Matador Network's Blog, page 2183
November 18, 2014
Guide to Arizona's best small towns
PRESCOTT, Yavapai County
Photo: bethany.Hatch
The small city of Prescott can feel a world away from the desert climate of Arizona’s south. In fact, Prescott can feel a world away from the rest of the Southwest.
The town was pushed into creation by Congress and Abraham Lincoln in 1864 as the territorial capital of Arizona, a move to secure the region’s natural resources for the Union during the Civil War. As result of this Yankee influence, Prescott’s architecture and grass-covered front yards had more in common with the Victorian vibe of the wider U.S. at the time than the otherwise unique aesthetics of the Southwest. While a massive fire in 1900 pressed the reset button, both culturally and architecturally, on the mountain town, much of the older flavor remains.
Whiskey Row is the contemporary center of Prescott’s nightlife, as it was 100 years ago, but this part of the state is best appreciated outdoors. Prescott’s 250 miles of mountain biking trails are nothing short of phenomenal (get your hike and ride maps here), as are hiking options like Thumb Butte and the Granite Mountain Trail. If you’re short on gear, Prescott has plenty of outfitters to help fill out whatever’s missing in your day bag.
PATAGONIA, Santa Cruz County
Photo: Ken Bosma
Patagonia is getting quite famous for being practically unknown. The town sits quietly 20 miles north of Mexico between two districts of the expansive Coronado National Forest, shaded by both the Santa Rita and Patagonia Mountains. With an elevation of just over 4,000 feet, its cooler climate attracts grassland bird watchers.
For most, though, the real draw to Patagonia is the wine. In the 1970s, a soil scientist by the name of Dr. Gordon Dutt discovered that the red earth around town was practically a match for that of Côte-d’Or in Burgundy, France. In the time since, close to a dozen vineyards have opened, and the area has been granted a federal designation as a unique wine-producing region.
Once you’ve gotten a little color in your cheeks, there are the nearby ghost towns of Harshaw, Duquesne, and Lochiel. The Stage Stop Inn in Patagonia gets high marks from travelers for value and decor.
BISBEE, Cochise County
Photo: ammanteufel
Fifteen miles north of the Mexican border, creeping up the base of the red-clay-colored Mule Mountains, sits the former mining town of Bisbee. At the turn of the 20th century, the local Copper Queen Mine was one of the world’s most productive, churning out gold, copper, zinc, and lead. The population of well-paid miners and their somewhat lascivious hobbies helped earn Bisbee the informal title of “liveliest spot between El Paso and San Francisco.” But as mines boom they must also bust, and by the end of the 1970s things had quieted down.
But that was far from the end of the story for Bisbee. Since the miners moved out, artists have moved in, and today this small town — a good hour-and-a-half drive from the nearest city — is a creative enclave with an eccentric old-hippie spice. There’s a serious appreciation for the kitsch, and at times the town can feel like a John Waters fantasy of the Old West. Still, Main Street’s brick structures look as enduring as the Pyramids and as tough as the miners who once frequented them.
Bisbee’s best attractions are the tours of the mine and town. The Old Bisbee Ghost Tour will take you on a ghost hunt at the famous Copper Queen Hotel, or guide you on a haunted pub crawl. If you’re after a funky place to stay with some history — albeit a little less history than the hotels in town — look no further than the Shady Dell. The Dell is a stylized trailer park of ten vintage campers dating back to the late 1940s. Each has a unique theme and can be rented for between $90 and $150 per night.
JEROME, Yavapai County
Photo: Kenneth Hagemeyer
About 100 miles due north of Phoenix, and a quick 50-minute drive from Prescott, the ghost town of Jerome shares many of the eccentric-artist charms and Old West history of Bisbee, while benefiting from the much cooler climate of Arizona’s north. It looks exactly as you might have expected it to 100 years ago, but the best views come when you put your back to the town. From its perch in the Black Hills of Prescott National Forest, Jerome’s sweeping panoramas of red mountains splotched in green desert shrubbery conjure thoughts of what Mars might look like after a good rain.
From their boom-to-bust mining histories, prevalence of artists, and past reputations as cities of ill repute, Jerome and Bisbee can’t escape constant comparison. When it comes to activities in Jerome, you would be well served, as you would in Bisbee, by a tour of haunted mines and hotels.
Ghosts are inseparably woven into Jerome’s identity; a favorite for a bite to eat is the Haunted Hamburger on Clark Street. The restaurant earned its name after a number of strange events involving disappearing tools and slamming doors occurred during the building’s renovation.
ARCOSANTI, Yavapai County
Photo: Chris Ohlinger
Photo: Cody
Arcosanti describes itself as an “urban laboratory” — a living experiment in founder Paolo Soleri’s theory of “arcology” (a combination of architecture and ecology). Established in the 1970s, the aim of arcology is to explore alternative architecture in the pursuit of environmental responsibility and alternatives to urban sprawl. If you’re looking for uniquely Arizona, this is it.
While Soleri’s ideals of living in harmony with the environment are as relevant as ever, the look of Arcosanti is a bit dated, something like a Jetsons vision of the future. But don’t be deterred — the high-domed apses and massive circular windows of the Sky Suite are remarkable sites that warrant the 70-mile drive north of Phoenix.
Arcosanti holds annual workshops that teach the founding concepts of the community. Every year the town hosts about 35,000 tourists who stop to stay the night, tour the buildings, ponder the concepts of arcology, and purchase the famous bronze and ceramic Arcosanti wind bells that are the economic lifeblood of the community.
WILLIAMS, Coconino County
Photo: Loco Steve
Historic Route 66 once embodied the American spirit of risk, adventure, and perseverance. The 2,500-mile road was the nerve system of the West, carrying survivors of the Dust Bowl to greener pastures and supporting the communities that sat along its edges. The town of Williams, situated on what is now Interstate 40, about a half hour west of Flagstaff, is a living ode to both that storied road and the cultural high-water mark that was the1950s.
Today, Williams is still a town of neon signs, soda fountains, and restaurants that serve the American staples of cow and potatoes in all their various glories. This is a wonderful place to snap a few photos of Americana relics or buy some cowboy leather.
Williams is also the pickup point for the Grand Canyon Railway. The train ride takes about two hours and drops you off on the canyon’s South Rim. There are a number of class options, including an observation dome and the budget-minded Pullman Class.
