The middle part of this story is the best known. Learn what happened before the 1869 expedition led by John Wesley Powell down the Colorado River to the Grand Canyon… continue reading in Terrain Magazine.
Things didn’t look promising. We’d left pavement behind and I was—not exactly driving—sort of skidding my truck through a mud trough in the rain. Up ahead, a soiled hatchback made like wet clay on a pottery wheel and spun around, slogging back toward the interstate… continue reading at Duct Tape Diaries blog.
The first time I heard a visitor calling for help, it came from the old ferry lake. Following the yells, I walked onto the aluminum fishing pier. Two bewildered college girls sat cross-legged on a floating platform, in the middle of this blackwater inlet of the Waccamaw River… continue reading at Blue Ridge Outdoors magazine.
The first time I spotted a sign for Awendaw Creek was a few years before we went paddling there. We were doing what most visitors do in this part of South Carolina’s Low Country, zipping 70 mph down Highway 17 through a box canyon of longleaf pine trees… continue reading at Duct Tape Diaries blog.
The ongoing novel coronavirus pandemic has made bustling cities like New York resemble ghost towns. Social distancing has shut national parks and turned tropical paradises into forbidden islands. But instead of dreaming about canceled trips, why not learn about some strange places that have always been forbidden?… continue reading at Men’s Journal.
We considered it more of a hiking trip,” said the mysterious raft guide. “We looked at the river as an obstacle to going hiking.”
“Wait,” I said. “Did you just say hiking?”… continue reading at Duct Tape Diaries blog.
Hi I’m Gary! I’m old and don’t take hills too well … You can only get in me via the passenger door … Please put a bit of oil in me before you drive me … I’ve got a nasty little leak... continue reading about the Shuttle Vehicle Wall of Shame at Men’s Journal!
It’s the morning of New Year’s Eve, and the exact moment I step out of my tent, I spot a dorsal fin. It rises briefly into the mist from the placid Brickhill River, next to Cumberland Island National Seashore, and vanishes… continue reading at Adventure Cyclist Magazine!