JRNY Travel Magazine - Issue Seven

AMERICA SPECIAL ISSUE

J RNY ISSUE SEVEN

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DAY OF TH E DE AD P LU S : O R EG O N | F LO R I DA K E YS | I DA H O | V I R G I N I A | A L A B A M A | N E W E N G L A N D and much more

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Visit San Antonio is delighted to support Issue Seven of JRNY Travel Magazine.

San Antonio is rooted on the banks of a spring-fed river in the heart of Texas. Here, Latino, Western and European cultures mingle to form a vibrant city with deep cultural heritage and communities that are compassionate, inclusive and proudly diverse.

Walk amid 18th-century Spanish colonial missions, explore the River Walk with its sidewalk cafes and shops, and join colourful and lively celebrations year-round.

In San Antonio, you'll also find a unique cuisine that's rooted in it being the birthplace of Tex-Mex and chili con carne, and the Alamo City's welcoming nature has seen it incorporate many cultures that now call it home – come experience it for yourself!

CONTENTS

Reinventing Seattle SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

Wild and Western OREGON

My Own Private Idaho IDAHO

Monterey Magic CALIFORNIA

The Red-Rock Railroad UTAH, COLORADO

The Great American West MONTANA, IDAHO, WYOMING, NORTH DAKOTA, SOUTH DAKOTA

The Dead are Alive SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

IN THIS ISSUE 2

ISSUE SEVEN

A Paddle Through History NEW ENGLAND

The Empire State NEW YORK STATE

Life on the Waters of Chesapeake Bay VIRGINIA

The Mini-Apple Takes the Culinary Stage MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA

The Things You Find in the Dark ALABAMA

The Thrill of the Wild FLORIDA KEYS, FLORIDA

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The JRNY Team Founding Editors: Kav Dadfar & Jordan Banks Editor-in-Chief: Emma Gibbs Sub-Editor / Head of Digital: Simon Willmore Art Direction & Design: Jo Dovey Picture Editor: Diana Jarvis Contact Us For general enquiries, partnerships or sales, email us at info@jrnymag.com

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Thanks JRNY Travel Magazine would like to thank Judith Neilson and the Judith Neilson Institute for Journalism and Ideas for their generous and continued support.

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Follow us Website: jrnymag.com X: @jrnymag Instagram: @jrnymag Cover Image

By Kav Dadfar | An attendee of the Día de Los Muertos (Day of the Dead festival) in San Antonio, Texas.

Issue Seven First published January 2024.

ISSN 2752-7077 (Online)

SAN ANTONIO

DAY OF THE DEA D P LU S : O R EG O N | F LO R I DA K E YS | I DA H O | V I R G I N I A | A L A B A M A | N E W E N G L A N D and much more

The articles published reflect the opinions of the respective authors and do not necessarily represent the views of the publisher and editorial team. All rights reserved. JRNY Magazine Limited. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the cases of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. JRNY Magazine Limited reserves the right to accept or reject any article or material and to edit this material prior to publication.

Published in the UK by JRNY Magazine Limited This magazine was printed in the

by The Manson roup Ltd, a subscriber to the Forest Stewardship Council and rogramme for the ndorsement of Forest Certification Schemes, promoting responsible management of the world’s woodland resources. In addition to forest management and certification, The Manson roup Ltd is working in compliance with IS 1 001 201 (Certification pending approval), has reduced landfill waste by over 0 through waste segregation policies, with all paper, cardboard, plastics and used printing plates recycled in a responsible manner and employs new technology and processes within its printing facility, such as LED lighting and the use of electric delivery vehicles, to reduce its carbon footprint.

For more information, visit tmgp.uk/enviro and www.mansongroup.co.uk/environment

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WELCOME TO ISSUE SE VEN The US is a country that feels deeply familiar to many of us – whether from our own travels or its tendency to dominate the news and popular culture. (I’m the first to admit I spent a significant part of my childhood dreaming of high-school proms and drive-in movies.) Despite this, much of the country remains – due in no small part to its huge size – relatively underexplored, by both domestic and international visitors. Perfect fodder, you could say, for JRNY. In this, our America Special, we’ve sought out some of the best stories from within the 0 states, focusing – as we always do – on those places that you might not have thought about before, and shining a new light on those you already do. This is perhaps best exemplified by our cover story in which Claire Dodd visits San Antonio, arguably best-known for the 1 Battle of the Alamo, to experience the city’s vibrant, emotion-charged Day of the Dead celebrations.

Think of foodie destinations and you might think of New York City or New Orleans… but how about Minneapolis? Brian Thacker delves into the exciting and surprising dining scene in this Minnesotan city. In Idaho, James Draven cruises its many scenic byways to reach Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve, while in Oregon, Jacqui Agate turns her back on its famous coast and heads to the shapeshifting landscapes of the east.

The phenomenal and varied landscapes across the US are what make many of us fall in love with the country; Kav Dadfar is no exception, though this time he rides the Rocky Mountaineer for a new view of Utah and Colorado. Alli Patton explores the e ually striking scenery below ground in Alabama, and in New England, Karen Gardiner paddles the Northern Forest Canoe Trail for an alternative perspective on the northeastern states. Life on the water is the theme of James March’s time on and around Virginia’s Chesapeake Bay, and in the Florida Keys, Kevin Gleeson finds seclusion and vibrant wildlife.

Our photo essays also showcase the diversity of experiences in the US, from the reinvention of Seattle and the coastal charms of Monterey County to the wide-open spaces of the reat American West and the abundant outdoor charms of New York State.

We hope you love our America Special – as our first themed issue, it’s also a little taster of the many exciting things we have planned here at JRNY. To make sure you don’t miss out, head over to our website (jrnymag.com) to subscribe; here, you can also read more brilliant articles as part of our interactive “Narratives” section and listen to our podcast.

Thank you.

Emma Gibbs Editor-in-Chief

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C O M M U N I T Y. PHOTOS BY KAV DADFAR

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OPENING SPREAD:

One of the many festival attendees.

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Tower of the Americas; Altars are decoreated with marigolds and skulls; One of the many altars in Hemisphere Park; A mural in Hemisphere Park.

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Evil Dave – one of the decorated skulls that are on show around the city during the Day of the Dead festival; The altar honouring Rodolfo “Rudy” Rodriguez.

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he skeleton of Rodolfo “Rudy” Rodriguez sits on a lawn chair, beer in hand, sports jersey on, kicking back in front of a barbecue.

Set up for a good time, there’s a cooler by his side, a straw hat on his head and a dutiful dog skeleton waiting neatly by his feet.

In the shadow of San Antonio’s Tower of the Americas – a 750ft pin-shaped observation tower built for the World’s Fair and a monument to 1960s optimism, complete with revolving restaurant – something ancient is being resurrected.

In these dying days of October, on the eve of Día de los Muertos or Day of the Dead, all across the city, altars, skeletons, sugar skulls (calaveras) and towering alebrijes – fantastical animals, such as donkeys with butterfly wings – have been steadily emerging.

And here in Hemisfair public park, a sign penned by Rudy’s three daughters reads: “We invite you to step into our ‘backyard’ as we remember our father. It is said when a loved one leaves us, a part of them stays behind.

For us, our father lives on with the smell of barbecue in the air, cold Budweiser on ice, and the sound of his favourite songs playing. His life gave us memories we will cherish forever.”

Right there, like a cold spike of adrenaline, this one hits me. Oooft.

Every year in San Antonio, growing numbers gather the weekend before 1 and 2 November to mark this ancient celebration of death. From new parades to old traditions, events are ramping up with momentum. Once private and small, restricted to graveside vigils and at-home altars – monuments to the dead – today the event is marked with puppet processions, dance, art and live music across this sprawling Texan metropolis.

The most essential, most moving part of the festivities, has to be the altars or ofrenda. Built to welcome the departed back to the world of the living – but just for a brief moment – on my visit almost 80 are spread

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across this downtown park. Tales of love, tragedy, comedy, celebration, reverence and irreverence are writ large in cheeky skeletons in wrestling rings, beloved meals, renderings of favourite pets and photos of those gone long ago, and those gone too soon. A celebration of death, each are decorated with things they loved in life.

“Sometimes, we get consumed by our own grief,” says Ruby, Rudy’s daughter, smiling as I interrupt her and her sisters dusting off personal mementos. “Supposed” to be a boy, she was named after her dad. “This is a big celebration to let people know that there’s still love beyond death. They’re not gone. They’re still here.”

So, why here? Why now? How did this city, two hours from the border, come to host the grandest, if not the biggest, Día de los Muertos celebrations outside of Mexico? San Antonio is an American anomaly. For a start,

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Sculptures, murals and alebrijes (fantastical animals) can be found across Hemisphere Park.

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A skeleton on an altar in Hemisphere Park.

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TA L E S O F LOV E , T R A G E DY, C O M E DY, C E L E B R AT I O N , REVERENCE AND IRREVERENCE ARE WRIT LARGE. 12

it’s walkable. But, more importantly, at 305 years old, once a colony of Spain, a territory of Mexico, a part of the Republic of Texas and, finally, a part of the nited States, it’s years older than the US herself.

You’ll still find “Texas”, if that’s what you’re looking for. In the shadow of the famed Alamo, I walk a downtown bathed in sunbleached strip lights advertising cowboy hats and authentic western wear. On the fringes of the city centre the neon lights of honky-tonks – bastions of country music – blink beside the Jenga-like construction of craft beer bars made from shipping containers. On the suburban fringes, Queen Anne houses with generous porches seem to conjure images of lazy afternoons on oversized rocking chairs.

And I can’t help thinking, what a nice life it must be here.

Undeniably, with a population that identifies as Hispanic Latino, you’ll find Mexico here too. Its rich cultural influences permeate everything from food to art. Perhaps the most literal example is the city’s Historic Market Square. Founded in the 1890s, the

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Attendees of the festival in Hemisphere Park wear elaborate face paint and masks.

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The festival atmosphere spills into side streets where music and dance can be seen.

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Historic Market Square.

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Hats for sale in one of the stalls in Market Square; The Alamo, Mission San José; Puppets on sale in Historic Market Square.

largest Mexican market north of the Rio Grande is a jewel box of independently owned emporiums of imported art, and locally renowned food and drink, made to recipes fused over time and filtered through Texan culture.

Yet even before that, in the early 1700s, within the buttery stone walls of San Antonio’s five Spanish colonial Missions – Texas’s only Unesco World Heritage Site, and of which the Alamo is one – a unique new identity was fused. Faced with European disease, drought and colonisation, the native people of South Texas entered the missions to survive.

A traditional way of life was lost. But the Tejanos – descendants of the Spanish, Native Americans and other groups – still call the city home.

But Día de los Muertos is older. Much, much older. “The holiday, this tradition, in its earliest days was a celebration of the harvest,” famed San Antonio chef Johnny Hernandez tells me, describing its ancient, pre-Hispanic origins, which reach back to the Aztecs. Yet here, over time, it got lost. A scholar of the festival, Johnny has been instrumental in its revival in San Antonio.

“When Catholicism and the Spanish arrived in the Americas they tried to indoctrinate the natives,” he tells me. “But they realised they couldn’t convert them. So, they began to assimilate some of this tradition into

THE SCENT AND COLOUR OF THESE SACRED FLOWERS ARE W H AT ’ S B E L I E V E D TO G U I D E SPIRITS BACK FROM THE DEAD. 15

a Catholic holiday, and created All Saints Day and All Souls’ Day. “Here in the north, in San Antonio, the Day of the Dead was not very common, because we were a very Catholic city. So that tradition faded away. Even in Mexico, it is only in the communities that were most preserved, untouched by colonisation, that still celebrate it in a very authentic way.”

Today, signs of celebrations have made it to the lobbies of the city’s finest hotels, the Catholic churches of its missions, prestigious art galleries and the expanse of public parks. In the newly opened Civic Park a 10ft Catrina – a female skeleton in elaborate fuchsia flowing dress – stands frozen in a curtsey. At the airport, a calavera, the first of 2 individually artist-decorated skulls dotted around the city, with mission bells for eyes, stares almost sweetly at the luggage belt.

North of downtown, in the newly trendy Pearl District – a former industrial area, whose years of dereliction saved its very best bits for architects to truly have fun with when it was redeveloped at the turn of the millennium – sits Johnny’s restaurant La Gloria, an ode to authentic Mexican food and culture. Born to a first-generation Mexican-American family, Johnny was raised on the foods and traditions of interior Mexico, something his new menu aims to share.

With the tired but wired mannerisms of someone with a lot on their plate, chef Johnny

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welcomes me with a mean margarita. It’s clear that he loves what’s about to unfold. “Food is integral to Día de Muertos,” he tells me as I sample tostadas, ceviche and a variety of enchiladas smothered in different sauces.

Outside, a skeleton in bow tie, boots and top hat cockily leans back on a bench, jaw locked in a laugh, silently judging those who walk the river bank. A Catrina waves at me, peeking out mischievously behind a pillar.

“In Mexican culture, they poke fun at death,” says Johnny, following my gaze. “They may have mariachis at the funeral. They make a celebration of it. That’s not been common in our culture, where death is very reserved, it’s sacred, it’s sombre. Pre-Hispanic traditions and beliefs are that life after death is what we aspire to.”

The river cuts a meandering squiggle through the city centre, a cool, tree-shaded, semi-subterranean relief from the scorched streets, packed with margaritas and mariachi.

It’s a bucolic highway to the city’s famed, established and notorious restaurants, bars, and hotels, overlooked by wrought-iron balconies, newly erected condos, and ArtDeco towers with a Texan twist.

On parade night, the seats lining the route are sold out, a testament to the event’s growing popularity. Barge after glowing barge carry dancers, an all-female mariachi band playing with electrifying intensity, and illuminated skulls, wrestlers, even corn, past

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The outside of La Gloria is decorated for Day of the Dead.

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The inside of La Gloria, Tortilla chips and salsa served in La Gloria; Chef Johnny Hernandez.

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The famous San Antonio River Walk.

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spectators while glowing 10ft puppet skeletons and alebrijes roam the banks, occasionally waving to the crowd. Corporate logos abound, a necessary element of a costly production.

Growing Mexican pride is important. On the city’s East Side, Jovanna Lopez walks me through a blaze of lemon, gold and searing orange beneath powerlines and a dreary sky.

On land that was once an apartment block, then the ruins of the apartment block, then nothing, sits Garcia Street Farm. The last of the marigolds are blooming. The scent and colour of these sacred flowers are what’s believed to guide spirits back from the dead. Set up to serve a USDA food desert, marigolds have been a recent addition. And as the only grower in the city, the race is on to harvest. The spirits have a deadline.

“I’ve lost a lot of people young in my life,” she tells me. “When I’m in the field with the marigolds, there’s always a sense that I’m not by myself. To me, they are spiritual.”

“Growing the marigolds has been this relearning experience of my childhood,”

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The River Walk is packed with spectators for the night parade.

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Jovanna Lopez; Marigolds at Garcia Street Farm.

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Jovanna, who is urban agriculture community coordinator at Eco Centro and Garcia Street Farm, explains, adding that the altars she saw as a kid were, she presumed, just grandma’s thing. “It’s brought back so many memories that I never realised were a part of my culture.

My mum and dad’s generation grew up being taught not to speak Spanish, to assimilate into white culture. A lot was lost with them. And so, the fact that this is coming back is such a beautiful thing.”

Beyond the river parade, Muertos Fest, home to the largest displays of altars, is the public heart of the celebrations. Now in its eleventh year, it’s grown from 20 to over 80 altars, and from 15,000 to 135,000 attendees.

Community driven, anyone can apply to build an altar. And attendance is free.

“I grew up in Mexican-American San Antonio, and this was not necessarily a tradition I was aware of until I became older,” says the event’s artistic director, Jimmy Mendiola. “We’ve had people exposed to the tradition here who then contribute. Every year we do the same thing. But every year, it’s different. Because what’s happened in the past year is reflected in the altars.”

This year, this ranges from school shootings to failed border crossings, monuments to pets, fallen cyclists to Pee-wee Herman and even the Golden Girls. Some are built by artists and community groups, others

ON PARADE N I G H T, T H E S E AT S LINING THE ROUTE ARE SOLD O U T, A T ES TA M E N T TO THE EVENT’S GROWING P O P U L A R I T Y.

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Child getting his face painted; Day of the Dead daytime procession; The music stage at Hemisphere Park; ; The nighttime procession in Hemisphere Park.

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by families and friends. A disco ball swings limply in the breeze above a giant teddy bear, its mirrored facets reflecting back the faces of those who come to view it. “For Roy Lee Barron. Beloved son, brother, uncle, father, friend. He was a huge part of the LGBT and Bear community.”

Growing numbers of attendees arrive in elaborate costumes, wandering among the live music stages and plentiful market stalls piled high with skeletons and flower crowns. Faces are painted into grinning skulls. And as the dark sets in, a procession of Aztecs, skeletons in floral dresses, stilt walkers, drummers and mariachi switch the atmosphere again to one of spectacle and revelry.

