service officer clear a fallen tree from a trail road that leads to Lake Drummond. Lake Drummond is considered a black water lake, though it actually looks like a large pool of Lipton Tea because of the tannic acids emanating from the bark of the juniper, gum and cypress trees. Visitors can hike, bike, take photos, fish, hunt, and boat throughout the year. See below website for details. The Great Dismal Swamp: 3100 Desert Rd., Suffolk, VA (757) 986-3705.

So, Y'all Wanna Know More About Virginia Beach?

A Brown Pelican at the Virginia Aquarium and Marine Science Center.

Accommodations in Virginia Beach for all budgets and tastes can be accessed through Bootsnall.com. I stayed at the Cavalier's rustic hilltop venue, which is just across the street from its oceanfront property. I found the bed to be very comfy, and I drank the best tasting orange juice of my life during breakfasts at the Cavalier. Most travelers who come to Virginia Beach do so by automobile. Here's a great link for this mode of transportation into the city. By air, the closest major airport into Virginia Beach is Norfolk International Airport, a quick 20 to 30-minute ride to the oceanfront, depending upon traffic. Norfolk's airport symbol is ORF. By train, Amtrak stops at the nearby city of Newport News, but offers bus service into Virginia Beach. Greyhound buses venture to Virginia Beach. Hampton Roads Transit is Virginia Beach's public transport entity. A convenient and inexpensive trolley system known as the VB Wave offers inexpensive rides in and about Atlantic Ave. for shopping, museum crawling, and excursions around the vicinity of the Virginia Beach Boardwalk. To make the most of your journey to Virginia Beach, go to the city's official site at www.vbfun.com. Or call 1-800-VA-BEACH. Along Atlantic Avenue, which is a stone's throw to the Atlantic Ocean, as well as in many stores and shops in Virginia Beach, travelers will find all kinds of free Virginia Beach literature. These include maps and coupon discount booklets for meals, attraction visits, and souvenirs. Such publications are the Sunny Day Guide to Virginia Beach, VB Guide, Virginia Beach Visitors Guide, and Great Vacations.

It’s not always about the new destination; it’s the comfort of familiar places

Last winter, the big fireside talk at the infamous Chateau Apres Lodge in Park City was Alta. Skiers say it’s the place to go for deep powder. If Deer Valley is the venue for those with deep pockets, Alta is for the ski purists because snow is the only thing there and skiing is the only thing to do.

It’s only September and I haven’t even finished my last race of the season, but I’m already filled with excitement about winter (I skipped autumn) and the skiing possibilities. I’ve already booked my air and hotel, so I’m good to go for my Christmas ski holiday.

But this trip is more than a birthday and Christmas gift to myself; it’s a time to reflect upon the year’s race season and a time to take a break and simply play (without any odometers, lap counting, fueling, speed training or racing). This trip is necessary as brushing one’s teeth; it’s a preventive measure.

How do you feel about your racing season? For me, it meant surpassing bike accidents and learning to keep going and re-defining my race goals a week before the race, being honest with myself about my true abilities, not making any race all encompassing and bigger than others and learning how to be less self-critical while learning from mistakes.

I’ve learned that racing is a very personal journey, as in many of life’s pursuits. As one grows from the novice level, improvement comes with each season. Each season has a theme, a feel that enables you to look back at each racing season and be objective, true and kind to yourself. As a novice skier, while I have yet to learn how to properly tackle the moguls, deep powder and all mountain terrain, I already have an idea of what I want for next year’s races. I want to qualify for the Boston Marathon and my local bike club’s A-level spring training program, which means I have to work on speed on foot and on the bike.

But I’m not type A by any means; I pride myself on being more grounded, so I look to the year-end after I finish all the year’s races as a time to retreat. Do you have such a place that you escape and retreat to? If not, you owe it to yourself to find your own personal haven. It could be a wellness spa that you go to once a year, a weekend program at your yoga center, the woods behind your home, but it’s a place that you can call home, that evokes the feelings of comfort and security.

Such a place for me are the mountains of Alta during the winter. While my ambitious side would prefer to leave no mountain range unexplored and no vantage point unviewed, the vast landscape makes that goal impossible to meet even if I decide to move to this old mining town.

I’ve learned that skiers return to Alta because it provides the comfort of home – warmth, connection, the inviting mountain and nature all around that makes you think you’ve found solace. Families congregate like clockwork at the hotel lounges and they know to line up early in the morning to get their desired dinner reservation time. Their children have grown up skiing at Alta and only have holiday recollections at their particular hotel. As strangers sharing the lift, one of the first questions tends to be, “Which hotel are you staying at?” And each skier is almost always a devotee to his/her hotel.

