EDITORS’ PICKS
THE ULTIMATE FLY-FISHING KIT LIVE BRAVELY
TRAVEL
SPORTS CAMPS FOR ADULTS
FITNESS
WHY YOU NEED HEAT TRAINING
NUTRITION
MUSHROOMS ARE THE NEXT SUPERFOOD
GEAR
AN ATHLETE’S GUIDE TO MINIMALISM
OVERSCHEDULED. ADDICTED TO SCREENS. IT’S TIME TO SET OUR KIDS FREE.
REWILDING
THE AMERICAN CHILD
+
EXPLORE THE ANIMAL KINGDOM BY RICHARD LOUV
NEW RITES OF PASSAGE
BY FLORENCE WILLIAMS
MAKE SPORTS FUN AGAIN BY KATIE ARNOLD
Take nothing with you.
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Outside Magazine
Contents
09.18
Features 42 Rewilding the American Child Kids today, we can all agree, are disconnected from nature, addicted to screens, and tamed by wellmeaning parents. So how do we restore their freedom, fire up their imaginations, and let them loose to play? The answers are all around us.
62 In the Land of Giants
Chile’s nearly completed Route of Parks is thanks in large part to Kristine and (the late) Doug Tompkins, who worked with the government to protect millions of acres of peaks, rivers, glaciers, and fjords. STEPHANIE PEARSON rolls south through Patagonia’s new string of jewels.
70 On a Rampage
Few mountain bikers can match Casey Brown’s hang time, speed, or grit. Now she wants to be the first woman to ride in the sport’s most punishing event. BY GORDY MEGROZ
t’s t Simple
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A growing legion of minimalist adventurers insist that when it comes to the gear shed, less is more. But as found out the hard way, getting rid of sports apparel hurts a lot more than unloading jeans and polos.
2
P H OTO G R A P H B Y
José Mandojana
YOUR OFFICE OUT OF OFFICE. INTRODUCING THE TOCAYO BACKPACK TM
Whether you’re in an urban jungle or an actual jungle, reliable gear is critical. The Tocayo backpack is our firstever bag built for both weekday and weekend endeavors, engineered for those who need to take their work with them wherever they go. Rugged on the outside and organized on the inside; it’s the everyday bag that’s mastered every detail.
Outside Magazine
Contents
09.18
Dispatches 11 MEDIA
Memoir: A new voice in exploration literature cycles the Silk Road. Plus, ranking creature features.
12 BIG IDEA
The Artificial Wave: Why
the first World Surf League competition on a man-made swell is nothing to celebrate.
BY ALEX WILSON
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36
Adventure Schools:
Classroom time isn’t so bad when you’re building fly rods in Virginia, pack-rafting in Alaska, or barbecuing in the Lone Star State. Journeys: Swipe right for guides, and the best accessories for your next trip.
Bethany Hamilton: Just because she lost her arm to a shark doesn’t mean this surfing champion—the subject of the new documentary Unstoppable—is a victim.
26 GEAR
Wearable Tech: A solar smartwatch that never needs charging. Fishing: Rods, reels, waders—everything but the one that got away. Boat: Hobie’s pedalpowered Mirage Pro Angler keeps hands free to fish. Women’s Base Layers:
Good-looking, hard-charging bottoms and tops.
Performance: Athletes are
turning up the thermostat with heat training. Bring on the hot tubs and sauna workouts. Laird’s Laws: The good and the bad of superfoods, from turmeric to butter coffee. Training: A wholesale update to Joe Friel’s cycling bible. Nutrition: The magic of mushrooms.
Shoulder-season classics that go from barn to bar.
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88 Cover photograph by
C LO C KW I S E F R O M TO P L E F T: C H A R L E S D U S T I N S A M M A N N ; P E T R A Z E I L E R ; H A N N A H M C C A U G H E Y; VA N C E J AC O B S ; J A S O N C H I L D S
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YOUR WRIST VERSUS THE WORLD
FĒNIX® 5 PLUS SERIES Copyright © 2018 Garmin Ltd. or its subsidiaries.
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TH E PR E M IU M M U LT IS PO RT G PS WATC H WITH M APPIN G , G AR M IN PAY™ AN D M U S IC .
Between the Lines
Staying Wild
09.18
I still get a twinge of panic when I think back to the first time my kids rode their bikes to school on their own. I watched them roll slowly down our driveway, hauling backpacks that seemed half as big as their little bodies, then stop at the bottom, just as I had instructed dozens of times. They looked both ways—twice—before Olive, then eight, glanced back at Cash, six, as if to say, All set? Then they stepped on their pedals, took a wobbly right turn, and disappeared from view. I visualized every detail of how their short ride would unfold from there: a stop sign at the end of our street, a right turn, another stop sign half a block up a hill, another right, then a quick left, and, finally, another 200 yards to school. All told it’s less than a mile, but the variables involved—distracted drivers, a four-way intersection, no parent to guide them—made their journey feel epic. Simply trusting the outcome felt like a monumental act of parental negligence.
KEYES (
@KEYESER)
Off the Map For “In the Land of Giants” (page 62), contributing editor Stephanie Pearson and her boyfriend, Brian Hayden, set out on Chile’s future Route of Parks. After driving the rugged Carretera Austral, they arrived just in time for the ferry to their next leg, only to find that it was out of service. After backtracking 93 miles in the rain, Hayden made an unwelcome announcement: he’d lost his passport. With rain still pouring, he rummaged through the car and found it. The next day, he misplaced his phone. “How can anyone lose their passport and their phone in 24 hours?” Pearson says. Happily, the ordeal ended with the couple sipping pisco sours before setting out on four days of hiking in Torres del Paine.
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OUTSIDE MAGAZINE
Feedback Nail-Biting Tales
If nothing else, Outside readers love adventure. Our June issue featured accounts of close calls in the great outdoors. Whether it was writer Earl Swift’s account of a crab boat’s run-in with disaster on the Chesapeake Bay (“The Sea Is Come Up”) or contributing editor Kyle Dickman’s near death encounter with a rattlesnake (“Rattled”), you told us to keep bringing the wild stories. I’m not sure I should have read “Rattled.” On vacations I mostly hike solo, sometimes trekking 60 or more miles through the backcountry and down into canyons. I’ve often wondered what would happen if I were struck by a rattlesnake. Now I know—in detail. I’d probably die. One thing I always do is hike in jeans, no matter how hot it is. But Kevlar shin guards sound tempting. Sharon May Hurricane, Utah
“The Sea Is Come Up” was a gripping account of people who work every day in the outdoors—such a well-told tale of how a string of innocuous decisions can lead to an unforeseen result. Equally good was the Marianne
Vos profile (“Like a Boss”), which showed how Vos will play an important role in heightening awareness and appreciation of women’s cycling. Jim Vance Culpeper, Virginia
Rolling on the River
Your online article “The Greatest Show on Earth” is truly groundbreaking stuff. I’ve rafted the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon, all 277 miles of it. It’s an intense, multifaceted experience that’s life altering in the purest sense of the term. Your beautifully chosen photos, and the way the article flows from east to west, brought me a flood of wonderful memories and the biggest smile I’ve had in a while. Rick Quinn Phoenix, Arizona
The Woodshed In July’s feature “Up the Creek,” we incorrectly stated that a picture of John Singleton Copley’s painting Watson and the Shark illustrates the 1775 Battle of Quebec. The painting depicts Havana’s harbor. In the summer issue of our Buyer’s Guide, the Vans Slide-On sandals featured on page 136 are $30, not $3. Outside regrets the errors.
F R O M TO P : G R AYS O N S C H A F F E R ; B R I A N H AY D E N
Set Our Children Free
“Should I call the school to make sure they made it?” I asked my wife. “They’re fine,” she said. She was right. They were fine, and they have continued to be fine on dozens of solo rides to school ever since. Still, every American parent can probably identify with the angst I felt. In many cases, however, the fear of letting go stands in contrast to our own childhood experiences. I grew up on the campus of a large New England prep school, where at age five I roamed freely until my mom rang a dinner bell. In second grade, I started walking a half mile to school every day with my best friend. To my knowledge, my parents didn’t fret over those decisions. So what’s changed? For starters, we are barraged with horrific news stories that perpetuate the myth that the world is now a much more dangerous place. As a result, fewer kids walk or ride a bike to school alone, making parents who let their kids do so feel like irresponsible outliers. It’s a problematic feedback loop, and just one of many factors that has fundamentally altered childhood—there’s also addiction to screens, less unstructured time to play outside, and packed after-school schedules, to name a few. This month, in “Rewilding the American Child” (page 42), we explore these conundrums with a series of provocative essays. There’s no right way to parent. You will encounter some wild ideas you might vehemently disagree with (say, unschooling) as well as some less radical advice that might inspire you to try something new (letting your kids walk to school). What we can probably agree on universally: if we want to raise the next generation of nature-loving adventurers, we need to change. —CHRISTOPHER
Between the Lines
Staying Wild
09.18
Go With Us
Join Outside GO at Mashpi Lodge, in Ecuador’s Chocó cloud forest, a 3,000-acre reserve filled with orchids, waterfalls, and 400 species of birds. Hike, take a ride on the elevated tandem “sky bike,” or just gaze out the floor-to-ceiling windows while enjoying a cocktail and a threecourse dinner. Trips from $1,098, learn more at outsidego.com.
t’s
t
s s
This month’s “Rewilding the American Child” (page 42) celebrates raising kids with a healthy dose of nature. Our staffers got their love of the wilderness from their parents, but there were definitely some rough times along the way, too. “One hot summer day, my mom took my brother and me hiking to a secluded part of the woods behind our house. We arrived to spot a young couple making out and getting naked.” —Tasha Zemke, copy editor
Stick the Landing Photographer José Mandojana brought his hardtail to the shoot of mountain biker Casey Brown in Virgin, Utah (“On a Rampage,” page 70). “I love speed, but I’ve never tried anything like she does,” says Mandojana, who is based in Los Angeles. “Just last month I took a fall on a route I always ride.” For fun we compared Mandojana’s skills against Brown’s. Brown: Lands 60-foot jumps vs. without flinching.
Mandojana: Catches two feet of air, feels like he’s flying.
WINNER: Brown, for actually flying
Brown: Strips the brakes from vs. her bike, goes 60 miles per hour.
Mandojana: Rides the brakes hard, goes 30 miles per hour.
WINNER: Mandojana—safety first!
Brown: Soars over a vs. trailer for an advertisement.
Mandojana: Bunny-hops a curb for a challenge.
WINNER: Brown, by at least 35 feet
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OUTSIDE MAGAZINE
“On Cedar Key, off Florida’s Gulf Coast, my dad told my tenyear-old sister to go pet a pelican. I think he wanted to test her courage. Anyway, it bit her. She steers clear of them to this day.” —Nicholas Hunt, associate editor
>
By the Skin of His Teeth New York–based photo retoucher Matthew Jones was in the dentist’s chair when his phone went off. Senior photo editor Leah Woodruff was on deadline to get this issue’s cover image from him, so he sent her the picture mid-cleaning. His dentist understood— life in New York.
“When I was six, my dad took me to a mountain stream to play panning for gold. Almost immediately a bug stung my dad on the eyelid, which swelled shut, sending us home.” —Aleta Burchyski, associate managing editor
’s
In his story “It’s Not That Simple” (page 76), contributing editor Tom Vanderbilt enlisted clothing maker and “practicing minimalist” Mac Bishop to help him weed out his gear collection. “I don’t even know how to describe all the junk that was lying around,” Vanderbilt says. Still, he decided there were some things he couldn’t live without. We ran the numbers.
FOUR
bikes: “The most perfect machine ever invented. I have one space-saving folding bike, another pure road, another for a bit of off-road, and a spare at the in-laws’. But no real duplicates here. Anyway, it’s part of my job.”
1,000
books: “They’re my lifeblood, so I don’t feel bad about owning a lot of them.”
TEN
pairs of sneakers: “Somehow I can never get past the childhood thrill of opening a fresh box of kicks. Plus, NYC is the ultimate stage to see and be seen.”
“Brown has launched from hundreds of similar jumps. But this one is making her nervous. The wind is gusting hard enough to knock an airborne rider off-kilter. If that happens, Brown will probably slam i t t s t’s s st s —GORDY MEGROZ, PAGE 70
C LO C KW I S E F R O M TO P L E F T: M A S H P I LO D G E ; T H O M A S WA LT E R ; M A R T Y S C H A F F E R
>
Glut Is Another ’s
Running into Trouble In June, while the rest of the Outside staff sat comfortably at our computers in Santa Fe, four editors went to Wyoming for the Bighorn Trail Run, which hosts races ranging from 18 to 100 miles. Their results were impressive, especially since it rained for part of the trip. But no good adventure is complete without a few hiccups. We ranked the worst ones. FOURTH PLACE
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TYLER REID
Jeep and Outside TV teamed up to present A Road Few Travel, a series about adventurers including Jon Rose, Chris Burkard, Ayesha McGowan, and Melissa Arnot (above). Find out how these individuals cut their own path in the wild at outsidetv.com or on the free Outside TV Features app (Android and iOS).
“For the first time in my life, I missed the start. (I blame sleep deprivation.) But beginning in dead last place was actually great for my mental game. I got to run the first few miles at my own pace and had fun passing people all the way to the finish line.” —Associate social media editor Svati Kirsten Narula, 32 miles THIRD PLACE
“We moved campsites twice because they weren’t good
enough for Outside correspondent Peter Vigneron. I was the only one sleeping in a tent, which became increasingly muddy. Once we finally decided on a spot, I slept until about 11 P.M. That’s when the lightning began.” —Social media editor Jenny Earnest, support crew SECOND PLACE
“After barreling down miles of slick, muddy singletrack, I gave myself a pat on the back for navigating the pretty technical
trail. But I was too confident. Twenty steps later, I slipped and fell on my ass.” —Online managing editor Abigail Wise, 32 miles FIRST PLACE
“By mile 88, after a night of running in rain, hail, and kneedeep mud, I found myself laughing uncontrollably and singing to a group of imaginary moose. In other words, the last 12 miles took a long time.” —Senior editor Matt Skenazy, 100 miles
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A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Followers Since we launched our Facebook group Outside Travel in May, we’ve been blown away by the photos that members have posted from as far afield as Agadiur, Morocco, and Yogyakarta, Indonesia. In fact, the images are so great that we’ll share the best photograph submitted during the month of September with our almost 900,000 Instagram followers. Be warned: the competition will be stiff.
Follow us on Twitter & Instagram
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OUTSIDE MAGAZINE
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Dispatches
Media
09.18
REVIVAL OF THE FITTEST
Harris cycling through Tibet in 2006
RANKING THE SEASON’S ADDITIONS TO THE MONSTER-MOVIE CANON
Life Cycles A FRESH NEW VOICE ON WHAT IT MEANS TO BE AN EXPLORER IN THE 21ST CENTURY BY EVA HOLLAND
MELISSA YULE
KATE HARRIS IS at the controls of a Cessna
172, flying above the Yukon’s frozen Lake Laberge on a bluebird late-winter day. Her instructor, Jessica, is in the copilot’s seat, ready to take charge if need be. Harris is learning to execute steep turns, and as she practices the sharp 45-degree maneuvers, I watch the horizon twist itself into a near vertical line from the back of the plane. “Now pull, hold that nose up,” Jessica says. “Keep that bank angle, a little more bank.” Harris, 36, is the author of the thoughtful and compelling new memoir Lands of Lost Borders ($25, Dey Street), and she’s no stranger to adrenaline-inducing adventure. The book, out in the U.S. on August 21, is already a bestseller in Canada, and it tells the story of a 14-month-long cycling trip Harris took tracing the Silk Road with her childhood best friend. But it’s also about much more: the seemingly arbitrary ways that history, geography, and politics can throw up borders between us, and what it means to be an explorer in the modern era. She moves beyond the old definitions, so closely tied to conquest
and colonialism, and presents exploration as a way of seeing the world. “We long our whole lives for things we’ve never known, places we’ve never been, abstractions that come alive to us in unexpected ways,” Harris writes. “Perhaps the great task of modern explorers is not to conquer but to connect, to reveal how any given thing leads to another.” Harris grew up in rural Ontario, playing outside and plowing through books about the men and women who forged paths through the world’s remote places. Her dream to become an astronaut-scientist took her to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, then to Oxford and MIT. It also sent her to a Mars simulation in the red dust of Utah and, once disillusionment with laboratory life chased her from academia, led her down the Silk Road by bicycle. Her recollection of that journey is beautifully written, a vivid conjuring of landscapes most readers have never seen. Of Marco Polo, her predecessor on the Silk Road, she writes: “All [he] did was travel to lands new to him but old to others and write about what he saw. Could it be so simple? The idea gave me strange hope.” Hope is the right word. Lands of Lost Borders is fundamentally optimistic and uplifting, and Harris is funny and generous. So many adventure memoirs detail seemingly superhuman feats of endurance that are offlimits to most mortals. Harris, instead, sug-
JUST CAN’T QUIT YOU
THE LINE
JUST QUIT ALREADY!
This summer has been packed with that Hollywood mainstay: the creature feature. But many of the oversize, sometimes ancient, always imaginary megafauna they depict are starting to feel like old friends. We decided to settle the score on which franchises deserve resurrection and which should go quietly into retirement. —WILL GORDON THE PREDATOR You thought you’d seen the last of them, but the long-haired aliens of the Predator franchise are back to killing a bunch of people and letting a few survive. This time they’ve reengineered their DNA and… eh, we don’t care anymore. JURASSIC WORLD Life, uh, finds a way, and so do Jurassic Park’s producers. In Fallen Kingdom, our heroes save the dinos from a volcanic eruption, and soon the creatures are wreaking havoc in the States. Were sure we’ve seen this one before, but OK, we’ll see it again.
THE MEG A 75-foot prehistoric deep-sea predator stalks Jason Statham and friends off the coast of China in this adaptation of Steve Alten’s book series. There are sure to be sequels and we don’t mind, given The Meg’s snarky humor and special effects. THE LAST SHARKNADO The always self-aware series is back for its final installment. With chainsaw-wielding Dlisters and scientifically dubious plotlines, these movies set a new so-bad-it’s-good standard. We’re sad to see them go.
gests that anyone can become an explorer simply by taking a long walk—or a bike ride— and paying close attention to the world as it passes by. Her enthusiasm is contagious. Those flying lessons were another form of exploration. When her hour was up on that day back in March, Harris set us down gently on the runway at the Whitehorse airport, a couple hours north of the off-grid cabin where she lives—reading voraciously as she did as a child and plotting her next adventures. Safe on the ground, she broke her silent focus with an exclamation: “I don’t want to stop!” I felt the same way when I turned the last page of her book. OUTSIDE MAGAZINE
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Dispatches
Big Idea
Liquid Imbalance
ARTIFICIAL WAVES NOW OFFER RIDES AS GOOD AS THE REAL THING. BUT IF YOU TAKE SURFING OUT OF THE WILD, IS IT STILL SURFING? BY ALEX WILSON
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HUMANKIND’S advance toward the singularity—a vaguely conceived techno-future which could result in man, machine, and nature merging seamlessly—is afoot on all fronts. In the realm of artificial intelligence, experts believe it will occur in this century. In the fields of cybernetics, genetic modification, and artificial cloning, it seems as if the future has already arrived. Of course, not all breakthroughs are of equal consequence. Like the basic pleasure models in Blade Runner, some are designed purely for our entertainment. One innovation in that category is an artificial wave in the heart of California’s dry Central Valley. It sits some 100 miles inland from the Pacific, in the farming town of Lemoore, off a side road lined by stands of feral palm trees and double-wide trailers. Developed by the Kelly Slater Wave Company, the Surf Ranch houses a 700-yard-long pool that, according to the official literature, produces a “high-performance, bi-directional wave
featuring barrel sections and maneuver sections.” In early September, it will play host to a World Surf League competition. The wave itself is generated by an underwater hydrofoil, pulled through the pool by a train-like conveyor. To build it, Slater, an 11-time world champion, and his partners enlisted the help of an expert in fluid dynamics named Adam Fincham. They spent years running simulations on parallel supercomputers, fine-tuning the bottom contours of the pool, adjusting the speed and hollowness of the wave, and studying the effects of hydrological factors such as turbulence decay. For surfers the results are historic: flawless waves capable of rivaling—and even superseding—those found in the wild, available at the push of a button. This isn’t a new idea. Artificial surf for recreation has been in existence since the 1930s. In the U.S., the Big Surf Waterpark’s wave pool, which opened in 1969 in Tempe, Arizona, is
P H OTO G R A P H B Y
Hannah McCaughey
WAV E S : B E N J A M I N L E E / E Y E E M / G E T T Y
09.18
TO D D G L A S E R
Kelly Slater stalling at the Surf Ranch
the best known of the first-generation pools, though it basically just churns out waist-high whitewater. Since then the technology has lurched forward in chlorinated pools and fetid trenches around the world. The past decade saw a surge in development, with one Spanish company, Wavegarden, designing pools for sites in Texas and Europe. Until recently, however, no pool came close to providing the kind of surfing experience found in nature. Now we’re entering a post-breakthrough period. Slater’s company is already planning to expand the Lemoore Surf Ranch by adding two pools that will be open to the public (so far the prototype wave has largely been invitation only) and is on track to open a second Surf Ranch in Palm Beach, Florida, next year. Another outfit, the BSR Surf Resort in Waco, Texas, opened an impressive pool in May. All this is ostensibly a good thing for those interested in the technical and athletic progression of surfing. These new wave pools give surfers a controlled field where they can hone their skills and refine their equipment—something they’ve never had before. And while surfing’s 2020 Olympic debut in Japan is still slated to take place in the Pacific, there’s little doubt that the future of competitive surfing will be tied increasingly to manufactured waves, especially given the financial incentives to match the timing of swells with a broadcast schedule. Still, the consequences of a shift toward artificial environments could fundamentally alter what it means to be a surfer. Until this moment, wave riding was inextricably linked to the wildest and least predictable settings on the planet. As a result, surf culture is permeated with more than a little transcendentalism. Tom Blake, a foundational 20thcentury surfer who crossbred his own naturalistic philosophy with ancient Hawaiian values, famously carved the words NATURE = GOD into a sandstone rock face. Later he wrote a treatise, “Voice of the Wave,” and a book, Voice of the Atom, which articulated what many surfers know instinctively: that riding waves is a way to be subject only to the rhythms of the planet and your own ability to sync with them. Trading the ocean for a pool does away with this line of thought. Of course, surfing doesn’t need to be anything more than a pleasurable experience provided by the transfer of energy through a liquid medium. But if that can be produced on demand, by a machine, it strips away all
the benefits of a life tied to the ocean—the fulfillment found in learning the cycles of the seasons and the tides and the weather, the subjection of self in the face of a massive natural ecosystem, the mental rewards that arise from reading discernible patterns in apparent chaos, the patience and character developed during hours spent doing nothing but staring at the horizon. What happens to surf culture when wave pools produce generations of devotees who have never set foot in the ocean? I wondered about this last spring, on my way to Lemoore to watch the Founders’ Cup, which served as a test run for the World Surf League event. I arrived during a break in the action, and aside from a slight ultramarine tint, the Surf Ranch pool looked a lot like the irrigation canals I’d passed on the road. I watched the sunlight on the surface for a few minutes, until a voice announced over the PA system that a wave was about to be generated. Then the whir of the electric train cut through the air, and a flawless right-hander formed, running for two-fifths of a mile. As former world champions Mick Fanning and Stephanie Gilmore took a few rides, I found myself in awe of the wave’s reproducible perfection. I obviously wanted to ride it. I was even entertained, for a while, by the contest. After about an hour, though, I started to feel dried out by the inland heat, then a little bored, with a familiar instinct rising inside me to sneak back to the coast. It was clear that the surf conditions and performances would
s be produced on demand, by a machine, it strips away all t ts of a life tied to the ocean.