It’s a lost celebration, being revived by a new generation. From Jimmy, I get a sense that its success has been both surreal and humbling. “There’s an assertion of Mexican identity that’s happening,” he adds, noting how Disney’s Coco has massively added to awareness. “But it’s become really popular because the idea of remembering relatives is universal. Everyone can identify with that.”

Most altar creators will hang out all weekend, keen to chat to those who take the time to pause. I encounter the whole of Rudy’s family. Nine years after his passing, it’s clear it still feels fresh to his wife and daughters.

Today, the extended family is hanging out, drinking, dancing and making merry, just like he instructed them to do.

“I love to see people appreciating our culture, becoming aware of what this event is about,” says Ruby. “Our culture is about love and music, and food and family. I’m grateful for events like this for showing that.”

This time, I meet the grief in Ruby’s eyes with some of my own. For want of more poignant words, her dad sounds like a legend, just like mine. Two short, yet agonisingly long, years ago I lost him. This then, to celebrate what he loved, and invite him home into a present he didn’t live to see, is a refreshing approach to death. Far better than a grieving process that has zigzagged sharply from performing mini sketches on how both searingly sad but ultimately hilarious the process of scattering ashes actually is – check for the wind direction, friends – to booking hotel rooms just to sit on the floor uninterrupted, necking Champagne. And it hits me hard. I try not to invade Ruby’s memories with tears of my own as she talks of his annual visit.

“We didn’t realise how healing this would be for us, to tell his stories, but to also hear other people’s,” she says. “When we’re here, that’s when I feel like he’s the closest.”

So, gather your marigolds. Light the candle. Assemble your happiest photos. Make the altar. Because the dead are alive, if you remember them.

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

From the UK, flights to San Antonio nternational Airport involve a connection at Atlanta. Alternatively, direct flights run to Austin, an hour’s drive away.

B E S T T I M E TO G O

D a de los Muertos is held on and November, but come the week before to enjoy the build-up as well as the main events. r come in late April for the ten-day Fiesta, also known as Battle of the Flowers.

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Breakfast at a Panaderia, a bakery founded by brothers from Me ico City: the pan de muerto, only available during the Day of the Dead celebrations, is traditionally eaten at the graveside. Don’t worry, the long line is worth it. r head to Mi Terra anytime. pened in the restaurant is a fiesta of live mariachi, fairy lights and pi ata.

W H E R E TO S TAY

Numerous hotels line the riverwalk, but mni a Mansion Del Rio, a former religious college from the 0s, feels fitting.

H OW TO D O I T

Simply base yourself in the city centre. ebsites including visitsanantonio. com, muertosfest.com and dayofthedeadsa.com list both free and ticketed events.

M U S T- PAC K I T E M

Your raincoat. don’t care what people tell me about the Te as sun, ’ve been to this city twice now, and it’s piddled it down both times.

WHY GO

utside of Me ico, this is one of the largest D a de Muertos celebrations there is. And it’s growing.

The writer was a guest of Visit San Antonio.

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THE G R E AT AMERICAN

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T H E G R E AT A M E R I C A N W E S T

The story of the American West is an epic tale, each legend writ large on an everlasting landscape of breathtaking natural beauty ften magnificent, fre uently harsh and always fascinating, this ast wild western region o ers up mountain peaks and big skies, moonscapes and national parks, glaciers, prairies, and pristine lakes and rivers.

E plore a multifaceted past reflected in the ranches and rodeos of its cowboy heritage and the indigenous lands and cultural celebrations of the Native Americans. The Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse memorials illustrate this challenging history, while small-town charm echoes the creative and pioneering spirit of a diverse population, and, increasingly, cool and uirky neighbourhoods are springing up in and around the cities Wildlife abounds here, but if there is one animal that embodies the saga of this vast region it is the bison. Once hunted to the brink of extinction, the species is now protected and thriving, including in two large conservation herds at Theodore Roosevelt National Park.

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N O RT H DA KOTA

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PREVIOUS SPREAD:

Cowboys roam the plains of Wyoming.

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Theodore Roosevelt National Park; The Little Missouri River winds through the Badlands in Theodore Roosevelt National Park; Salem Sue, the world’s largest Holstein cow, off I .

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S O U T H DA KOTA

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Badlands National Park; Powwow in South Dakota; Mount Rushmore National Memorial; Dignity: of Earth & Sky statue near Chamberlain.

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IDAHO

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Evening light on the Sawtooth Mountains; Hells Canyon near Pittsburg Landing; Camping at Elephant’s Perch near Stanley.

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M O N TA N A

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Elkhorn Ranch near Big Sky; eauti ul Island Lake in the early morning light, near Beartooth Pass; The Ranch at Rock Creek, near Philipsburg; The Circle Bar Ranch; A red barn typical of the Montana style.

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WYOMING

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Biscuit Basin in Yellowstone National Park; A male bison; A bull moose in Grand Teton National Park.

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THE G R E AT A M E R I C A N W E S T AT A G L A N C E uch co eted by filmmakers, the stunning natural backdrops of the reat merican est are uite literally awe-inspiring. Extraordinary roads snake through vertiginous passes one moment and fields of golden wheat the next. Glaciers, geothermal hot springs, alpine lakes and craters vie for the next unmissable photo opportunity. Ranches and reservations, rodeos, colourful powwows, national monuments and immersive interpretive centres all strive to tell the story of these fi e remarkable states that helped shape the history of America.

. MONTANA Bookended by Glacier National Park in the north and Yellowstone in the south, and packed full of mountains, meadows, ranches, ghost towns, lakes and rivers, Montana is vast. The fourth-largest state in the US but among the least populated, it’s fittingly known as Big Sky Country. Come for hiking, riding, rafting and fishing in the summer and stay for wildlife and winter sports in the colder months.

. IDAHO It’s easy to see why Ernest Hemingway spent many happy years in Idaho’s Sun Valley, inspired by the spectacular scenery throughout the seasons. There’s something otherworldly about the Sawtooth Mountains, the Craters of the Moon National Park (celebrating its 100th anniversary in 2024) and the dark, dark skies. Idaho has four international dark sky designations, celebrated locally with star parties throughout the summer.

. WYOMING America’s oldest national park needs no introduction: Yellowstone and its neighbour Grand Teton National Park

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are bucket-list destinations and nearby Jackson Hole is a premier ski area.

Mountains give way to prairies, and Wind River Reservation, southeast of Jackson, is a two-million-acre reservation where Native American powwows are held each summer. Frontier towns dot the countryside, and the horse is king here; Wyoming is home to the country’s first dude ranch and the world’s largest rodeo.

. NORTH DAKOTA Open roads, wildlife, waterways and one-of-a-kind cultural and historic attractions can all be found along

North Dakota’s Scenic Byways and Backways (byways are paved surfaces while backways are generally gravel and dirt roads). Don’t miss Theodore Roosevelt National Park, the only national park named after a person for his commitment to the conservation of America’s natural resources, nor the joyfully unexpected Fargo.

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NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

The international gateway cities of Denver, MinneapolisSt Paul, Salt Lake City and Seattle-Tacoma offer access to more than 25 regional airports throughout the five states. National and regional car-hire companies are located at most airports.

This is easy driving country, whether you are in a car, RV or on two wheels.

B E S T T I M E TO G O

May to October.

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From rustic classic cowboy cuisine and fresh fish to acclaimed Idaho vineyards, there’s something to suit most palates here.

W H E R E TO S TAY

Experience the great outdoors under canvas – in tents or tipis, or try glamping or a stay in a wagon, RV, dude ranch or historic inn.

There’s luxury too with spas, contemporary hotels and magnificent lodges all making the most of the beautiful scenery.

H OW TO D O I T

. SOUTH DAKOTA Look beyond Mount Rushmore to explore more than 60 national & state parks, such as Badlands National Park where the surreal rock strata are a geologist’s dream. Vibrant nations of Indigenous people with a deep connection to their culture and land live in South Dakota, and history is a living, breathing thing here. The Oceti Sakowin home of the Lakota, Nakota and Dakota tribal communities welcome visitors wanting to understand more.

Photo Credits: North Dakota Tourism, Scott T Baxter, Dreamstime.

At GreatAmericanWest.co.uk you’ll find information and inspiration. You can book your trip with a specialist operator such as North American Travel Service, America As You Like It or American Sky. M U S T- PAC K I T E M

Walking boots and a camera!

WHY GO

Unrivalled natural beauty, bucket-list experiences and a deeper understanding of America’s past and present.

BROUGHT TO YOU IN PARTNERSHIP WITH

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PHOTOS BY K AV DADFAR

DINARY

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“M PREVIOUS SPREAD:

The semi-feral ponies of Chincoteague.

THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP:

Tangier Island’s public beach; Faith Charnock.

OPPOSITE PAGE CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT:

Jim’s Gift Shop; Captain Mark Crockett; Swain Memorial United Methodist Church on Tangier Island; Scooters and golf buggies are the main modes of transport on the island.

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y first husband was the policeman,” says Faith Charnock, glancing wistfully out of the window from behind the counter of Jim’s ift Shop. “He died three and half years ago and we haven’t had one since.”

I’m surprised but not completely shocked to learn that I’m now briefly part of a community that hasn’t had a policeman for almost four years. Life on Tangier Island needs to be felt to understand this odd state of affairs.

Faith is one of the roughly 00 hardy souls who live here, an isolated marshy island of little more than one s uare mile in the middle of Virginia’s vast Chesapeake Bay, which resembles a shattered heart from above.

And perhaps that’s a macabre metaphor for life here, because, in a few generations’ time, scientists predict that the small island will succumb to rising sea levels and slip beneath the water’s surface for good.

At barely ft above sea level and, having lost two-thirds of its landmass since 1 0, the slow march of climate change means Tangier and its residents are clinging to an increasingly

fragile existence. Sitting around 100 miles southeast of Washington DC’s wide boulevards and chattering classes, this island is like nowhere else I’ve seen.

Earlier that morning, I climbed aboard a fibreglass lobster boat at nancock Marina where Captain Mark Crockett scratched a tick next to my name on a lined sheet of A4 paper, as a stars and stripes flag fluttered away on the stern behind. Pulling out into Onancock Creek on course for Tangier Island, the boat’s soapy wake pierced a lonely line through the heart

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of the estuary and, aside from a few swooping cormorants, we were the only sign of life on the water.

A lumpy silhouetted outline eventually appeared on the horizon and before too long the shape of a white water tower and a murky church spire became visible as the island got closer.

Easing into Tangier’s marina, we glided past stumpy wooden piers piled with multicoloured crabbing cages alongside small blue boating sheds that looked like crooked Monopoly houses. A tall white flag supporting Donald Trump’s 2024 presidential candidacy flapped above one of the boats.

Crabbing in summer and oystering in winter are virtually the only industries on the island, aside from the tourists who travel via regular crossings in boats like Crockett’s.

There are virtually no cars, with residents walking, biking or rolling around in small electric golf buggies. Phone signal is a recent development, while internet is patchy. There are no bars and no alcohol is sold in the lone grocery store. Perhaps unsurprisingly, religious faith runs deep.

Wandering through the stony marina, I come across Lonnie Moore, sunning himself on a plastic chair. A retired crabber with wispy white hair, I ask him where to find the island’s eminent and outspoken mayor, James “Ooker” Eskridge, but his response, that the mayor is a busy man, comes out in a confounding accent for which I’m wholly unprepared, like a cross between rural southern twang and a rolling English West Country yodel, with vowels elongated and sentences sprinkled with some antiquated, almost pirate-like expressions.

Another awkward conversation with some nearby ‘watermen’ unloading their catch only confirms my di culty understanding them and heightens my intrigue as to why.

I remember Captain Crockett telling me he could trace his family lineage back to the 1600s and that they originally came over from Cornwall, something I later learn to be true at Tangier’s small museum. A Cornishman,

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John Crockett, his eight sons and their families were the first white settlers here in 1 , which, twinned with the residents’ stubborn attachment to the island, goes a long way to explaining the distinct accent.

During my poke around the museum, I spot a grainy colour image of nearby Lorraine’s restaurant half-submerged by water following Hurricane Sandy in 2012, a reminder of how vulnerable this island is.

Back at the gift store, I ask Faith how she feels about the spectre of the swelling tides.

“Well, it’s because of the erosion,” she says, becoming noticeably agitated. “They want to blame it on global warming but it’s erosion. We’ve been asking for years for a seawall.”

I learn quickly that this isn’t a subject locals particularly enjoy discussing. Yet, despite a seemingly hopeless future and timecapsule lifestyle, the residents of Tangier seem

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strangely content. Almost everyone I walk past smiles and says hello. And they rarely leave, as if living in a utopian bubble, with the mainland undesirable and foreign.

Virginia was established as the first permanent English colony of the “New World” in 1607, something the state’s rather archaic nickname – Old Dominion – still references today. And though indigenous people have inhabited the land for over 12,000 years, Virginia’s more recent revolutionary history is impossible to ignore, with the trio of Yorktown, Colonial Williamsburg and Jamestown now existing as open-air museums on a well-oiled tourist trail.

Further west, Virginia’s natural beauty unfurls as languid vineyards rise and fall like gently breaking waves, while serpentine roads meander toward the forested slopes of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Former Confederate capital Richmond is now a melting pot of

sublime restaurants and fine art, while pretty college towns like Charlottesville are steeped in presidential history and attract visitors from far and wide.

But Chesapeake Bay feels different. It’s a little wilder, with a somewhat capricious character, especially so along the narrow arm of Virginia’s Eastern Shore separating the bay from the Atlantic Ocean.

Driving north from Onancock on the four-lane Lankford Highway, I’m flanked by a flat landscape of sun-scorched cornfields, sandy red tractors, rusting boats parked on metallic trailers, handsome red-brick homes, lonely wooden shacks and roadkill marinating under the late-summer heat. A trail of stones and pebbles running alongside the road is all that remains of the old Bay Coast Railroad that once shunted up and down between Norfolk and Pocomoke City in Maryland and its solemn track makes me mourn for a lost America.

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT:

Assateague Beach; Semi-feral ponies; Assateague Lighthouse.

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THE SKIFF’S ROOF KEEPS US OUT OF THE MILKY SUN’S GLARE ON THIS HUMID AFTERNOON.

THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP:

Captain Hunter Leonard; A bald eagle.

OPPOSITE PAGE FROM THE TOP:

Rip Tide among his herd; Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge.

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My destination is Chincoteague Island at the northern tip of Virginia, a small coastal community known largely for the semi-feral ponies that live in the marshes and forests of neighbouring Assateague Island.

The curiosity of these ponies has turned them into something of a tourist attraction, though it was the publication of the children’s book Misty of Chincoteague by author Marguerite Henry in 1947 that truly brought this quiet corner of Virginia to the nation’s attention.

The release of the movie Misty in 1961 cemented the story with Chincoteague forever.

“People ask me if I get bored of my job, and I say ‘no, not really’,” says Captain Hunter Leonard as I board his flat-bottomed skiff at a small marina in south Chincoteague town.

Like most of his relatives and many of those who live here, Hunter is a Virginia waterman and feels this life is in his blood, even starting a pony sightseeing company in 2021 called

Cowboy Cruise Company – despite graduating with a degree in marine biology. With brown curly hair poking beneath a white baseball cap, a large avuncular frame and a laid-back sense of humour, it’s as if I’m being guided by a maritime John Candy.

As we approach the low-lying wetlands of the Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge, a small pony herd is standing in the shallow waters rapidly fanning their tails and stomping their hoofs, trying to ward off the merciless horseflies that descend on the reserve every summer.

“They’re standing in the water so the bugs don’t bite their ankles,” says Hunter, crossing his battered grey sandals on the cockpit chair and leaning casually on the thick metallic steering wheel. “In the summertime, their biggest thing is to stay away from the flies.

They’re all quite fat, so they don’t need that much grass and they prioritise staying away from the bugs. I always think it’s amazing to watch them and study their patterns.”

Hunter points at a larger chocolatecoloured pony with a striking blonde mane.

“He’s the most famous one. Rip Tide. He’s kinda like our king, he’s the boss.”

There are 150 adult ponies in total, separated into 17 males and 133 females, with around 5,000 acres to graze on. “Every year you’ll have around 0 to 0 foals,” Hunter explains, “so we have to sell those off in order to maintain the population. It’s a really neat deal. A lot of people buy them and take them home, train them and ride them.”

The auction to buy the ponies is by far the biggest event on Chincoteague’s calendar.

Started in 1924, the annual Pony Swim each July sees 30,000 to 40,000 people descend on the town to watch the Saltwater Cowboys lead hundreds of ponies through the shallow water to be auctioned off the following day.