Since I carry my digital camera everywhere, I’ve had to stop a few times to try to capture the post card scenery of greenery peppered with real, wild, pure white powder. I’ve learned that expert, adventurous and even not-so-smart skiers love to discover new trails and go off-piste.

I am an avid solo female traveler who tends to seek others, yet I also revel in my own company. I rise early and am on line as the lift opens. I carb-up during lunch and waste no time so I can head out for the next half of my ski day. Sometimes I’ll stop along the mountain to catch my breath, take a break or more likely, to figure out the curves I will make to get to the bottom of a challenging slope. While I’m familiar with the main trails of this mountain, the variable snow and weather ensure that each familiar run never feels the same. Although I’ve never felt alone and was never one to return to the same destination, I have found the comfort, safety and security of returning to this familiar place.

There are lessons and tricks I’ve learned through my travels. As a runner, I never leave home without my running shoes. They’re a security blanket for me because I know I can work out whenever I want to, and in my travels I’ve discovered a certain beauty to early morning explorations. Some of my fondest running explorations include the Sahara desert and Christchurch, New Zealand (I discovered the Cadbury factory where I scored some free chocolates to take back to my roommate at the hotel). I always carry a water bottle with me when I travel to remind myself that I constantly need to drink. Since I’m all about traveling light, my travel clothes are those that I hardly wear at home. I wear them during my trip and donate them to the hotel after use.

My travel tradition has always been to spend my last day alone to let it all soak in. On my last day at Alta, I let myself be guided as I glided over all the fluffy snow underneath. I was surrounded by snow-capped peak mountains, the native trees and my heart lightened. I knew this is how it’s supposed to feel; I knew this is how I’m supposed to feel.

The River Green
Dinosaur National Monument, Utah

It is your first month as a seasonal National Park Service Ranger and you have been looking forward to meeting Park Service Boys. It’s why you applied for the job. There are other reasons why you applied for the job, like career changes and that sort of thing, but your vision of partying the entire summer with twenty-something boys (although you left the twenty-something bracket a year or two ago) was decidedly a job perk.

However, in your remote location and small division, you realize your pickings are slim. In fact, there are no pickings in a thirty mile radius (Unless you’re Mormon. Which you’re not.) You persevere, in hopes of meeting Park Service boys in other divisions of your park. If need be, you’re determined to visit all National Parks and Monuments within a day’s drive.

After a few weeks, you begin to hear rumors; rumors that all rangers will have the opportunity for a river trip. It’s so that you could see the entire park, better answer visitor questions and assist with weed control. The guides for these expeditions are also park employees, whose job it is to ensure domestic tranquility amongst our nations’ waterways, by ridding them of invasive plants. You met them once at pre-season training. Mark and Mike. They are also cute, and twenty-something. You can hardly believe this may be true – the opportunity you as a single female (when your days as a twenty-something was not so long ago) have been waiting for.

River Green, Dinosaur National Monument

A short time later, your supervisor receives a phone call and asks if you want to go on a river trip, leaving tomorrow. Yesyesyesyesyes! You are on cloud nine! Images flash through your overactive imagination�you, Mark and Mike, for three days, floating lazily down the Green, sunning yourself on the bow of the raft, kicking back with beers in the evening, and gosh, both boys vying for your woman-of-experience attention. What will you do? Remember, your supervisor says, interrupting your reverie, you will be working.

In your excitement you set your clock for 6 p.m. instead of 6 a.m. You awaken with twenty minutes to spare, gulping coffee along the way to the boat launch. You meet up with Mark, trying to be as cheery as possible in the pre-dawn hours, wanting to help but having no clue how to hook up gear onto a raft. You hope that your cute smile makes up for your lack of gear-hooking knowledge. Other park employees who know what they’re doing seem to have the system under control, so you look around hopefully for Mike, the other river guide.

Turns out, Mike is not going on this trip, another ranger tells you. Just you and Mark? For three days? How cozy, just the two of you, floating lazily down the Green, sunning yourself on the bow of the raft, kicking back with beers in the evening, and then…

From around the 4×4 truck that the raft is hitched to, pops out a dreadlocked girl. She is obviously flirting with Mark, tossing him dry bags with a wink and a giggle. You think violently, who the hell is this girl, encroaching on your Park Service Boy territory? She is not in park service uniform. She is wearing trendy cargo pants, Chaco’s and spaghetti strap tank shirt. She is skinny.

You are suddenly conscious of your non-flattering uniform, which until one minute ago, you wore with pride; green knee-length shorts, gray be-patched and badged shirt. And even if you were skinny, the uniform would hide that fact completely.