LAKE HAVASU CITY, Mohave County
Photo: Iris Donovan
If Arcosanti is an exercise in living with the environment, Lake Havasu City is an engineering victory over Mother Nature. The town’s desert climate is unmistakably arid, yet it earns its dot on the map for its tremendous water sports, made possible by the Parker Dam on the Colorado River, which creates the massive namesake reservoir. In what other landlocked desert town can you find beaches, boating, and fishing?
Make no mistake — Lake Havasu City was created for your good times. Every year, thousands of nubile bodies descend on the lake for one of the rowdiest Spring Break events north of the border. During any other week of the year, this is a great place to bring the family, get out on the water, and of course see the meticulous reconstruction of the London Bridge (featuring original masonry that was purchased, tagged, and shipped to town following the bridge’s renovation in the 1960s).
And you thought you had to leave Arizona to see the world? 
This post is proudly produced in partnership with the Arizona Office of Tourism. Visit their site and start planning your Arizona adventure today.
November 16, 2014
20 epic treehouses around the world
Humans have always felt at home in the trees. It is, after all, where we came from a long, long time ago. But even in the modern age, trees play a very important role in our lives. People who live near trees are known to have better physical and mental health, and the presence of trees is important for preventing climate change.
Naturally, as we learn more about our relationship to trees and our planet, we’re realizing we want to spend more time in and around them. More and more people are building creative treehouses for use as hotels, restaurants, teahouses, or occasionally as a means of communicating with extraterrestrials (seriously! — see the Beach Rock Treehouse below). Here are some of the coolest treehouses in the world.
1. TreeHouse Point
Just outside Seattle in Issaquah, Washington, is the treehouse B&B named TreeHouse Point. The place has six treehouse rooms available.
2. Silky Oaks Lodge
Silky Oaks Lodge is a luxury resort in the jungle around Queensland, Australia’s Mossman Gorge River. It features a treetop restaurant overlooking the river.
3. Yellow Treehouse Restaurant
The Yellow Treehouse Restaurant near Auckland, New Zealand, is built around a 40-meter-tall redwood tree. It doesn’t serve as a regular restaurant — it’s only open for special events.
4. Finca Bellavista
Finca Bellavista is a sustainable treehouse community in Costa Rica’s rainforest canopies. You can purchase a parcel to build your own treehouse on, or just crash there for a few nights. They let you zipline between treehouses. It’s quite possibly the coolest place on earth.
5. Treehotel
The second-to-none Treehotel in Harads, Sweden, has six absolutely incredible treehouse rooms — from the bizarre, alien-themed UFO room to the almost-invisible Mirrorcube, it takes your weirdest ideas about treehouses and runs with them.
Photos via, via, via, via, via, and via
6. Nanshan Treehouse Resort
On the island of Hainan in the South China Sea, the Nanshan Treehouse Resort features three large treehouses that can house up to 20 people. The resort’s also near a Buddhist “theme park,” with a number of pagodas and temples.
Photos via
7. Teahouse Tetsu
The Teahouse Tetsu is exactly what it sounds like: a teahouse in a tree. It was designed by architect Terunobu Fujimori and sits among the cherry blossoms in Hokuto City, Japan.
Photo via
8. Soneva Kiri Treepod
The Soneva Kiri Resort on Koh Kood, Thailand, has a one-of-a-kind feature: “treepod” dining. Basically, you enter the pod on the jungle floor, and then it’s hoisted into the canopy, where you’re served a meal by a waiter on a zipline.
9. Nothofagus Hotel
The Nothofagus Hotel is among the treetops of the Huilo Huilo Biological Reserve in Chilean Patagonia.
10. Inhabit Treehouse
The Inhabit Treehouse was created by designer Antony Gibbon. It can be accessed through a trapdoor underneath the house. Unfortunately, this design as of yet only exists on the drawing board, but you can change that.
11. Muskoka Treehouse
Designer Lukasz Kos’s treehouse in Lake Muskoka, Ontario, is named the 4Treehouse. It was designed to minimize its impact on the surrounding trees. There are three levels to this treehouse, which looks like a Japanese lantern when lit up at night.
12. The Minister’s Treehouse
The Minister’s Treehouse in Crossville, Tennessee, is possibly the world’s largest treehouse (it hasn’t been verified yet), standing 97 feet tall with over 80 rooms. Minister Horace Burgess started building it in 1993 and hasn’t stopped (though it’s been temporarily closed by the county fire marshal). It also serves as a church. The house is built around a massive oak with six other oaks used for support.
Photo via
13. Hapuku Lodge and Treehouses
Hapuku Lodge is a luxury resort in Kaikoura, New Zealand, featuring a number of 30-foot-tall treehouses that overlook the mountains and the coast. The treehouses are big enough for couples or for families.
14. Costa Rican Airbnb
This treehouse with a wraparound balcony is in Alajuela, Costa Rica, and is adjacent to hot springs. It’s $85 a night. It’s a short drive from the treehouse to Costa Rica’s famous Volcano Arenal.
15. The Burning Man Steampunk Treehouse
Burning Man has given the world a lot of awesome things, but it tends to burn those things at the end of the festival. Mercifully, the awesome Steampunk Treehouse, created by Sean Orlando and Kinetic Steam Works for the 2007 festival, was relocated to the Dogfish Head Brewery in Milton, Delaware, where it’ll stay permanently.
16. Three Story Treehouse
The Three Story Treehouse is an attraction in British Columbia’s Enchanted Forest Theme Park. It includes fairy-tale characters and nature walks, but the highlight of the park is clearly the treehouse.
Photo via
17. Alessandria Treehouse
Another beautiful treehouse available on Airbnb. This one, in Alessandria, Italy, offers free wifi and access to a 19th-century wine cellar.
Photos via
18. Beach Rock Treehouse
This bizarre treehouse in Beach Rock Village in Okinawa, Japan, was built by Kobayashi Takashi with the intention of communicating with beings from outer space.
Photo via
19. Free Spirit Spheres
Free Spirit Spheres are available for rent in Qualicum Beach, British Columbia. Suspended from webs of rope, the spherical hotel rooms are accessible through spiral staircases and small suspension bridges.
20. Monbazillac
In Aquitaine, France, the Chateaux dans les Arbres features the Monbazillac Treehouse, a treehouse you can rent on Airbnb. There’s a wraparound terrace with a Jacuzzi.
