Kid Everest: Stepping up in Shenandoah National Park (Alistair Wearmouth)
Leaving behind the cherry-blossom mania that sweeps Washington, D.C., each spring, my son and I made a midweek dash for the mountainous spine of Shenandoah National Park last week. A two-hour drive from the U.S. capital, the region's suburban sprawl eventually gives way to quiet country roads and the rolling pasturelands of Virginia's Piedmont Valley. Then, as you climb up toward the park's Thornton Gap entrance at just over 2,000 feet, the tide of green at lower elevations reverts to a landscape still hunkered down against the last traces of winter.
Our car was pointed toward mile marker 41.7 and the 177-room Skyland Resort, which occupies the highest point on Shenandoah's world-renowned Skyline Drive. Feeling a little more like a hotel on a hill than traditional stone-and-timber mountain lodge, many of the 26 rustic cabins and modern two-story buildings here overlook the westward Shenandoah Valley. If you're after rooms with a view, the pick are in the Laurel and Birmingham complexes, although it's not hard to find a panorama to gaze out upon even from Skyland's ten tree-sheltered cabins (built between 1906 and 1922).
Food is an essential part of my nine-year-old daughter's day. When Melanie blurts, "I'm hungry," that's my cue to find sustenance immediately or face her tear-filled wrath. Yielding to her hunger pangs at SeaWorld San Diego, I had a plate of chicken fingers in front of her in almost record time. But then, as San Diego's famous son, Dr. Seuss, might say, something wonderful and truly amazing happened. Melanie was not stuffing her face. In fact, her eyes were the size of doughnuts as she stared in awe at an orca whale doing a backflip, not more than ten feet from where we were sitting.
I recently toured a few of the Colorado ski resorts that reside off I-70, that concrete artery that carves into the mountain from the state’s capital city. And while my heart will forever reside in the above-treeline bowls of Arapahoe Basin, my visit to Copper Mountain made it clear to me that this resort may be the best family resort going.
First and foremost, the terrain. But it’s not just because 21 percent of the resort is dedicated to beginners—loads of resorts probably boast more green runs then Copper. It’s the composition of the resort that rises this resort above the rest.
Think of the Great Barrier Reef as the world's ultimate underwater safari. One teeming with more exotic fish and sea life than your local aquarium will ever know, including sharks, dolphins, six of the seven species of sea turtles known to man, and a mind-boggling 2,000 types of fish (with new varieties found every year). Many of these fish are neon-colored, floating against a backdrop of blue, pink, and yellow coral to produce a kaleidoscopic world that rivals even the most explosive of Jackson Pollock's drip paintings.
The Great Barrier runs closest to the mainland near Cairns, located in Australia's northeastern state of Queensland and about two hours by plane from Sydney. Close to a million people each year make the pilgrimage here. Once in town, many visitors choose to spend their time on Green and Fitzroy islands, two islands that are not technically on the "Big Reef." However, less than an hour by boat from the city wharf in Cairns, the snorkeling off these two islands can be just as good as the Great Barrier. Outfitters run half- and full-day trips in glass-bottom boats so you can witness this mesmerizing underwater world without ever getting wet.
With special thanks to Sheila Scarborough of the excellent BootsnAll Family Travel Blog for this week's guest post. Contact us if you'd like to contribute.
I'm not sure which was more physically challenging: the oxygen-deprived hours climbing up 12,388-foot Mt. Fuji or the crumbly, dusty, thigh-burning slog back down.
My preteen daughter, twenty-something nephew, and I took advantage of the short July-August climbing season to attempt a half-day trek to the top of Japan's venerated Fuji-san. Before an early morning start from the well-appointed Fifth Station partway up the mountain, we each bought a traditional wooden walking stick (kongo-tsue) with a Japanese flag and tinkling bell. Sticks can be burned with a special brand at each trail resting station. It's a nifty souvenir that also provided invaluable leverage for tired bodies on the popular Kawaguchiko Trail, one of many routes to the summit.
We were lucky that day: the weather was clear and pleasant so none of us needed the precautionary raingear in our daypacks, although we certainly used our jackets and hats to keep warm. It was a great feeling of accomplishment to climb up above the clouds and admire the expansive view.
Mazatlan, Mexico | In the quiet of the room you can hear it—a faint, persistent scratching.
Dr. Eréndira Gonzalez Diego moves down the rows of boxes, listening. If there's
scratching, she reaches in and collects tiny Olive Ridley hatchlings that have broken
through their eggs and dug their way to the surface. For 48 hours the hatchings are biologically compelled to move their tiny flippers in an effort to reach the sea (biology doesn't care that they're in a box).
It's in this period that the endangered turtles must be released from their safe haven at Estrella del Mar Golf & Beach Resort's Sea Turtle Sanctuary, where Dr. Gonzalez has cared for them. Resort guests are encouraged to visit the preserve (the tour is free), and it's a great way for kids and adults alike to get a hands-on perspective about the ecology of this endangered species.
Today, we resort guests help release some 70 hatchlings. It's nearly sunset and most seabirds have roosted for the night, giving the turtles a better chance of reaching the water. Still, there are obstacles—a footprint is like a ravine to these little guys (I fill in footprints so they don't fall in). Eventually, the hatchlings find the water and we wave a bittersweet goodbye.
Leaving behind the cherry-blossom mania that sweeps Washington, D.C., each spring, my son and I made a midweek dash for the mountainous spine of Shenandoah National Park last week. A two-hour drive from the U.S. capital, the region's suburban sprawl eventually gives way to quiet country roads and the rolling pasturelands of Virginia's Piedmont Valley. Then, as you climb up toward the park's Thornton Gap entrance at just over 2,000 feet, the tide of green at lower elevations reverts to a landscape still hunkered down against the last traces of winter.
