To say the gap is in the Poconos is redundant, because ‘pocono’ means water gap in the Lenape language. The whole area was supposed to be inundated by a flood control project, but that was deemed too expensive. Which is great, because the park service preserves big, beautiful, wooded, hilly land on both the New Jersey and Pennsylvania sides. There are at least seven named waterfalls with trails—above is one of two easily seen on Dingmans Creek Trail—, more hikes including a section of the Appalachian Trail, an exceptional bike trail, many campgrounds, some historic buildings and more. A brown bear crossed the road in front of me, so there’s definitely wildlife here too.
Technically, the 35 of 40 miles of river itself is a separate park, and the gap is the land plus 5 miles of recreational river. If it were up to me, I would combine this with the Upper, Middle and Lower Delaware River parks, and make all four into one National Park. That’s been proposed, but some residents oppose it. Traffic or something. I found it easy to drive around, but crossing the river gets you a toll. If we want to preserve species, we need to start being much more aggressive about preserving our rivers and forests.
This pretty, wooded park lies within the beltway just across the DC border in Maryland. The photo above is on the Dogwood trail. There are 172 camp sites open year round, and it’s only 10 miles or so to the Washington Monument. The nearest Metro is UMD/ College Park, about a 2 mile walk. Due to the unusually high winds recently, there were a number of downed trees, but the trails were all clear.
Cleveland’s mayor, the first African American elected mayor of a major city, Carl Stokes, faced an environmental crisis. The Cuyahoga River, above, caught fire in 1969. And it wasn’t the first time. Mayor Stokes led journalists on a pollution tour and tied the issue to poor and underserved communities, many of color, which often suffered most. He led the fight for change.
In many ways, this park is a great example of what can be done, when we make the effort to restore nature. While interstate highways still cross over the park, they do so from extremely high bridges, separate from the deep valley below. Many tributary watersheds are protected by municipal and state parks and other reserves. Instead of removing the old railroad line along the river, there’s a classic old train line with restored historic whistle stops for hikers, bikers, and even kayakers to return after traveling through the park one way. An old inn on the canal has been repurposed as a museum. An old mill village is now a visitor center with a store selling drinks, sandwiches and ice cream (black raspberry chocolate chip is the best). The tow path, which both separated the canal from the river and provided a walkway for teams of oxen to pull barges, makes a perfect, nearly level, dry, packed gravel path for bikers, hikers and equestrians to travel for miles through the woods, admiring both wildlife and the beautiful scenery.
This is my favorite park for bicycling. I biked from Frazee House to Peninsula, above, about 20 miles round trip, in order to see some of the northern and middle sections where the path runs close to the river and far from the road. I saw both a Bald and a Golden Eagle, the first with the help of a park volunteer who let me look through his telescope. Brandywine Falls also surprised me by being larger than expected in Ohio, and the Ledges is another popular hike. I also hiked through Beaver Marsh at the southern end to look for more birds and watched a Great Blue Heron fishing for about an hour, among the geese, various ducks, redwing blackbirds, giant snapping turtles and other wildlife. Wonderful!
Although a neighbor to Arches, this park is very different. While the arches are easily approached by car and on foot, exploring the canyon lands requires long river journeys, multi-day backcountry camping, rock-climbing, mountain biking or challenging 4X4 drives. The three main sections, Islands of the Sky, Needles and the Maze aren’t even linked by 4×4 roads or hiking trails. Arches can be thoroughly explored in a single day or enjoyed in a couple hours. Canyonlands in entirety needs weeks, specialized gear, teamwork and planning.
I’ve planned a half dozen different trips here, but so far I’ve only actually managed one superficial visit to peer down into the foreboding, dark deep maroon canyons far below. I took in the views from the Islands of the Sky, observing the Colorado River somewhere down in the photo above, the Green River from another overlook 13 miles down the road, and the Grand View at the southern point looking over miles of canyons across to Needles and the Maze. The popular view point Mesa Arch was crowded with photographers at dawn despite the freezing temperature.