Photos via
The 4 stages of culture shock
Photo: EIMarto
CULTURE SHOCK. You’re lost, standing baffled in new surroundings with a heavy pack on your shoulders, unable to tell left from right, up from down, phone booths from trash cans or rip-off artists from friends.
But this image of sudden shock isn’t quite accurate.
In reality, culture shock is a much more nuanced phenomenon that can take months to develop and overcome. Culture shock will flip your emotions topsy-turvy. It will affect you in completely unexpected ways.
More than simply being surprised at unfamiliar social norms, weird new food or foreign modes of conversation, culture shock will impact you long after you become familiar and comfortable with the day-to-day customs of a new culture.
Culture shock tends to move through four different phases: wonder, frustration, depression and acceptance.
Of course, like all things that happen in our complicated little brains, it’s never really that simple or easy. Each of these stages take time to run their course, and how deeply one affects you is never set in stone. Even the order of these 4 stages can be unpredictable.
Jet-lag and wonder
The first stage of culture shock is often overwhelmingly positive and far from bewildering. This is often called the “honeymoon phase” – when you’re so fascinated with the language, the people, and the food that the trip seems like the greatest thing you’ve ever done. You’re having an adventure!
On shorter trips this honeymoon period can be a huge boon, as the rush of foreign stimulation makes a vacation all the better, and having a set return date can ward off the less enjoyable aspects of culture shock.
Anyone who’s visited another continent has felt this rush of excitement the minute they got off the plane, and will no doubt never forget it.
Guidebooks about Southeast Asia play on this fairly often, inevitably starting with a vivid description of Bangkok – the overwhelming smell of fish sauce, the muggy tropical air, the traffic straight out of hell – all things that contribute to the sense of having touched down on another planet.
Settling in…to frustration?!
This is a difficult stage of culture shock, familiar to anyone who has lived abroad or traveled for a long time. You don’t understand gestures, you get laughed at, and you horribly offend a little old lady without knowing why.
The usual response is anger. I often tell people that culture shock is walking out the door, being greeted by a neighbor, and wanting nothing more than to shout obscenities at them.
It is a visceral reaction that permeates every part of the experience, from misunderstanding shopkeepers, to losing your keys or missing the bus. Frustration comes and goes, disillusion comes on like a monsoon and the pangs of homesickness can become debilitating.
The first time I went to Asia I got it bad. After a month and a half of backpacking and two months teaching in Saigon, I was ready to go home.
The city began to weigh on me in ways I couldn’t have forseen. Struggling against the smog and noise felt like trying to keep my head above water while wearing lead boots. The food, the people, the language – nothing was exotic anymore. I just wanted a hamburger.
Depression: feeling stuck
Ah, the big one. We’ve all felt a little down before, but rarely when we’re so far from home.
Depression on the road is a feeling of hopelessness and longing, like nothing will ever be okay again until you hop on that plane home.
The worst part about this brand of moping is that it’s difficult to see the link to culture shock – the feeling can sometimes seems disconnected from travel, and often even homesickness. It can take the form of simple, implacable malaise.
It’s hard to be so far away, especially if you’re all by yourself. Frustration can bring on homesickness, but depression adds the dimension of feeling like you just have to get out.
Acceptance: home away from home
After weeks and months of blindly struggling through a thousand different emotional states every hour, acceptance finally arrives like a warm bath at the end of a hard day.
Acceptance does not necessarily entail total understanding – it’s nearly impossible to ever claim complete understanding of another culture – but instead involves the realization that you don’t have to “get” it all. You find what makes you happy and content in your new surroundings.
For me, this realization happened a few months after I moved to Saigon a second time. I began to find my place in the motorbike horns, cigarette smoke, and other expats floating through the fray. When Vietnamese started sounding more like a language than a fax tone and I ceased getting hopelessly lost on the potholed roads, the whole experience began to feel like a coherent whole instead of a random collection of aimless madness.
And there lies the crux of culture shock: the bad stuff, like feeling lost, hopeless, and out of place, will run its course no matter what happens.
Going the distance
Even though you can’t avoid culture shock entirely, there are things you can do to make it easier on yourself.
The first step, of course, is to recognize that what you’re going through is culture shock. If you can come to terms with wild mood swings and sad times, and recognize they’re part of the inevitable process, it’s a lot easier to convince yourself that the bad feelings will pass. And they will.
Secondly, it’s crucial to learn the language as you go. Culture shock, at its simplest, is an inability to integrate, and the biggest barrier to that is generally language. The more able a traveler is to laugh, cry, and seek solace with the locals, the easier it is to deal with ups and downs.
Though it can be one of the toughest parts of traveling, culture shock is just as integral to the experience as food, people, and scenery. By recognizing it for what it is and doing your best to cope, you can easily prevent culture shock from ruining an otherwise fantastic journey.
This article was originally published on November 20th, 2007.
November 15, 2014
From homeless to big wave champion
From life as an eight-year-old boy living on the streets of Mexico city to becoming one of the most renowned big wave surfers in the Pacific, Coco Nogales is a living example of the power of pure determination and the refusal to let the past dictate the future. Today, he is inspiring the next generation of Mexican surfers, leading by example, and through his charity project AHAVA making a tangible difference to the lives of those around him.
As night fell on the streets of Mexico City, eight-year-old Carlos (Coco) Nogales would search for shelter from the lurking shadows and passing strangers.
Underneath the rusty frame of an old car left on a cobblestone street, in the back of a truck he’d cleaned earlier on in the day, or in the corner of a dark alleyway. Often, he was cold to the core of his shivering frame, starving and fearing for his life. But whatever horrors the streets held, they could be no worse than those he faced at home. This sort of existence, he knew, was not about comfort. It simply came down to survival.
“It was very tough,” Coco says, as he takes a moment to reflect. His eyes are downcast, and he pauses before he speaks again. “So many nights you didn’t have a place to sleep, so many nights you didn’t have a thing to eat. It was kind of scary, you know.”
Almost three decades on, the renowned Mexican big-wave surfer says the harsh realities of his so-called childhood seem like a distant nightmare. But one which he simply refused to allow dictate his future.
“When I was on the streets — when I was that kid — I knew I want to be someone,” he says. “I mean not just be in jail, or on drugs. I knew I wanted to be someone in life.”
In the coming years, Coco’s pure determination would prove beyond any doubt, that no one is a slave to their circumstance. And today, it’s the power of this personal experience that he is hoping to impart to the next generation of mexican surfers.