The girl catches your eye (and probably your malevolent glare) and introduces herself. Magda is a volunteer. From Boulder. That explains the dreads. (You personally don’t understand dreadlocks. You think it’s gross that non-Rastafarian people would go around with dirty hair on purpose. Whatever the political statement – because it’s certainly not fashion or religion – that dreads are supposed to impart are lost on you).

Magda giggles again and you see her tossing a carabineer to Mark. He smiles back at Magda. You watch this little interplay with a sinking heart, as Magda whispers to you conspiratorially that Mark is her boyfriend. I see, you mumble and then frantically look again for Mike, who is not going on the trip. You desperately ask your co-workers who are helping gear up the raft, if they are going. Anyone? Nope. It’s just the three of you. You, Mark and the “volunteer.”

You take a deep breath. It’s not that you wanted Mark, specifically. You wanted someone to relieve the monotony of your isolated location. Some summer fun. So you grab an extra six-pack that had been rolling around in the back of your truck, throwing it into your dry bag. Drinking this will not make you skinny, but at this point, who cares? You are the third wheel.

Gear fastened, raft loaded, the three of you set off and you are determined to make the best of it. Perhaps the freak drop in temperature that caused snow to fall the day before in higher elevations should have tipped you off. As you hop in (ok, ungracefully scramble over the side) hail begins to fall. You and the honeymooners pull on your rain gear, trying to turn your backs to the pelting bullets from above. It’s the desert, in June, you wonder. Can it get any worse?

After twenty minutes, the hail stops. You breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe you can at least get some sun, as it peeks out around the clouds. From your perch on the edge of the bow, you look for a place to stretch out. But Magda has already commandeered the extra space atop the cooler, lying out, bikini clad, eyes closed. Mark is rowing away, plainly enjoying his view. Maybe the hail was not so bad.

You begin to sense that your presence is not what they had planned either. Hey, this wasn’t my idea, you want to yell. No one told me about the “volunteer.” You would have gladly stayed home and allowed these two their own private trip. You balance yourself on the raft’s edge and roll up the edges of your government issued shorts. Enjoy the sun, you think to yourself. Concentrate on a tan.

Then the rain begins to fall.

You don’t know if God is on your side, or just playing a cruel joke (as if single, thirty-plus, in the isolated desert wasn’t enough. Ed Abbey you are not.) At least the rain required Magda to retrieve her raincoat and you could cover up your now hated green uniform. She actually scooted over, so that you too, could sit on the cooler. Misery enjoys company.

Your raft pulls over at its assigned stop; an afternoon project with an Iowan Outward Bound group. You wait in the rain for the group to arrive. And wait.

Magda and Mark start to bicker. You’re not quite sure why. You try to ignore it by looking at the beautiful canyon, even in the rain. Look at the beautiful canyon, you tell yourself, mantra-like. Ignore the rain. Ignore the mini-squabble.

Mark suggests you and Magda hike up the grotto while he checks on the whereabouts of the Iowans. You and Magda set off, and you really want to ask her about the dreadlocks. Do guys really dig them? Instead, she asks you about your graduate studies and career changes. Well, at least your-woman-of-experience persona isn’t going completely to waste. Magda shimmies up a crevice ahead of you into the grotto. Your hips get stuck in the same crevice. You turn sideways and pull yourself free as she waits up top. Clearly, the Freshman Fifteen did not affect her as it did you.

You two finish your hike and meet back with Mark, who has retrieved the rain-soaked Iowans. You feel bad for these poor folks, who obviously came a long way and paid a good bit of money to pull weeds in the rain, wearing water-soaked leather sneakers and boots. Apparently, Outward Bound and similar outfits do not allow their guests to wear Teva’s or Chaco’s, even on the river. Too many stubbed toes, you presume, but racking up blisters in wet tennis shoes doesn’t seem to make much sense either. In any case, the group is in good spirits and they complete the project with gusto. You respect their resilience.

After the group departs, Magda and Mark start to bicker again. Again, you’re not quite sure why. You go through your dry bag to find your wool sweater, and eye the beer. You can’t but overhear the two sides of their argument. Once again, you are amazed at Magda’s insistence (the younger generation!) and Mark’s willingness to listen.

You think back to your twenties, and the boys you dated. You didn’t bicker with them. Of course, back then, you didn’t have the confidence to say boo to a mouse. As annoying as the squabbling is, you have to admire Magda for standing her ground. She was going to make her point and would not back down until Mark heard her out. You quickly realize you spent way too much time with boys who told you “don’t make a scene” and “you should know when I’m joking.”