I notice a bald eagle perched on the branch of a skeletal tree surrounded by several other dead greying trees. Hunter explains how a pine beetle infestation in 2016 infected about 1,000 acres across the nature reserve, showing the fragile nature of the land.

The skiff’s roof keeps us out of the milky sun’s glare on this humid afternoon as we

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WE STEP G I N G E R LY D O W N STEEP WOODEN STEPS INTO H I S B OAT.

circle around Chincoteague Island, and there’s a serene calm to life on the water here, the silence only occasionally punctured by the staccato bleating of gulls and ospreys looping overhead.

THIS SPREAD:

Chris Ludford running his Chef’s Table Tour on Lynnhaven River.

If Chincoteague is the Virginian coast at its most provincial, then Virginia Beach at the southern tip of the Chesapeake Bay is its luminous contrary. Dominated by the grandiose redbrick Cavalier Hotel and a threemile-long beachside boardwalk lined with lively restaurants and modern resorts, this city’s coastal glamour and crystalline waters once attracted the glitterati of Hollywood’s Golden Age as well as several presidents including Jimmy Carter and John F Kennedy.

All of that stardust feels remote, however, on Chris Ludford’s flat-bottomed Carolina skiff.

Around five miles behind the bright lights of the oceanfront lies the Lynnhaven River and it’s here that Chris leads his Chef’s Table Tour, a three-hour tour and tasting based around his life in aquaculture, focusing on the river’s coveted oysters.

“Anything you see today that looks like rock or gravel, that’s all oysters,” says Chris in a deep but calming accent as we step gingerly down steep wooden steps into his boat.

Wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, a stained

loose-sleeve shirt, wrap-around shades, creased navy shorts and soaked aqua shoes, Chris looks like he shouldn’t be anywhere else but on the water.

Recently retired after a 25-year career in the local fire department, he started leasure House Oysters in 2010 when the area’s longestablished crabbing industry fell into a slump, but his motivation wasn’t simply running tours and selling oysters to local restaurants. Chris’s work is a passion that’s helped to repopulate oyster numbers that had cratered in the 1970s due to pollution and overharvesting.

We sit on long coolers inside the boat as he navigates out to a small private-lease island where he grows and cultivates his oysters in thick submerged cages.

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“My god that’s a big jimmie!” he cries, splashing down into the shin-high water near the shore. Full-size male blue crabs in this corner of America are also known as “jimmies”, and Chris peers and prods beneath the surface to find the crab. It eludes him and scrambles away, but his crabbing past is still evident.

Like many folk here, he’s a waterman, born and raised.

“At weekends we’d come here, because my dad kept a boat,” he says, looking back toward the marina. “Up in Crab Creek. Every weekend we were here, crabbing, boating, chicken necking, all that stuff. So after college, I moved out here as soon as I could.”

These days, his focus is on oysters and Lynnhaven’s are particularly famous for their size. The English colonists who arrived in Virginia in the 17th century described seeing oysters ‘as big as dinner plates’, but Chris’s painstaking hand-raised farming technique – lifting, cleaning and maintaining the cages several times a week, all year round – means he can cultivate his ideal oysters.

“Hey, look at the cup on that one!” he shouts, picking a fresh oyster from a cage and holding it up to head height for us to see its bulbous round lower shell. “That’s what

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everyone wants. Those are some big meaty oysters.”

A unique feature of Chris’s tour is the chance to eat some freshly prepared oysters on his ‘dinner table’. What this actually entails is Chris stacking a couple of oyster cages on top of each other on the sandy shore, and topping them with a 19th-century wooden door he found in a barnyard in southwest Virginia.

Et voila.

“We’ll do this in steps”, he says as I clutch an opened oyster, ready to shuck. “Sip the li ueur first, and the next step is to eat the oyster, you chew through it. I always chew my oysters, I never shoot. You know that the Mexicans sip their tequila, right? They don’t put it on the rocks or do shots or nothing.”

The oyster is a silky delight, and with a cold beer in my hand and only the sound of the lapping shore nearby, we share stories under the sun at Chris’s makeshift table. It feels like an eternity from the city, though we’re only a few miles from the boardwalk’s lavish resorts. From Tangier in the north to this small creek near the North Carolina border, making a life on the water in Virginia isn’t assured, but for those who do, it’s an unshakeable labour of love.

THIS SPREAD:

Chris’s small island where he runs his tours.

VIRGINIA

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

Washington Dulles International Airport (IAD) is the closest international airport; from here, hire a car to make the 3½- to 4-hour drive to Virginia Beach or Chincoteague Island.

B E S T T I M E TO G O

Avoid summer’s high prices and dense humidity; May and October are warm and not too crowded. Spring and autumn are also good seasons for bay sports and visiting Virginia’s vineyards.

C U R R E N C Y US dollar T I M E Z O N E GMT -5 FO O D

Fresh blue crabs and Lynnhaven oysters are famed in this corner of the States, so seek them out on any coastal menu.

W H E R E TO S TAY

Virginia Beach offers over 75 oceanfront hotels and resorts with easy access to US Route 60 and the rest of Chesapeake Bay. H OW TO D O I T

Visit tangierferry.com to reserve a place on the Tangier– Onancock Ferry in advance.

Pony tours in Chincoteague can be booked on cowboycruisecompany.com, and you can find out more about Pleasure House Oyster tours at pleasurehouseoysters. com. For more information, see virginia.org, chincoteague.com and visitvirginiabeach.com.

M U S T- PAC K I T E M

Bug spray is handy in the forested areas of Chincoteague Island. You may also need cash in certain rural instances (like the Tangier–Onancock Ferry, for example).

WHY GO

To see the American coast at its most fascinating – and its most authentic.

The writer was a guest of Virginia Tourism Corporation.

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arrived here, three hours ago, in rural darkness so complete that I found my way to my lodgings by the light of the Milky Way. Fumbling with matches and splintered kindling by the glow of my phone’s screen, like an anachronistic caveman, I lit a small fire and crawled alone into my cold bed.

Now, I’m woken from my brief slumber by a searing light that burns at the edges of my yurt’s canvas, scorching my retinas. Beside me, the wood-burning stove holds only cold, dead ash, but when I pull back the curtains to look outside, the hillside is a shimmering blaze of red, yellow and orange. A smokey mantle billows upwards, and through the haze I can make out a handful of my fellow guests, finding refuge by wading into the river that runs past the property.

When I told friends in the UK that I would be exploring Idaho, the news was received with raised eyebrows and tiny, involuntary shrugs. Later, travelling across Canada, the response was different yet the same. Coloured by perceptions based on the state’s most famous agricultural export, the words first uttered – from Saskatoon to Halifax – were always, “Why?” “There’s nothing there but potato fields,” I was told again and again. None of those people, however, have ever cruised around any of Idaho’s 31 scenic byways: roads recognised by the US Department of Transportation for their archeological,

cultural, historic, natural, recreational and/or scenic significance.

My fellow guests here at Maple Grove Hot Springs – who have driven out to this remote retreat in sunny October to soak their limbs in steam-shrouded geothermallyheated pools, and in the hot springs along the banks of the Bear River Valley, resplendent with autumnal carotenoid pigments and anthocyanin-dyed deciduous trees — are all Americans.

Yes, Idaho produces more potatoes than any other state in the S (around . million metric tonnes each year), but at , square miles in size and with a population of just 1. million, the state’s sinuous byways are devoid of bottlenecks, tra c jams and honking horns. Thanks to the lack of light pollution, Idaho is also home to America’s first gold-tier international dark-sky reserve; a short ride out of almost any town transforms your car bonnet into a reclined seat at the ultimate planetarium.

An estimated , 00 s uare miles (or around 10,000 s km) of the state remains untouched wilderness, connected and circuited by some of America’s most pictures ue drives.

Travel through the middle of the state and you will definitely find plains of agricultural land populated only by breezeblown tumbleweeds and the sentry trusses of crop irrigation systems but you’ll still be surrounded by snow-capped mountains, and wildflower valleys carved deep into the arth.

Departing Maple Grove in southeast Idaho, my car’s tyres pop and crunch over the crumbs of dirt and gravel that constitute the track back to the highway: a gnarled

PREVIOUS SPREAD:

Dusk falls over the Snake River.

LEFT:

The yurt at Maple Grove Hot Springs.

RIGHT FROM THE TOP:

The Milky Way seen from the dark skies of Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve; The Sawtooth Mountains and fertile river plains.

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trickle of claret, clotting under the sun, which spills from the arterial Pioneer Scenic Byway. Heading north through wind-rippled wheat fields, I discover the ghost town of Chesterfield, founded by Mormon settlers in 1881 and gradually abandoned throughout the 1 0s. The remaining wooden buildings – including the tithing house, the school and the meeting house – sit in the lonely, immaculate emptiness of a vacuum, the deafening silence amplified by some of the biggest skies I’ve ever seen.

Further along the route, close to the centre of Soda Springs – a wholesome small town straight from the pages of a Stephen King novel, named after the hundreds of naturally carbonated water springs in the area – the world’s only manually drilled and timer-released geyser erupts high into those yawning skies every hour, on the hour.

On my road trip around the state, I swerve cows that materialise from morning mists on Mesa Falls Scenic Byway. The sun emerges when I arrive at the eponymous cascade’s lookout spots and – as the Henry’s Fork of the Snake River emerges from Yellowstone National ark, on Idaho’s eastern border, and squeezes between basalt columns to plunge 65ft below – the waterfall is painted in rainbows.

When I cruise south along the Salmon River Scenic Byway, cumulous clouds of hydrothermal steam rise from the river at Sunbeam Hot Springs, where I spot picnickers, day-trippers and idle truckers all recharging

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their personal batteries in the waters directly by the roadside.

If you’ve never been, it’s easy to minimise Idaho as a field full of spuds, but this is no destination for couch potatoes hiking, offroading, whitewater rafting and skiing are some of the most popular activities. Those who have visited know that Idaho is far better defined as a land of fire and ice.

The Rocky Mountains extend into the northern part of Idaho, with the mountains’ Bitterroot Range running along the border with Montana. The gleaming incisors of the Sawtooth Range bite through the central part of the state, while the Owyhee Mountains gnaw at southwestern Idaho. According to the US Geological Survey, there are at least 115 named mountain ranges in Idaho, and 0 individual peaks that are over 10,000ft in height, giving the state no less than 1 skiing regions.

Along the Sawtooth Scenic Byway are Central Idaho Dark Sky Reserve and Sun Valley. The latter is widely regarded as the S’s first destination ski resort, thanks in no small part to the fact that rnest Hemingway held an abiding affection for the region, from his first visit in 1 until his death in his final home in the area in 1 1. You can visit his grave – strewn with ceremonial offerings of beer bottles, coins and the ballpoint pens of bloodless sacrifice – just a few minutes down the road at etchum Cemetery.

In contrast, the ten-mile-wide Hells Canyon is North America’s deepest river gorge

– running deeper than the Grand Canyon at , ft in depth – and Shoshone Falls, on the Snake River in south-central Idaho, is a 212ft drop, plunging ft further than Niagara Falls.

Idaho’s geography is anything but meat and potatoes, but in the midst of all of these extremes covering over 1,100 s uare miles in the Snake River lain of central Idaho – you’ll find its most alien landscapes, along the eaks to Craters Scenic Byway.

I dig my heels into a steep incline of black rock and shifting, gunmetal grains that give a little with every step. The sun is high in the sky and beats down mercilessly, so I stop to mop my brow, and to consider the primordial scene that folds and unfolds all around me, like a goth’s thick winter cape.

Ashen plains; undulating, rippled, oncemolten rock; and scattered volcanic cones of cinder and spatter that spewed the very planet beneath my feet: all stand as a stony testament to the dynamic nature of our world.

Immense lava flows, born from the restless belly of the arth, once cascaded over this land, leaving behind a moonscape

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT:

The characteristic yellow houses in what’s left of the ghost town of Chester eld; Soda Springs geyser; The Time Zone Bridge crosses the Salmon River.

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that seems to defy the very essence of terrestrial existence.

The site’s evolution over millennia remains clearly embossed upon the rocks and in caves, telling its tale of constant transformation, birth and rebirth. Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve is a geological time capsule, petrified in the vast expanse of the Idaho wilderness, from its fiery, volcanic origins to the silence that now envelops it.

“Hi! How ya doing, buddy?”

I’m shaken from my reverie. A couple stands beside me. “ rr, hello ” I croak. I’ve not spoken to anyone all day.

“Wow That’s an interesting accent.

Where are you from?”

I explain that I’m from the , but I don’t need to return the man’s uestion dressed in a baseball cap, wraparound shades, camouflaged combat trousers and an overtly jingoistic T-shirt, it’s obvious he’s American.

Actually, he tells me, he and his wife have moved up to Idaho from San Francisco Bay Area for a better pace of life and safety from society’s rougher elements. They’ve not met anyone from Britain in Idaho before though.

My replies, I confess, are polite but a little clipped: brief, short answers and hurried niceties. It’s not entirely because I’ve lost all social skills during my week travelling alone in Idaho, but also because I suffer from acrophobia, and this spot – standing on the very precipice of a dormant volcano’s caldera – doesn’t seem like the best place to linger for a chat. I feel it prudent to concentrate on my footing rather than small talk, as we stare down, together, into the abyss.

The tran uillity of isolation – and mild vertigo – has robbed me of my usual gregariousness, and I’m not uite the raconteur I’d aspire to be. For what are we without our stories?

Western explorers first “discovered” this area in the mid-1 00s, and in Washington Irving’s 1 book, The Adventures of Captain Bonneville, he said of the area, “Nothing meets the eye but a desolate and awful waste.”

Describing it as “a weird and scenic landscape peculiar to itself,” President Calvin Coolidge proclaimed Craters of the Moon a national monument in May 1 2 , but archeological evidence shows that the indigenous Shoshone – a migratory people, many of whom travelled over 1,200 miles each year to hunt and forage – regularly visited the area as early as the 10th century BC .

The lava field itself covers over 00 square miles and consists of a combination of over 0 lava flows from eruptions that took place between 1 ,000 and 2,100 years ago, making it likely that the Shoshone would have witnessed some of them.

The Shoshone story about how Craters of the Moon National Monument was formed

goes like this: long ago, a huge serpent left its bed – leaving a depression where the Snake River lies now – and coiled itself around a large mountain to sun itself. After several days, a great thunderstorm passed overhead, its rumbling and lightning strikes arousing the serpent’s wrath. Angered, it began to tighten its coils until the very mountain within them crumbled and the stones began to melt. Fire was born from the cracks in the mountain and li uid rock flowed down to create the lava field we see now.

Today, you’ll find a seven-mile loop road running through the preserve, taking guests from the visitor centre on a circuit around some of Craters’ most important sites. The Broken Loop Trail provides an opportunity to hike over, under and around the youngest volcano on

OPPOSITE PAGE:

Shoshone Falls.

THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP:

Hells Canyon on the Snake River; The dry, rugged boulders of the Owyhees Mountains.

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the Snake River lain. The events that created this cinder cone and associated lava flows culminated about 2,000 years ago at the end of the most recent eruptive cycle. Because they’re so relatively young, the volcanic rocks here preserve many detailed features, including rope-like lava formations, domes, spatter ramparts and pressure ridges.

When molten lava advanced through the area, it flowed through a grove of living trees.

As they ignited, their moisture was released as steam, cooling the hot lava just enough to leave impressions of the charred wood upon its surface.

In some places, the burning trees remained standing as the liquid rock engulfed them, leaving vertical moulds in the rock; you can hike the two-mile round-trip at Tree Molds Trail to see their ancient arboreal death masks.

At first glance, Craters of the Moon seems a desolate, barren place. Closer inspection, however, reveals unexpected life forms 0 varieties of plant, 11 types of bats, plus three amphibian, 13 reptile, 223 bird and 2 mammal species. To survive on the lava field they must adapt to their environment.

Plants may spend the year in seed form, or grow hidden in deep crevices, while some animals are nocturnal, or sleep throughout the winter and parts of the summer.

The same searing lava flows that once destroyed everything in their path today protect some of the last remaining islands of natural sagebrush steppe vegetation on the Snake River lain. These features, known as kipukas – a variation of the Hawaiian term puka, which means hole’ – show scientists what native plant communities looked like

IMMENSE LAVA FLOWS, BORN FROM THE RESTLESS B E L LY O F T H E E A R T H , O N C E CASCADED OVER THIS LAND.

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before grazing livestock and non-native vegetation forever altered them.

LEFT:

A footpath through Craters of the Moon Monument and Preserve.

THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP:

Indian Tunnel cave; ild owers growing among the ancient lava ows.

Hopping down from one rock to the next, I find the first bottleneck of my trip as I descend into the bowels of the arth. Lured by the promise of adventure, dangling bats and a retreat from the heat of the sun, a small number of visitors are struggling to find a route across a handful of boulders to the interior of ewdrop Cave.