“I know for certain that all of your dreams are possible,” Coco says as he sits among a circle of kids hailing from Puerto Escondido, Acapulco and the small fishing village of San Agustin.
In the background, a series of rolling left-handers hit the sculpted sandbank of La Punta, forming the perfect backdrop to — what for many of these children — will be an unforgettable moment in their lives. As part of his charity foundation AHAVA, Coco had handpicked a number of them to take part in a special workshop in August. He figures if there’s anyone in the surfing community suited to speak into their lives, it’s him.
“I think everyone needs someone to look up to,” he explains later. “I mean I’m not perfect, no one is, but I’ve been there and I know what they might be going through.”
There’s complete silence as the young ones take in his words.
And the wonder in their eyes speak volumes about the profound impact a few simple sentences strung together is set to have on their lives. Coco tells them about how he had to learn to hold his own on the streets of Mexico City — from selling chicles and paletes to cleaning cars and making a meal from leftovers as restaurants closed their doors.
After about six months he managed to save enough money to buy a bus ticket to Acapulco — a seaside tourism mecca, that just maybe, would offer a better existence.
“That was a little bit better, the weather was not so cold and I was not in the city and living on the beach.”
There he quickly learned to scrape an existence from the forgotten loose change of wealthy foreigners. He was a busker, experienced entertainer, expert salesman, and street savvy. And, among other things, it was here that he would have his first encounter with the English language.
“My friends taught me my first word,” he says, laughing. “It was ‘cheapskate,’ when the guys don’t give me money they told me to say, ‘cheapskate, cheapskate’ and I did.”
But Coco doesn’t try to downplay the reality of the situation. In his circle of friends, the problem with drugs and crime which mar the existence of millions of impoverished street children in Mexico, began to rear its ugly head. “But I knew I didn’t want to go down that road,” he explains. “I realised I had to leave.”
At the time, Coco started hearing some older guys talking about Puerto Escondio “el paraiso,” a place of surfing and big waves. A week later, he was sitting on a bus as it weaved its way along the road to Puerto Escondido.
“As soon as I came here, I knew this was going to be my house, forever.” Then surfing came into his life and, Coco says, it changed everything.
“But actually at first, when I was younger I was scared of waves,” Coco tells the kids. “I didn’t know how to swim, and I was afraid of the ocean.“But finally I said, I’m going to break this fear.”
Today, Coco rides giants for a living.
At 17, he scored an interview with Surfing Magazine and pins the launch of his career on a photograph of a single monster wave at Puerto Escondido, that he says “changed his life forever.”
“All it takes is one wave,” he says later, pointing to the very same picture (below) hanging on the wall of his dream home. But nothing comes easy, and for years Coco had to be relentless in his pursuit of carving a career from his passion. Pure determination, grasping every opportunity and what some would consider fate, led him to where he is today. But in life, Coco tells the AHAVA kids, it all comes down to respect and being the best person you can.
“This is what I tell them, I say ‘hey you know, believe in yourself, if I did it you can do it.’ It doesn’t matter if you live in a little shack, I lived in a little shack. It doesn’t matter how poor you are believe in yourself, just work hard, have a dream, fight. Have something you want. Don’t sit there and wait, go, get out there, make it happen.”
Coco finishes his chat with the kids on a positive. Their smiles widen as he jokes with them like old friends, and their eyes near burst out of their sockets, when he tells them about his close-calls, heavy wipeouts and surfing Mavericks, a wave he likens to a real life “horror movie.”
What do you like about surfing big waves, one of them asks shyly?
Coco’s eyes light up as he takes a moment to respond. “When you come out of one of those barrels, it’s a satisfaction you can’t explain,” he says. “Surfing big waves is like entering another world, another dimension.”
He tells the kids waking up and doing something your passionate about is the ultimate. But to get there, you need to focus first and foremost on making a positive impact on those around you everyday. “Good deeds bear good fruit,” he tells them. “Bad deeds, bear bad fruit.”
“I don’t want the kids to make mistakes like other people did, you know and because I know if they’re good to people, and to their own friends, good things are going to come to them.”
The stoke is almost tangible as the kids gather ‘round following a surf, and a training session with someone who has no doubt become an inspiration. Claps echo and parents watch in awe as Coco hands out 25 boards generously donated by Share The Stoke Foundation and some of his other friends in higher places.
But Coco explains AHAVA encompasses far more than simply giving these kids a board to ride. Beyond the euphoria, he hopes its the more important messages of respect, good morals and hard work that hits home.
“I want them to have opportunities and by having opportunity is being a good person, because you never know who you’re going to meet and who’s going to open the door for you. This is what AHAVA is about, its about passing the good vibes, these messages to the kids. I know for a fact, that one of them, you’re going to make the change for one of them, from the ten from the 20 from the 30 you’re going to make the change for one, and I’m happy with that.”
This post originally appeared on Free to Sea and is republished here with permission. All photos by the author.
The Great Ocean Walk in Victoria
Photo by Ben McIver
MOST TRAVELERS WHO make their way to the Australian state of Victoria (most commonly Melbourne) eventually find themselves heading to the Great Ocean Road. It’s a stretch of coastline in Victoria’s south that runs around 155 mi/250 km from Torquay to Warrnambool, and which includes the famous 12 Apostles.
What many visitors don’t bother to do though, is to hike any part of the 56 mi/91 km trail that hugs the coastline and gets you right down to the beaches. This is where Mother Nature is, away from the cars and buses, and into the bush with the kangaroos, wallabies, and echidnas.
Lots of options
You don’t have to hike the whole thing. You don’t even have to hike half of it. There are many points of entry and exit which facilitate short and long day hikes, and which many visitors explore while using a B&B or hotel for accommodation.
Shuttles can be hired to drop you off and pick you up at agreed-upon spots and times, and they’ll even do bag drop-off and food delivery (although, many purist hikers take major exception to this practice). We used GOR Shuttle to get taxied back to our van — I personally recommend them.
Tours are also available, if that’s your cup of tea.
For the overnight hikers
The Great Ocean Walk (GOW) starts at the Apollo Bay Visitor Information Centre and ends 90+ kms later at Glenample — within viewing distance of the 12 Apostles. For the hardest of the hardcore, this is a suggested 7-night, 8-day walk.
