A Snapshot and The Scoop: Sand Sculptures

Wind and water can sculpt some amazing formations, even if they might be small, delicate things that blow away with a breath. Gypsum especially seems to form an array of fragile flakes, built by water and torn by wind. Even in the middle of the dune field at White Sands National Monument, if you pay attention you can find little sculptures left in tribute to the wild, which will vanish with the next storm.

East Coast Epic: The Park of My Dreams

Euphoric. If I could designate a national park it would include miles and miles of curvy, winding roads with mountain views and forests that go on forever. I'd add a dash of history and a liberal sprinkling of wildlife. Of course, there would be hundreds of miles of hiking trails, so many that it would take a lifetime to complete them all, and I would make sure they were all connected so a visitor could pick their trail and length depending on how much they wanted to tackle. I'd make sure there were front country developed campgrounds and a healthy amount of backcountry campsites available for all camper skill sets, and maybe even a lodge because you never know where you might want to stay. Doesn't this park sound amazing? It turns out I don't have to designate anything, because Shenandoah National Park already exists.

Considering it's a part of the national parks system, Shenandoah has been on my list of places to see ASAP, but it's a bit of a drive for me to get there and so requires more than just a whim to go. My East Coast Epic seemed like the perfect opportunity to hit it up, and it was the very first park I planned to see when sitting down to map out a route a couple days before I left. Same as Niagara, I did minimal research about the park, merely confirming plenty of campgrounds and how to get there, so I really wasn't prepared for the sheer awesomeness that is a park dedicated to scenic drives. The park encompasses over a hundred miles of meandering mountain road that trails along an elevated ridge of the Blue Mountains, often the tallest peaks in the area. Expanding into the surrounding forests, a hundred-mile section of the Appalachian National Scenic Trail parallels the road and serves as a jumping point for (relatively) shorter hikes throughout the park. These shorter hikes take visitors to rocky overlooks and towering waterfalls, often starting right from overlooks along the road.

Apparently I visited during prime season, as a million wildflowers were in bloom in every clearing and meadow, with monarchs floating on every breeze. I spent most of an afternoon driving the park road, taking it easy at the park's 35 mph speed limit and enjoying life with my windows down. I got out to hike once that afternoon, strapping on my hiking shoes and hitting a trail that followed the AT to a junction, where I turned off to a rocky overlook called Stony Man. From there I headed to Big Meadows Campground and got myself a site for the night, complete with a bear locker and all. I looked, oh boy did I look, but I missed out on bears in the park and was so disappointed! Next time I'll see one!

I had no plans (theme. of. the. trip.) that evening, so once I set up camp I made my way on foot from the campground to Dark Hollow Falls. I connected my campsite to the Story of the Forest Trail, crossed the park road, and made my way down the Dark Hollow Falls Trail to the falls themselves. And what a set of waterfalls! It's been a while since I've hiked to a good set of forest falls, and these did not disappoint. 70 feet tall, water cascades down a series of rocky outcrops as the Rose River flows down the Blue Mountains. You can get right up to the base of the falls on the trail, close enough to feel the mist as the river plunges into its pool to continue on its way, and I more than enjoyed the spray as I rested at the foot of the falls.

I had quite a cute little encounter on my way back to camp as the sun set over the forest: skunks! Three little kits foraged right off the trail next to a stream, and I spent way longer than necessary taking pictures and videos of the cuties along with a few other hikers. We were never threatened by them, and one of them was brave enough to get quite close to us, though we backed up whenever it approached. They were absolutely adorable, and I was beside myself seeing them on the trail.

I finished my drive the next morning, making a point to stop at every single overlook along the park road. I was still in my wrist brace at this point, and though I didn't want to risk falling on a strenuous hike I was itching to get on a trail. I made plenty of notes about which trails I'd hike (all of them) the next time I visit, and spent a great deal of time unsuccessfully looking for bears every chance I got. The Blue Ridge Parkway extends from the park's southern border, though I was disappointed I wouldn't get to drive it this summer it is one of those iconic scenic drives that I will make sure to do within the next few years. This time, though, I was headed to a cave and wanted to be there early enough to snag a campsite. I left Shenandoah behind with the promise to myself and that park that I'd be back.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: The Panne, An East Coast Epic Story

Created by wind and water, shallow bowls form among the dunes at Indiana Dunes National Park. If they're deep enough they can reach the water table, bringing fresh water to the surface and creating a little oasis away from the windy churning depths of Lake Michigan. These bowls, called a panne, house and shelter a variety of plant species that would otherwise find it difficult to grow on the dunes at the mercy of the winds, which in turn create excellent cover for small mammals to thrive. The panne I visited early in the morning of my visit to the park was almost perfectly still with only a little breeze ruffling the waters, despite the steady winds coming across the lake just over the lip of the bowl. Toads croaked from the shoreline and a couple of waterfowl rustled in the nearby reeds; the world waking up to a new day on the lake.