You are soon taken in by these two. You have to give Magda and Mark credit for not overindulging in PDA’s, otherwise you would jump into the nearest whitewater rapid. You break camp for the evening where Magda cooks an awesome dinner (because she volunteered to) while you and Mark drink beer (well, at least your expectations aren’t completely dashed) and once again your woman-of-experience persona is put to good use as they both ask about your careers, travels and meeting boyfriends’ parents. You begin to feel a bit like a woman of wisdom.

Nevertheless, as you set up camp, you make sure that your tent is on the opposite side of the beach. You are having a good time, but personal space is most definitely needed. No need to rub in the fact that it will only be you and your 6-pack of beer in your tent.

The next two days are similar to the first. The days alternated between freezing downpour and blazing sun, depending on the canyon curves on the Green. Gradually, the bickering of the young couple dies out with the rain. Or perhaps you realize that stating an opinion doesn’t mean it’s a fight or the demise of a relationship.

Your final day on the river is perfect; sun shining, you and Magda tanning on the bow of the raft, she bikini clad, you in park shorts and tank shirt while Mark rows along happily. Well, actually he’s probably pretty tired, but, hey, it’s his job. Someone other than you has to do it.

All in all, not a bad trip. Sure, two – thirds of it was filled with hail, rain and near – freezing temperatures. But you did run the rapids of the river Green, help rid it of invasive plants and witness some incredible canyon country. As you drift through the last stretch of the canyon, you think after three days of no-showering, your hair will be sufficiently dirty enough to dread

How to be Stupid in a Slot Canyon and Live to Tell the Tale
Buckskin Gulch, Southern Utah

The Setting: My usual biannual hiking, backpacking, jeeping, photo safari to southern Utah, the Mecca of red, red rocks, solitude and good hard fun.

The Target: Buckskin Gulch, reputedly the longest Slot Canyon in the world. This hike was to be a loop with a short mountain bike shuttle at the end. The beta said it could be done in one long, but more usual two, days and a permit was needed. Oh, yeah, good weather conditions a must, no rain and high temps due to cold water wading.

Here’s what happens when you get some of the ingredients right but ignore the rest…

I really, really wanted to hike Buckskin Gulch. As a lover of slot canyons I wanted to experience it firsthand. I had read several Utah hiking guides to get the skinny and as I headed to Utah from Southern California in late spring 2001, I had the warm weather I needed and the right gear to get me through. I decided to do a 20 mile loop down Buckskin and up the Paria to a shuttle with a mountain bike. I was solo this trip so the bike would come in handy.

I stopped at the kiosk outside the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) outpost for the Paria River area. The posted weather called for decreasing thunderstorm chances; 40 percent that day then down to 20 percent the next. I wasn’t planning on starting my hike until the next morning to see if the weather was settled. Descriptions of conditions in the gulch were good, the deepest pothole wading about waist deep in the “Cesspool” and dry below the Middle Route trail, one of the only exits/entrances in Buckskin, approximately midway in the hike. Of course, I also needed a permit which I didn’t have (hey, I paid all day hiking/parking fees!!)

The next day dawned cloudy but dry and the sun was peeking out. I decided to chance it, after all, what could happen? If nothing had, I wouldn’t be writing this story. With my pack waterproofed, camera in hand and boots to sacrifice I started out at Wire Pass trailhead.

It’s all about the light and the dark

After downclimbing two small dropoffs and crawling through a tight spot, I checked out bighorn sheep, petroglyphs and turned down canyon into Buckskin Gulch. Right away it was get in and wade, only thigh deep at most in murky water. Hiking was good for a period after that, pretty dry and firm in the cobbled hallway looking up at a thin strip of sky. Several wide spots offered a potential campsite at about three miles along, and some bouldering where large stones had cleved off the sides. At times it seemed you would walk into a wall then take a 90 degree turn right or left and go on. It was incredibly beautiful and confining. I almost stepped on a small rattlesnake; he was very lethargic and couldn’t rattle.

The clouds were coming and going, gray then some sun. The section containing the Cesspool was gothic and gloomy. Dark convoluted walls overhanging, very little ambient light and a cloudy pool of water stretching wall to wall out of sight for at least 50 yards. It was freezing ass cold too (if you are ever at the trailhead read some of the comments by gentlemen hikers on effect to male anatomy) and chest deep on me. I couldn’t get through fast enough.

Almost to the end and what did I hear? THUNDER! Well, that was just great. By the time I got to the middle route the sun was out again and I dried out like a lizard on a hot rock. I considered exiting here, above would be a dry camp and it was unknown if I could complete the solo ascent safely. From below it did not look too difficult but I elected to hike fast and get through Buckskin Gulch.