All the campsites on the walk are hike-in only. To minimise the environmental impact, Parks Victoria keeps the number of overnight hikers low, so each campsite has only eight spots for pitching a tent.
The campgrounds are very basic and have composting toilets, one or two untreated rainwater tanks, and a small 3-sided shelter. Open fires are not allowed and if the fire hazard is extreme, you may not even be allowed to cook with an open flame.
Pick and choose your itinerary
Overnight hikers can opt to do one-night/two-day hikes, two-night/three-day hikes, and so on. There are many starting and ending points but you must obtain a camping permit before spending the night.
For a detailed list of possible itineraries, read this very helpful PDF of FAQs.
A popular itinerary
Probably the most popular stretch of the walk is from Johanna Beach to the end at Glenample. This takes in roughly half of the trail — but from all accounts this is the better half. It is three nights, so is doable over a long weekend, which explains why it was booked solid when my wife and I tried to reserve sites over the Labour Day long weekend (early March in Australia).
But you’re a traveler, and you don’t even know what a weekend is, right? Perfect. We backed it up for one night (starting Thursday instead of Friday) and found ourselves almost completely alone for the whole walk, sharing each campground with only one other couple.
Johanna Beach to Glenample
If you’re driving in, you have two options: park at Johanna Beach and arrange a shuttle at the end to drive you back to your car, or park at the end and get shuttled to Johanna Beach to begin. The latter is better in my opinion, but we were forced to do the former due to time constraints.
The Johanna Beach hike-in campground is around one kilometer from the carpark, although it is all uphill. This is good though as it puts you at the top of the cliff overlooking Joahanna Beach and the coastline beyond. Brilliant view to wake up to the next morning.
The remaining two campsites you would use are Ryan’s Den and Devil’s Kitchen, in that order. The campgrounds are spaced around 9 mi/15 km apart from each other, so it is an honest day’s hike, especially packing full gear (including your trash — carry out what you carry in).
It’s an undulating trail as you follow the topography of fingers of land that reach into the sea. The vegetation is colourful and varied, and you’ll even pass some blackberry bushes — make sure to pause and fill up on some berry goodness.
When sunny, the ocean to your left is a rich blue, reminiscent of the Mediterranean but with the wildness of the Oregon Coast.
Things to consider
There are some stretches of beach walking (e.g. Milanesia and Wreck Beach) that are inaccessible at high tide. Check tide times before you start, otherwise you will have to take the less scenic high routes.
You must reserve your campsite at least two weeks in advance, and you are only allowed to stay a single night in each one.
It pays to reserve early. As we were the first to book, we were awarded with site #8 at each campsite. The sites are numbered 1-8 from the entrance, with 8 being the closest to the cliff’s edge, meaning the best views.
When planning your itinerary, keep in mind that you are only permitted to walk in one direction: from Apollo Bay to Glenample. Booking campsites in the reverse direction is not allowed.
As stated previously, each campground has rainwater tanks, but they are untreated. Make sure to pack some sort of filtration system or purification tablets. At the very minimum, if you don’t have these, boil the water for 10 minutes.
I’m a big fan of telescopic hiking sticks as they help to distribute the weight of your pack to your arms too. They can also be extremely handy on tricky downhill sections. Highly recommended.
The toilet houses are quite nice and one of them even has an ocean view. Toilet paper is provided, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to bring a bit extra, just in case.
This post was originally published on September 29, 2009.
November 14, 2014
A European roadtrip in timelapse
This video was one of the craziest projects I’ve ever worked on. Topdeck Travel called and asked if I would be interested in producing a two-minute European-roadtrip timelapse. Sounds easy right? Well, I only had two weeks to shoot all the footage and one weekend to plan the whole trip.
We left Krakow, Poland and drove to Prague in the Czech Republic. I planned to spend one day shooting and one day traveling to the next location. It was to be a drive-shoot-drive-shoot and repeat type of trip.
Our route was the same as it appears in the video with only one exception — in order to save time, we left our car in Paris and hopped a flight to Barcelona where we spent two nights before flying back to Paris to resume the roadtrip. So, we shot France before Spain, but the other locations are in the correct order.
After the 5,000-km trip we returned to Krakow, where we had a few days to relax. I printed out a fake magazine with Eva’s photographs in it so we could shoot the intro and outro scenes. I had a last-minute idea to use a dog but there was only one problem — we didn’t have a dog. Later that evening when we were out with friends, I saw a guy walking his beautiful dog down the street. I quickly asked if his dog wanted to be a movie star…fortunately, he did. Thank you White (dog) and Janek (owner)!
We picked the music track, and I edited it and made a preview storyboard — I wanted to know how many pictures to shoot for each scene. I used the same general idea in my previous videos: “PERU & BOLIVIA a stop-motion journey,” “GEORGIA hypertravel,” and “#NYC,” but I wanted to have a different kind of transition in each country and still keep a nice flow. I have to admit that at the time we were shooting the first location I was still missing two transitions. So we had to be spontaneous. But you will have to guess which ones are those. Hope you enjoy the fastest European roadtrip ever!
My route:
Michiganders laugh at winter
Photo: Mikeydubz1
1. Doing donuts in the empty Meijer parking lot is considered driver’s ed.
If your 16th birthday falls sometime between October and May, learning how to control your car while spinning out on snow and black ice is required training before taking your driver’s license test. We’ve all got our memories of nearly crashing into the light pole as Dad is screaming “Straighten it out!” from the passenger seat of your GM-made hand-me-down.
2. Forget a sports car — owning a snow blower is the way to make your neighbors jealous.
Nothing pisses you off more than when you are exhausted and on your fifth hour of clearing snow with that cheap-ass Family Fare shovel and you hear the familiar roar of a snow blower down the street. But if you can borrow it from them, then go buy some pasties, rock those Carhartts, and ask nicely. Us Michiganders will do whatever they have to do in order to have a snow blower at hand. Maybe even purposely lose a game of euchre. Maybe.
3. Coats are unnecessary accessories for frosty Friday nights.
Ever see a flock of girls in high heels and super short, sleeveless dresses expertly scurrying down Grand River Avenue in East Lansing in below-freezing temperatures and high winds…with no coat? Don’t fret, they’ve been training for this feat of strength since freshman year at State. Meanwhile, us U of M women rock our puffy, Patagonia bivouac down jackets and somewhat haughtily sip our Jolly Pumpkin craft brews, not caring at all that we were only rated fourth hottest in the Big 10.