John Wesley Powell explored this last great unexplored area of the US in 1869, traveling down the Green River from Dinosaur through Desolation Canyon to the confluence with the Colorado River and on through Cataract Canyon to Glen and the Grand Canyon. Powell and his crew mapped and named major features in these four national parks, especially Canyonlands, so I recommend visiting his museum in Green River, Utah, watching the film there or reading accounts of his expeditions. Powell was a one armed veteran of Shiloh and a trained geologist who led a group of grizzled veterans and explorers through this land in a few small wooden boats when common wisdom said “impossible”. This is a great park to celebrate Powell and all our adventurous western explorers, including Beckwourth, Fremont, Ashley, Manly, Gunnison, the Spanish and the Native Americans.
In 1969, just below the confluence of the Rio Grande, Devils and Pecos Rivers, a dam was built, creating Lake Amistad (friendship en Español). The lake caused the mouths of the Pecos River and Seminole Creek (above) to silt up, and now that the water level has fallen (like Lake Mead and Lake Powell) they’re cut off from the Rio Grande (see far right). Most of the boat ramps, like the small dock at the cave above, are no longer accessible. The lake is far below minimum expectations, because the US diverts virtually all the Rio Grande water before it even reaches Big Bend. From there most of the river comes from Mexico’s Río Conchos. The park is run in partnership with many agencies, and the two towns that share the border are friendly and have joint cultural festivals annually. Mexico maintains a small fishery, US residents enjoy bass fishing, and the border is marked with buoys. I took one of the old highway ‘spurs’ straight down to the water, but it was too hot to kayak in winter.
Panther Cave, across the canyon above, is on the far western park boundary. While the park film absurdly claims that “no Native Americans have any ties to the area”, the canyon is Seminole Canyon, and the cave is an important site for prehistoric cave art. The Amistad visitor center has information and large reproductions of the cave art, and the excellent Seminole Canyon State Park has morning ranger-led tours to another similar cave and a few miles of hiking trails to see the view above. Before man dammed and drained the rivers and destroyed the riparian ecosystems, Native Americans must have traveled up the Rio Grande to Albuquerque, where some of the oldest petroglyph art was created at the same time as the art here. Sitting on the cliff above observing the wildlife, I imagined prehistoric people hunting, traveling by canoe, drawing on the cave walls and protecting their families from panthers, until thunder warned me to seek shelter.
Santa Elena Canyon, like many of the sights here, is majestic with 1500’ cliffs, with Canyon Wren staccato song echoing back and forth, and elusive beavers hiding along the banks. The Rio Grande enters the park through here, departing through Boquillas Canyon. They don’t make it easy to get a river pass, apparently preferring guides. I wasn’t allowed to kayak without two PFD’s?!? But the views from the trail are spectacular.
The middle of the park is dominated by the chiseled Chisos Mountains which have impressive wildlife including bears, mountain lions and rare birds, challenging hikes and a good restaurant. And the views stretch for miles in all directions across desert, scrub, dry creeks, gullies, plateaus and rocky outcroppings of all shapes to more distant hills, mountains, mesas and empty space. Sunset is best from up here, and the lodge has a bar and large patio with a great view of the basin. There are some ranger activities each week, but mostly you’re on your own out here, with terrain, heat, wildlife and distances that make hiking potentially dangerous. So take care.
A trip here needs 3 days just to visit all four corners, and there’s only one electric campground (Rio Grande Village RV) which was booked solid. Still, I was determined to avoid burning carbon, so no guided tours. I charged outside the park at the classy Gage Hotel and in Terlingua, at a Juicebox behind a brick wall in a construction site that rents Jeeps. I spotted three other Teslas and a Volt in the park, but you need to be thoughtful about charging (and not forget your hotel key and have to drive back to return it). I needn’t have worried. Since the park speed limit is 45, my range was better than expected, especially after turning off the climate control and opening my windows.