East Coast Epic: Island Escape

Gladdened. Nobody wants to go to the beach when it's storming, but I wasn't there for the beach. Well, not just for the beach. I made my way from New York down to Assateague Island National Seashore on the Maryland/Virginia coast, bound and determined to visit ever since I began following their social media accounts. You see, Assateague hosts a population of wild horses, and even though I don't consider myself a horse person these particular ones captured my attention and practically demanded to be seen. It was storming when I reached the visitor center, and continued to storm as I crossed the bay bridge onto the island proper, where I was immediately greeted by a group of horses standing on the side of the road in the downpour. I found the campground and waited out the rain in my car, pouring over the island map and noting which trails I wanted to explore. The roads are minimal on the island unless you have a vehicle that can handle driving on sand, so I was confined to the paved portions and wherever I could reach by foot. Which wasn't looking like anywhere with the storm still rolling through.

Eventually the rain lightened enough for me to make my way to the oceanside beach, where I was pelted with rain drops and sea spray but didn't give a shit because I was staring at the ocean. The Atlantic Ocean, which I couldn't help but note the fact that I was supposed to be staring at the Pacific Ocean, perhaps right that minute, if things had gone the way I thought my summer was going to go. Instead I was alone on the other side of the country, and couldn't find it in me to be upset about that fact. I watched the clouds roil above me and the ocean churn beyond the beach and all I felt was a giddy happiness that can only come from being right where I wanted to be.

Eventually the rain parted and the clouds lifted and glorious sunshine filled the sky, but I wouldn't have cared if it had kept raining all day. I was on a barrier island on the Atlantic Ocean, I'd already seen horses and knew I'd be seeing more, and I had a dry car to sleep in if I couldn't set my tent up. I had no care and no worries. I began exploring the island trails, first walking along a boardwalk on the bay side of the island, suspended above the brackish wetlands while watching blue crabs scuttle among the reeds. Then I wandered toward the center of the island where loblolly pines tolerate salty conditions to form forests that shelter horses, deer, and other wildlife. From there I traversed the sea dunes, that first line of defense between the ocean and the rest of the island.

I spent a lot of time at the beach, driving to different areas and walking as far as I wanted. It was almost chilly after the storm, the sky still partly cloudy and the threat of more rain on the horizon. I saw horses almost everywhere I went, though none as close in the campground where I eventually pitched my tent among damp grasses. The horses on Assateague are wild, and I had no desire to get within any sort of distance of them, happily observing them from my car while watching some not-so-smart people approach way too closely. It was recommended all over the island to treat the horses like you would a bear, which was advice I wholeheartedly embraced. I really didn't want to be bitten or kicked, especially considering I was still sporting my wrist brace.

Evening on the island settled softly, and there wasn't a drop of rain overnight. I woke before dawn, which is pretty usual on my travels, and made my way to the ocean to catch the sunrise. I was surprised to see quite a few people milling around, though whether they were still enjoying themselves from the night before or were up early like myself it was impossible to tell, and it didn't matter. I wasn't there for them. I pointed my lens to the east and waited for the sun.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Shifting Dunes, An East Coast Epic Story

Anybody who's ever gone to a beach can tell you: sand moves. Anybody who's ever seen a field of sand dunes can tell you even better: sand moves a lot. It's one thing to know sand moves, but it's quite another to actually see the evidence right in front of you in the form of half-buried trees. These trees sprouted on fairly flat ground, but over time the sand dunes at Indiana Dunes National Park have shifted further inland, pushed by the winds across Lake Michigan, and are slowly burying the forest in front of them. Already trees are fully buried by the sands, making the dunes unstable when they rot and leave empty cavities that collapse without warning, causing more sand to shift. Dunes are active, flowing things, moving slowly but steadily one grain at a time. You just have to wait around long enough to see the proof yourself.