Many give up and turn back. As I stand at the bottom, in the dark and silent small cavern with a group of strangers, I think of the Shoshone people who once used these lava caves for both shelter and as a water source during their travels through these inhospitable lands.

A little further along the trail, Indian Tunnel – named after the native Shoshone, who left circles of stones and rocks nearby – can be accessed by a metal staircase. Its first chamber, lit by sunlight, teems with park visitors, but the crowds gradually thin as the tunnel progresses into darkness.

Torch beams jitter around and scour the tunnel walls, illuminating the inverted spires of lava stalactites, formed when molten rock once dripped from the ceiling. Along the length of the tunnel, stony tide marks line the walls.

All the tunnels and caves here in the preserve are the result of lava tubes. Rivers of lava form these tubes when the exterior of a flow cools, solidifying on the surface while allowing hot fluid magma to continue to flow beneath. Within these insulated underground

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IDAHO

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

Flying to Idaho’s capital of Boise usually involves a layover in Denver or Seattle.

It’s often quicker to drive from Salt Lake City in Utah to reach southern Idaho.

B E S T T I M E TO G O

2024 marks the 100th anniversary of Craters of the Moon, which will be celebrated from May to September.

C U R R E N C Y US dollar T I M E Z O N E GMT -7 FO O D

daho offers other culinary jewels in addition to potatoes.

The elusive morel mushroom is precious to foragers while huckleberries are embedded like sapphires in pies, ice creams, jams and pastries.

W H E R E TO S TAY

H OW TO D O I T

America As You Like It (americaasyoulikeit.com) offers a seven-night fly-drive trip to Idaho, including two nights in Boise, one night in Ketchum, one night in Arco (for Craters of the Moon), one night in Salmon and two nights in McCall.

M U S T- PAC K I T E M

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT:

A marmot; A Hera buckmoth; Characteristic solidi ed lava orms; Green shoots of hardy trees among the landscape of Craters of the Moon Monument and Preserve.

Photo Credits: Dreamstime; James Draven; Alamy; Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve.

passages, the molten rock can flow for many miles, dripping from the roof and marking the walls as the amount of lava flowing through the tubes fluctuates.

Around 2,000 years ago, the Blue ragon Lava Flow at Craters of the Moon travelled a distance of 1 miles from its source. These tunnels are the resulting lava tubes, from which the streams of molten lava have drained away, while the cave entrances were formed where portions of the tube ceilings collapsed. ach chink of light from above is accompanied by piles of fallen rock below it, and as my path forward becomes more sinuous and scattered with obstructions, I’m soon left all by myself, exploring caverns for signs of life.

Like many of the 62 species of mammal able to survive the harsh winters of Craters of the Moon, the marmot hibernates here, slowing its heartbeat from 0 to just four beats per minute. It has a similar response to the harsh summer sleep. Similarly, I have found serenity in this uninterrupted silence.

Finally, my lonely road is blocked, and I clamber up over boulders towards the dying light. I emerge from the tunnel alone. Far away from highways and potato fields, this darksome lava bed represents a geological anachronism: a land both ancient and immaculate. From dire embers – a fresh start.

Maple Grove Hot Springs (near Thatcher); Three Rivers Ranch (near Ashton); Redfish Riverside Inn (Stanley); Hotel Ketchum (Ketchum).

Enough changes of clothes: to prevent the spread of whitenose syndrome to bats, no clothing or any other item that has been in any underground space, such as a cave or mine, can be worn into the caves at Craters of the Moon, even if it has been washed and decontaminated.

WHY GO

Come for caving in lava tunnels, volcanic hikes and dipping in thermal springs.

Then there are ghost towns to e plore, skiing, off-road trails and whitewater rafting.

The writer was a guest of the State of Idaho.

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MONTEREY MAGIC

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CALIFORNIA

Nestled along California’s Central Coast, Monterey County is made up of endless paths, each one connecting you to something di erent, something inspiring, and something unbelievable. Stretching across 99 miles of stunning coastline along the famed ighway , this region o ers a panorama of vistas that span the majestic redwood forests to the verdant valley and pristine coastline.

Each corner of Monterey County beckons with a diverse array of experiences that not only connect visitors with the breathtaking landscape but also foster connections with loved ones and within oneself. From wellness retreats and world-class dining to renowned golf courses and outdoor adventures, the spirit of e ploration defines onterey ounty

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Epic views of the Big Sur Coastline.

ABOVE:

Hiking in Pinnacles National Park.

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Biking along the Monterey Bay Coastal Recreation Trail with views of Old Fisherman’s Wharf.

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Lunch with a view at Nepenthe in Big Sur.

ABOVE:

Taking in the scenery at Jacks Peak County Park in Monterey.

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CLOCKWISE FROM THE TOP:

A pod of long-beaked common dolphins swimming in Monterey Bay; A pair of sea otters; A humpback whale.

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Wine tasting in the scenic Salinas Valley.

RIGHT:

Dining in downtown Salinas at Villa Azteca.

PREVIOUS SPREAD:

A purple carpet of ice plant owers grows ne t to the Paci c Grove coast every spring.

CLOCKWISE FROM ABOVE:

Joyce Wine Company in Soledad; Dust Bowl Brewing Company in Monterey; Joyce Wine Company in Soledad.

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ABOVE:

ela ing at Alta akery

RIGHT:

Ca

in Monterey.

ig Sur P eiffer Falls Hike.

ABOVE:

Cosying up with a warm beverage at Fernwood esort ar

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FOLLOWING SPREAD:

Grill in ig Sur.

Carmel River State Beach.

Paid partnership with M O N T E R E Y C O U N T Y

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CALIFORNIA

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

With daily direct service from international hubs like San Francisco, Los Angeles, Dallas and Phoenix, Monterey Regional Airport can be easily reached from both domestic and international destinations with just one connection.

B E S T T I M E TO G O

With a consistently mild climate and an average temperature of 15ºC, the weather is great year-round. But autumn brings the sunniest weather and the most local events.

C U R R E N C Y US dollar T I M E Z O N E GMT -8 FO O D

Monterey County’s culinary scene fuses coastal flavours with the bounty of the bay and local agriculture. Enjoy farm-to-table sustainable produce, Michelin-starred restaurants, and wines from more than 175 vineyards, over 60 wineries and tasting rooms, and 32 varietals.

W H E R E TO S TAY

From historic mansions turned bed & breakfasts to luxe resorts, charming inns and lodges, budget-friendly motels and rustic campgrounds, there are so many great accommodations for every style of traveller.

H OW TO D O I T

There are a number of options to get around Monterey County while you’re here. Take advantage of the Monterey-Salinas Transit public transportation system or rent a bike and explore the coastal recreation trail that stretches 18 miles, from Castroville in the north to Pacific Grove in the south. Find out more at SeeMonterey.com M U S T- PAC K I T E M

Don’t forget to pack a versatile jacket for Monterey County, as its coastal climate can surprise you. Layers and comfortable shoes ensure comfort while you explore the region’s stunning landscapes and vibrant communities.

Photo Credits: See Monterey, Dreamstime.

WHY GO

Monterey County beckons with its breath-taking coastline, world-class dining, diverse wildlife, and captivating history.

Immerse yourself in its natural wonders and vibrant culture for an unforgettable California experience. Now is the perfect time to find your way here.

BROUGHT TO YOU IN PARTNERSHIP WITH

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T H E T H I N G S YO U F I N D I N T H E DA R K

The things you f ind in the dark

V E N T U R E T O

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ALABAMA

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I

remember how it sounded. Even now, decades later, I can hear the otherworld – the ancient howl of rock and water echoing through the dull rush of nothingness, a desperate gasp from a misshapen maw. All I have to do is close my eyes, quiet my mind, and listen for the distant drip… drip… drip… to bring me back there again.

I can still feel the small, damp palm in my own as we, 30 third-graders hand-in-hand, journeyed into the depths to be swallowed up like linked sausages by the earth’s craggy orifice. It was a rite of passage then, or perhaps a sacrifice. With bated breath and unblinking eyes, we ventured further into the gullet, the cruel September sun setting against our backs with each step forward.

THE ANCIENT HOWL OF ROCK A N D WAT E R ECHOING THROUGH THE DULL RUSH OF

ALABAMA

resilient from a ravenous pit. A row of fangs forever suspended mid-chomp. Their frozen forms flung crooked shadows at us the deeper we travelled into the cavern. ur guide spoke of its wonders, his Southern drawl ricocheting off the walls and into the inky void. He detailed the hundreds of thousands of years this place had existed before us, telling of its resilience after ages of being battered, broken and shaped by the elements, formed and reformed again and again. He told of its many uses over time, a dwelling place for indigenous tribes, a fallout shelter during an era of fear and paranoia, and now a showcase for all of it. The muted glow of a bulky flashlight caressed what evidence was left.

In the pitch black, our senses heightened.

The cool, still air pricked our sunburnt arms.

Leathery bat wings whooshed by us, pulsating against the emptiness. verhead, the jagged white calcite blinked at us, mirroring our curious gaze. We would all leave something behind in that hollow space – our notions of the past, our grasp on the future, our view above ground – but maybe what we found there in the dark, we hold onto still. I do.

NOTHINGNESS. We had heard about this place from the older students, who spoke of it in a careless vocabulary coded in -tites and -mites now, following the smooth footpath, their breathless tales became truth before us. Mangled heaps of sediment uickly grew into great fortresses of mineral deposits. They took on many shapes. A waterfall spewing from an impossible angle. A church organ rising

PREVIOUS SPREAD:

Illuminated stalactites and stalagmites in Cathedral Caverns.

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Cascading water and pool at Dismals Canyon.

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T H E T H I N G S YO U F I N D I N T H E DA R K

Alabama is more than its picturesque landscapes. From the central to the northernmost part of the state, where the terrain begins to grow rugged and unruly at the feet of the Appalachian Mountains, there are places where the earth fractures, opening up in an eternal yawn. Caves, caverns and canyons have formed in this region only miles apart, offering so much to discover just beneath the surface.

These underground landscapes vary greatly across the state, each site playing host to a different adventure. Where some spots, like Majestic Caverns and Little River Canyon, provide a leisurely stroll into the cradle of the earth, others, such as Sims Cave ark and Tumbling Rock Cave reserve, extend a more daring invitation, tempting visitors to descend boldly into the underworld. Within these places exist their own uni ue ecosystems some keep safe several dwindling bat species, others nurture the state’s distinct flora, and one, ismals Canyon, even harbours brilliant bioluminescent beings known as Orfelia fultoni, or dismalites.

Since my first trip into the caverns as a child, I have been intoxicated by the promises of these lesser-known lands, and I have often found myself being pulled back to these havens of shadow and rock. However, in adulthood, I have discovered so much more, unearthing a hidden realm where I can connect with an unfathomable past, better understand change, and find solace in the things I cannot. eep in the earth, I have found stories – lessons even – that can be imparted to those willing to listen closely and look hard enough.

These ancient structures of worn sediment both show and tell many things. And one truth that must first be revealed is grim, a sobering origin story marked by brutality and hate. Few of these sites have gone unblemished by the country’s ruinous beginnings and, even at their depths, there are horrors that the darkness cannot shroud.

The past hums through these timeforged labyrinths, chronicling the cavern that bore witness to Hernando de Soto’s arrival, his fruitless uest for gold, and the enslavement of many Coosa people in its stead. It recalls the canyon that was once used by S troops to detain the Chickasaw people before forcing them from their native land. It can still feel the now-excavated bones that once called the cave floor their eternal home. And it reveals the faded writings and drawings that depict centuries of ceremony and survival. ver time, the very names of these destinations also became colonised. Words like Cathedral and Rickwood caverns or Russell Cave and ismals Canyon taste bitter on the tongue, every syllable like an intrusion. In the end, however, these places’ true histories will never be erased. Many stewards today, like those of Manitou Cave, are committed to their preservation, making sure the landmarks still

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ALABAMA

whisper from memory the names of those who once called this land home Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Coosa and Creek.

As the past plays out through the underground, so too does something else, something fluid and forever taking shape, a narrative of change. There, in the state’s deepest recesses, this tale can be read like a well-worn book, a once-upon-a-time told by the relentless rush of water.

These destinations were once nothing, merely limestone with a yet-realised potential.

Slowly and meticulously, Alabama’s caves, caverns and canyons were formed through erosion, from the persistence of moisture against mineral over a long period. Something from nothing. The pummeling, the crumbling, the carving out and widening, these structures have continuously transformed and they are being altered still.

S TA L AG M I T ES APPEAR LOFTIER AND S TA L AC T I T ES MORE MENACING WITH EVERY C AV E R N VOYAG E .

FROM THE LEFT:

Rickwood Caverns; Bioluminescent glowworms.

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ALABAMA

Photo Credits: Dreamstime

Year after year, I can see it, the perpetual metamorphosis, captured in sediment and depicted across stone. Stalagmites appear loftier and stalactites more menacing with every cavern voyage as heavy rainfalls or lingering draughts reshape the canyons’ narrow passageways and revise their once familiar floors. As I take in each new spectacle, I also take stock of my own weathering features and feel comforted aging in good company.

As the climate continues to change, eventually – and perhaps dramatically – many of these geologic structures will follow suit.

Shifts in temperature, precipitation patterns and groundwater levels brought on by the worsening climate crisis could affect the longevity of these destinations with many of them becoming susceptible to decreased stability and potential collapse. Already, the need to preserve such sites is evident.

But amid the ongoing transformation taking place just beneath the surface, another gospel can be gleaned from these spaces, one of adaptability and strength. Through eras of change, these locations have also learned to adjust, evolving as time passes and environmental pressures persist. And every time something all the more striking is born.

Whenever these hollow spaces receive me now, I still admire and marvel at the things that first bewildered my young mind.

However, I have become more than a visitor, but a student, examining each striation and stretch mark, yearning to be taught by them.

I hunger for the things these structures instinctively know – how to adapt and when to stay steadfast how to be chipped away at but remain whole or even how to simply go with the flow. I, in turn, scrutinise my own grooves and fissures, longing to understand how these places can so easily be.

I often notice myself tuning in to that primal gurgle that first tethered me and still calls me back to the underground. I listen for the echo of eons of change – it, too, a distant drip… drip… drip… – and I remember what must be endured in order to become.

In the cool and tranquil embrace of these subterranean worlds, I have discovered my own Alabama, where a problematic past can be uncovered where a precarious future can be unearthed and where the self can be wholly exhumed. I have left many things behind in these hollow spaces too, but what I’ve found there in the dark, I hold onto still.

LEFT:

Sequoyah Caverns

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

These subterranean destinations are peppered across Central and North Alabama, making Birmingham’s International Airport a convenient gateway.

Hire a car to get you out to the underground locales.

B E S T T I M E TO G O

Much of Alabama’s underground is perfect year-round with many spots offering a reprieve from the summer heat, a cover from the wet winter days, and a good time for every season in between.

C U R R E N C Y US dollar T I M E Z O N E GMT -5 FO O D

Hit up a roadside joint, like Holy Smokes BBQ in Scottsboro or visit a beloved Southern restaurant, like Northport’s City Cafe – and stop at any filling station for a cup full of boiled peanuts.

W H E R E TO S TAY

Stay in one of the state’s many charming bed and breakfasts to experience Southern hospitality at its finest, such as Bee on the Brow in Mentone, H OW TO D O I T

Each site has its own set of guidelines that should be researched online beforehand. Guided walking tours are offered at Majestic and Cathedral caverns, while at Sims Cave Park you can opt for a thrilling guided cave expedition.

M U S T- PAC K I T E M

Water and snacks, particularly if you want to continue your explorations above ground.

WHY GO

Alabama is full of natural beauty, but it’s what lies beneath the state’s picturesque landscape that holds the most magic. Don’t miss out on the opportunity to immerse yourself in the lesser-explored wonders of this world.

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THE RED-ROCK RAILROAD

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THE RED-ROCK RAILROAD

“I

t all went dark, so I plucked up the courage and leant over to the girl sitting next to me – whom I had a crush on – and bagged a kiss,” said Mike Hannifin, the Onboard Host of our carriage on the Rocky Mountaineer. We had just entered the Moffat Tunnel, a 6.2-mile subterranean passage through the Rockies, and Mike was regaling us about his first kiss as an 11 year old, in the very tunnel that we were slowly rolling through. “This is tunnel country, so put your arm around your loved one and get smooching.” But as we neared the conclusion of our 354-mile journey, romantic gestures were the furthest thing from my mind.

My trip had started in the scorching desert heat of Moab. Once fuelled by the promise of uranium wealth unearthed here in 1 2, the town had seen its boom crumble in the 1 0s when the government had ceased its uranium purchases. By that time, however, visitors were drawn to the region not for the elusive promise of overnight success, but for

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PREVIOUS SPREAD:

Rocky Mountaineer in Debeque Canyon.