4. A partially defrosted hole in the windshield no bigger than a quarter constitutes clear vision.
Full visibility through windows, windshields, and mirrors is completely overrated. Although driving down I-94 with this technique might be unsafe for the newbie, any Michigan native can effectively execute this tactic in their trusty GM truck and gain at least ten minutes of extra sleep before their morning commute. And you think we ice climb Miners Falls for fun? Nah, we use our refined pickaxe skills just to be able to get into our car — all four doors are usually completely frozen shut with ice in the morning.
5. We ski ice hills.
It is much easier to endure the harsh winter weather when you can slowly slink up the chair lift and speed through 10 inches of fresh powder every weekend. However, the only mountains you see in Michigan appear in your unconscious mind after the inevitable concussion that comes from begrudgingly coasting down ice at the barely vertical Boyne or Crystal Mountains.
6. If shoveling was an Olympic sport, we’d have more medals than Phelps.
Whereas some people might cringe at the sight of four feet of heavy, wet snow covering their driveway and blocking first-floor windows, for us Michiganders this just means we won’t have to hit the gym today. Just grab your yooper scooper, a Beaner’s Biggby Teddy Bear Latte, and get crackin’.
7. We make Long underwear sexy.
It usually takes until the Lions get knocked out of playoff contention to fully let the memories of your Up North bikini-clad cottage crush fade away, but when they do, you begin to appreciate the way your partner’s full-body ninja getup hugs in all the right places (including the cold weather-induced Hungry Howie’s love handles).
8. Our tailbones have a tough build-up of scar tissue.
If you haven’t slipped on ice and fallen smack-dab on your tailbone, you aren’t from Michigan. Us Michiganders have built up scar tissue thick enough to protect our bums from any unexpected loss of footing (and those six layers of pants also function quite well as ass protection). Or maybe I’m wrong on this fact and it’s just time I invested in a new pair of Wolverine boots…
9. Our cold takes cold to new levels. Wind chill. Enough said.
Wind chill, if you aren’t aware, is basically a meteorologist’s way of saying that when it’s really cold, it feels even fucking colder. You think -20°F is bad? It gets worse when your body perceives it as -35°F. Accepting the cruel wrath of wind chill is essential to maintaining your thick Michigander skin, especially if you’re from the U.P., eh.
10. Only one set of tires is required for the entire year.
There is none of this “summer tires” and “winter tires” nonsense in the Mitten. We save money and storage space by only owning one set of decent snow tires. And, hey, we’re always prepared for that freak September snowstorm.
11. Hell must freeze over before a Snow Day is called.
While all of Austin shuts down in panic as an inch of snow softly blankets the city, Michigan school districts have a much higher tolerance for the white stuff. Six feet of new snow fell overnight? (Thanks, lake effect…) Deal with it. Michigan kids get their asses to school even if icicles are forming on their nose hairs while they wait for the school bus. Hey Mike Flanagan, I think some policy reform is needed here.
12. Fleece-lined jeans are our best kept secret.
Yes, there is such a thing as fleece-lined jeans. And, yes, they are as epic as they sound. Secret revealed! If you plan to visit the Great Lake State any time after mid-October, find them (we, of course, prefer the Dearborn-based Carhartt brand), buy them, and wear that knowing look on your face when some other tourist can’t believe you’re just wearing jeans to tour the 150 ice-encrusted lighthouses through three feet of snow.
13. Jumping in Lake Michigan while it’s still partially frozen is a rite of passage.
Yeah, yeah, we know you’ve all done the “polar bear dive” at summer camp, but nothing compares to stripping down to your swimsuit and running straight into Lake Michigan (or Lake Superior if you’re really daring) in the middle of winter. Some may call it crazy, we call it living!
14. Walking under 3-ft. long icicles doesn’t even phase us.
Living in the Mitten means putting your life at risk every single time you walk under your front porch roof in wintertime. At any given moment, wherever you are outside, a deathly spear of ice could come sailing down and pierce your skull. You might end up like the 48-year-old Michigan pastor whose official cause of death was “bilateral pulmonary thromboemboli due to crushed lower extremity due to falling ice.”
15. It takes more than a complete whiteout to inhibit travel plans.
When the snowflakes seem to all merge into one giant blanket of white, to us peninsula dwellers it simply means drive close to the rumble strip and decrease your speed slightly below the 70-mph speed limit on I-96. If you even try to pull over and wait it out, you will end up sliding off the unplowed exit ramp and spending the night freezing in a ditch.
16. Maneuvering through potholes is fun and games.
You can tell right away that someone is not from the Wolverine State if a horrifying gasp slips out of their mouth as they dip into what feels like a ditch. But not us Michiganders, we can swerve and curve like Dale Ernhart, Jr. around any blacktop crater that rears its head on the black, ice-covered streets. It’s almost as good as MarioKart, although Governor Synder’s recent pledge to raise $1 billion and make fixing state roads his number-one priority might ruin all the fun.
17. We actually get of bed in the morning. End of story.
Between the poorly insulated single-pane windows and your tightwad roommate’s permanent stance on keeping the thermostat no higher than 60°F to stick it to DTE, it takes true Michigander willpower just to be able to dislodge yourself from your comforter cocoon out onto the freezing bathroom tiles each morning. But not even the “polar vortex” from last winter can make us pack up and move to California. We are that hardcore. 
Bellagio people
Photo: Hotel Der Oeschberghof – Golf – Spa – Tagung
YOUR LOVER’S FAMILY doesn’t like that you’re from California, that you’re only half Jewish (and the wrong half), but most of all, that you’re still married. While nobody seems to question your lover’s decision to have an affair with a married woman, everyone wonders about your lack of scruples. When you meet his sister in the lobby of the Bellagio, the first thing she says to you is, “Are you divorced yet?”
You tell her that in California, it takes six months.
“Well, I can’t see what’s taking so long,” she says.
“I’ve moved out. We’re separated. I filed for divorce.”
“But not divorced. I mean, technically, you’re married to someone else.”
But according to your lover’s mother, a prim woman who wears tailored outfits and a healthy dollop of makeup, the family agrees that if he loves you, which he claims that he does, you will be invited on the Annual Family Las Vegas Trip. Even if you are (unfortunately) still married. “We’re very accepting,” she says.
You meet the entire family in Las Vegas, including the grandmother who says, “We’re Bellagio people.”