remain mostly identical and predictable. The event was still under way when I left. Technology has done a lot to change surfing, mostly for the better. World War II–era advances begat the neoprene wetsuit, wave forecasting, and the materials used in modern surfboards. But human-made waves represent something different. This isn’t technology that comes into the ocean with us or makes it easier for us to adapt to its cycles. It’s an alternative experience in an entirely artificial environment. Disconnect waves from nature and surfing becomes subsumed by our advance toward a singular future. Alex Wilson is deputy editor of The Surfer’s Journal. This essay is adapted from his report on the Founders’ Cup for Outside Online. OUTSIDE MAGAZINE
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Dispatches
Adventure Schools
09.18
PHYSICAL EDUCATION FROM LEARNING TO PACK RAFT IN THE ALASKAN WILDERNESS TO PERFECTING THE BASICS OF BACKCOUNTRY SKIING IN CHAMONIX, WE PRESENT THE ULTIMATE COURSE CATALOG FOR A CONTINUING EDUCATION IN THE OUTDOORS. PLUS, FOUR ELECTIVES FOR CRAFTING YOUR OWN GEAR. BY CHRISTOPHER SOLOMON
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P H OTO G R A P H B Y
Petra Zeiler
Adventure Schools
a, d. Ladies AllRide b, f. Otter Bar Lodge Kayak School c, e. Boulder Outdoor Survival School
09.18
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b
c
f
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KAYAKING 101
WILDERNESS SURVIVAL 101
MOUNTAIN BIKING 102
Instructor: Otter Bar Lodge Kayak School Tuition: $2,390 There may be no better place to learn how to whitewater kayak than this 37-year-old institution, hemmed in by 8,000-foot peaks on the shores of California’s remote Salmon River. Newbies taking the weeklong Beginner Kayaking class will learn to roll on the property’s ponds before progressing to the Class II–IV Salmon or the mellower Klamath River. With one instructor for every three paddlers, you’ll be on the water several hours a day (interrupted only by sushi lunches), learning strokes, river safety, and how to move downriver with the control of a water spider, as founder Peter Sturges says. By week’s end, attentive students should be able to handle themselves in Class III rapids.
Instructor: Boulder Outdoor Survival School Tuition: $1,725 Carrying little more than a knife, clothes, and a water bottle, you’ll move fast and light from the 11,000foot alpine forest on Utah’s southcentral Boulder Mountain down to the slickrock and slot canyons of Escalante country during BOSS’s seven-day Field Course. Along the way, seasoned guides will teach you how to make fire from friction, build shelter, and find water. BOSS offers classes ranging from three to 28 days, so you can go as deep as you want. Perhaps the most lasting lesson you’ll learn isn’t a skill at all, but a deeper connection to the earth. “Many people come out of it feeling a shift in themselves,” says Eli Loomis, the school’s executive director.
Instructor: Ladies AllRide Tuition: $385 This two-day, women’s-only mountain-biking skills camp combines top-notch instruction, a supportive atmosphere, and marquee locations such as Bend, Oregon, and Grand Targhee, Wyoming, without the macho competitive atmosphere. At its Lyndonville, Vermont, course, for instance, each morning begins with a few hours of small-group skills and drills. Novices might practice dropping off low boxes or learn how to drive the bike forward with their arms as well as their feet. One afternoon concludes with sessions on topics like flat repair, chain breaks, nutrition, and stretching, and the next day participants ride with instructors on the Kingdom Trails, which stretch 100 flowing miles through the state’s northeast corner.
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ELECTIVE: BUILD YOUR OWN BIKE After five days of instruction from famed frame builder Steve Garn, who’s been teaching the art for more than a decade, cyclists will leave BREW Bikes in Boone, North Carolina, with a frame shaped completely by their own hands. Class size maxes out at two, and students can craft any style, no welding experience required. $1,675, materials included —A B B I E BA R R O N I A N
C LO C KW I S E F R O M TO P L E F T: L A U R E N C H U R C H ; P E T E R S T U R G E S ; VA N C E J AC O B S ; A M A N DA C O N D E ; VA N C E J AC O B S ; P E T E R S T U R G E S
Dispatches
C LO C KW I S E F R O M TO P L E F T: C O U R T E SY O F O F F S H O R E S A I L I N G S C H O O L ; K E L LY D E A N YA N D E L L ; C O DY D O W N A R D P H OTO G R A P H Y/ R A S H M I PA P P U ; S C R U B I S L A N D R E S O R T, S PA , A N D M A R I N A , B R I T I S H V I R G I N I S L A N D S ; C O DY D O W N A R D P H OTO G R A P H Y; R O B E R T J AC O B L E R M A
a, d. Offshore Sailing School b, f. Texas barbecue c, e. Jackson Hole, Wyoming
a
b
c
f
e
d
WILDERNESS PHOTOGRAPHY 200
BARBECUE 201
SAILING 210
Instructor: Cody Downard Photography Tuition: $900 Jackson, Wyoming, in late spring is the outdoor photographer’s Disneyland. Think wildflowers, majestic bison, and clouds exploding behind the snowcapped Tetons. You’ll want a big lens and a tripod to capture it all at the workshops led by Cody Downard, a former photo editor and photographer for National Geographic Adventure, Ski, and Bicycling. Exhaustive and demanding, the course will see you log about 20 hours of field time in two days, starting with predawn wake-up calls to shoot the sunrise at iconic spots such as Schwabacher’s Landing. A onetime Yellowstone park ranger, Downard knows some secret spots, too: “In the spring, there’s a good chance we’ll see grizzly bears.”
Instructor: Foodways Texas and Texas A&M Tuition: $495 If you want to learn the secret to Texas ’cue, you can’t do better than the Barbecue Summer Camp in College Station. It’s the most comprehensive hands-on hog-to-table study of the style. Over three days, university meat-science professors team up with stars from the Lone Star State’s barbecue scene to discuss everything from designing pits and learning “the art of the smoke” to brining basics, meat selection, marinades, and wood choice. Expect field trips to such locales as the smokehouse at Martin’s Place in nearby Bryan for a chat and a meal with the pit master. Camp finishes with a poultry session that becomes your farewell lunch. You’ll head home full.
Instructor: Steve and Doris Colgate’s Offshore Sailing School Tuition: $4,260 In just a week, Fast Track to Cruising gives landlubbers the knowledge to handle sailboats up to 50 feet in length in most weather conditions. The British Virgin Islands are an ideal classroom, with consistent winds pushing across clear, uncomplicated, and gorgeous waters. You’ll learn the ropes, quite literally, at the tiller of a Colgate 26, a virtually unsinkable boat designed by school founder Steve Colgate that’s used to train midshipmen at the U.S. Naval Academy. Next, you and your instructor cast off in a much larger vessel for several days at sea. The week concludes with an overnight unsupervised sail. Pass muster and you get your bareboat certification, which allows you to skipper the big ones yourself.
ELECTIVE: BUILD YOUR OWN BOAT The 12-foot Passagemaker dinghy offers a spirited sail and a straightforward build. First-timers can put it together in only five and a half days under the expert guidance of the instructors at Seattle’s Center for Wooden Boats, a floating museum and community space on Lake Union. Plus, there’s plenty of room to take it out for a spin. $2,175, materials included —A . B .
OUTSIDE MAGAZINE
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Dispatches
Adventure Schools
a, c, e–f. Puro Surf Hotel and Academy b. Tiny Home Builders d. United Bicycle Institute
09.18
BICYCLE MAINTENANCE 200 Instructor: United Bicycle Institute Tuition: $1,050 Sure, you know how to change a flat, but what about repairing anything greasier? UBI’s weeklong Introduction to Bicycle Maintenance course gives you the chance to unleash your inner wrench without permanently screwing up your $3,000 Specialized in the process. The institute offers classes throughout the year in Portland and Ashland, Oregon. Each day students tackle the anatomy and repair of a different bike system. One day is devoted to wheels (tires, tubes, and hubs); the next focuses on the drivetrain (cranks, chain, bottom bracket, and pedals). Bring your battered Surly, and by Friday you’ll have given it a complete overhaul. Pick Portland for the food and amazing craft brews, or take your full squish to Ashland’s clinic, where, when the final bell rings, flow tracks and chunky natural descents await just five minutes away.
a
b
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c
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Instructor: Tiny Home Builders Tuition: $400 Intrigued by the idea of retreating to your own hand-built tiny home, but don’t know where to start? At Tiny Home Builders’ two-day workshop, you’ll learn all the essentials from Dan Louche, author of Tiny House Design and Construction Guide, while nailing together a portable Thoreauvian cabin in the woods. Topics include roofing, how to frame soundly enough to haul your house down the highway, and smart roofing. (“Water is the number-one destroyer of homes,” says Louche.) Classes take place across the Southeast, but book the Asheville, North Carolina, session next summer and you can cast to rising brook trout on nearby Mills River, then talk about where you might fit a kegerator in your new home over a pint at one of the city’s 32 breweries.
SURFING 220 Instructor: Puro Surf Hotel and Academy Tuition: $1,220 Each day at this school in the small town of El Zonte, El Salvador, includes yoga and stretching, a breathing seminar, exercise routines, and a two-hour taped surf session with International Surfing Association–certified coaches. Video analysis helps instructors tailor onland training for students of all levels before honing their techniques in the skate park and lap pool. In three days, you’ll master the sport’s seven essential maneuvers: bottom turns, carves, cutbacks, reentries, floaters, barrels, and airs. When school’s out, relax in the clifftop infinity pool at Puro’s 13-room boutique hotel, grab some world-class ceviche at Beto’s Restaurante, or enjoy the backpacker bar scene and live music at La Guitarra in neighboring El Tunco. —A L E X A N D RA TA LT Y
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ELECTIVE: BUILD YOUR OWN SURFBOARD Coastal Maine breeds hardcore, weather-be-damned surfers, which is exactly why you should trust the folks at Grain Surfboards in York to help you shape a ride that’s up for anything. The company’s hollow boards are made from locally sourced wood and sport classic lines. At Grain’s four-day workshop, students can shape anything from a four-and-a-half-foot shortboard to a ten-foot longboard. $1,750, materials included —A . B .
C LO C KW I S E F R O M TO P L E F T: P U R O S U R F ; T I N Y H O M E B U I L D E R S ; P U R O S U R F ; U B I S TA F F ; P U R O S U R F ( 2 )
TINY-HOUSE CONSTRUCTION 201
C LO C KW I S E F R O M TO P L E F T: A N D R E W B U R R ; C H R I S E R I C K S O N ; B R I A N G R O S S E N B AC H E R ; B E T H C L E A R Y; B R I A N G R O S S E N B AC H E R ; R O B J A R V I S
a–b, d. Alaska Mountain School c, e. Orvis and Florida Keys Outfitters f. High Mountain Guides
a
b
c
f
e
d
MOUNTAINEERING AND PACK RAFTING 300 Instructor: Alaska Mountain School Tuition: $4,100 The only Alaskan adventure skills you won’t learn in this 12-day course are catching halibut and flying a bush plane. After meeting in tiny Talkeetna, you’ll take a ski plane to the spectacular southern section of Denali National Park and set up camp on a glacier in an area climbers named Little Switzerland for its 8,000-foot peaks. You’ll spend the first few days brushing up on your climbing skills and learning glacier travel, ropework, and crevasse rescue. Midweek you’ll ascend 7,510foot Italy’s Boot and burro your 50pound pack to the Class II Tokositna River. Once there you’ll tug on a paddling suit, inflate your pack raft, and bob 55 miles downstream until Talkeetna comes into view again.
SKI TOURING 301
SALTWATER FLY-FISHING 310
Instructor: High Mountain Guides Tuition: $1,000 Ski touring can be daunting—snow pits, probe poles, emergency beacons—but during High Mountain Guides’ five-day intro course in the Alps, you’ll learn the basics of safe and efficient backcountry travel. The week begins in Chamonix, France, with lift-accessed outings during which you’ll work on fundamentals like managing transitions and laying an efficient skin track beneath the Mont Blanc massif. As your confidence grows, you’ll ski Val Ferret, on the Italian side of the mountain, and spend a night at Rifugio Bonatti. There your guide will drip-feed information as you traverse a glacier before finishing with a classic Chamonix ski tour, such as the Col du Tour Noir on the Swiss border. If your time is limited, the company offers shorter clinics as well.
Instructor: Orvis and Florida Keys Outfitters Tuition: $1,445 Sight-casting for tailing tarpon is fly-fishing’s ne plus ultra. It’s also fiendishly challenging. Head down to Islamorada, where Orvis and Florida Keys Outfitters demystify the art of stalking the saltwater shallows. After checking in to the stunning and historic Cheeca Lodge, you’ll polish your technique with Truel Myers, one of the top casting instructors in the nation. The next two days, your guide will pole you into the bay surrounding the Everglades in a 20-foot flats skiff, teaching you the art of fly selection and how to sight and quickfire to the redfish and snook tucked among the mangroves and the ferocious tarpon in water no deeper than a backyard pool.
ELECTIVE: BUILD YOUR OWN FLY ROD Some of the most pristine water in Virginia flows through Rose River Farm in the town of Syria. During the farm’s five-day course, students stay in cabins on the property, share meals, and spend their days learning from a master bamboorod builder. There’s also ample time to angle for the wild rainbow, brown, and brook trout that call the river home. $2,500, all-inclusive —A . B .
OUTSIDE MAGAZINE
21
Dispatches
Journeys
09.18
Boarding Call IF YOU CAN’T UPGRADE YOUR SEAT, UPGRADE YOUR TRAVEL TECH BY EMILY REED
Bose QuietComfort 35 headphones $350
With three levels of noise cancellation, you can select how much to tune out. SteriPen Pure+ UV water purifier $70
A UV purifier that gives you peace of mind without wasting space in your carry-on. Away The Bigger carry-on $245
An internal battery makes searching for an airport outlet a thing of the past. Skyroam Solis Global hot spot $175
Friends on a Powder Day
LYFX WANTS TO REVOLUTIONIZE THE WAY WE PLAY BY CONNECTING LOCAL GUIDES WITH TRAVELING ADVENTURERS. BUT CAN IT SUCCEED WHERE OTHER APPS FAILED? BY GRAHAM AVERILL
PEDRO M C CARDELL was on a solo motorcycle trip to Patagonia when he realized that he needed help. The mountains that dominated the horizon were inviting, but access was a puzzle. “I needed a local to show me around, but I had no good way to connect with them,” says the Italy-based former advertising executive. That experience led him to create Lyfx. (Silicon Valley slang for “life experience.”) The app launched in Utah, Colorado, and California in July, and aims to be the Uber or Airbnb of adventure, connecting travelers in need of beta with knowledgable residents willing to show them around for a fee. Lyfx isn’t the only app trying to disrupt
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OUTSIDE MAGAZINE
the guiding industry. Climblife connects wandering dirtbags with would-be guides, Showaround lets international travelers book a variety of experiences led by locals, and Back40 links up venturesome vacationers with “hosts” throughout New England. Of course, similar platforms have come and gone. In 2015, James Hamilton launched GuideHire but couldn’t keep it afloat. “It wasn’t an issue of getting people on the platform—we had plenty of guides and plenty of users,” he says. “But we couldn’t get people to book through us. They’d use us for research and then book directly with the guide.” Hamilton thinks his timing was off and travelers weren’t willing to reserve adventures without a bit of personal interaction first. But given the ubiquity of Uber and the rise of Airbnb Experiences, the short-term-rental giant’s attempt to get into peer-to-peer activities, the market may finally be ready. “I think people will use the service,” says Nikki Harth, co-owner of Surfhouse, a hotel and guiding outfit in Encinitas, California. Like Lyfx, Surfhouse seeks to plug guests into the local scene. “People are now spending more money on experiences than things,” he says.
“When you’re surfing, having a local show you around makes the experience so much better.” Alex Kosseff, executive director of the American Mountain Guides Association, is intrigued by the idea of guiding apps and believes they could be beneficial for guides because many don’t have the time or knowhow to market themselves effectively. But he’s less sure about the legality. “Guiding on public land in this country is incredibly regulated,” Kosseff says. “Anyone taking money for that service needs to have a permit.” To work around this, Lyfx launched with professionals that already have the necessary paperwork and requires its peer-to-peer experts to abide by any applicable laws and regulations. However, the app is leaving it up to its nonprofessional guides to obtain all permits and certifications. But a few situations, like showing someone your favorite point break, don’t require dealing with any red tape. And if Lyfx or its competitors can overcome all that, they’ll still face the hardest challenge of all: securing market share. “Until one of these apps gets traction and gains that critical mass of users,” Kosseff says, “I’m afraid they’ll continue to come and go.”
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Dispatches
The Outsider
09.18
What Unstoppable Looks Like SURFER BETHANY HAMILTON LOST HER ARM TO A SHARK 15 YEARS AGO. IF YOU THINK THAT’S SLOWED HER DOWN, YOU DON’T KNOW HER STORY. BY SUSAN CASEY WORDS MATTER, and they especially matter
when you’re writing about Bethany Hamilton. The world knows the story of how a marauding tiger shark changed the course of Hamilton’s life in 2003, taking her left arm while she was surfing on Kauai’s north shore. She was 13 years old, a wildly talented grommette with her eye on a professional surfing career. Descriptions of that encounter invariably use words like victim and tragedy, but in the aftermath, Hamilton has served notice that neither label applies. Even as the media referred to her as “sharkbite girl” and tried to categorize her as a disabled athlete, Hamilton, now 28, has never thought of herself in those terms. “At that time in my life, being so young and resilient, and a charger at whatever came my way, the loss of my arm felt like a speed bump,” she says. “A little hurdle to go over.” That doesn’t mean the experience was easy. The next time you’re tempted to indulge in a spell of whining, consider the following: Hamilton lost 60 percent of the blood in her body that day. Less than a month later, stitches barely out, she was back in the ocean relearning how to surf. (She kicks her legs to counterbalance paddling with one arm, and her father rigged a handle on her board so she can duckdive.) Two months after that, she returned to competition. She won a national championship in 2005, and turned pro in 2007. Over the past five years, Hamilton got married; finished third on the television show The Amazing Race with her husband, Adam Dirks, a youth minister she met in 2012; won a women’s pro event at Oahu’s Pipeline, an infamous wave that has killed at least 11 people; and got barreled at Teahupoo, a Tahitian break even more treacherous than Pipeline. In 2014, she flew to Bali to practice her aerial surfing skills at Padang Padang—a fast snapper of a wave where she fell many times, occasionally coming up bloodied—and ultimately landed a frontside air-reverse 360, which she calls “the gnarliest thing I’ve ever done.” Not for long, perhaps: Hamilton and Dirks’s first son, Tobias, arrived in June 2015. Their sec-
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ond, Wesley, followed in March 2018. Hamilton’s run of accomplishments is chronicled in the new documentary Unstoppable, out this fall. Between footage of her triumphs, the film includes smaller moments from everyday life: breastfeeding Tobias after competition heats, surfing breaks near her home in Kauai, pumping iron while eight months pregnant with Wesley. The film also reveals what really sets Hamilton apart: her titanium core. She cross-trains up to five hours a day, a mix of surfing, swimming, HIIT gym workouts, trampoline sessions, Pilates, beach sprinting, and underwater running while carrying a heavy rock. Maybe this tenacity comes from her devout Christian faith, or maybe it’s learned and hard-won, but the documentary makes clear that Hamilton is a driven competitor, unafraid of pain, no stranger to setting and achieving the most outlandish goals. It would be unreasonable not to allow her some lingering fears. She’s respectful of sharks but not enamored of them. If Hamilton has any obstacle it’s frustration, the disappointment when she falls short of her own zenith. In 2016, seven months after giving birth to Tobias, Hamilton spotted a big swell on the weather maps and island-hopped over to Maui in pursuit of one of the world’s most formidable waves: Jaws. She was towed into and rode a 40-footer. Then she decided to raise the degree of difficulty by actually paddling into a giant wave. Her first few attempts resulted in memorable wipeouts, but she returned to the lineup and got one of the day’s best rides. Hamilton laughs as she describes it: “Probably one of the scariest sessions of my entire life, and it was soooo fun at the same time—like this weird, crazy, fun sort of thing.” Tobias hadn’t even reached his first birthday when he and his parents landed in Fiji, where Hamilton had been chosen as the wildcard entry at the World Surfing League’s elite Fiji Pro event. Few of the sports cognoscenti expected her to place. En route to taking third, Hamilton defeated six-time world champion
“Being so young and resilient, and a charger at whatever came my way, the loss of my arm felt like a speed bump,” Hamilton says. “A little hurdle to go over.” Stephanie Gilmore and the top competitor on the women’s pro tour, Tyler Wright. “This really isn’t supposed to be happening,” Sports Illustrated wrote on its website. After Hamilton’s Fiji performance, surf icon Kelly Slater declared himself “ridiculously impressed.” Meanwhile, big-wave legend Laird Hamilton (no relation) says: “She’s a surfer at the core, and her desire and love for the sport has allowed her to do some stuff that even surfers who have all their limbs can’t do.” Even with two toddlers, Hamilton is not slowing down. “I want to push my aerial surfing,” she says. “That’s the area that feels compelling and exciting to me.” She and Dirks recently published a children’s book, Unstoppable Me. Next she’s launching a lifestyle app for young women, with fitness, nutrition, and other advice tucked in among tenets of her Christian beliefs. America’s industrial food system, she says, has wreaked havoc on our well-being: “We need to recognize what we’re doing to ourselves, and the earth, with food.” Bethany Hamilton, nutritionist? Localfood activist? Children’s-book author? App developer? “It’s almost like I need a challenge,” Hamilton says, giggling at the understatement. With that she hits on one of the reasons people are so moved by her story. We all need a challenge now and then, but those among us who face the most daunting ones with grace and grit we call heroic. In the Bethany Hamilton lexicon, that’s a word that fits perfectly.