People are seriously damaging nature, as seen in both the devastating 2019 Castalon Wildfire, which destroyed the historic visitor center and store, and the drastically reduced water volume of the Rio Grande. Large gas vehicles with bad mpg should be named “Chevy Smoker” or “Ford Smog” and their drivers need bumper stickers like “I ❤️ Wildfires” & “I ❤️ Hurricanes”, because that’s what they’re exacerbating. Folks who live in western communities with golf courses, water features and ornamental plants, should name their neighborhoods “Wildlife’s End” or “Extinction Junction”, because they’re diverting rivers from our public parks, destroying ecosystems. Too many folks live in denial of the Climate Crisis, while driving a ‘Denali’ and living in ‘Ocotillo’. If you’re still using wasting gas and water in the west, then you shouldn’t pretend you like nature. You obviously don’t care enough.
The Rio Pequeño (not grande with this low water) enters the Boquillas Canyon here and continues down to Amistad. Hiking into the canyon along the border, there are few signs of the modern world, and I suddenly felt like I was in a classic western movie when I heard horses approaching. Three horse riders offered handcrafted souvenirs and chicken tamales as they passed, and when one was crossing back to Boquillas Mexico on horseback, his horse had to bend down to knee level to drink from the middle of the river. Hardly worth crossing by rowboat at the port of entry, when folks were wading across the river. (Yeah, yeah rules, but no harm no foul with kids just playing in the water).
The Climate Crisis is playing havoc with my plans. Not sure when I’ll get the kayak wet this trip. A few days ago, I was trudging through the snow in Zion, and here in winter the temperature hit over 100 degrees on the trail. Best to visit in February, and always bring plenty of water. Last year I just carried a water bottle, but now I use a 3L hydration pack with another 5 gallon container in my car. The heat is no joke; a hiker died here just a few days ago, one more of many.
Due to low water and logistics, I’m only exploring the river from the dusty trails and grand overlooks within Big Bend. The US and Mexico protect 200 miles of land alongside the river, including the canyon above, another at Santa Elena and a big reserve on the south bank opposite Big Bend. In particular, there’s a nature trail at Rio Grande Village, where I spotted a half dozen bird species in minutes, including a Great Blue Heron and my first sighting of a Black Phoebe flycatcher. It’s unfortunate that so many communities take most of the river water without considering the downstream impact on birds and other species. I know people pay extra for golf courses, ornamental plants and water features, but national nature reserves suffer directly as a result. Americans need to invest in solar desalination facilities and leave rivers alone.
Having visited now in winter as well as in summer, clearly this is a drop dead gorgeous park. A California Condor circled overhead waiting to see if the views would really kill me. Perhaps that’s why so many of the natural geologic features are given heavenly names, like the Great White Throne, Angel’s Landing and the Temple of Sinawava (the Paiute Coyote God). With fresh snow on the Riverside Walk above, I felt like a kid gawking up at waterfalls until my neck hurt, and I spotted other adults who childishly made snow angels and slid down slopes. Best of all, I had sections of the park to myself, a far cry from summer crowds. This is my favorite ‘snow day’ park.
If you haven’t yet visited, go in any season and hike. Explore as many corners as you can from driving the tunnel, to walking in from the pedestrian bridge, to the Kolob Canyons, the Narrows and any of the wilderness. It’s indescribable. If you can, stay at the Zion Lodge in the park, with a good restaurant, comfortable cabins and EV charging. Despite folks complaining about EVs in cold, I was happy to have dual motors and remote defrost. My vehicle went from snow drift to clear windows, heated seat and steering wheel, while I packed up in my cabin. I wanted to avoid the mandatory shuttle, as it is not yet fully electric (soon!), and seeing Zion in winter is like visiting a different less crowded park. In summer, it’s easier to get to the higher viewpoints and see more wildlife, but winter has a desolate stark beauty even in the middle of the canyon. Next time I should try spring or fall.