THIS SPREAD CLOCKWISE FROM THE TOP:

Main Street in Moab; One of the stores in Moab; Rocky Mountaineer near 7 Mile in Moab; The exterior o the train; Mike Hanni n.

the genuine treasures within the desert’s warm embrace – the breathtaking landscapes of Utah’s national parks.

Despite this, it wasn’t the dizzying views or the logic-defying rock formations that had beckoned me here, but rather the starting point of a remarkable train journey – from the desert to Denver, Colorado, on the iconic Rocky Mountaineer’s “Rockies to the Red Rocks” route.

For two days, we traced the meandering path of the majestic Colorado River, following the watercourse like a game of tag. Breathtaking views emerged at every turn, showcasing the grandeur of nature in its unbridled glory. From the towering cliffs that stood sentinel over us, to the wide-open plains of Colorado, it was hard not to be moved by the sheer scale of nature’s magnificence.

The train itself, with its stately blue carriages, was a climate-controlled sanctuary from the oppressive desert heat outside.

Towering windows, curving towards the roof, flooded the space with an abundance of natural light, creating an airy serenity. With the sun streaming in, a food menu to peruse and a mimosa in hand, I watched through the expansive windows as we left the small town of Moab behind. Its picturesque boutique- and café-lined Main Street slowly drifted away, leaving only the iconic red-rock formations that flank the town to accompany us.

Before too long, I headed out to the outdoor viewing platform. This small, open, standing area is nestled amid the carriages, with stable-style doors with the top half removed. This serves as a splendid vantage point to revel in the views on either side of the train and bask in the invigorating breeze throughout the journey.

I wanted to catch a glimpse of Mount Peale’s soaring summit; at an elevation of

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THE RED-ROCK RAILROAD

12,721ft, it’s the highest point of Utah’s La Sal Mountains. Its snowy rugged peaks unfolded to our right and remained a constant backdrop for the next 50 miles. Nestled in the east of the state, the mountains rise dramatically from the surrounding desert and are clad with lush forests and highland meadows – a striking counterpoint to the crimson-hued rock canyons and parched expanses characterising the rest of this region.

I was fixated on the mighty summits of mountains, daydreaming about what the lofty views might be like from the top, when Mike’s commentary startled me. “The abundance of wildlife in this region is truly remarkable,” he said, “thanks to Utah’s extensive public land, which encompasses a staggering 70% of the state – in stark contrast to Texas, where it accounts for a mere 1%.” As if on cue, a pronghorn antelope appeared. “That magnificent creature,” Mike said, “is the fastest animal in North America.” He was alluding to their remarkable ability to sustain speeds of 60 miles per hour across vast distances.

We slowly passed over the Utah/ Colorado state border – little more than a modest painted line etched onto the nearby rocks – and which, I knew, would soon mean our arrival into Ruby Canyon. I had previously travelled parts of the Moab to Denver route in a car, but this magnificent canyon had always eluded my sight. Devoid of any accessible road, it can only be reached by train or braving the ferocious rapids of the Colorado River.

The panorama shifted dramatically upon entering the canyon, the formidable redsandstone cliffs of which shielded its interior from the afternoon sun. Even the temperature felt cooler, as if we had just entered a cavern.

The Colorado River surged alongside us, on the verge of bursting its banks due to copious snowfall earlier in the year. Occasional rafts glided by, floating on its currents.

As we made our way through the canyon’s 25 miles, the ruby-red hues that give this canyon its name seemed to deepen even more in the low light. Amid the deep-red cliffs, I could see hardy plants such as sagebrush and juniper find their foothold. There were even pockets of wildflowers such as penstemon and lavender, showcasing bursts of colour, that clung tenaciously to the rocky outcrops, injecting a subtle floral presence into this otherwise stark environment. I listened to Mike explain how one can witness the geological storytelling etched into the layers of sedimentary rock, revealing the passage of time in the intricate patterns and formations.

Later, as we left the canyon behind, I settled into the lounge – which is offered on the SilverLeaf Plus service and exudes an

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THIS PAGE FROM THE TOP:

La Sal Mountains; Pronghorn antelope buck; The outdoor viewing platform on the Rocky Mountaineer Rockies to the Red Rocks route.

RIGHT:

A juniper tree above the Colorado River in Ruby Canyon; The Rocky Mountaineer heading through Ruby Canyon.

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THE SUN CAST EVER-SHIFTING SHADOWS ON T H E M O U N TA I N ’ S RUGGED FOOTHILLS.

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ambience of simple but refined luxury – with a whisky sour in a cosy chair to watch the scenery continue to unfold. We passed Grand Junction, celebrated as Colorado’s wine country, where, on the outskirts of town, the vineyards stretched gracefully into the foothills of Mount arfield. Their beauty – so different from the earlier canyon – was accentuated by the late afternoon sun, which cast ever-shifting shadows on the mountain’s rugged foothills.

Founded in 1990, the Rocky Mountaineer offers four routes – but the two-day trip I was on is the only entirely US-based journey. The Rockies to Red Rocks tour runs between Moab in Utah and Denver in Colorado, with an overnight stay in Glenwood Springs. As we rolled closer to the Coloradan town, Mike dutifully informed us that our luggage would be transported directly to our hotel rooms. “So no need to hang around – and don’t worry, we never lose more than half of them,” he joked.

Set where the Colorado and Roaring Fork rivers converge, the town of Glenwood Springs is renowned as a place for wellness and rejuvenation. The settlement of the area was first begun by James Landis before he sold his property to the town’s founders Isaac Cooper, John Blake and others in 1882. But it was the therapeutic hot springs here that attracted the attention of Isaac Cooper and wealthy mining engineer Walter Devereux, who recognised their immense potential. The arrival of the railroad here in 1887 further propelled lenwood Spring’s growth by bringing affluent travellers to the town.

Cooper and Devereux enlisted the services of esteemed Austrian architect Theodore Von Rosenberg to design buildings that would rival the grandeur of European castles; the bathhouse at Glenwood Hot

Springs Pool opened its doors in 1888, followed by the magnificent Hotel Colorado in 1 .

The hotel soon became the iconic centrepiece of this small town nestled among the surrounding mountains, attracting the likes of Theodore Roosevelt, who conducted national affairs from his hotel room in 1 0 , the so-called “Unsinkable” Molly Brown and even Al Capone.

Today, there’s still a tunnel under the hotel that was used by Capone to smuggle liquor during Prohibition. As I walked around the hotel – which still exudes a Gilded-Age elegance with its period décor – I almost expected to bump into the likes of

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Mount Gar eld on the outskirts of Grand Junction.

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The town of Glenwood Springs; Glenwood Hot Springs bathhouse; Hotel Colorado; The lounge car of the Rocky Mountaineer.

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Mark Twain or John D Rockefeller in the grand hallways.

The next morning, only 15 minutes after leaving Glenwood Springs, we reached the first of a uadruple of stunning canyons – Glenwood, Burns, Gore and Byers – that would characterise the first half of our second day on the train.

Carved by the Colorado River over millions of years, Glenwood Canyon’s sheer rock walls rise dramatically from the valley floor and are dotted with flora and fauna such as tall ponderosa pines, mountain sage and chokecherry – the most common native cherry in Colorado. Both the railway – at this point part of the historic Glenwood Canyon Railroad – and Interstate 70 follow the canyon’s contours, with its red sandstone cliffs looming overhead.

As the train slowly made its way through the first three canyons, with their vertical cliffs striking a contrast against the serpentine flow of the Colorado River beneath, every turn seemingly drew a collective “wow” from the passengers onboard.

By the time we reached Byers Canyon, I had already spent most of the morning in the viewing area. It was only lunch – and the memory of my excellent dinner the previous night – that eventually pulled me back to my seat. The food onboard the Rocky Mountaineer was a far cry from the basic offerings on UK railways: a watermelon and feta salad to start, followed by a charred onion and beef flatbread.

Still, as delicious as all the meals were, my gaze was constantly fixed on the outside as I marvelled at another sheer cliff face, followed the meandering Colorado River towards the acific cean, or caught a fleeting glimpse of a soaring bald eagle. By the afternoon we

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OPPOSITE PAGE CLOCKWISE FROM THE TOP:

The Rocky Mountaineer; Mike Hanni n ready to greet guests at Glenwood Springs; Meals aboard the train.

THIS PAGE CLOCKWISE FROM THE TOP:

Red Canyon; Glenwood Canyon; Byers Canyon.

had left behind the red rocks that had been our constant companion for so long and the landscape began to shift to more of a gentle incline of forested mountain slopes. Before long, the towering white peaks of the Rockies began to come into sight in the distance, a backdrop to the vast blanket of green grassland directly in front.

The sight of the Rockies was bittersweet, however: it meant we were nearing the end of our journey.

The approach to Denver involved travelling through the Moffat Tunnel, a marvel of engineering that is carved through the mountains and a testament to human ingenuity and determination.

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EVERY TURN S E E M I N G LY D R E W A COLLECTIVE “WOW” FROM THE PASSENGERS ONBOARD

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The Colorado River after Byers Canyon.

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Moffat Tunnel; The landscape past the canyons on the approach to the Moffat Tunnel

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

There are direct flights from ondon Heathrow to Denver making the Denver to Moab route the easier direction for UK travellers. However, you can connect to Moab airport via flights to Denver or Salt ake City.

B E S T T I M E TO G O

The Rocky Mountaineer only operates between April and ctober, ensuring that all trips take place during daylight hours to be able to enjoy the spectacular views.

C U R R E N C Y US dollar T I M E Z O N E GMT -7 FO O D

Three-course meals, snacks and drinks onboard are included in the price and consist of a seasonally changing menu, with freshly prepared three-course meals by chefs on the train.

W H E R E TO S TAY

As this isn’t a sleeper train, you spend one night in a hotel in Glenwood Springs, which is included in the price.

Accommodations are usually in a moderate two- or threestar hotel. Rocky Mountaineer can also help with booking accommodation before and after the trip.

H OW TO D O I T

isit rockymountaineer.com for en uiries or to book your trip.

Photo Credits: Rocky Mountaineer, Kav Dadfar, Dreamstime, Alamy.

LEFT:

The six-mile tunnel took three and half years to build and was opened in 1928 to facilitate the e cient passage of trains and cargo; the brainchild of Denver banker David Moffat, he poured his entire fortune into the endeavour, which eventually had to be finished by public funds. Its completion was worth it, eliminating thousands of degrees of curves, replacing the dangerous, looping route over Rollins Pass, and enabling the Denver and Rio Grande Western Railroad to traverse underneath the formidable Continental Divide.

After miles of darkness, we emerged out of the tunnel into a thick blanket of fog. As we climbed up further into the Rocky Mountains, it was as if we had left the tracks behind and were rolling across the clouds. Then we headed back into the darkness, through a series of 0 tunnels over a 1 -mile stretch known as “tunnel district”, with only momentary views of the outside world until we emerged around 20 miles from Denver.

The train had gracefully traversed the awe-inspiring terrain during our journey but, despite being a mere spectator, I somehow felt that I had been more of an active participant in the journey. When I’d driven along this route previously, the landscapes had often been blurred in the haste of the road. Aboard the train, however, I was able to relish every second of the scenery – the arid beauty of the desert, the rugged majesty of the mountains and the fleeting glimpse of wildlife.

As the city lights of Denver drew near, each passing mile marked not just a physical distance but a recollection of the past miles of the American West. I couldn’t help but yearn for another day, another stretch of this remarkable journey, where nature and human craftsmanship existed harmoniously together.

M U S T- PAC K I T E M

A camera with plenty of memory cards to capture all those stunning landscapes that you will pass through. t’s also worth packing a coat as the open viewing area can get cold.

WHY GO

To visit areas of the American est that are not accessible by foot or in a car, from the comfort of a lu urious train.

Kav Dadfar was a guest of Rocky Mountaineer on the Rockies to Red Rocks route.

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Beyond the world-famous metropolis, the state of New York is a playground full of surprises waiting to be discovered.

A four-season destination, in autumn the state welcomes you with apple orchards, farm experiences and one of the longest and most colourful foliage seasons in the US; once snow falls, you will find more ski areas than any other US state as well as ice skating, sledging and snowshoeing. Spring is the perfect time to walk through lush vineyards, discover charming small towns and sample exquisite farm-to-table cuisine, while summer’s pleasant temperatures are ideal for outdoor festivals and exploring the great outdoors, from Long Island’s enticing beaches to the dramatic mountains, rivers and lakes of upstate New York.

The setting for The Great Gatsby, one of the most celebrated works of American literature, this is also the state where Prohibition speakeasies boomed and the Woodstock Festival aimed to change the world; where America’s Founding Fathers wrote history and the Women’s Rights movement was born; and where hidden gems blend with natural wonders such as the awe-inspiring Niagara Falls.

So whether for a day or two, or longer, the state of New York truly has something for all travellers.

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Bursting with hues of yellow, orange and red, autumn is one of the most colourful seasons to visit New York State.

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The Statue of Liberty welcomes travellers to the Big Apple, the gateway to the state of New York; The iconic steel arch of the AuSable Chasm Bridge can be seen along historic US Highway 9, once the major north-south route connecting New York with Montreal. Early morning in Lake Placid, Adirondacks, a town steeped in Olympic history having twice hosted the Winter Olympics, in 1932 and 1980; Built in the early 1900s but left vacant for more than 70 years, the fascinating history of Boldt Castle on Heart Island has been drawing visitors for decades; The striking Fisher Center for the Performing Arts in Hudson Valley, designed

by Frank Gehry; A National Historic Landmark, the New York State Capitol in Albany is the seat of the state government.

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Fire Island entices visitors with high dunes, desolate beaches, centuries-old maritime forests and a lack of hard-surfaced roads; its 17 communities are accessible mainly by ferry or private boat.

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Climb up, down and in between rocks that are more than 300 million years old at the spectacular Watkins Glen in Finger Lakes – the 2.4-mile Gorge Trail passes no less than 19 waterfalls.

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At 750 miles, the Empire State Trail is the longest multi-use trail in the US, starting at New York City and stretching to Albany where it splits into two sections, west to uffalo or north to the Canadian border; Maple Weekend is held state-wide every March – New York State is one of the biggest producers of maple syrup in the US, second only after Vermont; Now in its 150th year, Chautauqua Institution is a lakeside community that comes alive each summer with a uni ue mi o ne and performing arts, lectures, concerts and recreational activities; New York State Parks celebrate their centennial in 2024 – the largest is the 65,000-acre Allegany State.

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New York State is home to more than 2,000 waterfalls, including the easily accessible, twotiered Kaaterskill Falls.

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Boat ride along Erie Canal – built in the early s, it was the rst navigable waterway connecting the Atlantic Ocean to the Great Lakes and helped put New York on the map; Combining awe-inspiring scenery with thrilling attractions, there is something for everyone at Niagara Falls, the nation’s oldest state park; New York State is a four-season destination, and when snow hits the ground, the state transforms into a vast winter wonderland.

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Hot-air ballooning over the waterfalls of Letchworth State Park, also known as the ‘Grand Canyon of the East’; Full of scenic byways, small towns and quaint countryside, New York State was made for road trips; The Mohawk Valley Gateway Overlook Bridge in Central New York combines a park-over-the-water setting with an introduction to the area’s history and its peoples; Taking a dip in a lake, river or a pool beneath a waterfall is one o the most un ways to cool off in the summertime.

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A short distance east of Manhattan, Long Island offers everything you need for a perfect beach getaway; The iconic Bonta Bridge Road in the Finger Lakes stands out thanks to its red colour and unique structure.

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N E W Y O R K S TAT E AT A G L A N C E Slightly larger than the size of England, New York State is home to 11 distinct regions: New York City at its southern tip and Long Island to the east, while the nine remaining regions stretch to the Canadian border in the north and Niagara Falls in the west. Away from the bustling urban centres, New York State is rich in spectacular scenery, culture and cuisine. You can explore much of it on a scenic train journey (or a short connecting flight), on foot or by bike on the Empire State Trail, but the state is also perfect for self-drive holidays.

. GREATER NIAGARA New York’s second largest city, Buffalo is enjoying an urban renaissance – architect Frank Lloyd Wright did some of his greatest and best-preserved work here.

But the region is also home to breathtaking natural wonders too, such as the iconic Niagara Falls and Letchworth State Park, the ‘Grand Canyon of the East’.

. CHAUTAUQUA ALLEGHENY Timeless landscapes, tranquil lakes, unique geological rock formations and gracious hospitality await travellers in New York’s southwestern corner.

The region is full of surprises, from the National Comedy Center to the nature trails that meander around the monumental statues at Griffis Sculpture Park.

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. FINGER LAKES Lush vineyards, bucolic farms and serene bodies of water – 11 glacial, finger-shaped lakes, plus the Great Lake – create a sensational quilted landscape here. The region is uniquely equipped to grow wine grapes, boasting over 200 wineries, but it is also steeped in a venerable history of human and women’s rights.