P H OTO G R A P H B Y
Mike Coots
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Dispatches
Wearable Tech
09.18
Light-Years Ahead
A SUN-POWERED SMARTWATCH SOLVES THE BATTERY PROBLEM BY SCOTT ROSENFIELD
WHEN I BUY a gadget, I expect it to work as advertised. This sets me up for a lot of disappointment. Inaccurate GPS trackers, counterintuitive interfaces, and—most frustrating of all—batteries that die well before they’re supposed to leave me forlorn. Thus, it was with much trepidation that I decided to try the Lunar smartwatch. The solar-powered activity monitor launched on Kickstarter last September with a simple promise: never worry about battery life again. But could a small startup crack the all-dayuse problems that still plague giants like Apple and Samsung? In bright, sunshiny New Mexico, where I live, the answer is yes. The watch needs only an hour of daily light exposure to go on working forever—and the company says artificial indoor light works just as well as the sun. Now, don’t expect the Lunar to replace your training watch just yet. There’s no heart-rate monitor, and in place of a display, a simple face ticks behind a transparent solar panel. Vibrations alert you to texts and calls on your synced phone, while an LED array flashes when you hit activity targets. But for the convenience of never having to charge again, I’ll take it. $199
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P H OTO G R A P H B Y
Inga Hendrickson
Cast her imagination into the wild. crownofthecarolinas.org Text "Fly Fishing" to 555-888Â For More Information
Dispatches
Fishing
09.18
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Charles Dustin Sammann
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Landing Gear WHAT YOU NEED TO BRING IN A LUNKER BY KELLY BASTONE A. Patagonia Middle Fork Packable waders $349 Though extremely durable, these 1.6-pound waterproof-breathable waders scrunch down to the size of a camp pillow, so they won’t overwhelm your pack on treks to remote waterways. B. Ross Evolution LTX 4-5 weight reel $385 We like to think of the LTX as an upgrade to the classic Evolution LT in the form of a larger arbor (to retrieve line faster) and a stronger drag (it puts the brakes on baby tarpon as well as football-size trout). But Ross’s commitment to precision machining hasn’t changed. The LTX feels as sharp as ever and still produces that beloved quiet click.
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C. Fishpond River Armor El Jefe net $230 Made of fiberglass covered with a protective Kevlar and carbon-fiber skin, the El Jefe is light enough to wield one-handed but tough enough to bully boulders. And the shape is handy for both boating and wading: the long handle helped us land fat tailwater trout before they snapped our superfine line. D. Simms Freestone wading boots $150 This time-tested icon has always been hardy, but it had a reputation for making your foot feel like a cinder block. Recent improvements changed that. A grippier proprietary-rubber sole increases instream traction, an expanded neoprene ankle wrap boosts warmth and cushioning, and plastic plates in the toe and heel facilitate a more natural stride.
E. Costa del Mar Montauk sunglasses $199 Polycarbonate lenses like these aren’t as sharp as glass but they protect better against UV, and we appreciate that when scanning the water off Florida’s panhandle. Sticky Hydrolite rubber on the nose and earpieces keeps the Montauks in place, the full wrap blocks glare from all directions, and holes in the temples make it easy to use a scrap of fishing line as an ultralight leash. F. Scientific Anglers Amplitude Smooth AST Plus Trout line $100 This long-shooting line makes any fly rod feel like a cannon, courtesy of a proprietary material that never loses its slickness. G. Yeti Camino Carryall 35 tote $150 Shove dirty shoes and wet waders into this tote, which has a waterproof bottom to protect your car from sloppy contents. In the field, rigid sides keep it from tipping over. H. Umpqua UPG HD Weekender fly box $40 This improbably small box (just 1.8 inches thick) still opens wide enough to give it the space to accommodate a mind-boggling quantity of flies. I. Gerber Magniplier tool $74 An angled nose enables easy release of bass or pike (your hand doesn’t block your view of the hook), and an ergonomically shaped hot-forged aluminum grip fits snugly in your palm. J. Orvis Safe Passage sling pack $89 Artist Linda Leary lent her “groovy grayling” print to Orvis’s sling, which secures a hemostat on the front strap and stashes fly boxes, a water bottle, and everything else behind you, so they don’t snag your line.
BEST ROD FOR SALT WATER K. Orvis Helios 3D $849 The Helios 3D is gloriously accurate. On Bahamian flats, it punched through 20-mile-per-hour winds and let us make 60-foot casts that set shrimp right on the noses of bonefish. BEST ROD FOR LOOKING GOOD L. Tom Morgan Rodsmiths Graphite $1,495 Morgan is known for crafting $4,000 bamboo masterworks, but this graphite model is pretty perfect, too. It also makes a great daily and excels at the short game, executing close-range casts with excellent sensitivity. BEST ROD FOR DISTANCE M. G. Loomis Asquith $1,000 Light but bazooka powerful, the Asquith is the first fly rod to use Shimano’s SpiralX construction, which wraps a graphite core with carbon-fiber tape. The result is a distance ace. The nine-foot fiveweight we tested shoots line to the river’s farthest reaches and proved itself on technical streams. BEST ROD FOR BIG GAME N. Shimano Clarus $90 Plenty of rods are tough enough to haul in mighty fighters. The Clarus is in that camp, but because it’s crafted from an eight-layer graphite blank, it offers strength without a weight penalty. BEST ROD FOR TROUT O. Scott G Series $845 Delicate and accurate, this medium-action stick lets you feel every flick. It dropped dry flies gracefully and nailed tricky casts in tight quarters. For technical fishing on small rivers and in mountain streams, there’s no better tool. Yet it’s surprisingly versatile and managed to chuck a weighted streamer when duty called.
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Boat
09.18
Hands Free
THE BEST UPGRADE TO YOUR FISHING EXPERIENCE? A SMALLER CRAFT. BY JOE JACKSON THERE’S SOMETHING to be said for hanging your line off the back of a motorboat, waiting for a monster to bite, then wrestling it aboard and whacking it into submission with an old table leg. But on balance, I prefer a more sporting arrangement: angler versus fish from the cockpit of a small human-powered craft. The 38-inch-wide Hobie Mirage Pro Angler 14 affords stability when you stand to cast, and at 13 feet 8 inches long and 120 pounds, it stows easily in the garage. Hobie’s lauded MirageDrive—two foot pedals that spin flippers under the hull—is far more responsive than a propeller, allowing you to maneuver and properly fish an eddy while keeping your hands free to cast or reach for your gaff. Throw in an extremely comfy removable seat that uses an intuitive Boa system to adjust the mesh lumbar support and you have just the right mix of physical challenge and mechanical advantage. $3,550
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FORTY YEARS FROM NOW, SHE MIGHT BE FISHING FOR DORADO OFF THE COAST OF BAJA, OR ROADTRIPPING THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN FRONT NEAR KALISPELL. BUT SHE’LL ALWAYS LOOK BACK TO THIS MOMENT WHERE YOU HELPED HER CATCH THE BUG.
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09.18
Underneath It All DELICATES FOR EVERY SPORT AND SEASON BY ARIELLA GINTZLER
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A. Icebreaker 200 Zone One Sheep onesie $220 Steeze aside, one-piece base layers are ideal for frigid missions. Icebreaker’s features mesh panels for breathability and a long zipper for fussfree bathroom trips. B. Smartwool Merino 150 Base Layer tank top $65 This buttery-soft piece is form-fitting enough to layer but loose enough to wear alone. Hike in it, throw a fleece over it, fall asleep in it.
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C. Fabletics Tess Warp Knit bra $35 The full-coverage design is forget-you’re-wearing-it comfortable, courtesy of a wide chest band that doesn’t dig in. D. Ridge Merino Inversion Midweight leggings $55 When the temperature drops, these full-length bottoms are the ticket. The exposed-elastic waistband minimizes bulk. E. ExOfficio Give-N-Go Sport Mesh Hipkini underwear $24 The Hipkinis offer full coverage in the back without the high rise of traditional briefs. The mesh fabric is silky smooth and wicking for all-day comfort.
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F. Oiselle Wazzie Wool shirt $96 This midweight long-sleeve top offers a flatteringly close fit and generous length. G. Lululemon Energy bra $52 The Energy is the Goldilocks of support systems, providing enough compression—even for full-chested women—for a 20-mile run without smothering or fitting like a corset.
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H. Craft Fuseknit Comfort boxers $30 A midthigh inseam makes the Fuseknit Comforts ideal for days that aren’t cold enough for full-length long johns. A wide, flat waistband and seamless knit construction deliver premium comfort.
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Charles Dustin Sammann
THAT LUGGAGE
WON’T PAY FOR ITSELF. Switch to GEICO and save money for the things you love. Maybe it’s impeccably designed matched luggage. Or the upgrade to First Class. Travel is what you love – and it doesn’t come cheap. So switch to GEICO, because you could save 15% or more on car insurance. And that would help make the things you love that much easier to get.
Auto • Home • Rent • Cycle • Boat geico.com | 1-800-947-AUTO (2886) | local office Some discounts, coverages, payment plans and features are not available in all states or all GEICO companies. Homeowners and renters coverages are written through non-affiliated insurance companies and are secured through the GEICO Insurance Agency, Inc. Boat and PWC coverages are underwritten by GEICO Marine Insurance Company. Motorcycle and ATV coverages are underwritten by GEICO Indemnity Company. GEICO is a registered service mark of Government Employees Insurance Company, Washington, D.C. 20076; a Berkshire Hathaway Inc. subsidiary. © 2017 GEICO
Dispatches
Performance
09.18
So Hot Right Now
WHY ELITE ATHLETES ARE TURNING UP THE THERMOSTAT IN PURSUIT OF AN EDGE
S A M A R M S T R O N G / G A L L E R Y S TO C K
BY ALEX HUTCHINSON
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IN FEBRUARY 2014, the Canadian women’s soccer team realized it needed more juice in the gym. So management called in an electrician to redo the wiring in the team’s makeshift workout room in suburban Vancouver, to prevent two rented industrial heaters from blowing the fuses. “The plugs just couldn’t handle it,” recalls César Meylan, the team’s head sports scientist. Then, for five straight winter days, Meylan put the squad through grueling 90-minute circuit-training sessions with the room kept at a toasty 95 degrees. Each player swallowed an ingestible sensor that allowed Meylan to monitor core temperature in real time, and he doled out brief periods of rest or snippets of encouragement to any player whose reading deviated too far from the goal of 101.3 degrees. That fever-like temperature, he says, “is the driving factor for adaptation.” Though ice baths have long been the torture of choice for serious athletes, there’s been a pronounced shift in the past few years. Heat is now hot. Athletes around the world have begun exploring the potential performance benefits of heat training for everything from marathoning to high-altitude mountaineering. Heat therapy is also gaining attention as a tool to fight heart disease and repair muscles. Maybe the sauna-loving Finns— who, in addition to topping the rankings in this year’s World Happiness Report, have racked up more than 100 Olympic track and field medals—have been onto something all along. The origins of the current boom in heat research can be traced back to the 2008 Olympics. University of Oregon physiologist Chris Minson was helping marathoner Dathan Ritzenhein prepare for what was expected to be a sweltering summer in Beijing. Heatacclimation protocols, which usually involve a week or two of sweaty workouts, are a wellestablished way of triggering adaptations— increased blood-plasma volume, lower core temperature, higher perspiration rate—that help you perform in the heat. “But I had this niggling fear,” Minson recalls. “What if the race wasn’t hot? What if it was cooler?” No one knew for sure whether being welladapted to heat might come with trade-offs, like performing worse in cool conditions. So Minson set up a study with 20 cyclists to find out. The results, published in 2010, sparked a frenzy among sports scientists. Ten days of training in 104-degree heat boosted the cyclists’ VO2 max by 5 percent and improved their one-hour time-trial performance by 6 percent—even when the testing room was kept at a brisk 55 degrees. Suddenly, hot rooms and nonbreathable track suits were being
hyped as the poor man’s altitude training. The initial thinking was that, whereas working out in thin air triggers the formation of oxygen-carrying red blood cells, a main benefit of heat training was an increased volume of blood plasma to ferry red blood cells to your muscles. Whether that plasma boost actually translates to improved athletic performance remains contentious. Carsten Lundby, an endurance expert at Copenhagen University Hospital in Denmark who has studied heat training, is skeptical that simply increasing plasma volume improves performance after just a week or two. However, the resulting dilution of your blood might trigger a natural EPO response to produce new red blood cells, just like altitude training—an idea he’s currently testing with a six-week protocol. But plasma volume isn’t the only parameter that heat changes. According to Meylan, psychological resilience and altered perception of high temperatures are among the key benefits his players received from heat training. That, in part, is why Canada’s women’s soccer team will likely head to southern Spain or Portugal right before next summer’s World Cup, which will take place in France. More generally, heat is a shock to the system, generating some of the same cellular responses that exercise and altitude do. For that reason, scientists are now studying its therapeutic benefits (see “The Sweat Cure,” below), as well as cross-adaptation, the idea that heat training might prepare you for a trip to high elevations, or help you maintain an edge when you return. A practical example: Last year, three elite steeplechasers visited Minson’s lab three or four times a week to soak in a 105-degree hot
Heat is a shock to the system, generating some of the same cellular responses that exercise and altitude do.
tub for roughly 40 minutes, hoping the heat would help sustain the elevated red-bloodcell levels they’d developed during altitude training in Flagstaff, Arizona. Blood tests suggested the approach worked. All of this sounds so implausibly wonderful that Minson is careful to dial the hype back. To most of the age-group athletes who call him for advice on how to leverage the benefits of heat, he suggests that they simply train more, focus on recovery, and maybe lose a little weight. From a health standpoint, if you have to choose between exercising and hot-tubbing, he says, the former is a nobrainer. Still, he’s pretty excited about the field’s potential—even if it’s old news to the Finns. “We’re patting ourselves on the back and saying, Hey, we came up with this really cool idea,” he says. “But the reality is that it’s been around for thousands of years.”
The Sweat Cure
EXPOSING YOUR BODY TO HEAT MAY OFFER SERIOUS HEALTH BENEFITS Heart: Chris Minson has shown that eight weeks of hot-tubbing produces “really profound changes” in markers of cardiovascular health like blood pressure and artery stiffness, perhaps due to increased blood flow when you’re hot. Brain: Recent data from a multidecade study of 2,300 Finnish men found that those who hit the sauna four or more times a week were only a third as likely to develop dementia or Alzheimer’s compared with those who took just one sauna a week. Muscle: In a 2017 study from Qatar, participants showed a 17 percent boost in muscle strength after 11 days of sitting in a heat chamber at roughly 120 degrees for an hour at a time. The technique might be particularly relevant for injured athletes or those recovering from surgery as a way to maintain their muscles when they can’t exercise.
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09.18
Consider the Superfood
MOST NUTRITION TRENDS AREN’T WORTH YOUR TIME. BUT THERE ARE A FEW EXCEPTIONS. BY LAIRD HAMILTON I LOVE FOOD. Not just because it tastes great, but because it’s fuel for my body. When it comes to powering my life in the water or on the beach, proper nutrition is just as important as my training regimen. And while I tend to take a fairly simple approach to my eating habits, focusing predominantly on
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nutrient-dense and locally sourced whole foods, I also believe in occasionally challenging my body and trying out new ingredients or methods that seem promising. Once I give something a reasonable shot, I’m quick to move on if I don’t see results. Take the fruitarian diet, for example. Years ago, peo-
ple were calling it a surefire way to detox, so I decided to see for myself. For a few weeks I ate only fruit and low-starch vegetables for breakfast and lunch. I ‘d heard that it might give my digestive system ample chance to rest and reset on a daily basis, so I could put more energy toward supporting my physical efforts. The effects were disappointing: mood swings, bloating, and sluggishness during my workouts. Shortly after, I returned to my normal routine. Nutrition trends get a bad rap—and for good reason. We’re constantly
crowning a new superfood and celebrating different supplements before there’s sufficient research to back up the claims. However, every so often a certain food or way of eating does, in fact, offer serious health and performance benefits. I am a big believer in butter coffee, turmeric, and medicinal mushrooms. These items have a material impact on how I feel and perform, and I’ve made them part of my daily diet. When it comes to deciding what to test, I stick to real foods, steering clear of anything that seems like it was made in a factory. I’d
rather eat fish eyes than a manufactured substance whose name I can’t pronounce. I live half the year in Hawaii, where there are a huge number of ingredients that aren’t readily available on the mainland—like cherimoya—and many of them are extremely nutritious. Thankfully, our collective culture has begun to focus more on what we put into our bodies and where it comes from, and grocery stores are reflecting that shift. With a large selection of products that align with a whole-foods-only approach, it’s easier than ever to experiment healthily.
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Hannah McCaughey
Training
Brand-New Ride A CLASSIC CYCLING MANUAL GETS A COMPLETE REBUILD BY NICK HEIL
Joe Friel published the first edition of The Cyclist’s Training Bible in 1996, serious riders had few resources to help guide them to peak performance. The book quickly became a classic and is one of the bestselling training manuals ever published. Given its popularity and influence, it was no small decision when, in late 2016, Friel decided to rewrite the entire thing. “So much had changed since the first book, I felt like I was just applying Band-Aids in later editions,” says Friel, who is now 74. “I decided to scrap the old manuscript and start with a clean sheet of paper.” The all-new fifth edition ($27, VeloPress) was released earlier this year. Here’s a look at how Friel’s advice has evolved based on the latest science and evidence.
WHEN ENDURANCE COACH
DATA Then: Heart-rate monitors Now: Power meters In 1996, power meters were rare and expensive. In 2018, they’re ubiquitous and affordable (starting at about $250). More important, tracking power—or functional threshold power (FTP)—is the current gold standard for measuring cycling performance. Friel recommends tracking both heart rate and power to reveal your efficiency factor. “Understanding the relationship between these two metrics is critical,” says Friel. “Heart rate is input. Power is output.” PERIODIZATION Then: Linear Now: Varied Systematic training plans—or periodization—designed to help athletes peak at a specific time of the year, are now the norm. “But in the late nineties, most athletes didn’t know what periodization was,” Friel says. “We
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talked about one form of periodization, and that was it. Now I’m discovering that athletes are quite knowledgeable, so there’s a lot more information on how to plan for the season.” Friel’s update lays out alternatives to linear plans (which systematically increase volume and intensity) to cater to individual needs, like those who recover more slowly (for example, older athletes), have erratic schedules, or are time crunched. The important thing is to craft a program that works for you, Friel says. Otherwise you’ll wind up with “random training and poor race performance.” TRAINING TARGET Then: General road racing Now: Assorted specialties Not all cyclists are created equal. There are sprinters, climbers, time trialers, and all-arounders. Focusing on the gap between your strengths
Joe Ciardiello
and goal race type is essential to plan optimal training, Friel says. For example, to become a better climber, spend more time on FTP for long uphill slogs. To improve sprinting, focus on maximum power output to optimize short bursts of speed. Understanding your assets and your limitations will guide planning for your entire season. RECOVERY Then: Rest Now: Really rest “It is possible to feel recovered before adaptation has taken place,” says Friel. “And when we artificially speed up the recovery process, we shortchange the adaptive process.” Translation: riders often don’t make easy-day rides easy enough. “Zone one should not be zone three,” he says. SLEEP Then: Seven to nine hours Now: As much as possible A growing base of
research shows how potent consistent sleep can be for hardtraining athletes. “There are vital hormonal functions that simply can’t be duplicated any other way,” Friel says. “Serious athletes tend to do a lot, and when they can’t fit everything in, the first thing to go is sleep.” Prioritize rest the same way you do your workouts. RESISTANCE TRAINING Then: Lift weights Now: Build strength on the bike Weight training is far from obsolete; plenty of cyclists still hit
the gym. But for the busy rider, building strength while cycling can be an excellent alternative. Friel calls this functional force training (FFT). It might involve using big gears on flat terrain, or finding steep hills for short intervals. FFT can be nearly as effective and easy to track as lifting weights. ANALYSIS Then: Training log Now: Training diary According to Friel, a log collects information, but a diary does something with those details. In the late nineties,
athletes commonly kept track of mileage, time, and speed. A diary not only follows these independent metrics, along with more recent ones like power, but it also helps you evaluate progress by setting goals and managing daily, weekly, and monthly training loads. It will help you answer important questions such as: Is my FTP improving? How is my power-toweight ratio? How does my training load compare with my best season? “A training diary reminds you every day why you train,” Friel writes.