I roped my pack down and scrambled down the rockfall, no more pools to be found. As soon as I got my pack on the rain began, slowly, gently, then pounding. I marched on and before the confluence with the Paria River canyon the rain was cascading down the walls in small waterfalls, gorgeous but terrifying for me. I gave new meaning to the term “speed walking”, with a 30+ pound pack on.

The rain stopped suddenly at the confluence as I turned up canyon. Here was bad decision #5000; I could have camped at the confluence campsites, safely above the wash bottom. But oh no, I didn’t have a permit, it was too early, the ground too wet, I didn’t feel like stopping. I felt strong and thought I could get to the Whitehouse campground by dusk given my pace and how I felt. I had stopped to take pictures along the way but had made good time as it was still early afternoon. I stopped to take pictures at Slide Rock and admire the tall pink and salmon colored walls and eat some crackers. I continued up canyon on cruise control, the sun out and dark clouds behind me.

This creek bed was totally dry about 10 minutes before this photo was taken

I kept an eye out for spots to climb up, I don’t know why, except instinct. Not 500 yards from exiting the narrows I heard, quite literally, a roar ahead of me that I thought was a low flying jet, this area being in the east/west flight path. Then I heard a rock roll as if kicked and saw a small brown wave about a foot high roll around a corner in front of me. I ran back about 10 feet and ascended a natural ramp to a ledge about 10 feet off the deck and none too soon. In a blink that water was 3-4 feet deep and hauling butt, making waves and whirlpool eddies along the undercuts in the canyon walls. It was rising and full of debris, a deep reddish color. I was able to climb about 25 feet to a wider ledge, drop my pack, clean out my pants, and take some pictures. The noise in the confines of the canyon was incredible. I sat and picked a spot out on the wall to see if the water level was fluctuating. It stayed level and I decided to climb out.

After getting over my fear of heights the hard way and learning new belay techniques for my pack, I reached a sandy plateau below the cliffs of the East Clark Bench. A little trudging in the fading light up a few sand hills put me at a great campsite in soft sand with a few handy junipers to hang wet clothes on and a great view of the Paria River flood plain below. What had been dry was now wet and gleaming in the low light.

I actually spent a good night in my sleeping bag sans tent, with Meals Ready to Eat (MRE) and water and life was good. Serenaded by the local coyote clan at dawn, I packed up and finished my hike out through the Paria mud flats. A local ranger took details of my story down as they were attempting to make sure all in the canyon could be accounted for after the flash flood came down (“Did ya see anything in the water? Like bodies?” Ahhh, no).

Moral of this Story: Don’t got slot canyon exploring if there is even the slightest chance of rain anywhere in the area. Listen to your instincts and don’t think it won’t happen to you!

The canyons of Zion were a holy place to the Paiute Indians. When the canyon was later settled by Mormon pioneers, they gave holy names to this land. When you enter Zion National Park, it’s easy to see why.

Fed by the waters of the Virgin River, Zion is an oasis in a vast desert region. When it does rain, flash floods tear through the narrow canyons of the park, forming intricate and wonderful patterns in the soft sandstone.

The thing is, most of the truly incredible things in Zion are not visible from the road, and driving there is an incredible experience on its own. So incredible, in fact, that if you don’t start near dawn, you may not get a parking spot…anywhere. This has prompted a drastic response from the Park Service. Starting sometime in 2000, no cars will be allowed in the park. The plan is to introduce a shuttle system that will handle the hoards. Currently, shuttles run hourly from the Lodge and cost $3.25 for an adult.

Hikes in Zion are often very steep, but rewarding. Trails lead to narrow, well-guarded canyons, commanding overlooks and other natural wonders found nowhere else. I spent 5 days in Zion and was able to get a decent sampling of what this place has to offer. In reality, however, I know that I’ve barely scratched the surface.

Places To See

View from Angel’s Landing

Angel’s Landing – Starts at Grotto picnic area along Scenic Road. Angel’s Landing is a very steep 5 mile round trip along a paved trail to a very crowded place. Don’t let the crowds put you off, though. It is an incredible view of Zion Canyon. When you get to the first landing near the top, you can tell someone has been feeding the chipmunks. They’ll come right up to you and I would not be surprised if people get attacked over the occasional withholding of a candy bar. Near the top, the paved trail ends and chains have been installed to help you get up and down over very steep terrain. It is also very close to sheer drop-offs, so perhaps not recommended for those afraid of heights.

Emerald Pools

Short easy walk from Grotto picnic area or Zion Lodge. The Emerald Pools might be more aptly named the Muddy Puddles. The lower pools, however, did have some nice waterfalls coming into them. Apparently, they are really nice in early Spring and during periods of heavy run-off.