. CENTRAL NEW YORK Between the world-famous museums and the world-class city, travellers will find themselves at the centre of it all in Central New York. From countless Main Streets and a booming craft-beverages industry to exceptional agritourism experiences and limitless outdoor adventures, the region lays claim to the ultimate rural American experience.

. THOUSAND ISLANDS-SEAWAY Boldt Castle is a must-see in a region that is all about experiences in, on and around beautiful bodies of water. A premier destination for competitive angling and freshwater-shipwreck diving, its past is intricately linked with the Prohibition era, while the St Lawrence Seaway Trail ranks among the top Great American Drives.

. ADIRONDACKS A heaven for outdoor enthusiasts, the Adirondacks is the birthplace of the American ‘vacation’ and one of the greatest conservation stories in history.

With forests, lakes, rivers, streams, mountains and small towns, this sixmillion-acre, free-to-enter park is larger than Yellowstone, Everglades, Glacier and Grand Canyon national parks combined.

N E W Y O R K S TAT E

. CAPITAL SARATOGA There is no shortage of things to do in this region, which boasts a vibrant cultural scene and an eclectic mix of architectural styles.

Only 45 minutes apart, don’t miss the state capital Albany, a city with a rich 400-year history, and Saratoga Springs, America’s original spa destination and home to the oldest sports venue in the country.

. CATSKILLS Dotted with artisan communities and forever associated with the legendary Woodstock Music Festival, the Catskills are the epitome of the great outdoors. An idyllic mountain getaway just 90 minutes from New York City, it’s a place where artists and naturalists draw inspiration from its tranquil forests while explorers and families find magic on its high peaks.

. HUDSON VALEY An area so beautiful that it gave birth to a whole new school of painting, there is something for everyone in the Hudson Valley: one of the densest populations of historic sites in the nation; the celebrated Culinary Institute of America; and Walkway Over the Hudson, the world’s longest elevated pedestrian bridge.

. NEW YORK CITY The Empire State Building. Statue of Liberty.

Broadway. Central Park, Fifth Avenue. New York City features so many iconic attractions that it is familiar even to those who haven’t visited yet. Explore renowned museums, eat in some of the world’s finest restaurants and make your way through bustling neighbourhoods that showcase New York’s diversity of cultures.

. LONG ISLAND The Great Gatsby’s playground, Long Island is home to endless white-sand beaches, charming seaside towns and iconic sites such as the Montauk Lighthouse and the Gold Coast Mansions; and then there are the superb wineries, locally grown produce and freshly caught seafood. All this just a short distance from Manhattan!

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

JFK and Newark airports are the gateways to the state for UK travellers, who can fly directly from London, Manchester and Edinburgh with various airlines. Connecting flights are available to 15 regional airports across the state.

B E S T T I M E TO G O

There is no off-season in New York State and you will find a reason to travel year round.

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A bounty of farms, orchards and vineyards, combined with culinary traditions from around the world, serve up the best ingredients for incredible meals.

W H E R E TO S TAY

Travellers have an extensive range of accommodation options, from lavish city hotels, lake and mountain retreats and beachside bungalows to cosy cabins, glamping and family-owned B Bs. H OW TO D O I T

Tour operators offering New York State itineraries include America As You ike t, Bon oyage, Trailfinders and North America Travel Services. It’s also easy to travel independently around the state by rail, air, car and bus.

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Comfortable shoes and your sense of adventure – there is so much to e plore WHY GO

Many visitors like to spend a day or two e ploring the Big Apple but, with so much to do and see, those who choose to e plore more of the state are richly rewarded.

BROUGHT TO YOU IN PARTNERSHIP WITH

Photo Credits: N SD D Photo by Darren McGee, evin P. Coughlin ce of Governor Andrew M. Cuomo Kevin P. Coughlin/NYS DCJS, Empire State Development- I Love NY, Dreamstime.

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Mangroves of the Florida Keys, as seen from the air.

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Sandbar island landforms are typical of the Florida Keys.

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Submerged Jesus at John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park; Corals at Horshoe Reef.

here is colour everywhere in the Florida Keys. From the wildlife and the wildflowers to the architecture and the people, this chain of low-lying cays, or keys – small, sandy, low-lying islands on top of coral reefs – are a feast for the senses at every turn. As I leave Miami and then the Everglades behind me, land gives way to water and road signs to places like “Manatee Bay” and “Crocodile Lake National Wildlife Refuge” provide a glimpse of the abundant wildlife that surrounds this archipelago.

The southernmost part of the continental United States, the Florida Keys reach out from the state’s mainland toward the Gulf of Mexico, straddled on both sides by the waters of Florida Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. Just 00 of the eys’ 1, 00 islands are o cially governed and a mere 30 considered inhabited;

as I cruise past a “Welcome to Key Largo” sign, the feeling of being cut off from the rest of the world immediately sets in – and is nothing short of exhilarating.

The biggest island in the chain, Key Largo stretches for roughly 30 miles in length (no surprise, then, that “largo” is Spanish for “long”) and is home to one of the Key’s best-known state parks: John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park. Encompassing over 170 nautical square miles, its claim to be an underwater playground strikes me as rather modest: everything from snorkelling and scuba-diving tours to trips by glass-bottomed boat, kayak and paddleboard is on offer, providing a fantastic opportunity to get up close to the Keys’ ecosystem. stablished in 1 as the first underwater park in the United States, it is home to North America’s only living coral reef – the world’s third largest behind the Mesoamerican Barrier Reef in the Caribbean Sea and Australia’s Great Barrier Reef. With the highest elevation on the Keys being just 18ft above sea level, the reef plays an integral part in safeguarding the future of these islands.

But, like all the world’s reefs, the Florida Keys Reef Tract is in decline due to storm damage, climate change, disease and human interference.

At the Coral Restoration Foundation, I meet the team of volunteers who, since 2007, have been working to spread awareness and share their knowledge about how the over one million annual visitors can help restore the reef – and help it to thrive for future generations.

Before I am even fitted out with my snorkel and fins, I learn that this can start with the simplest of habits, such as knowing what types of chemical-free sunscreen to apply before entering the water, proving that even the smallest of acts can lead to significant change.

Staghorn and elkhorn are the dominant species of coral on the reef but today they

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A young Lion sh; ueen Parrot sh; Mangrove trees showing how their root systems bind the sand and protect the land; Staghorn coral; Mature mangroves at dusk.

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account for just two percent of the population that was found here in the 1970s. This unfortunately places both on the critically endangered list – just one classification away from being extinct in the wild. The foundation’s aim is to propagate fragments of these corals on so-called “coral trees” – actually metal frames – in a kind of offshore nursery. When the coral grows large enough, it can be transplanted onto an area of severely depleted reef, which it then helps to restore.

Safety briefing complete, I lower myself into the clear blue waters to take a look at the project for myself. Anchored to the dazzling white sands below, the coral sits quietly on the branches of the “trees”, with only the odd passing fish or turtle disturbing the current. As I float just feet away from the tips of the trees, I feel really lucky to bear witness to the process – I’m also in awe at our guide’s ability to free dive in order to demonstrate the process in more detail. So far, this system has helped to restore in excess of 323,000 square feet of reef. It’s impossible not to feel a genuine sense of hope for the reef as I gaze down at these majestic trees rising from the sea floor that are nursing these fragments of coral back to full health. To know that a dedicated team of people are pledging their time and efforts to make it happen is equally extraordinary.

Afterwards, I head seaward through dense mangroves on a boat tour, where I spot nesting magnificent frigatebirds and pass canopy-dwelling cuckoos. Twenty minutes later I am descending into crystalline waters teeming with barracuda, angelfish, parrotfish and the much-maligned, and multiple finned, lionfish. Breathtakingly beautiful to behold, but non-native to these waters, lionfish are rapid reproducers who feed on native species crucial to the health of the Keys’ delicate ecosystem. nce these fish are removed of their poisonous spines they are perfectly safe, and apparently quite delicious, to eat.

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More beloved around these parts are the local turtles. Travelling south along the Overseas Highway – the 113-mile road from the mainland to Key West – I stop at the Turtle Hospital in Marathon. A rescue and rehabilitation hospital, this non-profit organisation rescues and cares for turtles experiencing a diverse range of ailments and injuries – from the ingestion of ocean pollutants to trauma caused from colliding with boats and their propellers. One of the main reasons that green turtles end up here is fibropapillomatosis, a tumour-causing disease that affects over half the global population of this species and prevents them from being fully self-su cient in their natural habitat.

Five of the world’s seven species of sea turtles are found in Florida waters: loggerhead, green, leatherback, hawksbill and Kemp’s ridley. I wander around the hospital getting to know its residents, including Kevin, my very happy-looking namesake, recovering from a brush with a fishing boat. A system of donations and adoption programmes enables the hospital to nurse almost all of the turtles that they care for back to full health; the turtles are then released back into the ocean.

It’s hard to resist the thrill of spotting these magnificent creatures in the wild, however. I spend the next morning traversing

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A stuffed toy turtle on the operating table at Marathon’s Turtle Hospital; Visitors watching the rehabilitated turtles swimming in a pool at the Turtle Hospital; A green turtle swimming among the corals in the Florida Keys.

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Pristine beaches at Bahia Honda State Park.

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A yellow-breasted bananaquit; A great egret among the mangroves; Cycling along Seven-Mile Bridge, which links several of the Florida Keys.

the Old Seven-Mile Bridge by bike – originally constructed in 1 00, it closed to vehicle tra c in the early 1980s after a new bridge was constructed. (The new bridge is the longest in the eys and features in the films Licence to Kill and True Lies.) The old bridge is now used by cyclists, walkers and joggers – and is particularly renowned as a fishing pier. I stop and spend a few minutes gazing over the edge and it doesn’t take long to spot a giant leatherback in the water. “Once you spot one, you can’t stop seeing them,” a local had said to me earlier, and, much to my delight, it turns out to be true. No sooner have I caught one breaking the water’s surface than I see another, and then another; I could easily lose the entire afternoon to watching them.

The new Seven-Mile Bridge connects Marathon to Bahia State Park, set over 500 acres. Surprisingly, the Keys are – outside of the manmade beaches at the main resorts – relatively sand free. The Upper Keys (those closest to the mainland) are made up of ancient limestone and coral; sand only becomes a noticeable part of the landscape as I approach the Lower Keys on the bridge.

Visitors come out to Bahia Honda for its emerald-green waters, white-sand beaches and birdlife. I make my way down to the water’s edge where people are sharing paddling space with great egrets that seem to be posing willingly for photographs. Alongside native bird species such as wood warblers and ruddy turnstones, the park also offers refuge to Caribbean migrants such as the beautifully named yellow-breasted bananaquit Beachcombing too is popular here: the waters are a veritable graveyard of pirate shipwrecks.

As I continue past Bahia Honda towards Key West, I feel myself to be adrift, too. It’s not that the landscape becomes increasingly desolate – in fact, it’s quite the opposite as I

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head towards the city. But I definitely feel like I am leaving the world behind as I continue on to the land’s end.

It’s a feeling that becomes even more relevant when I head out to Dry Tortugas National Park, 70 miles west of Key West and among the most remote national parks in the country. Dry land accounts for just under one percent of the park and at its heart lies stunning Fort Jefferson. The largest brick building in the Western Hemisphere, this former US military fortress, built in the 19th century, was originally constructed to bolster the eastern seaboard of the United States and offer safe harbour to naval ships patrolling the Florida Straits. Today, the fort provides solace to an abundance of wildlife instead.

It’s a 0-minute seaplane flight out to the fort from Key West, and I spend the journey in a state of childlike awe, face pressed against the window to take in “Turtle Alley” (a stretch of shallow water allowing turtles to pass between deeper waters), a frenzy of hammerheads and the many pods of dolphins below. Deposited on the white sands, I can honestly say that there have been few times in my life where I have felt so truly and utterly cut off from the rest of the world. There is nowhere to grab a bite to eat, let alone to pick up a souvenir: all that is here is the fort, nature and solitude. The air is full with the sound of nesting sooty terns and two hermit crabs cross my path, heading in different directions. The beaches and moat that surround the hexagonal fort are home to multicoloured reef fish and corals– I’m thrilled when I spot a huge goliath grouper.

During the American Civil War, the nowderelict Fort Jefferson was used as a prison for Union deserters. I explore the ramparts and take in the ocean views below them before lying back on the white coral beach as the murmur of my departing plane’s engine fades into the distance. Its sound serves to amplify my sense of seclusion. Like many, I spend my days caught up in the chaos of city life but I am genuinely, and instantaneously, taken aback by the wave of calm that washes over me as the hum gets lost somewhere on the horizon.

With the luxury of having time to waste, I lie at the water’s edge, half submerged, half exposed to the warm morning sun like I have been washed ashore, a survivor of one of the many wrecks resting in the surrounding waters.

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The ramparts at Fort Jefferson in Dry Tortugas National Park; Gun batteries at Fort Jefferson.

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NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

nternational flights arrive into Miami International Airport, from where it is just a 60-minute drive to Key argo.

B E S T T I M E TO G O

November to February are typically considered the best months to visit the Keys, when the weather is warm but dry.

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From lionfish to conch fritters, blackened mahi-mahi burgers to red snapper, this is a seafood lovers’ paradise. But whatever you do, remember to leave space for the worldfamous Key ime Pie. W H E R E TO S TAY

After traversing the length of the Keys there is simply no better place to lay both your luggage and your head than the Mar uesa in Key est. The epitome of the pastel-coloured, clapboard buildings of your imagination, the Mar uesa offers laid-back lu ury in the heart of the city’s historic district.

H OW TO D O I T

Slowly. Jump in the car and just enjoy the linear journey toward Cuba at your own pace.

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The loudest item of clothing bought on a previous holiday that you thought you would never, ever wear again.

WHY GO

Photo Credits: Dreamstime, Alamy.

Because the wildlife found at every turn here is guaranteed to blow your mind.

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Flagstaff Lake.

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Taking a break on the Northern Forest Canoe Trail.

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Gliding among the pine trees on the Northern Forest Canoe Trail.

t’s an unseasonably warm day in late September and the foliage has started to show off its autumnal hues, blanketing the banks of the Missisquoi River in comfortingly warm reds, oranges and yellows. Much of the rest of New England must be bustling with leaf peepers right now, but my small group of paddlers appears to have the river all to ourselves. I hold my paddle above the water to still the canoe and take it in: a red-tailed hawk sweeps above me while, up ahead, a rustling of wings accompanies a regal great blue heron lifting off from the riverbank.

Lindsey Wight, my paddling partner, refocuses my attention to the paddle in my hand. “Let’s cut to the right and try to catch that fast-moving water,” she says, indicating a mild rapid up ahead. “It can be complex.”

I’m a few miles south of the Québec border and canoeing along the stretch of river that connects the Vermont towns of Richford and East Berkshire. As a novice paddler, I’m nervous about navigating rapids, even mild ones, alone, so I’ve joined a free community paddle organised by the Northern Forest Canoe Trail (NFCT).

I’ve signed up because since first dipping a paddle into the NFCT earlier this year, I’ve become hooked on exploring this epic long-

distance canoe trail, even if I have to do it one small piece at a time.

The 740-mile-long Northern Forest Canoe Trail is the longest inland water passage in the United States. Meandering through the dense woodlands of the 30 million-acre Northern Forest, a mix of boreal and hardwood forests and the largest intact ecosystem east of the Mississippi, the trail stretches across Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, Québec and New York. The trail provides a front-row seat to the region’s natural wonders as well as a path through the flow of history. ipping a paddle in these waters turns up stories of the people who came before and their changing relationships with the landscape.

This network of rivers, streams, lakes and ponds were the highways of the past, central to life for Indigenous people, including the Haudenosaunee and Wabanaki who traversed the region in canoes to hunt, trade and gather.

Then, in the early 16th century, came European explorers who, learning that canoes were the most e cient way to navigate the wilds of the Northern Forest, left a trail of disease and disruption in their wake. Soon, the Northern Forest became the setting for a series of conflicts as the French and British fought for control of America’s interior territories.

By the end of the American Revolution, families were on the move from the Atlantic coast into the interior lands, settling in remote areas along the waterways they’d scouted by canoe. They quickly set to clearing forests that had sustained Indigenous people for thousands of years. Later, lumber companies

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tore even deeper into the forest for the wood required to build the great cities of northeast America, floating this seemingly endless supply of timber down the rivers, from forest to mill.

By the end of the 20th century, after hundreds of years of upheaval, little of the forest and its waterways was left intact.

But a new attitude was taking hold people started to value the region for its recreational opportunities rather than its resources. In the 1 0s three outdoorsmen, Mike repner, Ron Canter and Randy Mardres, started a project called Native Trails, with the aim of researching and preserving pre-industrial travel routes and charting a contiguous water trail from Maine to New York.