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Nutrition
09.18
The Shroom Boom
FUNGI ARE HAVING A MOMENT. HERE’S WHAT ALL THE BUZZ IS ABOUT. BY SARA ANGLE CHAGA, reishi, cordyceps, and lion’s mane mushrooms have been staples in Eastern medicine for hundreds of years. Now they’re going mainstream, popping up in unexpected places like cold-brew coffee and energy bars. Early research suggests that these four mushrooms may be especially beneficial for performance. A recent study in the Journal of Dietary Supplements found that cordyceps could improve endurance, while other data
has shown that reishi may help reduce fatigue and prevent the onset of overtraining symptoms. Mushrooms of all kinds contain high amounts of the antioxidants ergothioneine and glutathione, both of which protect hemoglobin from damage and reduce inflammation. The latest crop of mushroom-based products feature other flavorful ingredients, so you can get a boost without the earthy taste.
Rebbl Reishi Cold-Brew This drink blends coffee, coconut milk, and reishi extract. A bottle packs nine grams of fiber, without added sugar. Some studies suggest that reishi has antimicrobial and antiviral properties. $4
Kettle and Fire Mushroom Chicken Bone Broth Lion’s mane makes this broth especially potent. Sip a cup by itself for ten grams of protein, or use it in soups and stews for an extra kick. $16 for two cartons
Four Sigmatic Chaga Mushroom Elixir Mix These individual packets of powdered chagamushroom extract mix well in hot water. Research suggests that chaga helps stave off fatigue, so it could replace your daily coffee if you’re feeling bold. $38 for 20 packets
Purely Elizabeth Banana Nut Butter Grain-Free Superfood Bar You won’t taste the reishi extract amid the cashews, pumpkin seeds, coconut oil, and chia in these gluten-free, paleo-friendly bars. Bonus: each one boasts six grams of protein. $28 for 12
Om Fit Mushroom Powder Add a teaspoon of this organic blend to your preworkout smoothie: it includes cordyceps and reishi, a combination formulated for training and recovery. $25 for 50 servings
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P H OTO G R A P H S B Y
Hannah McCaughey
Style
FALL GUY RUGGED BUT CLASSIC STAPLES FOR SHOULDER SEASON
Fjällräven Skog shirt, $110; Dickies Work shirt, $24; Carhartt Rugged Flex Rigby dungarees, $40 and up, and Watch hat, $10; Merrell Ontario Mid WP shoes, $170; 5.11 Tactical Operator belt, $40; Marmot Empire Waxed Field pack, $85
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BRANDED CONTENT
BIG ADVENTURES FAMILIES FOR BIG The all-new 3-row 2019 Subaru Ascent™
FIVE ACTION-PACKED VACATION IDEAS FOR EVEN THE LARGEST OF TRIBES The key to having fun family adventures is simple: keep everyone happy and have a back-up plan. The best way to do this is to stack the deck in your favor and head someplace where you know there are a bunch of options nearby. That way, if mountain biking is a bust, you can hunt for frogs, head to the lake, or give the zipline another whirl. Here are five ways to entertain the entire clan.
PICK THE RIGHT NATIONAL PARK Nearly all of our national parks have family-friendly trails and activities, but if we had to pick just one, we’d start with Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Newfound Gap Road, which bisects the park, has tons of quick hikes branching off of it and a canopy that comes alive with colorful leaves in the fall. Bonus: Kids can search for the park’s 30
species of salamanders in creeks near the visitor center and campgrounds. If you want to blow their minds, head for the tallest trees in the world at our other favorite: Redwood National Park, where an easy (and incredibly scenic) drive along the Davidson Road delivers you to the base of massive trees.
SKI RESORTS AREN’T JUST FOR WINTER Ski resorts all across the country have invested heavily in their summer programs, extending their “off-season” well into fall with activities that range from guided fly-fishing to lift-served mountain biking. Utah’s Park City Mountain might be the king of summer mountain resorts, offering classics like the Alpine Coaster, as well as a full-fledged kids’ adventure program with age-appropriate ziplines and ropes course. And don’t
forget the 20 miles of liftserved bike trails—Mom can hit the flow trails while Dad and the kids play it safe on the green trails. Vermont’s Smugglers’ Notch has too many water parks to count, llama treks, and dog carting (think mushing without the snow).
HEAD FOR THE DESERT Moab might be best known as an extreme sports hub (and it is). But here’s the thing: it’s really kid friendly, too, particularly in September, when the desert starts to cool off and the crowds thin. The town sits between two world-class national parks with accessible hikes galore. Let your kids climb Whale Rock, in Canyonlands, and get up close and personal with three arches on the mile-long Windows hike in Arches National Park. Need a bit of education on your vacation? Check out the full cast skeleton of Gastonia, one of the dinosaurs that used to call the area home, at the Dinosaur Museum.
STAGE YOUR OWN FAMILY CAMP Pick a destination that has multiple adventures right out the door and you can be your own camp counselor, designing a vacation that feels a lot like summer camp (but with less poison ivy). Adventures on the Gorge, a sprawling tent-and-cabin resort sitting on the rim of the New River Gorge in West Virginia, has immediate access to some of the Mid-Atlantic’s best rock climbing and whitewater rafting, and guides who will lead you on familyappropriate excursions.
GO GLAMPING Car camping is awesome, but setting up a tent with three toddlers who want to “help” can be challenging. Skip to the good stuff by embracing glamping, and stay at a resort that has tents or yurts already set up for you. Under Canvas, which has glamping sites near Yellowstone, Glacier, and the Grand Canyon, offers
THE ALL-NEW SUBARU ASCENT The biggest Subaru SUV ever, with a spacious interior and flexible seating for up to 8, it’s the perfect SUV for those who like to bring the family when heading out on life’s adventures. And you can go confidently thanks to standard Symmetrical All-Wheel Drive. Learn more at subaru.com/ascent. Instagram-worthy canvas tents and plush beds within striking distance of classic national park terrain. Or go full pioneer at Conestoga Wagon, in Georgia, where you’ll sleep in covered wagons with bunk beds and enjoy weenie roasts and stories by the campfire each night. The Holidays, on San Clemente State Beach in California, has 1960’s style vintage campers for rent with surfing and hiking right outside your door.
Love is now bigger than ever. Presenting the all-new 3-row 2019 Subaru Ascent.™
With a spacious interior, up to 5,000 pounds of towing capacity*, and flexible seating for up to 8, it’s the perfect SUV for those who like to bring the family when heading out on life’s adventures. And you have the confidence to go further, thanks to standard Symmetrical All-Wheel Drive + up to 27 mpg.† Love is now bigger than ever.
Ascent. Well-equipped at $31,995.** Subaru is a registered trademark. *Maximum towing capacity varies by trim level. Trailer brakes may be needed. See your retailer for details. †EPA-estimated highway fuel economy for 2019 Subaru Ascent and Ascent Premium models with standard equipment. 2019 Subaru Ascent Touring shown is rated at 26 mpg highway. Actual mileage may vary. **MSRP excludes destination and delivery charges, tax, title, and registration fees. Retailer sets actual price. Certain equipment may be required in specific states, which can modify your MSRP. See your retailer for details. 2019 Subaru Ascent Touring shown has an MSRP of $44,695. Vehicle shown with accessory equipment.
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IN WHICH WE UNPLUG A GENERATION OF SCREEN-ADDICTED KIDS FROM THEIR DEVICES, GIVE THEM
OUR CHILDREN are in crisis. Let’s start there.
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FREEDOM TO ROAM ( U N S U P E R V I S E D ! ), HELP THEM MAKE FRIENDS WITH ANIMALS, AND SHOW THEM THAT WE, TOO, LOVE TO PLAY OUTSIDE
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Sure, adults have, since roughly forever, bemoaned “kids these days” as spoiled and incapable. Earlier this decade, the trendy parenting argument was that by giving our offspring too many things and not enough responsibility, we were creating a generation of entitled wimps. That’s still the prevailing wisdom, but even as we try to land our parental helicopters, there’s growing awareness that we face a far more ominous challenge. Today, America’s kids are caught up in one of the largest mass migrations in human history: the movement indoors. Only recently have we begun to spend our lives penned in by walls, staring at screens. Increasingly we don’t touch, look at, or even speak to each other, connecting instead through apps. When we do get together, it’s for a quick coffee date. At home, children see Mom and Dad thumbing away nonstop on their devices and follow suit. For many of us who came of age before the smartphone, this transformation has been painful. If your childhood was full of hours spent wandering the neighborhood with a pack of friends, your screen time composed of Saturdaymorning cartoons and after-school specials, the rise of the digitized, overscheduled, indoor lifestyle can leave you deeply dispirited. For kids the price is much higher: a steep rise in health problems, heightened social pressures, and a frightening set of new addictions around technology. It’s time to make childhood an adventure again. Kids deserve the chance to explore nature without an agenda or a chaperone, to take risks and learn to get themselves out of trouble, to fall in love with nature so they become stewards of the earth. They need, more than anything else, to be allowed to follow the crooked, sometimes scary, and truly wild paths to adulthood that turn brave little kids into healthy grown-ups.
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TURN THEM LOOSE W H E N W E T R U LY LET OUR CHILDREN RUN FREE, THE O N LY G U A R A N T E E I S T H AT T H E Y WILL SURPRISE US BY BEN HEWITT BY THE TIME my eldest son, Fin, turned
six, the age at which he might reasonably have been expected to enter the publiceducation system, my wife, Penny, and I had long since determined that neither of our children (Fin’s brother, Rye, is three years younger) would darken a schoolhouse doorway. As if this wasn’t recalcitrant enough, we’d also decided to pursue a self-directed, curriculum-free educational style known as unschooling. This meant that at the age when most American children are busy memorizing the alphabet, our sons were running wild in the fields and forests surrounding our rural Vermont home, belt knives and bow drills at the ready. Like many of our contemporaries in the unschooling movement, we placed our faith in the freedom and trust that moreformal learning institutions are ill-equipped to provide. The result, we assumed, would be a degree of curiosity and resourcefulness that no school could equal. I wrote about my family’s educational path in a 2014 essay for Outside called “We Don’t Need No Education,” and then in my book Home Grown. I didn’t know exactly what to expect from the publication of our story, but I know I didn’t expect what I got. My inbox was flooded with e-mail from readers in at least as many countries as I have fingers, and I fielded calls from producers at the BBC, the National Geographic Channel, and CBS’s 60 Minutes, to name a few. Obviously, I’d hit a nerve, one rubbed raw by a growing but still largely unspoken dissatisfaction with compulsory standardized
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Fin Hewitt on his family’s farm
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learning, accompanied by a collective groping toward a satisfactory alternative. Could my family’s grand experiment be the answer, or at least part of it? Could my free-ranging sons really learn all they needed to survive and even thrive in an increasing complex and technology-driven world? Should Penny and I be revered or brought up on charges of negligence? I soon realized I’d bitten off more than I could chew, and quick as we could, we returned to living the quiet life we’d led before our brush with mainstream notoriety. This included the running of our small farm, the continuation of my freelance writing career, and yes, the unschooling of our two sons, by then 12 and 9. Over the intervening years, I’ve been asked repeatedly for updates, and mostly demurred or answered in only the vaguest of terms. Partly this was due to an increased sense of protectionism around our boys during their blossoming adolescence, and partly it was rooted in my feeling that people were hungry for a particular type of affirmation that I could not provide: the assurance that
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despite their atypical education, my sons would prosper in the modern world. I still cannot (nor do I care to) offer such affirmation. They are now only 16 and 13, still kids after all, albeit of an age when the oncoming headlights of adulthood loom large and the awareness of those new responsibilities can feel overwhelming. But then this is true of any child. Come to think of it, it’s true of most adults I know, including myself. As children, we tend to view adulthood as some sort of self-actualized plateau; as adults, we tend to view it as a double-loop roller coaster operated by a drunken carny. I’ve learned a lot over the past four years, much of it informed by my sons. I’ve watched as Fin’s interest in music has become a driving force in his life, leading him to seek out an apprenticeship with a master guitar builder and, ultimately, to part-time enrollment in a public school with a unique student-led program that has them composing songs, booking gigs, touring, and recording. Fin loves the social opportunities school provides, along with the chance to immerse
himself even more completely in music. And while it was initially difficult for Penny and me to see him walk through those doors, there is no denying that the life of my unschooled son is richer for the public-education system. Many times I have had to remind myself that just as I encourage others to challenge their assumptions regarding education, so too is it healthy to challenge my own. Rye continues to be mostly unschooled, with just a bit of sit-down math thrown into the mix. He still spends the majority of his days in the woods. He remains a committed practitioner of traditional skills, as well as an avid hunter and trapper. (Indeed, the very morning I sat down to write this piece, I awoke at 3:30 A.M. to drive him to the field where he’d scouted wild turkeys the week before; four hours later, I picked him up, along with tomorrow night’s dinner.) His skills have evolved to the point where he now mentors younger children. He is saving for a truck, working part-time at dairy and vegetable farms and at a maple-sugaring operation down the road. I suspect that once he turns 16 and is granted a driver’s license, it won’t be long before we watch his taillights disappearing down our driveway. He talks of big-game hunting in Alaska and the allure of Idaho’s Sawtooth Range. I want to make one thing clear: we never set out to rewild our children, at least to the extent that I understand rewilding to mean an
Roam Away from Home Teach your kid to be a neighborhood adventurer In March, Utah’s governor signed legislation specifying that caretakers cannot be charged with neglect for allowing unaccompanied children to do things like play in local parks or bike to the corner store. The bill, a reaction to cases in which parents were referred to child-welfare agencies for letting their school-age kids roam their neighborhoods, was the first of its kind in the U.S. (New York and Texas are contemplating similar laws.) Though a victory for the so-called free-range-parenting move-
emergence of body, mind, and spirit within the natural world. Truthfully, we sought only to provide them the opportunity to fully inhabit their childhoods and their learning, in whatever ways felt most enriching. The fact that much of this occurred in the woods had at least as much to do with geographic circumstances as it did with philosophy. This is not to say that we didn’t have hopes and aspirations for our sons; of course we did. And still do. They’re our children, after all. But I’ve come to believe that modern parents too often do a poor job of distinguishing between responsibility and control. Which is to say, it is our responsibility to provide a base level of material, intellectual, and emotional support for our children, along with experiences that will enrich their lives. But we cannot control the outcome. Perhaps our children will develop into the capable, compassionate, and successful (however we define success) people we fervently want them to be. And perhaps, in ways that may be disappointing or flat-out painful, they will not. Almost certainly, their interests and lives will evolve in surprising and delightful ways. With the passage of time, I have become increasingly aware of a particular sort of irony that runs rampant in the unschooling and rewilding communities, which are joined at the hip by an ethos of freedom and self-reliance. We choose a more liberated approach to our children’s upbringing
ment, government action alone won’t reverse a cultural shift that has American youth spending so much of their leisure time indoors. “You can’t just snap your fingers and say, Do what I did when I was a kid,” says Mike Lanza, a Silicon Valley father of three and the author of Playborhood: Turn Your Neighborhood into a Place for Play. “You need to work with your children: understand where they’re at with independence and give them a bit more rope every day.” By following this kind of careful process, Lanza says he’s reached a point where he rarely sees his three sons—ages nine, ten, and fourteen—between school and dinner because “they’re outside having fun.” Here’s how to follow his lead. —JACOB BAYNHAM
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at least partially out of a well-intentioned desire to ensure the development of specific qualities: curiosity and courage, resilience and resourcefulness. We want to instill a strong sense of place and a connection to something larger than themselves, something that helps them understand the world is not solely the domain of humankind. In and of itself, this desire is not problematic; I doubt there’s a parent alive who doesn’t want their child to develop specific qualities. It’s when we link these qualities to a particular outcome that we begin to lose our way, that we conflate responsibility with control. I know that Penny and I have been guilty of this. Perhaps, in ways I don’t yet fully understand, we still are. You can want all the freedom in the world for your children, and you can do your best to provide it. But what they do with it? That, my friend, is simply not up to you. BEN HEWITT ( @LAZYMILLHILLFARM) IS THE AUTHOR OF HOME GROWN: ADVENTURES IN PARENTING OFF THE BEATEN PATH, UNSCHOOLING, AND RECONNECTING WITH THE NATURAL WORLD.
Begin Early When you’re walking with your toddler, let go of their hand frequently so they can smell a flower, watch a bug, or pick up a stick. Allow them short periods of unsupervised play in the yard.
Explore Together As your child reaches kindergarten and grade school, walk and bike with them as often as possible. You’ll meet neighbors, which makes roaming safer, and you can model crossing roads. You’ll also familiarize yourself with their future roaming territory.
Establish Boundaries When your child is ready to head out solo, have them start with short excursions: to school, to the store for a
snack, or to a friend’s house. When you think they can do more—perhaps around age eight—let them roam for an hour at a time, but set clear borders, like that busy boulevard a few blocks away. Slowly expand their range. Give them a watch to keep track of the time, and tell them when they’re expected home.
Clear Their Schedule It’s hard for a kid to feel a real sense of freedom if they’re racing between piano lessons, soccer games, and dance classes. When a child has an entire afternoon to roam, the rhythm of their play is directed by their own interests, the environment around them, and daylight—just like it used to be.
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T H E L I F E AQ UAT I C W H AT C O M P E L S A C O U P L E T O S P E N D M O N T H S AT S E A W I T H T H E I R F O U R Y O U N G CHILDREN? A BURNING DESIRE TO DO S O M E T H I N G D I F F E R E N T. AS TOLD TO MEGAN MICHELSON IN JUNE 2011, with a nine-month-old and
a two-year-old in tow, photographer and writer Somira Sao and her husband, James Burwick, a mountain guide, professional skipper, and marine consultant, set sail aboard their 40-foot carbon-fiber racing boat Anasazi Girl to cross the Atlantic from Maine to France. They did it—and then kept on going, adding two more members to their family as they sailed around the world over the next six years. Sao had fled Cambodia as a two-year-old with her family in 1979, during the Khmer Rouge regime, and eventually settled in Maine. She says she wants their children— Tormentina, ten, Raivo, seven, Pearl, five, and Tarzan, two—to see that “the world isn’t so big after all.” Aside from being dismasted by a rogue wave off the coast of Chile during one particularly stormy passage, their years at sea were filled with invaluable family time. They completed their circumnavigation of the globe in May 2017. This June, the family relaunched Anasazi Girl in the Caribbean. Sao, who is expecting their fifth child in December, says they are considering selling the boat and switching to a catamaran to sail Polynesian style—just a paper chart, the stars, and a few simple navigational tools. She spoke with Outside by phone from a dock on Grenada.
“When we got pregnant, we said to each other, ‘Let’s keep the adventure going. Let’s not settle down.’ After I gave birth, I did not have that nesting feeling. This traveling, changeable lifestyle with the kids became a natural extension of how we were already living. Before our Atlantic crossing in 2011, we had never even gone on a day sail with the kids. We figured that if everyone was miserable, we could pull into port in Canada. We
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had an amazing trip—21 days nonstop to France—and realized that this lifestyle was much better than living in a van. All of a sudden, we were eating baguettes and Camembert. No looking for hotels, no searching for a place to camp. I wouldn’t encourage novice sailors with no experience to go sailing with their kids, but I do feel like parents should be able to do what their skill and comfort level allow. James had 32 years of experience as a professional captain and a solo circumnavigation under his belt. I felt very familiar with the boat from helping him prep for his solo voyages. We didn’t see it as endangering our family. The kids have learned adaptability, understanding, problem-solving, and risk management. They know what it takes to accomplish a really big project. They have a broad knowledge of the world and many different cultures. We involve them in every step of the voyage—making lists, maintaining the boat, working on the mechanical, electrical, plumbing, sails, lines, and rigging, using navigation instruments, provisioning, and prepping safety gear. They have an understanding of limited resources, that fresh water, power, fuel, and food are not available endlessly at sea. What they don’t have is a set idea of what’s expected in life. A lot of kids grow up with this assumption that you’re going to go to school, go to college, get a job, get married, buy a house, have kids, raise them, and then retire. In 2014, on day 21 of a passage from New Zealand to France, a gigantic rogue wave knocked us down and broke our mast in three places. Nobody was hurt, but we were stressed. We stayed calm and did not panic. We were 13 gallons short of diesel fuel to make it into port. After about 48 hours, a Chilean navy ship picked us up, and the captain offered to tow the boat into Puerto
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Williams, so we didn’t have to abandon ship. When we’re on our boat, we’re not just on a two-week vacation visiting a foreign country. We’re actually living in different places around the world together, making long-term friendships beyond what a short trip can allow. I wouldn’t trade any of it—not even the experience of getting dismasted. The longest passage we’ve done is 32 days, from the Cape Verde islands across the equator to South Africa. The kids make a lot of art, do origami, play games. We read books out loud and watch movies. It’s a different type of reality when we’re at sea. All that stimulation from land is gone, and you are left with the basics of nature—sunrise, sunset, subtle changes in light, clouds, and sky. They notice the changes in wind, sea, all the elements. Many people we’ve met while sailing and traveling have become our kids’ teachers: biologists, engineers, doctors, naval architects, professional sailors, professional athletes, sailmakers, filmmakers, musicians, actors, artists. These world-class leaders and innovators are who we want our children to learn from. Making a big passage may seem overwhelming to some, but for our kids, these seemingly hard problems are not that difficult to accomplish. They’ve learned that whatever you want to do, it’s possible to break it down into smaller, more manageable pieces to accomplish the big goal. We’re looking for clean air, clean water, clean dirt. A lot of the voyages that we did, especially in the Southern Ocean, allowed us to be in very remote and wild places that people never get to see, and to show the kids that these untouched places still exist. Each port we’re in, we say, ‘OK, is this working for the family?’ If not, then we make a change. Anasazi Girl is a boat designed for one person, so it’s always too small. But you know what? When it’s nice out, it’s fine. We live mostly outside. With boat life, there’s a closeness that I don’t think most families who live on land ever experience. You never know what your family’s adventure fit could be. There are no rules. It’s all about making the choice to try something different from the norm. Right now we don’t have the financial security of having a house or a big savings fund for college. In my mind, that’s not really investing in a child’s future. I believe the time we invest in our kids now is what is important.”