Let’s catch up on where we were in Florida, at this fascinating, multilayered site that preserves not just nature but also native, colonial and freed slave cultures. As I learned here at Fort Caroline, which hosts the visitor center for the preserve, the Timucuan people either were killed, converted or escaped to join other tribes, after contact with the Spanish. But this was once their land (and water). And at the small exhibit in the Ribault Club, a partner site & wedding venue, I learned that thousands of years ago the Native Americans built shell mounds and large, complex rings of shell structures throughout these coastal islands, some of which remain here. So the preserve does help protect Native American archaeological sites, in addition to protecting critical breeding grounds and nurseries for fish, flyways for migrating birds, habitat for endangered wildlife and the plants which literally hold the land together. I saw many different birds on my hike in the Teddy Roosevelt area (above), including wood storks.
These islands (pictured) are the southern end of these low-lying coastal delta islands that run to Moores Creek in North Carolina. The whole area is now known as the Gullah Geechee Cultural Heritage Corridor, where some African traditions and culture survived, and a unique Creole was created, called Gullah in an echo of slave roots in Angola. That culture developed separately from the mainland, since some of the first Africans brought here were free, some slaves purchased their freedom (or their children’s) from the French, Spanish & British who allowed that, and some escaped. Unlike the larger plantations in the southeast, the coastal rice, cotton & indigo sea island plantations were run more loosely, with free time allowed after tasks were completed and many families kept intact.
The complexity of slavery in Florida is revealed in Anna’s story. She was born as Anta Ndaiye, a Senegalese royal, but was captured and sold into slavery at age 13. She was purchased in Havana in 1806 by a planter and trader who promptly impregnated her and brought her to Florida. Five years and three children later, the planter granted freedom to her and her biracial children. Florida was Spanish at the time, and she received her rights under their law. Her nominal husband owned other properties (and had other wives), so he left the management of the plantations near here to Anna. When US rebels tried to seize their property, she burned the plantation and was rewarded with new property by the Spanish. Anna ran the Kingsley plantation here for 25 years, overseeing 100 slaves. Her fourth child was born free. After Florida became a US territory, new laws were passed making interracial marriage illegal and jeopardizing the rights of Anna and her children. So her husband moved the family to Haiti, which had been free since the end of their revolution in 1804. After her husband died, Anna returned to the US to claim her inheritance, which was contested by her husband’s sister, who argued that Anna couldn’t own property in Florida. Anna argued that she was Spanish, since she had been recognized by the Spanish government as free (and a hero) and noted that the US government had promised to protect the rights of all Spanish citizens under the Florida treaty signed by John Q. Adams in 1819. Anna won. She fled to New York for the duration of the Civil War returning to Florida afterwards.
“To deny people their human rights is to challenge their very humanity.”
The park runs along the riverside in 16 different mostly contiguous sections, just north of metro Atlanta. The view above is from an overlook in the East Palisades section, specifically between EP 10 and EP 14 near the Indian Trail entrance. The treacherous whitewater mild shoals in the river above are known as the Devil’s Race Course, not for downstream paddling difficulty, but because it used to be “a devil” to move cargo up the river here.
Parks near urban areas means more people enjoying nature, and even on a chilly autumn day there were plenty of folks out jogging, hiking, biking and dog walking. One young lady appeared to be in deep meditation at the river’s edge, while her dog intently watched some geese on a sand bar in mid stream. It would have been fun to kayak through the park, but I couldn’t figure out a good way to get all my gear back to my car. With limited time to visit other sections, I spent my time on a beautiful long hike along the river and up in the wooded hills.
Crunching through the leaves reminds me of running cross country as a boy during the fall in New England and leaves time to reflect on loss and letting things go. Life is not perpetual youthful summers, and the decay that comes with the passage of time prepares the ground for new life and the next generation. The bittersweet changes of seasons and life should be learned from, embraced and cherished, not denied nor medicated away.
“Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
Zero Carbon Travel 