The women carry enormous suitcases. The father remarks on how small yours is and says to his wife, “Look at that bag! Why can’t you carry a bag that small?”
The mother makes a face that says, Oh please! And when you say, “It’s just a weekend, right?” the mother looks at you like you have personally insulted her and her giant matching Louis Vuitton suitcase and carry-on bag, like you have no real appreciation for the Annual Family Las Vegas Trip.
You will soon find out that the Annual Family Las Vegas Trip is pre-planned to the minute, from drinks and dinner, to shopping excursions (for the ladies) and gambling (for the men), to the rental of the cabana at the pool, and most importantly, the golf (for the men) and spa day (for the ladies). An appointment for a massage has already been made for you. You will wonder if you can go golfing instead, and you will find out that no, you may not.
The women meet in the ladies lounge, where you are to relax in your fluffy bathrobes and then follow a spa attendant to a room for a one-hour massage. Then you are to meet back at the ladies lounge for a sauna, steam room, or jacuzzi. Your choice.
The first part goes well enough, most of the ladies flipping through magazines, the older ladies perusing Good Housekeeping or Martha Stewart Living, the younger ones looking at Marie Claire. You have brought along an eighteenth-century Gothic novel, Matthew Gregory Lewis’ The Monk.
One of the younger cousins asks you what you’re reading, and you are glad to talk about books, but maybe looking back, you were a little too enthusiastic.
“This is the greatest book,” you say, holding up a cover that features a naked monk being flown across a black sky by the claws of a demon. You should have taken the cousin’s strange smirk as a sign to stop talking, but you are nervous, and when you’re nervous, you talk. A lot.
“It’s about this monk, who everyone admires, but he is full of lust, and he has sex with this woman who turns out to be a demon. He ends up making a pact with the devil, and he unknowingly rapes his sister and kills his mother. All the while, he’s responsible for a pregnant nun being tortured in the catacombs of the dungeon.” You notice the cousin’s face drain of color, so you end your little book summary with “But the nun lives, even though the baby dies…and the monk, well, he gets punished.” You hold up the book with its graphic cover to show her.
You had never thought much about the naked monk on the book’s cover. Until now.
“Sounds…interesting,” she says in that way where the word interesting doesn’t really mean interesting.
“It is. I’m teaching it,” you say, as if that somehow would excuse you from reading something so scandalous.
“You’re teaching that?”
“Uh huh. In freshman comp.”
“I never read anything like that in college.”
“No,” you say, “I imagine you didn’t.”
The cousin is about to ask you what you mean when you are saved by the attendant calling your name.
After the massage, you meet, as planned, to go into the family-sized Jacuzzi together (your choice). You are naked under your robe — it is a women-only Jacuzzi, so you had thought naked was the appropriate choice.
By the time you hang up your robe and glance into the tub, you realize the mistake you have made. Not only are you the adulterous half Jew from California, you are the only naked person, and to top it off, you are sporting a Brazilian bikini wax (special for your lover). The whole family — mother, sister, aunts, cousins, and grandma — stop talking when you submerge your naked, hairless body into the frothy tub. The sister glares at you and shakes her head.
You wish you had chosen the steam room, where the cloud of eucalyptus vapor might have hidden your nudity.
“How was your massage?” You ask another cousin, this one a little older and very pregnant; she is sitting across from you on the edge of the hot tub with her feet dangling in.
“It was just average,” she says as if she gets a massage every day of her life.
“Mine was really nice,” you say and then turned to the mother, who is wearing a navy one-piece with little sailor buttons, “thanks again for making the reservations.”
“We’re glad you could come,” she says through a stiff smile, though she’s not looking in your direction, saving herself from seeing her son’s lover’s boobs bobbing about in the spa.
“The girl who massaged me acted like I was going to break,” the pregnant cousin complains, “but worse than that, she had these eyebrows that hadn’t been plucked for a really long time, so she had stray hairs everywhere. It looked so gross.”
Rather than asking her if she is serious (because you can already tell that she is), you nod, trying to look sympathetic, not with the gentle masseuse who maybe didn’t have time to get spa treatments herself, but with the very pregnant cousin.
Then you realize that you yourself have not had much time lately, and though you had tidied up your bikini area, you can’t remember the last time you plucked your own eyebrows. You know that if you reach up to touch them and check, it will seem obvious. So you just sit there with your arms crossed over your breasts wondering if your sweat smells like Sauvignon blanc (it probably does).
You hope you have spent enough quality time with the lady folk, so you can get back up to the hotel room where there’s someone waiting (if the golf day is over) who will appreciate your new wax job.
After a couple of the women head to shower, you convince yourself that it is appropriate for you to leave, so you rush over to your towel and robe and head straight for the mirror in the bathroom.
Sure enough, your brows are wild with itinerant hairs, even in the middle section above your nose.
At the time, you do not know that your lover’s family will have an intervention (mostly
successful) a few weeks later. That they will drive over to his house late in the night and beg him to quit you like you are a drug he has become addicted to (through no fault of his own).
For the moment, you are living under the belief that he will travel the world with you (indefinitely).
Sometime later, you will find out that he has been working under another assumption: In his version of you, you will be happy living on a suburban Midwestern lake, baking your children Jack-o-Lantern cupcakes for Halloween. He does not yet know that operating an oven is not among your talents, nor that you do not want children for whom to bake orange treats.
All of this will come later.
All you know right now is that you are not Bellagio people. 
Why BC is so Instagrammable
Brandywine Falls is just south of Whistler with an easy walk to the viewing platform, but way sicker is working your way to the pool below the falls. The hike down to the canyon involves some serious bushwhacking, but it’s worth it. I’ve never been doused by such a strong current of mist before in my life. It was a challenge to take a good photo since we didn’t go equipped with the right gear to get soaking wet.
2. Joffre Lakes
Joffre Lakes are some of the most popular and reachable alpine lakes in BC; you’re able to drive most of the elevation, and the hike to the upper lake is a short and sweet (by “sweet” I mean the most miserable uphill climb you definitely weren’t expecting) six kilometres. There are three lakes in total. The second is the one most people obsess over as there’s a log you’re able to climb out onto for a photo that offers a stunning backdrop of Mt. Currie and a pristine, glacial blue lake. The hike’s extremely popular due to the fact that it’s so short and available as well as dog friendly. I’d suggest camping overnight. Camping changes everything. It allows you to have those quiet life reflections while you watch the sunrise. Most importantly it allows you to connect with nature without strangers in your space or stealing the photo you’d been dreaming about.