Tormentina Sao-Burwick in New Zealand in 2013
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Go Big or Go Bigger Dreaming of a radical change of scenery for i it st It’s easy to talk about pulling the kids out of school, selling the house, and riding off into the sunset. It’s a lot harder to learn what this kind of bold choice really requires. One smart strategy: give your imagined escape a test run with a vacation that will provide lasting memories, even if you decide to beat a retreat back to the comforts of home. –J.B.
Set Sail If you’re a certified sailor but hesitant about taking
an international adventure, veteran outfitter Sunsail offers weeklong flotilla trips to destinations including Italy and the British Virgin Islands. You’ll captain your own boat, but you’ll have backup from a professional crew that offers daily chart briefings. Never hoisted a jib? Sunsail’s starter courses, available for cruises along Croatia’s Dalmatian Coast or through the Ionian Islands of Greece, set your family up with an accredited instructor, so you can learn skills as you hop between anchorages. From $3,700
Roll Away Thanks to #vanlife, a bevy of businesses will rent you a tricked-out camper van. But for a family looking to truly
drive away from it all, it’s hard to beat Roamerica, in Portland, Oregon. Its Sportsmobileconverted Ford vans are kitted out with sinks, stoves, fridges, pop-top roofs, and bike racks, plus amenities like Rumpl blankets, Helinox camp chairs, and beef jerky. For an epic three-week trip, head to Washington’s Olympic Peninsula, catch a ferry from Port Angles to British Columbia’s Vancouver Island, and drive north to Whistler, then east to Banff and the rugged Canadian Rockies. Take back roads and linger at will. Four-wheel-drive van rentals, $206 per day or $4,326 for three weeks
Work the Farm The rise of agritourism means there are tons of places that
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will help you get your overalls dirty. A good place to start is browsing options online at Farm Stay U.S. and World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms. For a classic New England experience, check out Liberty Hill Farm in Rochester, Vermont, where Beth and Bob Kennett manage 120 Holsteins for the Cabot Creamery Co-operative. Your family will stay with the Kennetts in their 19th-century farmhouse and begin each day with a communal breakfast. Your duties will include milking, stowing hay, and bottle-feeding calves. Come dinnertime, says Beth, you’ll feel that “sense of purpose and accomplishment you get from meaningful work.” $142 for adults, $68 for kids
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CHILD’S P L AY T H E B E S T WA Y T O R A I S E P H Y S I C A L LY S T R O N G A N D C A PA B L E K I D S I S T O F U E L T H E I R L O V E O F GAMES—AND STOP FORCING THEM TO COMPETE AGAINST EACH OTHER BY KATIE ARNOLD EARLY LAST SUMMER, a friend asked me if I would take her 11-year-old daughter running. There was a local 5K coming up in a few weeks, and she thought I could help coach the girl to success in her first race. I hesitated. Her question went right to the thorny heart of modern parenting. Most children these days aren’t getting enough exercise or time to move their bodies outside. But many others are stressed out by an overdose of structured, competitive sports. I must have looked conflicted, because my friend added enthusiastically, “It would be such good training for her!” She wasn’t the first person to assume that because I’m a competitive outdoor athlete, I must be an aggro parent, too—a Tiger Mom of the trail set who enters her kids in gnarly races. As an ultrarunner, I’ve conditioned myself to endure and even enjoy hours of mental and physical adversity in the mountains. And my online column for Outside’s website, Raising Rippers, pulls straight from my experiences bringing up two daughters, now ages eight and ten, with my husband. We go rafting, take backcountry ski trips, and spend long days hiking at altitude. But there’s a big difference between helping your kids feel confident in their abilities and pushing them to compete. When our family is out hiking or riding and the girls start to fuss, I give them food and water and tell them what I tell myself during the hardest parts of an ultra: You’re stronger than you think you are, keep going. Yet I’ve never tried to make them racers. This is due mostly to my own path into sports. When I was seven and my sister, Meg, was ten, our dad suggested on a whim that we run a 10K. The idea was so outlandish, the mileage so meaningless, it seemed like a joke. We weren’t runners, except in the way that most little kids in the late seventies were runners: we circled the bases during kickball, and I ran like hell to get away from the boy next door when he tried to smash snowballs into my face. Dad wasn’t a runner, either. He preferred long bicycle rides in his
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khaki short shorts and Tretorn sneakers, or rambles around the woods with his camera. It took Meg and me close to two hours to jog, then limp, and finally stagger through the course. When at last we saw Dad waiting for us, I was filled with such a surge of relief that I broke into a sprint. We probably came in dead last, but it didn’t matter. I’d felt the strange, buzzing euphoria of sticking with something that seemed impossible. I was hooked. I ran the same 10K nearly every spring after that, not because Dad asked me to but because I wanted to. I got faster and sometimes won my age group (and, in my thirties and forties, the women’s division outright). Still, I didn’t join the track or cross-country team like Meg did. I just ran out the door clutching my yellow Sony Sports Walkman, blasting Bananarama. This was before kids’ soccer leagues started at age three, before six-year-olds raced triathlons, before someone invented a world championship of balance biking for toddlers. Before childhood itself became a competitive sport. Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if my parents had pressured me to compete. Maybe I would have run in college or gone further in the sport. But I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be racing ultramarathons in my mid-forties. As a girl, I ran because I felt free, because I made up stories in my head as I went, because I loved to run. The fact that I still do is because of what psychologists
Arnold’s daughters plus friends on a trek in New Zealand
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I’M THE CAPTAIN OF MY OWN SHIP. Get your fish on at
call intrinsic motivation: pursuing a goal for personal fulfillment rather than external rewards. “As humans, we’re more likely to stick with tasks that arise out of our own free will and choice,” says Jessica Lahey, bestselling author of The Gift of Failure. Intrinsic motivation creates a powerful positive feedback loop: you do something because you love it, and the more you do it, the more you improve, which motivates you to keep going. Too much intensity too soon, though, can be detrimental. According to a 2016 report published by the American Academy of Pediatrics, children who specialize in a single competitive sport before puberty are more likely to suffer from overuse injuries and burnout. Often they quit. My girls are bright and strong-willed, with their own ideas and dreams and a fierce determination that’s sometimes maddening but mostly a relief. They’ll surely need it to navigate the years ahead. They climb, swim, ski, run, and play lacrosse for fun and friendship. Still, I can sense the competitive fires starting to flare. Which is just fine, though I have no plans to add any fuel. Instead, I’ll steal a page from my dad’s playbook: open the door and then let them decide if they want to walk through. Above all else, I’ll keep it fun. That was the approach I chose with my friend last summer. “OK,” I told her, “I’ll take your daughter running. But only on trails, and it won’t be ‘training’—we’ll just have a good time.” When I showed up at the trailhead a few days later, I was met not by one girl but by her and a gaggle of 25 friends—apparently word had gotten out about our plans. It had rained heavily the night before, and the woods were sloppy with mud. We set off at an easy pace, initially trying to skirt the shin-deep puddles. But pretty soon the kids charged right in, shrieking and falling and getting back up. It looked like they’d gone crazy on a natural Slip ’n Slide. At the turnaround about a mile and a half in, an eight-year-old boy named Johnny took off his sneakers. One by one, the other kids followed suit, laughing as they sprinted through the woods, their bare feet barely touching the ground. They weren’t running, they were just playing. As I lingered behind them, it dawned on me that after all my miles and races, this is why I still run—to feel young and free and giddy with possibility. So I kicked off my shoes and chased them all the way back to the trailhead. KATIE ARNOLD ( @KATIEARNOLD) IS OUTSIDE ONLINE’S RAISING RIPPERS COLUMNIST. HER MEMOIR RUNNING HOME PUBLISHES IN MARCH 2019.
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Age-Appropriate Adventure
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When and how to introduce your mini-me to your favorite sports Children are much more likely to enjoy outdoor activities—and stick with them—if they start out at the right moment in their physical and cognitive development. Kids also do best when they’re allowed to explore, instead of being cajoled into ever more challenging situations. “Too many parents approach sports with a fixed mindset, saying, We’ve got to get to the end of this trail,’” says Paul Dreyer, CEO of Avid4 Adventure, which instructs kids ages three and up at camps in Colorado and California. “You’ll have a lot more success if you say, ‘Let’s go get better at the two skills you learned last week.’ ” Here, he offers guidelines for introducing kids to four common sports, but his overarching advice to focus on fun and go slow applies to all manner of activities. —J.B.
Biking > Most kids are ready for a balance bike (a ride with no pedals) by their third birthday. They may scoot slowly at first, but eventually they’ll be lifting both feet off the ground for long stretches. Even then, however, there’s no reason to race out and get a real bike. > When they upgrade to a pedal bike—usually around age five—keep it simple: a coaster brake and no gears. > Add gears and hand brakes when they have demonstrated the requisite coordination to manage all these functions simultaneously (and have hands large enough to reach the levers). >Throughout their training, talk through hazards (pedestrians, street crossings) and establish rules, like leaving ample space between riders. By tracking their ability to assess risks, you’ll know when they’re ready to cruise the neighborhood alone.
Climbing > This sport comes naturally to toddlers, but you can fuel their passion by joining them on a playground structure or boulder. If they get stuck, ask if they want to move a foot or hand one more time, but avoid telling them where to put it. > When they’re around six, take them to a climbing gym. Show them how
belaying works, teach them knots, and get them used to checking equipment. When they tucker out, spend time watching talented climbers of all ages for inspiration. > Once they have solid skills, head to an outdoor crag for top-roping. As you venture farther afield, make them earn the right to belay you or lead climb— big moments that probably shouldn’t arrive until they’re in their teens.
Paddle Sports > Don’t wait for your kids to be able to swim. Put them in a PFD and take mellow lake or bay outings together on a siton-top kayak, paddleboard, or canoe. Have them float in the PFD, too, so you’ll both know what to expect if they fall in. > Once they’ve gotten comfortable, give them kid-size paddles so they can “help.” Don’t sweat their technique— just let them learn how it feels to move the water and steer the boat. > When kids show an interest in managing their own watercraft, paddle alongside them and have conversations about factors like wind and other boaters. Wait until they’re at least seven before you let them go out alone—in calm conditions while you’re on the beach with another boat. > Moving up to rivers, the ocean, or any waterway with significant traffic means starting the process all over again.
Skateboarding > The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends kids be supervised when skating until age ten, but you can get them rolling much earlier. Before they ever stand on a board, make them put on a helmet, plus wrist, elbow, and knee pads. Explain that falling is part of skating and have them practice tumbling in their gear. > Make them stand with one foot forward and then the other a few times to decide which stance is more comfortable. When you head for the blacktop, begin with slow pushes and glides. Have them practice stepping off the board to avoid a fall and sliding a foot to brake. Show them how to turn in a full circle, riding forward and backward. When they can consistently balance on flats and gentle slopes, they’re ready to try the shallowest bowls at your local skate park.
’s si s ti to the vexing challenge of getting teens to put down their phones: education
Start Slow It’s much easier to teach your tween about smartphone use if they reach middle school with a healthy digital diet. The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends no
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School Yourself If you’re going to be a reliable digital guide, you need to know the terrain. This means trying out ubiquitous mobile games like Minecraft and joining platforms like Snapchat, Instagram, and Musical.ly—then spending the time to understand their capabilities and allure. This will also set you up to friend or follow your child.
Set Ground Rules When you’re ready to give a kid their first device, establish how many hours a day they can use it (with a maximum of two hours), when they can use it (after homework and chores), and which apps are off-limits (any that facilitate chats with strangers). Tell them you’ll have the passwords to the
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Diana Graber’s eldest daughter was in eighth grade in 2010 when her school had its first cyberbullying incident. It was nothing major—just some kids being mean to each other on Facebook. But to Graber, who had recently finished a master’s degree in media psychology and social change, it was a missed opportunity for a teachable moment. So she started visiting her younger daughter’s sixth-grade class to talk about digital citizenship. Two things became clear to her. First, middle schoolers are woefully unprepared for the addictive nature of smartphones and the complex ethics of social media. Second, with guidance, kids can grow into healthy users of devices and have a positive influence on virtual communities. Intervention is desperately needed. Surveys show that teens, whose developing brains make them more susceptible to addiction, spend an average of around four hours a day on connected devices—not including schoolwork—plus another two or three hours watching TV. In one Korean study, tech-addicted teen participants had higher rates of anxiety, depression, impulsecontrol problems, and sleep disorders. But snatching the phones from our teens’ hands isn’t the answer. Graber points to research suggesting that kids with no access to digital media suffer from some of the same negative impacts on their mental well-being as hyperactive device users—“because they lack that connection with their peers,” she says. Thus, she advocates for a modest digital diet, but only after a child has the requisite education. “Kids really need adults to on-ramp them into this world,” she says. Since her experience with her daughter’s class, Graber has developed a three-year curriculum called Cyber Civics that has been implemented by schools in 41 states. It explores issues like cyberbullying, digital privacy, and sexting. Teachers guide students through social-media scenarios and have them analyze the 50-page terms-of-service agreements for popular apps. For parents, her website Cyberwise provides courses and educational resources. We asked her for the CliffsNotes on a few key topics. —J.B.
screen time for kids before 18 months, just an hour a day until age five, and consistent limits for kids over six. Need to be in touch with your nine-year-old about carpooling? Give them an old-school flip phone.
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phone and any e-mail or social accounts. Establishing these guardrails up front helps prevent heated arguments later.
Delay Social Media Users must be at least 13 years old to legally use most social platforms—with good reason. “Social media requires ethical thinking,” Graber says. “ ‘Do I upload a photo that will hurt someone’s feelings?’ A child’s brain isn’t ready to make that kind of decision before their teen years.” Once your kid begins engaging with social media, monitor their activity and talk with them if they post something that makes you uncomfortable. The dialogue will reveal how mature a cybercitizen your child has become.
Model Good Behavior Don’t bring your phone to the dinner table. Keep it in your pocket during conversations. Silence it when you’re in the woods. Show your children that you can control when and how you engage with your device.
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DAUGHTER KNOWS BEST A FAT H E R L E A R N S T O F O L L O W H I S FIRSTBORN’S LEAD PORTFOLIO BY JESSE BURKE When photographer Jesse Burke first started snapping pictures of his five-yearold daughter Clover Lee, he often lost his patience. “I realized very quickly that she wasn’t going to listen to me, and I found it incredibly frustrating,” he says. One day, while taking photos of her on the shore of Campobello Island, in New Brunswick, he grew so angry that he took the rope she was playing with and threw it away. But later when he reviewed the images, he realized that the best ones were of her playing the way she wanted to, not his preconceived compositions. “It was an epiphany,” he says. “The key is to relinquish some control to her.” He went from being his daughter’s stubborn director to being her collaborator. Over the next five years, the pair regularly left their Rhode Island home on road trips to wild places, going as far as Washington. Burke documented his daughter as she climbed trees, forded rivers, and held butterflies and frogs. In 2015 he published the images in Wild and Precious, a book that depicts the bravery and fragility of a girl growing up in nature. Clover is now twelve, and her two sisters, Poppy Dee, seven, and Honey Bee, five, have “slowly made their way into the frame once they could interact with the landscape,” says Burke, 46. “All three of them have this compassionate embrace of the natural world. It’s at the core of their existence, and I don’t see it going away.” —LUKE WHELAN
Burke and Honey birding in Sharon, Massachusetts
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Poppy inside a dead maple in Rhode Island
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Clover watching a storm approach in Boston
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Clockwise from left: Honey exploring Arizona’s Petrified Forest National Park; Clover peeking into a tree-swallow box in Newport, Rhode Island; Poppy, Clover, and their friend Holiday netting crabs in Barrington, Rhode Island
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Clover observing tide pools at Rhode Island’s Sachuest Point National Wildlife Refuge
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MAKE IT EPIC CHILDHOOD USED TO COME WITH RITES O F PA S S A G E : Y O U R F I R S T F I S H , Y O U R F I R S T H U N T, Y O U R F I R S T T A S T E O F O U T D O O R RISK. WE NEED TO REBUILD THE STEPS ALONG T H E J O U R N E Y T O A D U LT H O O D. BY FLORENCE WILLIAMS CADEN FUCHS can’t tell me what he did in the sweat lodge. “It’s secret,” says the 14-year-old. “But,” he offers, “it’s a little bit like I went in a boy and came out a man.” A statement like that might freak some parents out, but Caden’s folks rolled with it. They knew he was out there with a tight group of friends and a few trusted adults in a Northern California outdoor program called Vilda. The mysterious sweat lodge was part of a yearlong coming-of-age curriculum that also included backpacking, leadership skills, a 24-hour solo fast, and an emotional ceremony with all the parents. Caden’s belief that something profound about him had changed was very much on target. In many ways, he was intentionally and thoughtfully leaving behind parts of his childhood. He still loves pizza and T-shirts emblazoned with skateboard logos. He has longish dark blond hair that he expertly maneuvers with a quick head flip. And yet, after the Vilda program, the eighth-grader now helps out more at home without being asked. He has taken on strenuous chores, is kinder to his younger siblings, and is more expressive about how grateful he is to his parents. By guiding middle schoolers through coming-of-age rituals in nature, programs like Vilda are filling a critical gap. Outward Bound offers “solos” of up to several nights alone as part of the curriculum, and smaller outfits like the School of Lost Borders, in California, and Washington’s Wilderness Awareness School focus on rites of passage. Marin Academy, a private school in San Rafael, California, offers a Wilderness Quest program to high school juniors and seniors. Not so long ago, American kids took a pathway to becoming grown-ups that in-
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cluded a series of rigorous and rewarding steps: increasingly challenging labor on farms or at home, their first fish and first hunt, permission to roam over a zone wider than the driveway. While ceremonies like bar mitzvahs and quinceañeras—and, to some extent, qualifying for a driver’s license—still serve to initiate children into adulthood, we’ve replaced numerous other rites of passage with just one: a kid’s first smartphone. In his 2009 book Manhood for Amateurs, Michael Chabon wrote,“Childhood is, or has been, or ought to be, the great original adventure, a tale of privation, courage, constant vigilance, danger, and sometimes calamity.” But instead of having their own outdoor exploits and learning to sort out their own problems, modern kids, we all realize, are increasingly domesticated. Adolescence has become almost pathologized. Teens are basically self-destructive half-wits, the current wisdom tells us; without a fully formed prefrontal cortex, they lack judgment and take stupid risks. Many do, of course, but a far bigger problem today is that teens are taking too few worthwhile risks and assuming too little responsibility. And because they’re not learning through exploration—the way teen brains were designed to learn—they’re not developing the emotional skills they desperately need. Our changing culture has knocked away the scaffolding that used to provide formative and enriching adventures. So what do we do now? David Sobel, a professor of education at Antioch University, is a proponent of resurrecting meaningful nature-based rituals. Without them, he says, teens are in danger of “overinfantilization, extended childhood, or excessive nonmodulated risk-taking.”
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For centuries, traditional rites of passage encompassed everything from slaying beasts to offering up one’s own flesh for mutilation. Across cultures, certain elements remained remarkably stable: a phase of separation and isolation, a period of transformation through trial and reflection, and a celebratory reintegration into the community. “The point is to endure some hardship,” says Sobel, “and that prepares you for adult responsibility, because being an adult is hard. It tests your mettle, it tests your capacity to persist in the face of difficulty. Young people have lost that.” To help kids regain it, some parents are creating rituals of their own. Allen Jones, a dad in western Washington, is the author of Boys to Men: The Lost Art of Rite of Passage. When both his sons were in middle school, he recruited men from the community to write them letters about their values; formal discussions ensued around sex, work, and spirituality. Over the course of a year, father and son would go on outdoor excursions, culminating in a tough final climb up 12,300-foot Mount Adams. “I grew up without much direction from my father,” says Jones, who began experimenting with drugs and alcohol when he was 13. “My goal was for my boys to not be like me.” The Lawlor family of Helena, Montana, initiated all three daughters into big-game hunting. Starting when they were five or six, they’d accompany their father, uncle, and grandfather on multi-day elk and deer hunts. Once they were old enough to get hunting licenses, at ten or twelve, the girls would hike miles with the Winchester rifles given to them at birth, lying in the snow waiting for their quarry. They’d help quarter and pack out the animal, learning to practice respect by using every edible part. Tess Lawlor, now 13, hung her first buck skull in her room amid her stuffed animals and floral quilt. The hardest part, says the soccer midfielder and diehard fan of British cooking shows, is pulling the trigger. But, she adds, “It makes me feel more grown-up, and I feel proud about providing meat for my friends and family.” Parents need to think about how to put wildness back into childhood. One first step is to introduce periodic technology fasts (if not caloric ones). With less to keep them indoors, kids naturally look outside, where nature can become a comfortable, adventurous, and wisdom-yielding space during times of transition and growth. Another is to bake in some significant milestones. To commemorate their son Johnny’s 13th birthday last year, the Frieder-Stanzione family of Boulder, Colorado,
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arranged for him to climb a six-pitch route in the local Flatirons with a guide. A few months later, he competed a mountain-bike race, 24 Hours in the Enchanted Forest, finding his way alone, at night, through 13 miles of New Mexico’s Zuni Mountains. “We’re so protective as parents,” says his mom, Julie Frieder. “Here he could be in a risky situation, and the risk is so fundamental to his maturing. This was raw risk and shivery fear.