Hidden Canyon – Begin at Weeping Rock parking area. Hidden Canyon is awesome!! If you only have a short time in the park and can do one thing…do this (weather permitting, of course). It’s a moderately steep, one mile hike to the mouth of the canyon and there the trail ends. Going into the canyon, you will be flanked closely by sheer walls hundreds of feet high, limestone arches and sandstone carved with intricate and bizarre patterns. The way gets kind of sketchy in a few places, but you can get a decent distance into the canyon before being turned back. With a little climbing gear, you could probably get a lot further.

Echo Canyon – Use the same trailhead as Hidden Canyon, but go to the left at the fork. Due to its proximity, Echo Canyon makes a nice hike to do at the same time as Hidden Canyon. A good little side hike is to hike up the first smaller canyon to the right on the way up. There are some very nice narrows, but I was stopped from going up them by water. It may have been worth wading, but it was pretty nasty stuff. The Echo Canyon trail eventually winds around to an observation point with a commanding view of the park.

Bear Trap Canyon, Kolob Arch and La Verkin Canyon – These three are grouped together because they are all very close to each other in the Kolob Canyons area. Seeing all three makes a good overnight trip. The trail starts at Lee Pass. If Hidden Canyon is awesome, Bear trap Canyon is whatever is the next step up. About 8-9 miles from the trailhead, Bear Trap Canyon is hemmed in by high walls etched into incredible formations – arches, caverns, ripples and more. Unlike Hidden Canyon, which had some nasty stagnant puddles, water is always flowing through Bear Trap.

In addition to wild rock formations, Bear Trap is a very verdant place. There are many trees and spectacular hanging gardens. The trip up the canyon ends at a picture perfect little waterfall. Even though it is probably against park regulations, I recommend you strip naked and wade in underneath it. It is super cold, but a great refresher after the journey through the desert to get there.

A very nice extension is to continue up the La Verkin Canyon another mile or two. It’s a lot bigger than Bear Trap, but not quite as intense.

Kolob Arch is another major attraction in this neighborhood. It is believed to be the largest free-standing arch on earth. Kolob Arch is about 7 miles from the trailhead and there is a sign that tells you when you’re at the end of the trail. However, I could not see the arch. I thought “OK, am I blind or just dense?”, because I could not seem to find the biggest arch on earth. Eventually, I realized that if you face the sign and look high up on the canyon wall, you’ll see it. It’s Huge!

If you plan to see any of these, it’s well worth taking the pack and seeing all three.

Virgin River Narrows – In and out day hike from the end of the Zion Canyon Scenic Road, or shuttle to the top and hike down (16 miles). Either have 2 cars for this or arrange shuttle service – available at Zion Lodge ($12) and at a couple of other places in town. This is the grand-daddy of canyon hikes in Zion NP. It’s the biggest, baddest canyon you can get into without technical gear. It’s also a pretty tough hike. When you’re in the narrows, the canyon soars up to 2000 ft above you and the Virgin River fills the canyon from wall to wall. The rock twists and turns up into the sky and if things go wrong – a flash flood, for example – there is no escape.

If you do this hike, be warned: your feet will get wet, you will get wet, your pack and everything in it will get wet! This entire hike follows the Virgin River down and a good third of it is actually in the river. For the first couple of crossings, you might be able to find a dry route across some rocks. Don’t bother. Just take your BootsnAll and slog right through the water. Most of your day will be spent doing this. There were places where waist deep wading was required and a few where it was chest deep. Although I probably could have avoided it, there were a few spots where I actually ended up swimming. Expect to have to do this.

Also, when you do this, wear your boots. The terrain is uneven and often slick. Tevas or other water sandals won’t cut it. The bright side to this is that Zion is in the desert, so a couple of hours in the sun the next day should have your boots all dried out.

This is an amazing hike and I highly recommend it. However, it is dangerous.

Standing on the northern edge of the Rio Grande River looking across at Mexico, the valley looked pretty small but there was a special feeling at this historical river frontier. The Rio Grande Valley’s rich history stems from the many people who struggled to make this area their home, from Spanish conquistadors and Mexican revolutionaries, to Texas Rangers and Civil War generals.