East Coast Epic: Niagara Falls

Satisfied. I centered this trip around seven units of the national park system, none of which are located in New York. A secondary goal, however, was to hit as many states along the east coast as possible in the time I had, and really, New York wasn't that much farther than Pennsylvania, plus could I really pass up a visit to the quintessential tourist trap that is Niagara Falls? I also had a friend living in Toronto, which pretty much solidified my plans to go to the state; cross another one off my list, visit another Great Lake, see the falls, and catch up with a friend.

Niagara Falls isn't technically on a lake but instead rests on the Niagara River connecting Lake Ontario to Lake Erie. I'd stopped at a little state park on the shores of Lake Erie on my way to New York, and meandered up to Lake Ontario while killing time waiting for my friend to be available, meaning I approached Niagara Falls from the north. If you ever get a chance, I highly recommend a drive along the Niagara Scenic Parkway, taking the time to stop at all the little state parks that dot the road. There's just something about looking across a canyon and knowing another country sits right there, right across the deep canyon and startling blue-green river.

Now, none of the giant, iconic falls sheltered by Niagara Falls State Park are actually called Niagara Falls. No, that's the name of the city that sprawls on both sides of the US-Canadian border. Goat Island splits the north-flowing Niagara River into three falls, named Bridal Veil Falls, American Falls, and the more famous Horseshoe Falls. Both the Bridal Veil Falls and American Falls sit on the American side of the border, while Horseshoe Falls spans the width of the river between countries. I had done the bare minimum amount of research when looking into this stop along my way, just enough to get me there and tell me there was no camping in the area, so I had no idea the river flowed north, that there were actually three falls, and that none of them were called Niagara. I felt like I'd been lied to my entire life, but looking back I have no idea where I got my preconceptions.

I spent the entire evening at the park, wandering its paved trails, taking countless photos, and generally letting myself get swept away in the flow of tourist traffic. I had no real desire to get tickets to the river, where I could either get wet by walking to the base of Bridal Veil Falls or take a boat to the churning pool of Horseshoe Falls, but instead stuck to the overlooks including the glass observation deck which was as close as one could get to an aerial view of the falls without actually leaving solid ground. After a frankly ridiculous wait at the United States border my friend finally made it through and met me at the park, where we retraced my steps and revisited all the views before it got dark.

She and I headed into the city on foot to find some dinner, and would it really be a visit to New York without pizza? We found a vendor and grabbed a table, chatting the whole time. The fireworks began as we were eating, and we made our way back to the falls to catch the show. We wandered back to the observation deck and watched as the falls were lit up in a cycle of red, white, and blue from floodlights on the Canadian side of the river. Again, I had no idea they lit up the falls, and I am still so happy we decided to stay in the area until late. The longer I spent there the happier I became, pleased with myself for being in that spot on what was basically a whim. I should probably open my future travels up a little more to allow for memories like these.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Indiana Dunes, An East Coast Epic Story

The first stop on my East Coast Epic was the nation's newest national park: Indiana Dunes. Actually, it was my second stop if you count an overnight at my parent's house to get my camping gear back from my sister and to celebrate the 4th of July, but Indiana Dunes was my first stop to camp, hike, and generally explore. Alone. For ten days. And let me tell you, it did not disappoint. Indiana Dunes is situated at the southern tip of Lake Michigan, close enough that you can see the silhouette of Chicago to the west on a clear day. The park preserves miles of beach and coastline, historic buildings, and you guessed it, sand dunes. Sand dunes seem to be a theme of my travels this year, but at least I didn't break my wrist this time. (My wrist was still in the brace when I set out on this adventure, and didn't come off until I was more than halfway finished.) But I digress; I arrived at the park in the evening and spent the rest of the daylight hours chasing photos. The next morning I was up early, determined to catch sunrise over the lake. Given that it was a holiday weekend during the summer I expected a lot more people on the beach early on, but aside from a couple of joggers and a grizzled fisherman, I was alone. It wasn't quiet, not with the wind and the waves and the occasional gull, but it was peaceful and an excellent start to my adventures. I couldn't wait to see what else was in store for me through the rest of the week travelling around the east coast.