I wanted him to be in that situation.” Johnny repeated the ride this year, bringing along his favorite stuffed animal, a move that illustrates the transition he’s still in. Next year, he and three friends plan to hike California’s 220-mile John Muir Trail for two weeks by themselves. Frieder describes these rituals as a kind of inoculation. “Life dishes out scary things,” she says, “things you can’t plan for. If you get
crushed, how are you going to experience the world, and get stronger and open yourself to possibility? I want him to know some fear and loneliness and happiness and elation.” CONTRIBUTING EDITOR FLORENCE WILLIAMS ( @FLOWILL) IS THE AUTHOR OF THE NATURE FIX: WHY NATURE MAKES US HAPPIER, HEALTHIER, AND MORE CREATIVE.
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MY B F F H A S PAW S T O DAY ’ S K I D S A R E L O N E L I E R T H A N A N Y P R E V I O U S G E N E R AT I O N. W H AT C A N H E L P I S A D E E P CONNECTION WITH ANIMALS BOTH D O M E S T I C A N D W I L D. BY RICHARD LOUV ONE DAY A FEW YEARS AGO, Lisa Donahue’s then six-year-old son was lying next
to the family’s retriever, Jack. The boy was stroking the dog’s fur. He said, matter-of-factly, “Mommy, I don’t have a heart anymore.” His startled mother asked him what he meant. He answered, “My heart is in Jack.” This permeability of the heart (or soul or spirit or neurological connection—whatever we wish to call it) occurs naturally when we’re very young. Some people continue to experience it throughout life, though they may lack the words to describe it. They experience it with their companion animals and, if they have a chance, with wild animals. This essential connection with other creatures can be a fragile thing. It needs nourishment to survive. In recent months, a wave of alarming research has suggested the emergence of what some health officials are calling an epidemic of loneliness. That may be an exaggeration (solitude does have its charms, and creativity often depends on it), but social isolation—a lack of meaningful interaction with others—is on the rise. The results of one study are particularly disturbing: a generational survey by Cigna, the global insurance company, evaluated 20,000 U.S. adults on the UCLA Loneliness Scale, an academic measure of social isolation determined by a questionnaire. What it found was that, moving forward in age from the Greatest Generation to Generation Z, each age bracket feels progressively more isolated. What does it say about the direction of society when the younger people are, the lonelier they feel? A study led by psychologist Jean Twenge at San Diego State University found that U.S. adolescents who spend more time in front of screens and less time in face-to-face socializing are more vulnerable to depression and suicide. In my own reporting, I’ve found that overscheduling, economic insecurity, fear of strangers, and bad urban design may also play a role in separating us from one another. Not coincidentally, these are some of the same barriers that keep us removed from the natural world, at a younger and younger age. In addition to our social separation, I believe we suffer from species loneliness—a desperate hunger for connection with other life, a gnawing fear that we are alone in the universe. Humans, in fact, are more alone than we’ve ever been. We comprise 0.01 percent of all life on earth, yet we have destroyed 83 percent of wild mammals. Though bacteria and fungi are doing just fine, we’re unlikely to take comfort in their company. Sure, many of us live with dogs and cats. But to assume that pets alone can fill the void is like saying that the only human contact we need is within our own nuclear family—that we just don’t need our uncles, cousins, friends, and neighbors. A nuclear family (even one that includes a dog) cut off from other social contact is more vulnerable to alcoholism, depression, and abuse. The same is true for the larger human family. In an ideal world, deep animal connection would be taught and experienced in the course of family life or through public schools, places of worship, and nature centers. John Peden, a quiet, down-to-earth professor at Georgia Southern University’s College of Behavioral and Social Sciences, shepherds groups of college students into the wilderness. Often they return humbled, more open to awe and wonder, and feeling less alone. Like many of us, Peden
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believes that all young people deserve a relationship with what the author Henry Beston called the “other nations, ... fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.” Jon Young, author of the 2012 book What the Robin Knows: How Birds Reveal the Secrets of the Natural World, agrees. He teaches bird language and nature connection around the world. Students often tell him that when they use the skills they have learned from bird language with their spouses and children, their home life improves. Young also notes the importance of what he calls the initiatory moment, when a student’s sensory understanding of animal communication snaps into place. He likens this to the sudden flash of awareness that an artist feels at the outset of creation. John Peden recalls his own initiatory moment, the first time he recognized sentience in another animal. He was 12 years old, hiking with his father to a lake in Yellowstone National Park. They passed a rockslide, and Peden lifted his camera to take a photo of a pika, a high-altitude mammal that looks like a cross between a rabbit and a guinea pig. As he clicked the shutter, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. There, stepping into his field of vision, was a bull elk. The elk stopped and looked at the boy. Two more bulls, then a group of cows and calves, stepped out of the forest. “The first bull elk seemed to be thinking about what he would do,” Peden recalls. “After the elk watched us for a while, they began to relax.” Either they thought as a group, or one of the elk sent an invisible signal. The elk moved forward and split into two groups. The females with calves went below Peden and his father, while the three bulls, majestic and powerful, moved along the rim above. “I realized that these animals were thinking and making decisions in much the same way that people do,” Peden says. “It was clear that the elk were intentionally moving in two streams around us. They came together and disappeared into the forest. The sun was going down, the sky was a vivid redorange. My father and I were surrounded by this herd of elk, and then they passed.” For Peden, this was more than a learning moment, more than an intellectual acknowledgment of the intelligence of another creature. It was a doorway into another world. RICHARD LOUV ( @RICHLOUV) IS A COFOUNDER OF THE CHILDREN AND NATURE NETWORK AND THE AUTHOR OF LAST CHILD IN THE WOODS: SAVING OUR CHILDREN FROM NATURE DEFICIT DISORDER.
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Torres del Paine National Park, Chile
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one I’m standing in now. The decree protects an area three times the size of Yosemite and Yellowstone combined. Ultimately, the grand plan is to create a Route of Parks, connecting 17 national parks, a joint vision of Tompkins Conservation, the umbrella organization that encompasses all the Tompkinses’ nonprofits, and the Chilean government. I reach the first glacial lake on the northern flank of 4,875-foot Cerro Tamanguito and try to make out Picaflor y Águila, a picnic spot on the edge of a lagoon where Kristine and Doug first camped in the early 1990s. (Kristine’s radio handle was Picaflor, or hummingbird.) They were so enamored by Valle Chacabuco, then a 170,500-acre estancia, that they returned frequently. Later they brought along
fence posts, in order to restore an ecosystem that now attracts guanacos, Darwin’s rheas (a relative of the ostrich), and at least 30 pumas. “I love starting things at zero,” Kristine says when I speak with her after my trip. She was supposed to be at the park while I was visiting but had been delayed in the States tending to her 99-year-old mother, who died a few months ago. “It’s a tough thing to pull off, but this is the front end of what will be one of the great national park routes of the world.” THE ROUTE OF PARKS is still a rough concept at this point. Most have been designated, and Tompkins Conservation has contributed land to eight of them. The route will eventually be loosely connected via 1,500 miles of
travelers can hike to hanging glaciers, mountain-bike singletrack few others have ridden fly-fish pristine rivers
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kayak and
, unnamed routes, seen only by gauchos,
backpack through empty public lands
rock-climb
hundreds
horsepack
wilderness
into
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of areas
or make the first ascent of a peak for the right to name it.
Yvon Chouinard, founder of Patagonia, and his wife, Malinda, who’ve donated generously to Tompkins Conservation and advised on land acquisitions over the years. “When we first saw Chacabuco,” Chouinard told me, “there was just this pristine valley. We were camping out on a little site right by a stand of poplar trees. That’s when we decided to buy the estancia from the de Smets, the Belgian family who owned the sheep ranch. They were trying to make it by selling manchego cheese. It wasn’t manchego. It had a funky barnyard flavor that made it unsellable.” The de Smets eventually sold to a Tompkins nonprofit in 2004. From my heady vantage point, it’s easy to get carried away by the rugged expanse and romance of the place. But that would be forgetting years of hard work, including negotiating land transactions, creating park boundaries, and pulling down thousands of
roads and ferries, combining Chile’s notoriously rugged 770-mile Carretera Austral (Southern Highway) with water passages and roads farther south. It starts just south of the city of Puerto Montt at Alerce Andino National Park and ends at Cabo de Hornos National Park, a series of islands and waterways in Tierra del Fuego, an archipelago off the southernmost point of South America. Once the parks are all decreed, which is estimated to happen as early as this fall, the route Clockwise from top left: Pumalín will create the largNational Park– est string of national Douglas R. Tompkins; parks in the world, the Carretera Austral; a gaucho featuring jagged peaks, sipping maté; Torres aquamarine glaciers, del Paine (2); the symmetrical volca- view from The Singular Patagonia; Doug noes, milky rivers, Tompkins; Patagonia steep-sided fjords, and park’s garden; Kristine Tompkins old-growth forests.
C LO C KW I S E F R O M TO P L E F T: L I N D E WA I D H O F E R ; P I E P E N B U R G / L A I F/ R E D U X ; B E T H WA L D ; G U I L L A U M E F L A N D R E ( 2 ) ; B R I A N H AY D E N ; B E T H WA L D ; J A M E S Q . M A R T I N ; M E R E D I T H KO H U T
para Dios más perfecto que la Belleza.” John Muir’s dictum, originally published 80 years ago, rolls nicely off the tongue in Spanish. (Translation: No synonym for God is so perfect as Beauty.) The words are carved on the back of a wooden sign hanging at the entrance to Cementerio Valle Chacabuco, a small graveyard surrounded by a stone fence and a dozen guanacos grazing the brown steppe of 764,655-acre Patagonia National Park. This civilized plot in Chile’s wild Aysén region holds the remains of Doug Tompkins. Doug, a cofounder of the North Face and Esprit, and his wife, Kristine, former CEO of Patagonia, are legendary conservationists who began buying hundreds of thousands of acres of land in Chile and Argentina in the 1990s. In 2015, Doug died in a kayaking accident on General Carrera, a massive turquoise lake nearby. But the philanthropist’s spirit is everywhere, from his Husky bush plane on the grass runway to the black-chested buzzard eagle that swoops over the park’s headquarters. Doug’s radio handle was Águila, Spanish for eagle. It’s as if he shape-shifted into the actual bird. I pay my respects to Doug, cross a dirt road, and hike a network of trails that climb 3,000 feet to a chain of high-alpine lakes. As I gain elevation, the stone structures and organic gardens of park headquarters disappear into the expanse of the vast Valle Chacabuco, which appears to have been folded and kneaded like bread by a giant hand. In the distance, the jagged white peaks of the Andes jut into the sky. Muir would’ve liked this view. Call it God or Beauty, but the panorama is overwhelming. So is Chile’s “crazy geography,” the phrase writer Benjamín Subercaseaux aptly used, in 1941, to describe the powerful natural forces that have shaped his country. A protected landscape like this is a sight for a sagging spirit to behold given the heated battles threatening public lands in the U.S. In Chile, the opposite is happening. In January, outgoing president Michelle Bachelet and Kristine Tompkins signed a decree designating ten million new acres of national parklands. As part of that decision, the Chilean government set aside nine million acres of federal land, and Kristine donated one million acres of private land to help create Pumalín National Park–Douglas R. Tompkins and the
I’m traveling with my boyfriend, Brian Hayden, and we’re on a somewhat ludicrous mission to explore as many Chilean national parks as we can in just under a month. Starting in Puerto Montt, where the Carretera Austral begins, our plan is to drive most of the highway, hop a ferry in the village of Puerto Yungay, ride 44 hours south to Puerto Natales, near iconic Torres del Paine National Park, and end up in Tierra del Fuego’s Yendegaia National Park, a 372,170-acre wilderness about a quarter of which a Tompkins nonprofit bought from a jailed drug dealer in 1998 and handed over to the government in 2014. As Chileans like to say, Patagonia “está en pañales” (is in diapers) when it comes to development, which makes the recreation potential along the Route of Parks unlimited. Travelers can hike to hanging glaciers, mountain-bike singletrack few others have ridden, kayak and fly-fish pristine rivers, backpack through empty public lands,
Tejada-Flores—drove from California to Argentina, picking up Chris Jones in Peru. Their journey included a spectacular summit of Fitz Roy, one of the world’s most technical peaks. The Carretera Austral didn’t exist back then, so the men had to cross from Chile into Argentina, which required thousands of dollars in bond money—much more than the Fun Hogs had—to travel south on Route 40. “Tompkins, who was kind of a juvenile delinquent, said, ‘We’ll figure it out,’ ” Chouinard recalls. “We got to Puerto Montt and bought a rubber stamp that blotted out the part that said our car wasn’t guaranteed for Argentina or Brazil. For three dollars, we got into Argentina.” The Fun Hogs inspired my first trip to Chile in 2000. I spent a week in the off-season hiking in Torres del Paine National Park, which felt rugged, remote, and empty. Then I flew to northern Patagonia and discovered what empty really looks like.
you opposed the government you were a dead man. There were no e n v i r o n m e n t a l o r g s —— z e r o . H i s w i f e , K r i s t i n e , i s m o r e o f a d i p l o m a t .
Puerto Montt at the end of a Chilean fjord. Most of the farm is now part of Pumalín– Douglas R. Tompkins park. In 1994, he married Kristine, and over the years the two have invested more than $500 million—from their personal finances, Tompkins Conservation, and like-minded partners—to protect 1.3 million acres in Chile and 1.2 million in Argentina, and to fund other environmental projects. The Tompkinses weren’t always been viewed favorably by Chileans, some of whom considered them neocolonialists and circulated rumors—that they were starting a cult or populating their land with American bison. But over the years, the pair earned the trust of locals and government officials. Two months after I met Doug, he died. “Doug was the start of the environmental movement in Chile,” Chouinard says. “When he started down there, especially during Pinochet, if you opposed the government you were a dead man. There were no environmental orgs—zero. But Kristine has probably accomplished more than Doug would have had he been alive. He was pretty abrasive. Kris is more of a diplomat. She’s done a phenomenal job of handing over those parks.” And she isn’t done yet. In Argentina, Tompkins Conservation is working with the government to create several national parks, including the flagship 341,205-acre Iberá. There, in June, two jaguar cubs were born for the first time in almost half a century.
She’s done a phenomenal job of handing over those parks.”
THE BEAUTY OF the Route of Parks is how
rock-climb hundreds of unnamed routes, horsepack into wilderness areas seen only by gauchos, or make the first ascent of a peak for the right to name it—like Doug Tompkins and Yvon Chouinard did with 7,500-foot Cerro Kristine in 2009. Our plan has a few pitfalls, namely that we’re driving south in late fall into potential snow and ice, and we have a tight schedule to keep to arrive in time for the oncea-week ferry in Puerto Yungay. Planning to be anywhere on time on the Carretera Austral is wishful thinking. Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet began constructing the famous highway in 1976, using 10,000 soldiers to dynamite mountainsides, fortify berms around cliffs, and hack through dense rainforest. It took 24 years to build the road, which is alternately paved, gravel, or dirt, and there remain four impenetrable sections that require a ferry bypass. We wouldn’t be the first Patagonia roadtrippers in need of a backup plan. In 1968, the now famous Fun Hogs—Doug Tompkins, Yvon Chouinard, Dick Dorworth, and Lito
vastly different each area is. Some have glaciers, others have temperate rainforests, and still others have both. Some are roadless; others have exquisite luxury lodges. Even more diverse than the parks are the people who visit them. We meet a Chilean who slung a guitar over his shoulder in southern Patagonia and is hitchhiking all the way to Machu Picchu. A South African couple bought a Chevy van in California and are driving down in full-on Fun Hog mode. One American took his Salsa Mukluk fat bike on a test ride through Alaska and has now turned it loose on the Carretera Austral. And a timestrapped German CEO jetted in to an upscale lodge in Torres del Paine and is knocking off as many hikes as possible in a week. These travelers are all awestruck by the volume of wilderness here. Case in point: Queulat National Park. About 13 miles south of Puyuhuapi village, Queulat’s one-lane dirt-road entrance looks like a driveway. The 380,772-acre park, which opened in 1983 during the Pinochet regime, was named in the language of the extinct nomadic Chono people for the sound made by waterfalls. Given that Queulat receives as much as 157 inches of rainfall per year, there are quite a
“Doug Tompkins
was the start of the environmental
,
movement in Chile ” Yvon Chouinard says. “When he started
,
down there especially during Pinochet
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, if
I borrowed a bike to ride along the Carretera Austral, singing at the top of my lungs while surrounded by utter wildness. In October 2015, I returned to Puerto Varas, a city in Chile’s Lakes District, where I met Doug Tompkins at a conference. “We hope to make 12 national parks before we keel over,” he told me then. He was wearing a black turtleneck, had a white mane of hair, and reminded me a little of a more animated Andy Warhol. “We’ll have to see if we can do that. Conservation faces opposition wherever it is. The use of territory is the most politically sensitive, emotional issue there is. Look at Grand Teton National Park. My God, there was an armed uprising there! You have to spend years, pay dues, win respect, and make as few mistakes as possible.” Doug’s love affair with Chile ran deep. He began exploring the country when he was 18, and later spent as much time there as possible while running two corporations. By 1991, he had amassed a fortune and soured on consumerism. He cashed out and bought a run-down, 42,000-acre farm south of
few of them, like the 2,100-foot cascade that plummets from Ventisquero Colgante, a hanging glacier. It’s best experienced by crossing a rope bridge that sways over the Rio Ventisquero, then hiking three miles and 1,300 feet up through a rainforest to a lookout that captures the glacier, waterfall, surrounding peaks, and milky blue lake below. We are equally awed 230 miles south of Queulat under the basalt peaks of Cerro Castillo National Park, a 341,411-acre former natural reserve. We arrive in the village of Cerro Castillo just in time to pitch our tent at the campground behind Senderos Patagonia, a hostel and outfitter. It was established in 2011 by Cristian Vidal, a renowned horse trainer whose family settled in this valley in the 1930s, and his American wife, Mary Brys. The two met in Chile in 2007, when Brys was finishing her master’s degree in sustainable tourism. Vidal was her horseback guide. Brian and I set up camp, Jetboil some noodles, and wash them down with Chilean Carmenère from a box as we soak up the orange sunset over 8,776-foot Cerro Castillo, the park’s namesake. “Wow, that looks far away,” says Brian, referring to tomorrow’s objective, a smaller peak covered in dark clouds. Snow is in the forecast, and we’re preparing for a cold night. The hostel glows yellow below us and is at full capacity with mostly millennial hitchhikers. Senderos Patagonia specializes in long-distance horseback expeditions. But Vidal and Brys just became the official trail administrators for the new national park and will work closely with Chile’s National Forestry Corporation (CONAF), which manages the country’s parks, to oversee trail building, search and rescue missions, guide certification, and the first studies on the park’s capacity. The area is a magnet for rock climbers (there are more than 200 routes), backcountry skiers, and trekkers who camp along the five-day, 31-mile Las Horquetas circuit. According to Brys, the attention has dramatically increased real estate prices in the village of Cerro Castillo in the past couple of years. “It’s becoming a world-class destination, but so much infrastructure is lacking that it’s a little scary,” says Brys, handing off the couple’s five-month-old baby, Antonio, to Vidal as she points out tomorrow’s hiking route on a map. “It’s super exciting when you think about what the government and Tompkins Conservation are doing. We’re witnessing history. But there are a lot of unanswered questions for local people about how it is going to affect their culture.”
MAP BY
Petra Zeiler
It’s a legitimate concern, as I learn the next day. We shake a thin layer of ice off our tent and head into the park with Francisco Ponce, a Senderos Patagonia guide. Our ten-mile round-trip trek feels more classically alpine, hopping over streams, passing the base camp for climbing Cerro Castillo, and ending in a wide, snow-filled valley at the foot of the peak’s intimidating serrated crown. The hike is fantastic, but to access this area of the park we had to hop a fence and walk a mile or so through private farmland. It’s legal, Ponce tells us, because Senderos Patagonia pays a fee to the landowner, but it’s not an ideal entry point to a national park, especially for a trail that’s now receiving about 25 trekkers per day and, due to CONAF budget constraints, has only a few rangers to monitor it.