Though Native Trails never fully realised its ambitions, in the early 2000s Rob Center and ay Henry, a husband-and-wife team with deep roots in the paddling world, picked up where the project left off. In 200 , the Northern Forest Canoe Trail, a paddling route from Old Forge, New York, to Fort ent, Maine, was finally established.

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Picnicking at angeley.

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angeley Lake; Moored up at Nulhegan in ermont.

eep in the mountains of western Maine, Rangeley is about as far as you can get from the lighthouses and lobster shacks that define most people’s images of the state.

But, dotted with hundreds of lakes, ponds and fast-flowing rivers, the region is beloved by outdoor adventurers. I visited in early May

just as the landscape was awakening from a long northern winter. On Haley Pond, outside my room at the Rangeley Inn and Tavern, I watched common loons (divers) dip below the water. The kayaks, canoes and paddles that lay by the edge of the shore announced a human desire to join them on the water.

I was there to paddle my first few sections of the NFCT in the company of a small group that included Rob and ay, as well as arrie Thomas, executive director of the NFCT, and a few local conservationists. All were keen to tell me the story of how this seemingly audacious project came together and what is needed to ensure its future.

As I hopped into a canoe with ay for a practice paddle on the calm, still pond, she explained that, unlike the vast, publicly owned landscapes of the American West, most of the Northern Forest is privately owned – access to its waterways has long been dependent upon the agreement of landowners. When she and Rob started work on the project, that ease of access was threatened by shifting patterns of ownership. “It was at a time when all the timber companies were selling off land and we could just see public access was going to disappear,” she said. “So we decided that we’d make a bigenough statement and a long-enough trail that they couldn’t just end access.” ay and Rob spent four years meeting with landowners across the trail’s 45 communities, gaining their permission one by

one to establish access points along the route.

The statement they made was indeed big.

Amid a flurry of publicity upon its opening, the NFCT was hailed as the waterway equivalent of the Appalachian Trail, the world’s longest hiking-only footpath.

Still, past precedent is not binding. For the trail to persevere, that spirit of goodwill and collaboration has to continue on both sides. “It’s paramount that we keep those partnerships going with the people that own the land,” Rob said. NFCT staff act as the stewards of the trail, taking care of launch sites, portages and campsites along the way. They also bear the responsibility of emphasising outdoor ethics to paddlers. That’s become all the more urgent over recent years, Rob said, explaining that Covid brought many people outdoors for the first time but not all were well versed in responsible outdoor recreation. That created a nervous moment for some of those friendly agreements.

The NFCT owns “nothing in terms of actual property,” said Thomas. “We have what we call paper handshakes with landowners where they have agreed that we can develop an access point on their property, but it’s revocable at any time, so if somebody misbehaves and drives them away, it can mean the end of access for everyone.”

The next day, we drove from Rangeley to Flagstaff Lake boat launch where Seth Laliberte, local headmaster turned owner of the outdoor outfitter, Rangeley Adventure Company, set up our sturdy Esquif-brand canoes. My paddling partner was local historian enny Wing. While frogs croaked in the marshes and bald eagles eyed us from treetops, he explained that four generations of his family had lived in the village of Flagstaff, which now lies beneath the manmade lake we were paddling across. In 1949, to satisfy Maine’s growing appetite for electrical power,

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DIPPING A PADDLE IN THESE WAT E R S T U R N S UP STORIES OF THE PEOPLE WHO CAME BEFORE. 126

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I F E LT M Y S E L F UNWIND AS WE F LOAT E D A R O U N D THE RIVER’S MEANDERING BENDS. the Long Falls am diverted the ead River and swallowed up the villages of Flagstaff and ead River, displacing their residents. rban legend has it that paddlers on Flagstaff Lake can still make out the remains of buildings lurking beneath the surface but, as I pulled my paddle through the flat water, I saw only the reflection of the surrounding alpine landscape, including snow-capped Sugarloaf Mountain.

He may not be the perfect paddle guide – “I prefer my motorbike,” he said – but enny is a trove of local history. His book, The Lost illages o Flagstaff Lake, was written, he said, partly to debunk “stupid rumours and crazy stuff you hear growing up here”, such as that hold-outs were still living in their houses when the lake was flooded. After leaving our canoes with Seth, enny walked us around the ead River Area Historical Society, a tiny museum stuffed with artefacts saved from the villages and photographs of the homesteads and farms we’d just paddled over. I understood that this was a loss so great it needed no embellishment and also why enny felt moved to shut down those “stupid rumours.” addling calm Lake Flagstaff built my confidence on the water. But, surrounded by land, I didn’t sense the freedom I’d expected of a long-distance trail and couldn’t help imagining what it must have been like to have paddled the now-impounded but once fastfollowing ead River instead. The following day brought a taste.

We put in on the ennebago River, a tributary of Cupsuptic Lake, which is itself an arm of Mooselookmeguntic Lake, our access facilitated by an easement held by Rangeley Lakes Heritage Trust, which conserves both sides of the river. Executive director avid Miller explained that the ennebago watershed supports one of the US’s most

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resilient, self-sustaining populations of wild eastern brook trout, “the most beautiful fish in the country”. Allowing access is good for both paddlers and the environment. “If people get outdoors and they enjoy themselves and fall in love with nature,” he argued, “they will support conservation.”

Learning the Abnaki name for the lake – mooselookmeguntic means “moose feeding place” – raised hopes of seeing the mighty mammals but I settled for spotting mergansers, osprey and small shorebirds as I paddled my way along the graceful arcs of this stretch. The river slowly wound through thick forest and, though mostly calm, required some quick manoeuvring. With ay’s patient guidance, I ran a short section of fast-flowing water by cutting to the left. It was my third NFCT section and I was starting to feel comfortable, even capable. I felt myself unwind as we floated around the river’s meandering bends.

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Fall colours at angeley Lake.

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ayaking on Flagstaff Lake; Sunset at ennebago.

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Flagstaff Lake.

I’m never going to take on the whole trail in one swoop – only 120 or so people have completed a full through-paddle, which typically takes four to seven weeks. I’m content to take a bite out of it here and there. The 13 maps published by the NFCT make this easy.

Each is loaded with information both essential – portage lengths, locations of campsites and shelters – and interesting histories of the people who have habited the region before and after European arrival – while a

virtual trip planner allows you to build your itinerary before venturing out. The NFCT also coordinates with local businesses, landowners and conservation organisations to host community paddles, which is how I find myself on the Missis uoi River on that warm day in late September – it’s the opportunity to paddle with a group, and the pull of New England’s fall foliage, that brings me to Vermont.

Community paddles are “a safe way to get people introduced to a new section,” says Lindsay Wight, who is executive director of the pper Missis uoi and Trout Rivers Wild and Scenic Committee, which protects this stretch and partnered with the NFCT to host the event.

Each time I’ve paddled the trail, I’ve learned a different story. But I’ve come to understand that the story of the Northern Forest Canoe Trail, the thread that ties it all together, is one of community and collaboration. Lindsay tells me about the partnerships that keep it going. It’s all “about people who love it and are willing to say ‘Yeah, sure, you can build something there’,” she says.

“It’s one of the things that makes me happy about society.”

We’re approaching the pull-out in East Berkshire. I check my watch we’ve paddled around four miles, not far but far enough for today. Before I start hauling the canoe onto the shore, I think about the epic trail that stretches out hundreds of miles in front of me. It’s nice to know that, if I wanted to, I could just keep going.

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Flagstaff Lake.

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NEW ENGLAND

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

Maine’s principal airport is largely served by domestic flights; it’s easier to fly into Boston Logan and drive four hours to Rangeley instead.

Enosburg, Vermont is 3½ hours’ drive west of Rangeley.

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Autumn to see the Northern Forest’s foliage resplendent in reds, oranges and yellows.

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Decorated in boating ephemera, Rangeley’s Portage Tap House serves hearty post-paddle fare, from poutine to pizza, and has local beers on tap.

W H E R E TO S TAY

Well over 100 years old, the eggshell blue Rangeley Inn and Tavern retains its turn-of-the-century charm with its wide patio and a grand lobby that is heavy on polished wood and ta idermy. verlooking Haley Pond, the hotel loans canoes to guests free of charge.

H OW TO D O I T

Rent canoes or kayaks from Rangeley Adventure Co. in Rangeley, Maine and the Flying Disc Cafe in Enosburg Falls, Vermont. Keep an eye on the NFCT website (northernforestcanoetrail. org) for upcoming community paddles - free events that often include use of a vessel.

Photo Credits: isit Maine; aren Gardiner; Chris Gill.

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ater shoes to protect your feet and water socks to keep them warm.

WHY GO

Passing through communities, the Northern Forest Canoe Trail offers adventures for a lifetime, from paddling meandering rivers, whitewater rapids and glasslike lakes to floating past farmlands, villages, wetlands and wildlife including (with luck) moose.

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he hills of Eastern Oregon are rusting, like a bike left out in the rain. Russet mounds rise, stark and sunbaked, etched with stripes of black and butter yellow. I climb the boardwalk trail and gulp in the view. It’s the closest thing to Mars you might see on Earth.

These are the Painted Hills, a swathe of the protected John Day Fossil Beds National Monument, which unfolds in Oregon’s northeast. They’re a spectacle indeed, but they’re more than that. This land – laid down by volcanic deposits over millions of years – retells history like a textbook, each boldly coloured clay stratosphere a snapshot of time.

Red denotes periods when the region was subtropical and swampy; yellow remembers cooler, drier climes. And they’re shapeshifting still: today these iron-rich hills continue to oxidise, turning an ever-deeper mahogany, and writing another chapter of the ages into the Earth.

Even to many Americans, Eastern Oregon

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remains an enigma. Travellers beeline to the state’s coast, which is tapered by cliffs and fringed with misty forests. Or they dwell in Portland, a city so famously hip that an entire show, ortlandia, riffs off its eccentricities. But they rarely push on to Oregon’s remote eastern reaches, where the state’s oldest mountains strike towards the sky; where velvet ranchland noses up to sagebrush-scattered high desert; and where these fossil-rich plains spread out like a time capsule. I’m here to discover all the reasons why they should.

“The Monument preserves one of the longest paleontological and geological records of the age of mammals,” palaeontology programme manager and museum curator Nick Famoso tells me, from the Monument’s equally rugged Sheep Rock Unit. “We have fossils that go back to 55 million years ago, all the way up to close to five million years ago.”

History is baked into the soil here and it’s also showcased in fat glass cases at the Sheep Rock Unit’s Thomas Condon Paleontology Center. I pore over the claws of giant ground sloths and the jagged teeth of ancient big cats, all pulled from the ground outside.

“The people who do come to Eastern Oregon, they’re often coming for fossils and

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Bright sunlight brings out the colours of the Painted Hills.

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Red Hill at sunset in John Day National Monument.

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The strata of colours in the Painted Hills show different eras of geoloical history; A boardwalk traverses the vibrant red Painted Hills.

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the incredible geology,” Nick says. “Or, they’re coming for seclusion.”

Out here, solitude is as plentiful as the fossil beds. Nick tells me that there are just about 7,000 residents in this county, meaning that there’s around 2 square miles per capita.

Cell service is patchy and gas stations are rare.

Not a soul joined me on the John Day trails, and cars are few and far between as I leave the Monument and push further east still.

I take US-26, which runs on a portion of the aptly-named Journey Through Time Scenic Byway – this designated 2 -mile route spools out from the Columbia River, running through the fossil beds, and travelling eastward towards the old mining town of Baker City.

As the road beats on, the badlandsesque fossil beds peter out into farmland and barns s uat beneath flaxen mountains. These lands have been an agricultural stronghold since the 1 00s and ranching is still big business here.

All the while, the byway flirts with the John Day River, a wild waterway that peels off the Columbia. Water rules this land and its footprint is everywhere. It chiselled the swollen Painted Hills and twisted through basalt to make ravines like Picture Gorge, the dramatic entryway to the Sheep Rock Unit. It’s the region’s lifeblood too. Indigenous peoples – such as the Cayuse, Walla Walla and matilla tribes – have long drawn sustenance

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from a thick web of rivers, including the Snake and the Malheur, fishing for steelhead trout and Chinook salmon. And through the 1 00s, miners bled veins of gold in the waterways’ beds and valleys. old was first struck in Southern regon in the 1 0s and was eventually unearthed in the east almost a decade later. In 1 1, a fellow named Henry ri n found a gold nugget in what’s now known as ri n ulch and mining boom towns mushroomed in the region.

Among them was Baker City, a 1 th-century town whose Old Western architecture is preserved like a fossil in silt.

“The town in those boom days was 10,000 people and today it’s still 10,000 people. You step into Baker City and it feels as though you’re stepping back in time,” says tour guide Dan Sizer, who I meet on Main Street.

“But it’s not too hokey – we don’t play it up too much. You see the cool architecture, but it’s not on display in a circussy kind of way.”

Dan is right. There are no shops wielding key chains here; nor are there folks in period

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The Geiser Grand Hotel in Baker City; Shopfronts in the historic mining town of Baker City.

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Glacier 45 Distillery in Baker City; A selection of Glacier 45’s spirits.

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costume reenacting bar brawls and gunfights.

Instead there’s a string of stone and red-brick masonry buildings dating to the late 1 00s and early 1 00s, many of which are now filled with modern businesses.

A born and bred Eastern Oregonian, an returned to his native Baker City after college to set up his tour company – o Wild American Adventures. And he’s one of several entrepreneurs breathing new life into this former Gold Rush town.

Dan leads me to the sleek Glacier 45 Distillery, where I taste blood-orange and coconut-flavoured vodka, then to Copper Belt Wines to swill Cabernet Sauvignon, born of grapes grown in the Snake River Valley. The staff at the adjoining shop The Cheese Fairy whip up a plate heaving with vintage Gouda and Shropshire blue.

Yet the past is never far away here either.

As we walk down Main Street, Dan points out the swaggering clock tower on the 1 -built Geiser Grand Hotel. Rumour has it that drunken cowboys regularly shot bullets at the clock face – and the whole property is apparently riddled with ghosts, from a Victorian maiden in a blue ball gown to a phantom cowboy who props up the bar. an tells me of a darker history too many mining and railroad workers were Chinese immigrants who were persecuted and ostracised, living in cramped conditions in a now-razed Chinatown. There’s still a Chinese cemetery on the outskirts of town, though most of the bodies have been disinterred and sent back to China.

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But Baker City doesn’t just look backwards, it looks outwards – the diminutive town is a springboard for the region’s raw, wild backcountry. In fact, the whole of Eastern regon is bounded by the spoils of nature to the north swoop the weather-beaten ridges of the Wallowa Mountains and to the south unfurl the cracked plains of the Alvord Desert. The eastern border is sketched out by the squirming Snake River and the west is

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swallowed by the Ochoco National Forest, with its thick tracts of ouglas firs and its geological oddities. From Baker City, you can strike into Hells Canyon, the deepest river gorge in North America, or push further northeast to glacial Wallowa Lake, which is stitched into its namesake peaks.

“For such an off-the-beaten-path destination, we have national-park-class scenery,” an says. “But whereas in a national

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Cows grazing in the wild ower meadows o the Wallowa Mountains; Wallowa Lake.

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An alpine lake in the Wallowa Mountains.

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park you might pass hundreds of people, sometimes I’ll take a group out here and we don’t even see one person.”

Yet Dan acknowledges that neither the tour guides, the miners nor the ranchers were the original custodians of these epic lands.

“All of this land belonged to the Umatilla, the Walla Walla, the Cayuse ” he explains.

“White settlement pushed those people farther away from their homelands. We spend a lot of time talking about and celebrating that Wild West ranching and mining culture – but this other history can get swept aside. There’s a lot of people trying to change that right now.”

I arrow north to Tamastslikt Cultural Institute, a sprawling wood and stone museum that rises like a mirage from the rice-paper-flat plains of the Umatilla Indian Reservation.

“The tribe has invested $11 million just in the building,” Bobbie Conner, the Institute’s director tells me. “And the most remarkable thing about it is that it’s in the middle of a wheat field. As a kid, I used to ride horses in this empty field.”

The museum is dedicated to telling the story of western expansion from a tribal perspective – the only institution on the regon Trail to do so – and it also celebrates the contemporary culture of the Cayuse, Umatilla and Walla Walla tribes.

Tribal peoples have lived off this land since “time immemorial”, Bobbie tells me – aeons before explorers Lewis and Clark beat

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their way through the land in the early 1 00s, or British fur trader avid Thompson planted a flag near the confluence of the Snake and Columbia rivers. In the 1 th century, the area became a focus for the fur trade and, from the 1 0s, uro-American immigrants pushed west in their thousands on the fabled Oregon Trail. Wagons sliced into the belly of tribal lands and populations were decimated by alien diseases such as smallpox and measles.