The Rio Grande Valley, known simply as “the Valley” or “South Texas”, extends roughly from Zapata in the upper valley to Brownsville in the lower valley where the river eventually flows into the Gulf of Mexico. During my recent trip to the Rio Grande Valley (RGV) in February 2009, I realized there are many reasons to make this a must-see destination. By the time the trip was wrapping up, I didn’t want to leave because there was still much to explore. I will definitely return again and here’s why:

1. Variety is the spice of life

Depending on your mood, you can stroll through a small historic town, take a bike ride in a state park, or relax on a sandy beach on South Padre Island. All of these can be found within a short drive, depending where you stay. If your base is somewhere central, such as McAllen, Alamo, or Weslaco, it’s about a 1.5 hr drive to go deep sea fishing at South Padre Island, or the same time to travel to the Upper Valley to check out the desert at Falcon State Park.

2. Balmy breezes

The warm weather in the RGV is a great escape from winter chills. The lower valley can be more humid but it’s comfortable with a good breeze blowing in from the Gulf. From December to March, the average high is about 70-80 degrees (21-27 °C), with little rain (average 1 inch per month). January is the coolest month with a normal minimum of about 50 degrees (10 °C). The mild weather is one reason many “Winter Texans” move down to Texas every year to spend their winters camping in RV’s.

3. No need to break the bank

In these tough economic times, staying in the Valley is very affordable. Accommodation is available at standard rates at chain hotels, but if you ask around there are some great deals at bed and breakfasts, and smaller hotels. For example, a small historical hotel in Alamo (the Alamo Inn), offers 1 bedroom suites for about $45 per night, with 24 hour self-serve breakfast for $3 per person. A good deal and the owners are very friendly and helpful. Other towns also offer bed and breakfasts so check them out.

4. It’s for the birds

Literally! Birdwatchers flock here from all over the globe to visit the Rio Grande Valley. This is a prime birdwatching spot in the continental U.S. for diversity, especially during winter and spring. In addition to abundant waterbirds and shorebirds, many species of forest birds visit from Mexico, plus huge numbers of small birds stop here every spring to rest before continuing their northward migration from Central and South America to northern Canada. Many of the national wildlife refuges offer free guided bird walks in the morning for beginners and experts alike. Several World Birding Centers have been developed in the Rio Grande Valley with the purpose of educating and raising awareness of the importance of this area for birdlife.

5. Poncho Villa

Learn about this infamous Mexican Revolutionary General at one of the several museums and historic sites scattered along the Valley. One of the oldest towns is Roma, located in the upper Rio Grande Valley, and founded in 1765 as part of a Mexican colony. The Roma Historical Museum provides more information about the town’s role as an important riverboat shipping point. Other museums such as the Museum of South Texas History in Edinburg and the Historic Brownsville Museum offer more insights into the rich history of the RGV.

6. Wild cats!

No, it’s not the local sports team. The vast network of National Wildlife Refuges, sanctuaries and other nature reserves in the Valley support some endangered wild cats, such as the beautifully spotted ocelot and the elusive jaguarundi. Bobcats are more common and can be seen in many parks like Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge. Other subtropical critters to be seen include colourful butterflies and small lizards.

7. Hit the road

Although there is no large airport, there are several options to fly into regional airports at McAllen, Harlingen and Brownsville, the biggest city in the vicinity with a population of 175,000. Other ways to get here are to fly into San Antonio or Houston and drive south. It takes about 5 hrs to drive from San Antonio and 7 hrs from Houston and freeways are easy to navigate. It is beneficial to have a rental car to explore the Valley.

8. Good eats

If you have a hankering for real Tex-Mex food, you’ve come to the right place. There are also many spots to fill up on BBQ grub. Willy’s BBQ is a cafeteria style restaurant in Alamo that serves tasty food at great value. You also don’t want to miss out on Gulf coast seafood. Dirty Al’s on South Padre Island is always hopping and the fried shrimp is to die for, plus you don’t need to shell out a fortune – no pun intended.

9. Off the beaten track

Many people have discovered all the great things the RGV has to offer, like the Winter Texans, world class birdwatchers, and spring breakers at South Padre Island. Yet it’s still easy to get away from the tourist scene and find quiet parks, small towns or other interesting places. The Rio Grande Valley is certainly not undiscovered, but it doesn’t have that busy touristy feel and offers an affordable alternative to other sun destinations.

They say that “Everything’s bigger in Texas.” Well, for me to be a part of the Texas’ biggest Mardi Gras celebration, I had venture down to the island city of Galveston, which is roughly 45 miles south of downtown Houston and with a population of under 60,000.

It was even more important for this city to celebrate this year in wake of the destruction of Hurricane Ike last September, which was the third most destructive hurricane that’s hit this country. The 173 year old city wasn’t going to let that spoil its annual Mardi Gras festivities, their 98th since 1867 (when Shakespeare’s King Henry IV was showcased). Between 200,000 and 250,000 people kick up their heels in this Texas Gulf Coast city on an annual basis in which over 5 million beads are thrown out of floats and other parade vehicles during the festivities leading up to Fat Tuesday. It takes 2,500 members of the various Galveston Krewes to bring these festivities about, including the numerous parades.