Creating national parks has always been a priority in Chile. Every president who has served a full term since 1926 has expanded the system, which now totals 21.2 percent of the country. Everywhere I visit, I ask locals what they think of the new parks. Most are tentatively excited, adding the caveat that “es complicado.” Many express concerns about how the parks will involve local communities and how the country will manage ten million additional acres. While most parks won’t get close to the quarter-million annual visitors that Torres del Paine sees, even that park has a limited budget of $2.1 million a year, with only 30 full-time rangers to oversee 700 square miles. The final Route of Parks details—exact boundaries, staffing needs, budgets—are still being ironed out. “The financing of protected areas worldwide is a great challenge,
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RULE NUMBER ONE when traveling in
southern Chile: have a plan B. Parts of the Carretera Austral are paved smooth as butter; others are so potholed, eroded, or narrow that one jerky move could launch us off a cliff, roll us into a ditch, or turn us into grill decorations on an incoming semi. Distractions are constant—a fortress of snowcapped peaks, a hitchhiker in need of a ride, a gaucho in wool-lined chaps leading his cattle down the road. The distances between parks aren’t large, but Mother Nature can make travel tricky. Last December, a river of mud flowed four miles down a mountainside in Corcovado National Park, a 726,455-acre coastal swath roughly 125 miles south of Puerto Montt. It buried the small village of Santa Lucia, killing at least 15 people, crushing 28 houses, and destroying miles of the Carretera Austral. Reconstruction of the road is slow going. Our two-hour delay outside Santa Lucia is brief according to our new friends, a group of Santiago businessmen in the SUV in front of us. They’ve come prepared with a case of wine and are tailgating out of the back of their car. Despite construction stops, the days go fast as we hike, camp, soak in searing hot springs, sip Chilean wines, and eat lamb asado. Early on in our trip, in the bathroom of our cabin at Caleta Gonzalo in Pumalín
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National Park–Douglas R. Tompkins, I laugh when I see the beechwood toilet-paper holders intricately carved with flowers and recall what Chouinard had told me about Doug in an interview just after his friend’s death. “He was a micromanager,” Chouinard said. “We used to joke that he would even choose the type of toilet paper if you let him. If you look at the infrastructure of Pumalín and Patagonia, it’s over the top. He was a frustrated interior designer.” Along the way, we meet mostly Chileans who have heard the buzz about the parks and ventured south to see Patagonia, a once-ina-lifetime trip for most. After two weeks, we’ve explored five parks, but I’m becoming increasingly agitated about catching the ferry in Puerto Yungay. When we finally reach the village, which consists of the ferry office and a café, we’re five hours early. I’m so happy to be here, I’m not alarmed that neither the boat nor another human is in sight. “Oh look, we’re the first ones here,” Brian jokes. To assuage my obsession with the ferry departure, he has heroically driven the last particularly steep and gnarly 50-mile stretch of the Carretera Austral through rain and sleet to make sure we arrive in time. “Why are you here?” asks a kindly woman behind the café counter who declares herself Inés of Puerto Yungay, because she is the town’s only resident. “We’re here to take the ferry,” I say. “Haven’t you heard?” she asks. “There’s been an accident. The ferry is broken.” We have no plan B. After some discussion with Inés, who fortifies us with supersize ham and cheese empanadas, we decide to backtrack 300 miles north to Coyhaique, the capital of Aysén, where we’ll wait for an airline strike to subside before catching a flight to Punta Arenas. From there we’ll drive north to Torres del Paine. If all goes according to plan B, we’ll arrive in three days. “Awesome! I get to drive the sketchiest part of road twice,” says Brian, hauling ass over gravel at 60 miles per hour. It’s getting dark, and we’re running low on gas. But Brian cheerfully reminds me that missed ferries and looming snowstorms are part of the fun on the Carretera Austral.
Pumalín National Park– Douglas R. Tompkins
When we arrive in Torres del Paine, I run into a friend who happens to be in the park: Euan Wilson, the founder of H&I Adventures, a Scottish company that specializes in exploratory mountain-biking trips. “T he terrain here is un-friggin’believable,” he excitedly tells us. “It’s like you’re on the moon, with lava flows and rock.” Wilson has received permission to scout new routes on a private estancia within the park’s boundaries and has brought Ernesto Araneda, Chile’s 2010 cross-country mountain-biking champion, along with him. “Yesterday was one of my best days,” he says. “We had five hours of riding time and only ten minutes off the bike. We were like Beavis and Butt-head—we kept chuckling because it was so hard to stop. The terrain here lends itself to mountain biking, because the soil drains well.” Brian, a onetime category-two cyclist who now races on gravel, peels off to ride with the guys. I opt to hike to the base of the famous Torres with Sebastian Kusch, a 27-year-old guide for Tierra Patagonia, the architectural wonder of a lodge where we’re staying on the eastern shore of nearby Lake Sarmiento. Chilean Cazú Zegers designed the hotel to almost magically disappear into the grass of the arid Patagonia steppe. The six-mile trail ascends around 3,000 feet to the base of the granite towers and sees 1,200 people on the busiest summer days. Today we come across only a few dozen hikers, some of whom are wearing flimsy parkas to fend off the biting snow and wind. I wipe back a few tears when we reach a small
B E T H WA L D
and in Chile the scenario is similar,” Richard Torres Pinilla, the manager of protected wild areas for CONAF, told me in an e-mail. He explained that in addition to federal funding, money to manage and maintain the parks will come from local and regional governments and various other national and international organizations. CONAF plans to begin managing the new parks by April 2019. Tompkins Conservation will collaborate with CONAF for at least the next decade, especially on the extensive rewilding and wildlife-rehabilitation programs the nonprofit has instituted in Pumalín–Douglas R. Tompkins and Patagonia National Parks. And a new international organization called Corporación de Amigos de los Parques, launched in June by Tompkins Conservation, will raise money and advocate for policies to help maintain the parks. Kristine, who splits her time between projects in Chile and Argentina and fundraising in the U.S., is confident that Chile will do right by her gift. “The Chilean government is going to take good care of these parks, because they’re excited about having a worldclass national park system,” she says. “These are gorgeous places that people will want to come visit. The people and landscapes of southern Chile are extraordinary.”
lake located at the base of the 12-millionyear-old monoliths, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief that, in a world moving at hyperspeed, at least these rocks haven’t changed in the 18 years since I last saw them. When we meet back at the hotel, Brian is equally charged. “I’ve never ridden in such vastness,” he says. “We might have been some of the first people to ride those trails.” Before we leave Torres del Paine, Basilio Reinike, the head guide at Tierra Patagonia, takes Brian and me to a small house connected to a ranger station to meet Juan Toro Quirilef, the park’s first ranger. Quirilef’s mother was of Mapuche descent, known as the tribe that the Spaniards could never conquer. Now a cheerful, fit 65 years old, Quirilef still patrols on horseback and says that his biggest problem is too many people. “When the park explodes with visitors, we don’t have the time, resources, or money,” he says, adding that he was recently offered the job of being the sole ranger in Yendegaia National Park. He turned it down. “That park is huge!” he says. “I built this house 26 years ago. Torres del Paine is my home.” BRIAN AND I never make it to Yendegaia,
either. Before we drive south to Punta Arenas to catch our flight home, we eat lunch in Puerto Natales with Gonzalo Fuenzalida, a Santiago native who guided down here for about 20 years. He owns Chile Nativo, which runs horsepacking and trekking trips to untouched corners of Chile. Fuenzalida is almost giddy as he tells me about the trip he’s scouted in Yendegaia National Park. “There’s no way you can do a trip like this one on your own,” he says. “The logistics are quite tricky.” They involve taking a ferry from Punta Arenas to Tierra del Fuego and driving to the end of a new highway, which is being blasted roughly a mile closer to the park every month; a permit from the government is required to travel around this obstacle. Trekkers then set out to cross the peaks of the Cordillera Darwin. After four days of hiking, they take a boat to Puerto Williams, where they fly in a small plane back to Punta Arenas. It makes me sick to my stomach that I may never get to set eyes on Yendegaia. But I suppose it’s always good to leave something to the imagination. “When do you think the road to Yendegaia will be finished?” I ask Fuenzalida. O “Never, I hope.” CONTRIBUTING EDITOR STEPHANIE PEARSON ( @STEPHANIEAPEARS) WROTE ABOUT TOURING LAKE SUPERIOR IN 2017.
AC C E S S A N D R E S O U R C E S
V I VA LO S F U N H O G S It would take months to travel the entire Route of Parks. Bite off a two-week stretch by driving to any of the seven accessible parks along the Carretera Austral. Or fly farther south to Punta Arenas to trek in Torres del Paine or kayak Bernardo O’Higgins. —S.P. WHEN TO GO: The weather is unpre-
dictable in Patagonia. September through February is the springsummer high season. There’s more snow in the fall and winter months (March through August), but the region is far less crowded then. GETTING THERE: Latam offers daily flights from Santiago to Puerto Montt, Punta Arenas, and Balmaceda—the three airports with the best access to points along the Route of Parks. Aerovias DAP offers flights to Tierra del Fuego’s Puerto Williams. GETTING AROUND: Some of the
major car-rental companies operate in Patagonia. You’ll need a four-wheeldrive vehicle; if possible, plan your itinerary to avoid a hefty one-way rental fee. On the Carretera Austral, there are four gaps that require ferry passage. Most information on schedules and tickets can be found at Taustral.cl and Tabsa.cl. Cyclists: bring your own tested and trusted bike. WHERE TO STAY: There are good
campsites in most of the roadaccessed national parks. The iOverlander app provides invaluable information on campgrounds, backcountry sites, and water stops along the route. The southern third of Chile is not lacking in clean, comfortable, and occasionally luxurious accommodations. Highlights include the new Hotel Awa (from $410) in Puerto Varas, on Llanquihue Lake, with floor-to-ceiling views of the Osorno volcano and on-site kayaks. In Hornopirén, Hotel Oelckers (from $35) offers stout breakfasts timed to catch the early-morning ferry to Pumalín National Park– Douglas R. Tompkins. In the park, the cozy Caleta Gonzalo cabins (from $80), on the edge of Reñihué Fjord,
provide a relief from the frequent rain. Getting to the Puyuhuapi Lodge and Spa (from $260) requires a tenminute ferry ride, but the payoff is steaming-hot outdoor springs within view of Queulat National Park. Steps from the Carretera Austral, Senderos Patagonia hostel and campground (hostel from $12.50; camping $8) offers hot showers and easy access to Cerro Castillo National Park. Patagonia National Park has three beautifully maintained campgrounds and the luxurious Lodge at Valle Chacabuco (from $350). A former cold-storage plant, the Singular Patagonia (from $445) near Puerto Natales features Andes views, one of the best restaurants in Chile, and excursions into nearby Torres del Paine and Bernardo O’Higgins National Parks. Just outside Torres del Paine, the stunning, sustainable Tierra Patagonia lodge (from $2,300 for three nights) has in-house trekking guides, a spa, and a restaurant looking out on the Torres. In Punta Arenas, La Yegua Loca (from $150) is a 1929 hilltop estate with eight themed rooms. OUTFITTED ADVENTURES: On MT
Sobek’s new On the Smuggler’s Trail trip, guests trek for 12 days on an old cattle-smuggling route through Patagonia National Park (from $5,895). Outfitter Chile Nativo offers treks and horseback expeditions in Torres del Paine National Park and points farther south, like its new nine-day Terra Incognita route in Yendegaia National Park (from $4,000). On Outside GO’s Uncharted Chile trip, guests explore Torres del Paine for six days while staying in the luxury domes of EcoCamp Patagonia, followed by three days of exploring the Perito Moreno glacier in Argentina ($4,325).
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PHOTOGRAPHS BY
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Red Bull Rampage, an invitation-only competition, held in October, in which 21 of the best riders in the world air into backflips and off-axis spins and otherwise tempt disaster while barreling down a seemingly unrideable, 700-vertical-foot mountain. It’s the sport’s biggest event, and Brown wants in. A few weeks from now she’ll petition contest organizers, hoping to become the first woman invited to ride in the Rampage. They’ll make their decision in early August. But first the jump, which looms before her on the event’s original course, just a mile from the new one. “Is it still windy down there?” Brown shouts to a group standing beside the jump. She’s brought along Garett Buehler, a close friend who has competed in the Rampage four times; her boyfriend, Marty Schaffer; and her dog, Snuff, a black Lab mix who’s almost always at her side. “It’s better,” Schaffer replies. “You’re probably OK to go.” Brown buckles the strap on her full-face helmet and lowers her goggles. She angles her gray Trek toward the jump, her blond ponytail swishing as she speeds down the slope. As Brown launches from the lip, she floats so high and far that she overshoots the touchdown zone and lands on a flatter section. She hits hard—her bike shocks completely compress—slides off the saddle, and slams her backside onto her rear tire. “Ouch!” she yells. Speckled with red clay, Brown cringes as she walks her bike back toward the jump. “Yeah, Casey!” Buehler shouts. “Are you OK?” Schaffer asks. “Yeah,” says Brown, shaking her right hand. “I wrenched my wrist a little.” She looks at where she landed and lets out a chuckle. “I’m fine.” Then she pushes her bike up the hill to do it again. WATCHING THE Red Bull Rampage, which is streamed online, can be a nauseating experience. One minute you’re witnessing a rider land a double backflip; the next he’s writhing on the ground, a pile of busted bones. Since the Rampage began in 2001, several
athletes have been airlifted out after suffering serious injuries. In 2015, Paul Basagoitia, a rider from Reno, Nevada, was paralyzed from the waist down after going off a tenfoot cliff and crashing. In 2013, two riders broke their femurs. The acrobatics displayed at the Rampage are among the most impressive spectacles in all of sports, but the bodily harm that can result is enough to make you wonder why anybody thought it was wise to subject mountain bikers to such gnarly terrain. Todd Barber, one of the event’s founders, says the idea came to him in 2000, when he was watching a ski-cross competition in Lake Tahoe. “I thought, Why isn’t there a competition that showcases what guys can do on bikes?” On hand with Barber was Paul Crandell, who at the time was the director of events for
GUTTER CREDIT TK
in southwestern Utah, just outside Zion National Park, staring down at a man-made, 20-foot-high dirt jump that she intends to hit on her mountain bike. Brown, a New Zealand native who now lives in Revelstoke, British Columbia, will descend 200 yards at around 40 miles per hour, soar some 50 feet through the air, and then— she hopes—safely land on a modestly pitched runout. Brown has launched from hundreds of similar jumps, often on her way to victories at Crankworx competitions, where riders are judged on how well they can make their bikes perform like stunt planes. But this one is making her nervous. The wind is gusting hard enough to knock an airborne rider offkilter. If that happens, Brown will probably slam into the desert’s sandstone surface. “This is sketchy,” she says. The breeze sweeps plumes of dust off the surrounding ocher mesas. “If the wind doesn’t die down, it could be bad.” A big part of mountain biking, especially the high-flying brand that Brown practices, is crashing, and the 27-year-old knows the consequences of a jump gone wrong. Her five-foot-three-inch body, scarred and partially held together with metal rods and pins, is an illustrated guide to what can happen when humans plummet from three stories up and smack against the earth. At the end of March, while riding in New Zealand, Brown jumped 12 feet off a mound of grass and came up short on the landing, slamming her chest into the handlebars and tomahawking for 30 feet. The results: a cracked bike frame, nerve damage in her left shoulder, and such bad bruising to her left lung that she coughed up blood for two days. It’s now the middle of May, and Brown is still hampered by lingering pain. Nevertheless, she was determined to come to the tiny town of Virgin, Utah, for what she calls exposure therapy, on terrain that, riders will tell you, is some of the most dangerous and technically demanding you’ll find anywhere—a devil’s playground of 50-degree knife-edge spines, 60-foot cliff drops, and gap jumps over 70-foot-deep ravines. Such obstacles feature prominently in the
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Red Bull. He pitched the idea to his bosses. The brass at the energy-drink company, which never misses an opportunity to be part of something involving human projectiles, got on board right away. The first Rampage was held in 2001 in Virgin, which was chosen, Barber says, “because it has everything, the ridges and drops and vertical. It reminded me of what guys were skiing in Alaska.” To select the slate of participants, a committee of five spends months poring over competition results and footage, trying to determine which of the world’s riders are worthy. Applicants must prove that they have the ability to handle steep, loose, technical terrain and are daring enough to take on enormous jumps and cliffs. During their runs, bikers are judged on fluidity, style, amplitude, and line choice.
“People look at it and say, ‘I can ride that,’ ” says Kurt Sorge, a rider from Nelson, British Columbia, who’s won the event three times, including last year. “But you have to be fast and fluid and throw in the tricks. And you gotta deal with the wind and the heat. There’s a lot that goes into it. It’s one of the toughest challenges out there.” The winner pockets $8,000. More important, a good showing at the Rampage can lead to big sponsorship deals. According to Barber, a female biker with the goods to descend the length of the course while pulling off tricks like the Superman— in which riders take their feet off the pedals and fly through the air while holding the handlebars—has never emerged. Brown acknowledges that what separates her from some of the best male riders is the shortage of tricks in her repertoire. But she’s
working on several, aiming to have them ready by October. “I’ve had other women want to compete,” Barber says. “But there are a lot of guys out there to choose from. It’s hard to say we’ll give Casey a shot when there have been so many guys knocking on the door for years. I’m not opposed to it. But it’s gonna be tough. The Rampage is not a proving ground.” OVER THE PAST year, Brown has made a
strong case that she deserves a chance. Last September, I joined a full house at Walk Festival Hall in Teton Village, Wyoming, for the premiere of Teton Gravity Research’s annual ski film. The crowd, mostly dressed in flannel and brimming with anticipation, had come for the usual adventure porn: skiers and snowboarders descending steep faces in deep powder, flinging themselves off
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massive cliffs. With each colossal launch, the pack yipped and hollered. But it wasn’t until about halfway through the hourlong film that they completely lost it. That’s when Casey Brown and Cam McCaul, a pro from Bend, Oregon, appeared on the screen, riding their bikes off a 20-foot cliff into snow-filled Corbet’s Couloir, the legendary Jackson Hole ski run. The icy pitch rendered brakes useless; Brown hurtled for 300 feet at around 60 miles per hour. With that, people leaped to their feet, shouting and throwing their hands in the air. After the movie, the talk was all about the mountain-bike segment, both because the stunt was novel (mountain bikers had never appeared in a TGR ski film before) and insane (nobody had ever been crazy enough to ride a bike off Corbet’s). And by the way, several asked: Who was that girl? Besides her Crankworx victories, Brown, who began competing in 2008, has spent several years posting impressive results on the World Cup downhill tour and in Enduro World Series races. Among serious riders, she’s noted for her in-flight style and hang time, which seems to last seconds longer
is usually only five months of the year, she spends her time working on her bikes, hanging out with her family, or, in the winter, skiing and snowmobiling with friends. And she devotes a large chunk of time to her artwork, a passion since childhood. The tiny basement apartment that she shares with Schaffer is a gallery for her work, including a painting of Snuff, as well as pottery she made at a nearby studio. Even her bike helmet is painted with a sketch she did of a coyote biting a snake. In some native cultures, she says, “the coyote is the trickster. I feel like I’m the coyote and I’m biting my fears.” She’s a good artist, which prompts me to ask why she didn’t choose that as a career, since art is less likely to put you in the hospital. “Artists starve to death,” she says, then thinks about it. “Well, mountain bikers starve to death, too.” Brown is hardly starving. Her income this year, earned mainly through endorsements with Clif Bar, Dakine, and Trek, will reach six figures. She and Schaffer are house shopping—with one stipulation. “There needs to be enough land to build jumps,” says
“ T H E R E ’ S A QUOTE I LIKE,” BROWN SAYS. " ‘THE B E S T THINGS IN LIFE A R E O N THE O T H E R S I D E O F F E A R . ’ THE RAMPAGE IS A REALLY GOOD MEASURE OF YOUR ABILITIES.
I W A N T T O B E P U S H I N G T H E S P O R T, A N D
THIS IS THE
N E XT STE P FOR ME.”
than her peers’. “The thing that impresses me is that she’s so confident,” says McCaul. “She can take on any terrain, and she makes it look good. Such stylish riding isn’t something we’ve seen from women before.” But until that moment inside the theater, most people outside the world of mountain biking had never heard of her. The TGR segment, which was later posted online and quickly went viral, with 730,000 views, boosted Brown’s celebrity. A month later, Red Bull proposed doing a short film about her. She’s also been asked to shoot a commercial for Coors Light. Brown, who’s soft-spoken and demure, shies away from much of the attention. “I like to live a little more humbly,” she says. “Looking forward and focusing on the future are more important than looking back at what you’ve done.” In Revelstoke, she’s able to find sanctuary from the limelight. When she’s home, which
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Brown. It’s a remarkable success story when you consider that when most children were learning to ride a bike, Brown was swinging from vines in a jungle. ONE AFTERNOON in Virgin, Brown changes
out of her Dakine riding kit and into a tank top and cutoffs. She says the shorts are similar to what her father, Lou, wears around Revelstoke—much to the embarrassment of his children. Airstream has loaned her a rolling bedroom for a week—a thank-you for jumping her bike 40 feet over a trailer for an advertisement— and we’ve taken lawn chairs from it and plopped them in the middle of the shallow Virgin River, where we’re soaking our feet. I ask Brown if she’s seen the movie Captain Fantastic, noting that the story line— about a father who raises his children off the grid—sounds like her childhood. “Lots of people say that,” says Brown.