Then, in 1 , the Cayuse, matilla and Walla Walla tribes ceded some 6.4 million acres of their land to the United States, leaving them with a reservation of 250,000 acres, which was later reduced even further.

“Now we live on a postage-stamp-sized reservation that is a very tiny subset of our homeland,” Bobbie says. “We want people to know our story. We want people to know that we’re still here; that we’ve survived; that we’re trying to become strong again.”

The museum regales this history in intimate detail, and it also celebrates traditional lifeways – from the gathering of plant foods to the creation of baskets to the telling of oral legends – many of which remain aspects of tribal life today. Intricately woven baskets and bags jostle for space with colourful beadwork in the museum’s glass display cases.

“It was an American experiment to create reservations no one expected reservations to become cultural strongholds,” Bobbie says.

“Our culture comes from this landscape.”

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The Alvord Desert; Crowds gather to watch the spectacle of the Pendleton Round-Up.

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That means stewardship of the land is at the heart of tribal ethos. The tribes have embarked on extensive salmon habitat restoration projects and, Bobbie explains, they have a “well-researched, well-studied, well-prepared plan for climate adaptation”.

That includes the museum building, which is approaching net zero.

Festivals celebrate the land, too. Spring feasts mark the melting of snow and the ripening of roots, and the tribe sets up some 300 teepees at the Pendleton Round-Up. I pull up in endleton, my final stop, where this annual rodeo has been going strong since 1 10. Some 0,000 people pool into town each year for the spectacle, which includes everything from bronco riding to fastpaced Indian Relay. And this enduring event has kept alive a free-wheeling Western spirit that permeates the whole town today.

I find it below the streets, with endleton Underground Tours, who lead me through a tangle of subterranean rooms, from a dusty Old West saloon bar to a card room used during rohibition. And I find it above ground, too, in shops where artisans still hawk hats made of beaver felt and hand-stitched custom cowboy boots. So robust is the town’s craft heritage that a “Meet the Makers” trail joins up the finest creators. At the Hamley Co. showroom, you can watch leather be wrangled into saddles and reins, while the lauded Pendleton Woolen Mills weave blankets with bold geometric patterns. And directly across from the Pendleton Round-up Grandstand, former pro bull rider Joe Meling shapes cow hides into traditional leather belts.

“I think a lot of Western makers are drawn to the region because of the traditions of the Round-Up,” Joe, who originally hails from southwest Washington, tells me. “There are a lot of people around here building hats, belts, boots, bags, or making beadwork. There’s an appreciation for handmade things. It’s not factory produced.”

For Joe, there’s value in keeping the region’s heritage crafts alive he’s built classroom space into his shop and he shares his artistic processes on social media too.

“People might say leatherwork is a dying art, but I disagree,” he says. “We have a ton of hobbyists that follow along on YouTube and take different courses from us either online or in person. There’s a growing community of makers here and a lot of us want to offer an experience beyond shopping.”

As Joe speaks, I notice something that’s familiar to me now fierce astern regonian spirit. It’s a psyche born of the Earth and tied into tradition, endlessly resilient and unwaveringly proud. Wild and Western, like the land it’s bound up with.

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Perk Perkins, owner of the Pendleton Hat Company; Taking a break in downtown Pendleton; Cowboys near Pendleton.

OREGON

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

Fly into Portland International Airport, which is a 3½-hour drive from Mitchell, gateway to the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument.

Alternatively, take a connecting flight to Eastern Oregon Regional Airport, Pendleton.

B E S T T I M E TO G O

The shoulder seasons offer more moderate climes, between the hot, dry summers and cold winters.

Skiers can take advantage of lesser-known winter-sports resorts from November.

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Eastern Oregon’s superlative agriculture means you’re guaranteed great food. Try Pendleton’s grand Hamley Steakhouse and Saloon and don’t miss the boysenberry pie at Dayville Cafe, Dayville.

W H E R E TO S TAY

Make your base at Baker City’s historic Geiser Grand Hotel, with its stained-glass skylight and elegant Palm Court restaurant serving upscale American dishes.

H OW TO D O I T

Hire a car and hit the road. Go Wild: American Adventures (gowildusa.com) organises guided tours of historic Baker City, as well as backpacking and packrafting adventures in the backcountry.

Photo Credits: Travel Oregon; Dreamstime.

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A paper map – cell service can be patchy in certain parts of the region – plus provisions for long road trips. Make sure you’re adequately prepared for outdoor adventures with layered waterproof clothing, hiking boots and sunglasses.

WHY GO

Set your sights on Eastern Oregon for wild, little-trodden backcountry, a dose of Western tradition, and insights into Indigenous cultures.

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REINVENTING

S E AT T L E Back in the 1990s, Seattle was best known as the flannelwearing grunge town that was home to Nirvana. Over the last three decades, a lot has changed here – and not just the shift of Starbucks from an unassuming local coffeehouse to a global coffee corporation. The arrival of tech giants like Amazon and Microsoft helped transform the city into a modern-day metropolis where cobbled streets and weathered industrial buildings are now perfectly framed by art installations, futuristic architecture and one of the best culinary scenes in the US. But the subcultures and music scenes that first put Seattle on the map still thrive today – and are paid homage to in the immersive Museum of Pop Culture, in its strikingly modern building by Frank Gehry. Enclosed by water and an abundance of superlative national parks, Seattle is undoubtedly one of the States’ most exciting and eclectic cities.

PHOTO ESSAY BY JORDAN BANKS

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The uturistic e terior o the Museum o Pop Culture MoP P .

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Seattle Marina.

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Statue o musician Chris Cornell.

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Museum o Pop Culture.

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Father and Son Sculpture in the lympic Sculpture Park.

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Pike’s Pit BBQ in Pike Place Market.

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View over Seattle and Mount Rainier from Kerry Park.

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Sonic loom installation and the Space Needle at the Paci c Science Centre.

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NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

Seattle-Tacoma International Airport is a 20-to-30-minute drive from downtown Seattle.

B E S T T I M E TO G O

April to May and September to October will give you the best chance of avoiding the rain and the summer crowds.

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Seattle has one of the best food scenes in the US, ranging from celebrated fine dining at Canlis and intimate New American restaurants like Edin Hill to the fresh seafood of Pike’s Place Market.

W H E R E TO S TAY

There are options for all budgets and tastes. The Four Seasons at the marina offers sweeping views of the bay, while the quirky citizenM is a perfect spot for those that like things a little different.

H OW TO D O I T

Seattle is easy to explore on foot. The best option for exploring the national parks that surround the city is to hire a car.

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A waterproof jacket – it rains a lot in Seattle.

WHY GO

Seattle is one of the most fascinating cities in the US, known for its alternative music, coffee and thriving food scene. In addition, it has lots to interest visitors of all ages, and is perfectly positioned for exploring magnificent Olympic and Mount Rainier national parks.

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aple-chilli crickets served with mustard and pumpkin seeds. I certainly didn’t expect to see insects featured on a menu when I moved to Minnesota from Melbourne four years ago. To be honest, I was expecting lots of hearty all-American fare (read: burgers and more burgers), but in Minneapolis it’s possible to take your tastebuds on a culinary tour of the world from Laotian larb and Ecuadorian llapingachos to Nepalese momos and Afghani

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Yia Vang, chef at Union Hmong Kitchen; One of the tasty dishes served at Union Hmong Kitchen.

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Third Avenue Bridge over the Mississippi River in Minneapolis; The bar area at Owanmi restaurant.

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Native American-style food served at Owanmi; The view over Third Avenue Bridge and the Mississippi River at Owanmi.

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kebabs. New York, Los Angeles and Miami might have all the accolades and gastronomic glamour, but Minneapolis has become one of the country’s breakout foodie cities; Food and Wine Magazine named it “Sleeper Food City of the Year” in 2022.

Minneapolis, bisected by the Mississippi River and dotted with pristine lakes, is a vibrant, art-focused city whose occupants are known for being “Minnesota nice”. The city also has a fundamental and deep connection to the rest of the world: Minnesota has one of the highest per capita number of refugees in the US and as a result has been influenced by a multitude of different cultures. The local Hmong, Somali, Middle Eastern, South American and Mexican communities have all played their part in shaping this city’s modern-day culinary scene and have helped transform it into an epicurean epicentre.

Back to the crickets. This isn’t some novelty menu addition concocted to garner curiosity – this is true local fare at Owamni restaurant. And when I say “local”, I mean food that was eaten by the original inhabitants: Native American tribes have lived off this land for centuries. Owamni is dedicated to serving only precolonial indigenous foods, which means no beef, pork or chicken and also no flour, dairy or cane sugar. Instead, you have a one-of-a-kind menu that leans on locally grown produce, wild plants and indigenous game including bison, elk, deer, pheasant and insects.

I met with Owamni founder and Oglala Lakota “Sioux Chef” Sean Sherman at a local café. It wasn’t hard to spot him – his dark hair hung in neat braids to his waist. “I originally wanted to put insects on the menu as a statement and to show protein diversity,” Sean said with a shrug. “I think almost every table gets them now.” When I congratulated him on winning the prestigious Julia Child Award (for making a profound and significant difference in the way America cooks and eats) he smiled sheepishly. In fact, he has a lot to be congratulated for. Less than a year after opening in July 2021, Owamni was named 2022’s Best New Restaurant in the United States by the James Beard Foundation, followed soon after by Sean being named one of Time magazine’s 100 most influential people of 2023.

Growing up on an Indian reservation, Sean began working in restaurants when he was 13 to help support his family. By the time he was 27, he was an executive chef. “A

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few years into my chef career, I just had an epiphany,” he told me. “I realised that there was an absence of anything indigenous out there when it came to food. There were no cookbooks, no restaurants. So I wrote a cookbook and opened a restaurant.”

That night, my wife and I were lucky enough to snag a spot at the bar of Owamni.

Diners snap up reservations here, released a month in advance, in a matter of minutes.

“People are always asking me how to get a reservation,” Sean says. “I say, ‘I don’t know, I just grew up on one’.” The restaurant is bedecked in white pine and reclaimed wood beams, while large windows frame a view of the Mississippi River. A neon sign glows with a declaration: “YOU ARE ON NATIVE LAND.” We skipped the crickets (I’d had an unfortunate experience with a bowl of burnt crickets in Myanmar) but we did try a selection of dishes from the small but surprisingly eclectic menu, which included many ingredients I’d never heard of before: tepary beans, hominy, wojapi, berry dust, spicebush.

We began with Marichou, caramelised sweetcorn and onions over green tomatoes, with a “warrior-blend” seasoning. My wife described it perfectly as “a symphony of flavours born from the earth.” Next up was shaved bison picanha (a cut of meat), which had the perfect balance of lean and fat, served with a bright purée of berries and fermented fruits and a cured duck-egg-yolk aioli – the berries added a sophisticated tartness offset by the creamy aioli. The dessert, which was pawpaw custard with squash caramel and fermented berry dust, was dairy- and sugarfree, but not flavour-free.

Have you heard that funny Minnesotan accent from the movie Fargo? Those long

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Swedish culinary delights on offer at Fika; The interior at Fika; Classic Swedish meatballs at Fika.

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Classic Hmong dishes at Union Hmong Kitchen

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I LOVE HOW A C E RTA I N F L AVO U R ON YOUR TONGUE CAN TRANSPORT YOU BACK TO ANOTHER PLACE AND TIME.

vowels are influenced by Scandinavian immigrants. And there sure are plenty of them here: 46% of the state’s foreign-born population were born in Sweden, Norway or Denmark. It’s unsurprising then that the Minnesota American football team is called the Vikings. Despite this, a few years ago you would have struggled to find a Scandinavian restaurant in Minneapolis, but a surge of “New Nordic” cuisine has recently swept the city’s restaurant scene.

Housed inside the sprawling, castlelike American Swedish Institute is Fika Café. The interior looks like an Ikea café, while the sections on the menu, Grönsaker and Smörgåsar, sound like the names of Ikea furniture. The executive chef, Amalia Obermeier-Smith, spoilt us with an array of tasting plates. “I’m going to give you the favourites, but I’m really excited about you trying some things from our new winter menu,” she said. The favourites were the wholesomely rich juniper-spiced meatballs (sorry Ikea, but this is how you should make them) served with mashed potatoes, mustard sauce, cucumber and lingonberry jam, and the gravlax (served with a divinely velvety horseradish crème fraiche). From the new menu was a juniper and sage venison sausage and, my favourite, winter vegetable pavé – three different potatoes thinly sliced then reconstructed as one potato resting on onion and wine-braised beluga lentils. It was all so sumptuously complicated yet simple. I asked Amalia what she loved about the Minneapolis food scene. “People just want to make really good food that’s honest and real – and from scratch, and with so much

love and heart.”

It’s worth coming to Minneapolis just for the hilltribe crispy chicken and sweet tamariglazed pork belly at Union Hong Kitchen. I love how a certain flavour on your tongue – just like music – can transport you back to another place and time. The smell and taste of the spicy pork belly, perfectly crispy on top and tender underneath, immediately took me back to Luang Prabang in Laos. But Hmong food is not just from Laos. The Hmong are in fact a stateless, itinerant people without a nation, and so their history reveals itself in their cuisine, which combines flavours from Laos, Thailand, Vietnam and China. Minnesota is home to the largest diaspora of Hmong people living outside Asia, but Union Hmong Kitchen – opened in 2021 by Yin Vang – was the first dedicated Hmong restaurant in Minneapolis.

While I revelled in the bold flavours of the chicken and the spicy, fatty richness of the pork, a photo of Yin Vang, with his shaved head, long goatee beard and large carving

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knife between his teeth, looked down on me (from right next to a James Beard Award for 2022 Best Midwest Chef).

I caught up with Yin in person after my meal and asked him how the food scene has changed in Minneapolis over the past few years. “I think the curiosity of diners has deepened,” he said. “There’s always going to be great food. There’s always going to be some trend. But it’s the stories behind these dishes that keeps people coming back.”

I couldn’t do a story about Minneapolis dining without having at least one quintessential dish – and probably the most famous of all is a Jucy Lucy. As the poster on the wall inside Matt’s Bar & Grill (where the burger was invented) says, “No, Jucy Lucy isn’t your hot cousin from Cleveland”. It’s a burger with the cheese inside the beef patty.

Visiting on a Wednesday night, there was a 20-minute wait just to get a table – despite it looking like a dive bar. When we were finally seated at a booth, we noticed a framed photo above us (among all the “Best Burger” awards)

MINNEAPOLIS

NEED TO KNOW GETTING THERE

Minneapolis–St Paul International Airport is served by international flights; the light-rail transit (LRT) connects to the city’s downtown.

Photo Credits: Lauren Cutshall, Jon Dahlin, James Perovich, Jason Tesauro, Meet Minneapolis, NATIFS.

B E S T T I M E TO G O

of Barack Obama – sitting in the very same booth and eating a Jucy Lucy.

When our server brought over our burgers (served on a sheet of paper – no fancy plates here) she gave us an earnest warning: “Wait”. It’s a good thing we did: the molten cheese inside would burn the roof of your mouth off. The burger, which was simply garnished with pickles and finely chopped caramelized onions, was well done on the outside, while the volcanically melty American cheese gave the burger a nice zing.

Yes, this is simple fare, but that’s the beauty of it. Not all food needs to be complicated and Minneapolis has a generous sprinkling of both.

From Somali-spiced goat meat on spaghetti at Quruxlow Restaurant to truffle hummus at Baba’s Palestinian restaurant, food in Minneapolis has become as creative and unique as the hip neighbourhoods they’re in. So, before you come to Minneapolis, work up an appetite, make a reservation – and be prepared to be deliciously surprised.

Unless you love lots of snow and cold, summer is the best time to visit – from June to August, daily highs flutter around 30ºC. C U R R E N C Y US dollar T I M E Z O N E GMT -6 FO O D

You can dine around the globe in one street – the appropriately named Eat Street. Here you’ll find German sauerbraten, Greek moussaka, Vietnamese pho, Thai green papaya salad, Jamaican jerk chicken, Japanese niku soba ramen and New York-style pizza, among many others.

W H E R E TO S TAY

A few years ago, you wouldn’t want to eat at a hotel restaurant – but now you can combine both: Mara at Four Seasons Minneapolis is run by James Beard-winning chef Gavin Kaysen, while the Rand Tower Hotel features Blondette, Bar Rufus and Miaou Miaou – all headed up

by Argentinian chef Daniel de Prado.

H OW TO D O I T

For all the latest (and greatest) places to eat and drink check out twincities.eater.com.

M U S T- PAC K I T E M

Bring an appetite – and a thick warm jacket if you come in winter.

WHY GO

Come for all that great food, then walk it all off at the Mall of America (the largest mall in the US) or go water skiing and rollerblading (both were invented in Minnesota).

ABOVE:

Scenes from Matt’s Bar & Grill, including the famous Juicy Lucy burger.

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