For Galveston to hold such a festive rebel-rousing event like Mardi Gras may not be so surprising. Going back to the early 1800’s, another kind of rebel rouser had a stronghold on this area, that being Jean Lafitte and his band of pirates who comfortably made the area into their own pirate kingdom called “Campeche”. Their hellish ways in Galveston came to an end after the US Navy told them in 1821 to basically “get lost, or else” after they attacked an American vessel. These buccaneers left an alleged buried treasure that has yet to be found.

Tossing The Throws at the Krewe of Aquarius Parade

My Mardi Gras day started just before 11 a.m. on Valentine’s Day, as the float I got to ride on (operated by the Krewe of Babalu) needed its participants to open the many boxes of beads and set them up on the float so we’d be prepared for about 3 miles of onlookers who were looking for beads aplenty over the course of about 90 minutes down Seawall Boulevard. It runs parallel to and is just a stone’s throw away from the Gulf of Mexico. A light drizzle had to be dealt with before the parade, but the rain stopped just before the noontime start.

We were surrounded by a myriad of other floats and a constant moving of people as good ol’ Zydeco music blared from one of the nearby floats, helping to pass the time away.
Once the parade began, I noticed that the streets were lined up with tens of thousands of people who screamed such things as “Gimme beads!” or just “Beads!” A few had another creative way to get attention by saying, “Help me, I’m a taxpayer!” Basically four things happen when one throws the beads: they are caught in the air, they hit someone, they hit the ground and break, or they hit the ground and stay intact waiting for someone to claim them.

I enjoyed most throwing the beads to the little children who were in the front of the line. I noticed that brothers and sisters acted pretty nice about sharing with their siblings. The crowd was constantly being pushed back by Galveston motorcycle cops as their sirens blared out the admonition to not get too close to the floats.

Catching The Throws at The Krewe of Gambrinus Parade

It seemed as if the Saturday night Krewe of Grambrinus parade was going to be dampened by strong winds and some rain, but the Mardi Gras gods smiled upon us attendees as the weather suddenly turned mild as the first floats came down Seawall Boulevard again. I was part of the thousands lined up to see colorful floats and many Texas area marching bands add some energetic music flavor to the parade. I even noticed emergency vehicles from as far away as Santa Fe, New Mexico driving down the parade route.

I was lucky enough to catch many of the estimated 650,000 beads thrown this particular Valentine’s Day evening. I was most apt to get the red beads because a friend of mine back in Wyoming wanted some of that color. It’s not advised to take your eyes off of the floats because when I did a couple of times, I was hit in the face by airborne beads!

Just like the morning parade, motorcycle cops were constantly blaring their sirens and driving between the bead-hungry crowd and the floats. Some floats had outside walkers that carried barrier bars that ran parallel to the floats to also help keep the bead-seekers at bay. I heard one cop stopped near me politely tell a rather pushy woman, “If you touch this bike, you’re going to go to jail.” That was about as aggressive as the people were (that I witnessed).

When I see the kind of insanity of Mardi Gras celebrations from New Orleans on tv, I’m glad that I could participate in a much more calmer festival, where it’s easier for a traveler to deal with. Now, I know that Mardi Gras involves a lot of nighttime partying and carrying on which I witnessed as I walked back to my hotel, but I’m not really a night life person when I’m on the road. Yes, I’m like "Grandma Walton", ok? I was satisfied with being part of both sides of the "throw"!

Next year’s Mardi Gras festivities in Galveston are scheduled to take place February 5-16, 2010. For more information, go to Mardi Gras! Galveston

Accommodations Recommendation

I stayed at the 98 year old Hotel Galvez, named after Bernardo de Galvez, who was a Spanish general and colonial governor, who sent explorers in 1786 to chart the area that would eventually be named Galveston Bay after the very man who commissioned them. The façade of this hotel is quite alluring, built in Spanish Revival architectural style. It gracefully faces the Gulf of Mexico, separated by only a street and beachfront. The rich and famous like Frank Sinatra and Jimmy Stewart have stayed here as well as three U.S. Presidents: Franklin Roosevelt, Lyndon Johnson, and Dwight Eisenhower.

Guests get adequate work space and high speed internet that’s basically reliable. The beds are comfortable and the shower heads put out a nice stream of water. If you dine at their onsite restaurant called Bernardo’s, I recommend their yummy Fisherman’s Stew!