“There are a lot of similarities.” Only days after Brown was born in a Queenstown hospital in 1990, she joined her parents, Lou and Liz, along with three older sisters and a brother, in Barn Bay, on the west coast of the South Island, miles from the nearest town. Lou had moved there with his previous wife in 1975, to work as a fisherman. “It was a remote and challenging place to fish,” says Lou, a slight man in his sixties who, like his daughter, seems drawn to adventure. In 1983, after his second marriage ended, he convinced Liz to join him. Lou built a house from wood he had scrounged in the jungle. The family foraged for and grew their own food and used a windmill Lou had devised to generate their own power. Twice a year, they would trek eight hours to the closest town for supplies. “As soon as you could walk, you walked there and back,” says Brown. “I was probably two.” Lou, who owned a boat, spent days on the Tasman Sea catching rock lobster, which he’d ship out on planes that landed on a runway he’d made. Meanwhile, the children mostly played. That included building forts and “swinging from the trees like monkeys,” says Jennifer, the second-oldest. Elinor, the second youngest, recalls a long-distance hiker dying near the family’s home. After the body had been recovered and bagged, the children watched while Elinor poked it with a stick. “We didn’t really have values or a belief system at that time,” Jennifer says. “We were pretty wild.” In 1996, after Lou had several close calls at sea, the family moved to a 426-acre farm in a town called Clyde, where they lived in a tepee and attempted to grow vegetables. The crops failed, which took a toll on Lou and Liz’s already strained marriage. They divorced that year, and Lou hit rewind and left for Canada, where he’d grown up, with Jennifer and Sam, his only son. Liz stayed on the farm with Casey, Elinor, and Jasmine, her daughter from her first marriage. In 1999, a fire started when a tree fell on a power line. Liz and Casey were at home and rushed to open the gates for the horse and their flock of sheep. By the time they made it to the car to flee, the blaze had reached the driveway, and the two narrowly escaped by driving across the pasture and through the fence. The farm destroyed, the family moved to Hawea, a small lakeside town, where they survived on welfare. In British Columbia, Sam had begun mountain biking and proved to be an extraordinary talent. “He was an amazing rider, but he was also creative and innovative,” says Darren Berrecloth, from Parksville, B.C., who appeared alongside Sam in several films. “He had great
style and flow, and would pick different lines down the mountain, lines that other people couldn’t see.” Casey revered her brother from afar. Then, in 2002, hopeful for a better life, Casey and Elinor left for Canada to live with their father. IN REVELSTOKE, an old logging town 350 miles northeast of Vancouver, Lou had taken on several jobs, including one as a metalworker. When Casey joined him, he built his daughter a bike out of spare parts, a clunker with different-size wheels that Brown used to chase her brother and his friends around. “She was just like Sam—a total natural from the time she was 12,” says Joel Pirnke, a Revelstoke native who grew up riding with Casey and Sam. “She was aggressive, but with a really calm, relaxed style. As she got older, she was passing the boys.” Brown began harboring dreams of becoming a professional biker. Sam, however, became disillusioned with the sport’s bloated egos, gave up, and in 2005 found work as a logger. To get in and out of the woods, he traveled by helicopter; he took pilot lessons in hopes of someday earning his license. Some time later, Sam befriended Colin Martin, a convicted drug dealer with a bald head and a stocky build. Martin offered Sam a job, one that would appeal to his sense of adventure and earn him serious money. Sam said yes and went into outlaw mode. Eventually, Casey became aware that Sam was smuggling drugs into the United States. She confronted him about it one day while they were riding around in his truck. “I don’t want you to do this,” Casey said. “I don’t want you to die.” “Don’t worry,” he said confidently. “I’m not going to.” Sam ran pot and ecstasy over the border by snowmobile and, later, by helicopter, though he never got a license to fly. In February 2009, he flew a shipment of pot into Washington, landing in a meadow inside Colville National Forest. The DEA was waiting and arrested him. Four days later, the Brown family was called to Elinor’s house. When Casey walked in, a police officer standing in the doorway bluntly delivered the news: “Your brother killed himself.” Brown sank to her knees. Sam didn’t leave a note, and speculation swirled about why he’d take his own life. To Brown, it didn’t matter. Her best friend was dead, and she spent several months in mourning. Then she turned all her attention to riding. “Biking was the thing he loved and the thing we shared,” says Brown. “If I could do one thing that made him proud, that was it. I decided to work toward becoming a freeride mountain biker.”
ON MY LAST DAY in Virgin, Brown and her
entourage drive about four miles through the desert down a rutted road. They eventually reach the base of the current Rampage course, where the event has been held since 2012. The wind is up again. “What do you think, Casey?” asks Buehler. “Perfect day for sailing,” she says. A day earlier, we’d driven here in less breezy conditions; Brown had sessioned some of the course’s lower cliff drops and jumps, easily sending a 50-foot bluff over and over again. Then, as the sun began to set, she hit a small jump and landed funny, causing her to endo over her bike and face-plant in the dirt. A silly mistake, she’d called it, but one that cracked the visor on her helmet and left her with a headache. A few hours later, when I asked how she felt, she said she’d mostly recovered. “Just a little hucker’s neck.” Huh? “You know, Huckingson’s disease,” she said. “Whiplash.” “Can you ride?” I asked. “Oh yeah,” she said. “You’re always recovering from something in this sport.”
“Part of what makes Casey so good is that she’s so tough,” Buehler interjected. “She’s resilient. She can bounce back from anything, so she keeps progressing—she’s not spending a lot of time off her bike.” Brown, Schaffer, and Buehler assess the wind and decide to wait a bit. Instead of riding, we’ll hike to the top of the course and check out some of the bigger features on the upper section. As we climb, the pitch gets steeper and the loose sand and rock starts to crumble below our feet. On one stretch, I find myself on all fours, grasping for a solid handhold and realizing that if I fall, I’ll tumble 100 yards over an outcropping of boulders. I find myself wondering why Brown wants to ride her bike down this. “There’s a quote I like,” Brown says. “ ‘The best things in life are on the other side of fear.’ I’m pretty sure Will Smith said it. The Rampage is a really good measure of your abilities. It tests everything. I want to be pushing the sport, and this is the next step for me.” Many people seem to agree. Often, when women try to break continued on page 81 >
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it’s not As the minimalism trend enters a curious new phase that has clothing makers like Mac Bishop of Wool and Prince showing us how to get through a year with only a few pairs of underwear, one brave adventurer attempts to defend his gear closet
that simple
BY TOM VANDERBILT
PHOTOGRAPH BY HANNAH MCCAUGHEY
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Bishop wearing one of his signature merino-wool button-downs
PHOTOGRAPH BY
IAN ALLEN
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“What is that, 16 pairs of cycling bibs?” This is the question Mac Bishop asks as we survey the morass of spandex spread across my bed. “Something like that,” I say sheepishly. “And I think there are a few pairs in the laundry.” It’s a weirdly humbling experience to have another man, a Birkenstock-clad, practicing minimalist from Portland, Oregon—one you have just met (and who, at 29, is some twenty years younger)—sift through your clothes. It’s like sitting naked with a stranger in a metaphysical Turkish bath of the soul. I suddenly find myself explaining, too vehemently, why my closet is the way it is. That blue shirt from Uniqlo? I liked it so much I bought five. That Breton-striped pullover with the weird sleeves? I thought, you know, if I’m ever in Saint-Tropez in summer, I will so totally fit in. That pair of pants, purchased on sale, with the strange stitching I thought no one would notice? I notice every time, so I never wear them. There could be a whole psychology textbook written about the closet. In its confines we find the warm glow of nostalgia (that ragged half-marathon finisher T-shirt) and the optimistic projections of our future selves (the skinny jeans that don’t quite fit); we grapple with the terrors of decision regret and loss aversion (it feels worse to lose something, in the moment at least, than it feels good to gain something). We are “strangers to ourselves,” says psychologist Timothy Wilson, explaining the psychic murk underlying much of our behavior—exactly how I feel when Bishop asks when I last wore a certain item he’s holding and I can’t fathom the answer. One expert from California Clos-
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ets recently told The Wall Street Journal that people regularly wear, on average, about one-fifth of the clothing they own. Up until the cycling bibs, my closet audit was going reasonably well. “This is looking fairly minimal already,” Bishop had said at the outset. For that I largely have the constraints of my Brooklyn apartment to thank—no garage or walk-in closets here. (In a version of Parkinson’s Law, stuff seems to magically expand to fill the space dedicated to it.) But then we opened the drawer into which a couple dozen cycling kits had been crammed, springing forth like novelty snakes from a peanut can. “It’s easy to collect and not throw away soft goods. They seemingly don’t take up too much space,” Bishop says. “With hard goods, it’s not like you have two coffee makers in your kitchen.” I ride bikes a lot, and I sometimes write about riding bikes, so it was easy to justify the nonstop acquisition of cycling stuff—as the joke goes, the ideal number of bikes is n plus one. But had I crossed some threshold? Like most of the world, I knew that Marie Kondo’s book The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up had inspired any number of readers to “KonMari” their closets and then share their experience. But the accounts I’d seen didn’t seem relevant to my situation: in my mind’s eye, these were primarily women dispensing with once fashionable shoes and tops that had lost their ability to “spark joy.” No, my cycling stuff wasn’t mere clothing. This was gear. I needed it to do things. That justification tidily skirted the question of exactly how many cycling outfits I needed. If I could make do with just one while travel-
ing (pro tip: take a shower, and drink a beer, in your kit), did it not seem odd to have several dozen at home? Were they enhancing my life or making it more difficult, expanding my array of choices and thereby increasing the amount of time necessary just to find what I’d chosen? Mac Bishop is no professional organizer. Cleaning out closets isn’t even his side hustle. But I’d invited him into my home after reading about his provocative “wardrobe experiments,” which raised interesting questions about how much stuff we really need to get by. In this he is hardly unique: the internet, in heady corners like Reddit’s Minimalism forum, brims with exploded-view images of “capsule” wardrobes, of the carefully curated gear bags of digital nomads, of decisionfatigued Silicon Valley types who’ve pared their daily wear down to a single uniform— sartorial Soylent. What makes Bishop’s lessis-more ethos unusual is that he spends most of his time trying to sell clothes. IN 2011, AFTER graduating with a business degree from Cornell University, Bishop found himself employed by Unilever, the consumer-product giant, in New York City. Like many young office workers, he grappled with the tyranny of professional attire—acquiring a sufficient variety of costly button-down shirts, paying the steep dry-cleaning bills, buying more shirts to wear while the others were at the cleaners. On a whim, he began wearing a brownwool houndstooth Sir Pendleton buttondown, a dressier version of the ruggedly iconic shirts made by Pendleton Woolen
We have become inured to the idea that clothes need to be kept at near Febreze levels of freshness, that to arrive at work slightly damp from a bike ride requires instant decontamination.
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Mills. (The Beach Boys initially called themselves the Pendletones, by way of homage.) Bishop’s family owns Pendleton, which was formally established in 1863 by his greatgreat-great-grandfather. “It changed the way I dressed,” he says of the shirt. “I didn’t have to go to the dry cleaner every day. I didn’t even have to hang it up. That thing was a beast.” While it was hardly traditional wear at Unilever, Bishop says that the shirt—which he tailored for a slimmer fit—drew compliments, in particular for its just-pressed appearance, which belied the fact that it had never seen an iron. Inspiration took root. “It got me thinking,” says Bishop, “that wool could have an impact in the business-casual market and just make guys’ lives easier.” He was, of course, no stranger to the material. And wool had come a long way since the days of the heavy, scratchy Pendleton shirts hanging in vintage stores. Merino wool, after centuries of selective breeding, was as soft as cotton, with a greater capacity to manage moisture and odor. Bishop watched as brands like Ibex and Icebreaker brought merino to the outdoor market, doing a lot of the heavy lifting to educate consumers. The idea persisted even after Bishop left Unilever and was dabbling in an online art startup. As proof-of-concept, he launched what he dubbed the 100-day challenge. Over a span of three months, he would outfit his upper half in nothing but the Sir Pendleton, neither washing nor ironing it. When it was over, Bishop—tall, affable, and boyish looking—took to the streets to solicit feedback (tactile, olfactory, and otherwise) on the shirt. The resulting video became the centerpiece of a 2013 Kickstarter campaign for his new brand, Wool and Prince, which promised a
better button-down, one that was “naturally anti-wrinkle and odor-fighting.” A blue oxford hardly seems revolutionary, and indeed, the Kickstarter goal was modest: $30,000. (Bishop says he was hoping for $75,000.) But the campaign caught fire. Soon there were Japanese TV reporters holding their noses to Bishop’s armpits, while Letterman and Leno riffed on the shirts, the latter cracking jokes about underwear and New York City cabbies. Bishop found himself having to do reverse press—tamping down the assertions made by some media outlets that he had invented a new wonder material. After a little more than a week, as the campaign approached $300,000 in pledges, Bishop, fearing he might exceed his capacity to deliver, shut it down. On the face of it, the appeal was simple. As Bishop notes, the men he spoke to wanted their shirts to be like jeans—easy to care for, flexible. But there was also something more subversive going on. We have become inured to the idea that clothes need to be kept at near Febreze levels of freshness, that to wear the same thing two days in a row is a sign of irredeemable slovenliness, that to arrive at work slightly damp from a bike ride requires instant decontamination. We Yankees, famously, seem to suffer from a particular obsession with cleanliness (devastatingly captured by novelist Graham Greene in The Quiet American, as his cynical British-journalist narrator eyes two American women, wondering, “Did they take deodorants to bed with them?”). But cycles of washing and drying are notoriously hard on clothing. And what precisely are we vanquishing? A Canadian professor of textile science, testing a pair of jeans that a student had worn for more than a year without washing, found the same level of
bacteria as in two weeks’ worth of wear. In an Australian study that asked subjects not to launder their jeans, the researcher concluded that “the expectation of not washing was more repulsive than the actuality.” In other words, people were washing their clothing—and hastening its obsolescence— more out of habit than necessity. A CHANGE OF HABIT is often enabled by a
change of context. Two years after launching Wool and Prince, Bishop relocated to Portland for personal and business reasons. He was in the process of moving between houses in the city one day when he decided to pack his most crucial wardrobe items into a single box. An idea began to form. Could he get by for a year with just this box? His 100-day challenge had opened the door to a deeper question: If he could wear the same shirt for that long, how much clothing did he really need? Bishop pared his wardrobe to 26 core items (excluding some athletic apparel and a suit he wore to a wedding) and stuck to it for the next 365 days. It helped that he was working mostly out of his home and living in a temperate climate. Still, three pairs of underwear for an entire year? “Air ’em out,” he says, “and sleep naked.” He adds: “I wouldn’t wear them multiple days in a row.” Still, he says, “I was doing more laundry than I would’ve liked.” To document his process and to further explore what he was experiencing, he set up Only What Matters, an online community for aspiring minimalists. It’s mostly made up of Wool and Prince customers, many of whom had, in the wake of Bishop’s video, taken up the challenge of wearing Wool and Prince shirts for extended periods. (One company
A Brief History of Minimalism
80
Mid-300s B.C.
Mid-1800s
1968
1999
2011
2014
2016
The Greek philosopher Diogenes, one of the founders of cynicism, invents the original tiny home by living in a clay wine cask and being smug about it.
Henry David Thoreau inspires generations toward selfsufficiency and simple living by publishing his seminal work Walden while having his mom do his laundry.
Stewart Brand publishes the Whole Earth Catalog. Though imbued with a back-to-theland, DIY ethos, it’s made up of reviews of many, many products.
Jay Shafer builds the first Tumbleweed tiny house. The revolution will reach its zenith almost two decades later in the form of at least six TV shows and myriad hipster blogs.
Marie Kondo’s The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up is published in Japan. It will go on to sell over six million copies, cluttering up coffee tables around the world.
Outside references #vanlife some three years after Foster Huntington coined the term, then goes on a binge, posting a steady stream of online stories that continues to this day.
App developer Amino launches Minimalism, a digital community for minimalists to meet other minimalists and discuss minimalism.
O U T S I D E M A G A Z I N E 09.18
field tester, Jens Rasmussen, reported wearing his gray work shirt for 33 consecutive days of hard bush living while filming a National Geographic show in the Serengeti, even earning a reputation, as he wrote in a post, as “the best-dressed guy on our expedition.”) The site reads like a mashup of efficiency guru Tim Ferriss and thrift maven Mr. Money Mustache, with posts on everything from Swedish death cleaning (don’t leave all that junk for your heirs to sort through) to declaring sock bankruptcy (tossing your mismatched collection and bulk-buying a new supply). It taps into some of the currents of minimalism already flourishing on the internet. There are scores of wardrobe pursuits— the ritualistic world of “one bag” travel (i.e., don’t pack more than one bag), the almost Platonic search for the perfect item of clothing, obviating the need for all others and resisting the tides of fashion and the scourge of time. For instance, a massively popular tenyear hoodie that appeared on Kickstarter five years back was soon followed by a quartercentury hoodie. (One maker even advertised a 100-year hoodie for would-be centurions.) Like the tiny-house movement, minimalism can be one of those things that people are far more apt to talk about doing than actually do. But it isn’t hard to understand the impulse. According to Forbes, the average number of outfits in an American woman’s wardrobe has increased more than threefold since the 1930s. This is a result of ever cheaper clothing (even as our wardrobes have grown, the share of household budget we spend on clothing has plummeted) and increasing home (and thus closet) size. Findings from behavioral psychology, meanwhile, show that however good it feels to acquire all that stuff, the hedonic payoff is mostly short-lived. The closet becomes a reproach, and we sift through increasing numbers of things we no longer want. Bishop is cognizant of the various contradictions of minimalism: that its conscious adoption often reflects privilege (Thoreau had his family pencil-making business behind him); that it can perversely lead to status-seeking one-upmanship; that it’s frequently marketed as just one more purchase away (one minimal-living author has five minimal-living books listed on Amazon). Patagonia’s famous Don’t Buy This Jacket campaign in 2011, however well-intentioned, coincided with the brand’s robust expansion. (“In short,” noted Businessweek, “the pitch helped crank out $158 million worth of new apparel.”) Bishop is even a little leery of the word minimalism itself, which, like sustainable, is in danger of being denuded. “There’s no sustainable clothing purchase,” he argues. And he is aware that his business,
which has seen average annual growth of about 50 percent, is predicated on people adding stuff to their wardrobes. Many of the Only What Matters posts are, after all, written by people looking to buy things. “Start with what you currently have in your closet,” he counsels. “Don’t run out and buy all the minimalist clothing you can find.”
BROWN continued from page 81
BEFORE BISHOP’S visit to my home, I had
been doing my own little wardrobe experiment, wearing one of his company’s merinowool polo shirts (instead of the nine others I had on deck) for most of a typically warm late-spring month in New York: on sultry subway platforms, on five-mile bike commutes, while playing soccer with my daughter in the park. Dawn to dusk, for weeks, no washing, no ironing. Does it smell? My wife, my most reliable witness, reports no. Has anyone noticed my monotonic wardrobe? We flatter ourselves. Via the psychological phenomenon dubbed the spotlight effect, we overestimate how much the world takes notice of us. (One of the original experiments looking at this featured, wonderfully, a subject wearing a Barry Manilow T-shirt.) “Don’t pack your fears,” goes the slogan in the world of ultralight hiking. On the trail, the lower your base pack weight, the easier your life will be, the less energy you’ll expend, and the less you’ll think about what you’re carrying. I’ve been trying to conceive my closet as a backpack, my life as an expedition. To get my base life weight down, off to eBay went scores of cycling clothes (the preowned market is surprisingly robust) and a Burberry suit, bought on sale, that I thought I might want (that future self never arrived). What didn’t seem saleable went to that nearest and most effective redistribution channel: the sidewalk, where, in Brooklyn, things vanish faster than a New York minute. I have taken to heart other suggestions from Bishop, like a one-in, one-out ethos and organizing things by genre. (Why was my ratty outdoor-work outfit kept with my normal clothes, thus adding to the visual and cognitive noise, rather than in my tool area?) So far, at least, my efforts at reducing my base life weight have been a success. My closet now looks less like the discount bin of a thrift store and more like the new-arrivals rack at a spare SoHo boutique. Ironically, even as I’ve lost things, I feel like I’ve gained a more appreciative form of materialism. For the first time in years, I possess a real sense O of what I have. CONTRIBUTING EDITOR TOM VANDERBILT ( @TOMVANDERBILT) WROTE ABOUT CITI BIKE’S ANGELS PROGRAM IN AUGUST.
through in a male-dominated sport, they’re met with online harassment. Brown has received nothing but support. In mid-May, she posted Instagram photos of herself riding on the Rampage site. The comments, many of which are from men, include “Casey is serious competition for the men” and “Maybe we’ll see you at the Rampage?!” One of her supporters is none other than Kurt Sorge. “Casey has progressed so much in the past ten years, and she’s proven herself,” he says. “She could carve a pretty sick line down that course.” When we reach the top of the run, Brown shows me how she makes certain features less scary. We stare down a 12-foot drop onto a five-foot-wide spine with a 200-foot free fall on either side. Brown calls it the Sidewalk of Death. “I just erase everything except what I need to ride,” she says, waving her arms as though she’s wiping the potentially lethal parts from existence. “When you do that, it’s really not that bad. Just a 12-foot drop.” By the time we make our way back to the bottom, it’s about eight in the evening, and the wind has died down. I ask Brown what she’ll do if the Rampage committee decides to leave her off the list. “I’ll work harder,” she says firmly. “And I’ll try again.” With that, Brown puts on her helmet and pulls up her kneepads. Then, as the sun fades, she pushes her bike back up the mountain. O CORRESPONDENT GORDY MEGROZ ( @GORDYMEGROZ) WROTE ABOUT WYLDER GOODS IN JULY 2017. Volume XLIII, Number 8. OUTSIDE (ISSN 0278-1433) is published monthly, except for the January/February double issue, by Mariah Media Network LLC, 400 Market St., Santa Fe, NM 87501. Periodical postage paid at Santa Fe, NM, and additional mailing offices. Canadian Goods and Services Tax Registration No. R126291723. Canada Post International Publications Mail Sales Agreement No. 40015979. Subscription rates: U.S. and possessions, $24; Canada, $35 (includes GST); foreign, $45. Washington residents add sales tax. POSTMASTER: Send U.S. and international address changes to OUTSIDE, P.O. Box 6228, Harlan, IA 51593-1728. Send Canadian address changes to OUTSIDE, P.O. Box 877 Stn Main, Markham, ON L3P-9Z9.
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Outside Magazine
Parting Shot
09.18
Guadalupe Canyon Oasis, Baja California, Mexico P H OTO G R A P H B Y
Jakob Schiller
88
EVERY THING WE EVER
I M A G I NE D AND THEN SOME
RDX SH-AWD ® with A-Spec ® Package shown.
INTRODU C I N G TH E A L L-N EW 2 0 1 9 R DX Born from our limitless imagination, the RDX offers powerful acceleration with a 272-hp turbocharged engine, rail-like cornering through available Super Handling All-Wheel Drive™, and inspiring versatility via 79.8 cubic feet of cargo space*. Imagination built the all-new 2019 RDX and evolved not just what’s possible in an SUV, but also what’s possible at Acura. The future starts now. The future is the 2019 RDX.
©2018 Acura. Acura, RDX, A-Spec, Super Handling All-Wheel Drive (SH-AWD), and the stylized “A” logo are trademarks of Honda Motor Co., Ltd. *Based on SAE J1100 cargo volume measurement standard plus floor space between first and second seats and front seats moved forward. This figure compares more accurately with most competitive measurements.