3. Garibaldi Lake
This is one of the most accessible alpine lakes that we have here in BC. It’s only 10 kilometres to the lake from the parking lot near Whistler, and it’s a healthy, consistent incline. The view is definitely worth the hike. The colour of the water changes as the seasons pass, and by the end of August it’s a kind of blue you can’t capture or describe to anyone unless they’ve made the trek and swum in it themselves. I came to this lake for the first time with my dad for my 20th birthday, and I have been coming ever since.
I made it to this lake seven times this year alone, and it never gets old, as every experience is unique with each group that accompanies me when I go. Because Garibaldi Lake is so easily accessible, there are always heaps of people that come up for a day trip. To fully appreciate the place you need to camp overnight and drink it in when the crowds have passed.
4. Lions Bay
This is hands down the ultimate summer splash spot. It’s off the beaten path and makes you feel lucky we have access to this hidden site with cliff jumping directly into the ocean. This summer it was the go-to spot to catch sunsets, gainers, good vibes, and friendly encounters with a seal. It’s extremely special, what the veterans once called a “locals-only” spot; however this isn’t the case anymore since it’s picked up a heap of traffic over this past summer. It’s equipped with two rope swings and cliffs ranging from 10ft to 60ft, all surrounded by an epic view of the ocean.
5. Lake Lovely Water
Lake Lovely Water has the most unoriginal and cliché name of all the places I’ve visited, but it’s my favourite place on earth. I’ll never be convinced otherwise, and it’ll always stay my favourite place on earth. I’ll take my future husband, my children, and my grandchildren to Lake Lovely Water in the hopes it’ll change their lives the way it changed mine. It defines exactly how lucky we are in BC to have such a monumental playground to do basically any outdoor activity our heart desires.
6. Panorama Ridge
This is where I’d live if it were acceptable to set up lean-tos in provincial parks. The ridge is located in Garibaldi Provincial Park, and walking from the lake it’s about an extra four hours, depending how skilled you are scaling rocks. I’ve visited the ridge just as many times as I have the lake, for obvious reasons — the view’s mind-blowing. It’s the kind of view that makes you drop your mouth and open your eyes as wide as you can because you can’t take it in fast enough. I’ve watched sunsets, sunrises, the falcons fly beside us, and the snow melt off of the surrounding mountains as the seasons changed from every visit.
People who question why I’ve done the hike so many times haven’t done the hike themselves to understand my obsession with it. Every visit’s been unique, and the only time I ever regretted my choice to hike it was in the snow with my favourite adventure pal, who has the patience of a monk and the spirit of adventure equivalent to Indiana Jones. We had to blaze our own trail in waist-deep snow, and, although I was unable to feel my feet for the majority of it, the view we were rewarded with was the best of all of my visits. We were able to experience something not many people had, and we worked the hardest we ever had to get it. Anyone can hike the ridge in the summer, but it takes a certain mental discipline to do it in the snow.
7. Sea to Sky Corridor
This photo’s more of a tribute to my friend Andy than it is about the view. While I appreciate the solitude of nature, I think adventures are only as great as the people you share them with. I have a very selective group of adventure pals I can share that feeling of stoke and solitude with, and Andy’s at the top of that list. He’s one of the coolest humans I know, and he has the most ideal hair flow for when I want to take a picture of someone staring at something to show the magnitude of the scene.
8. Steelhead Falls
Steelhead Falls is basically in my backyard, and I’ve been coming to this waterfall since I was a kid. We used to own two huskies, and it was the only local place we could take them to burn off their energy. This is my go-to place for an escape or zen zone to work on my photography skills.
9. Shipyards
This isn’t exactly a nature hot spot but offers the best view of Vancouver at a ground level. You get a panoramic view of the city, the seawall, the Lions Gate Bridge, and the ocean, and it has a massive dock to meander down. I feel that it’s an underrated spot for people learning to shoot night photography or cityscapes.
10. Mt. Seymour
This is the place that got me into outdoor gear and obsessed with taking pictures in nature. Every sunset, every sunrise, every snowfall, every day was perfection. I spent my winter working in the resort and my summer catching sunsets on the lift towers. I’m so in love with the mountain’s every aspect. Plus it offers the best view of Vancouver without having to go far. 
Tourists affect football players
Photo: Clint Mickel
Every fall, when I fly to Ann Arbor to see my alma mater, the University of Michigan, play football, I find the planes there and back filled with passengers in baseball hats, track jackets, and T-shirts displaying their loyalty to U of M. Some of these fans have gray hair or little hair at all, while others are just out of diapers, being trained by their parents to sing “The Victors” and adorn themselves in maize and blue.
Some of us are reconnecting to our college days. Others, like me, have Wolverine roots that go back even further. I attended my first Michigan football game when I was four years old.
As a football tourist, I consider myself something of a minor leaguer, even though, in addition to my annual pilgrimage to Ann Arbor, I’ve followed the Wolverine football team to Chicago, Tampa, New Orleans, Hawaii, and most memorably a 1997 trip to Pasadena, when they won their most recent national championship.
My journeys pale in comparison to those of my brother, who flies up to Michigan from North Carolina for every home game, or our dentist, who attends both home and away games, even braving the rabid Wolverine haters of Ohio State when our team faces its arch-rival in Columbus.
But if Michigan football is akin to a religion, then this is a year of shocking apostasy.
Entering Michigan Stadium on Homecoming weekend to watch the Wolverines take on the lowly Indiana Hoosiers, I was floored by how many empty seats there were in the largest football stadium in the country, with an official capacity of almost 110,000, though it used to regularly exceed that number.
In the fourth quarter, an announcement came over the loudspeaker claiming 103,111 people had shown up to the game, which was met by boos and jeering from the sparsely populated stands.
Even Obama himself said if he had a son, he wouldn’t let him play football.
I’ve heard various theories as to why attendance this season has been so lackluster: this year’s unappealing schedule coupled with this year’s underperforming team, the difficulty of tearing Millennial students away from their screens in their dorm rooms, rising ticket prices, not to mention the crass commercialism of the university’s embattled athletic director David Brandon (who had just resigned the day before I arrived for the game).
All of these explanations are plausible enough. And yet an hour and a half to the north, where Michigan’s rival Michigan State sits proudly atop the Big Ten rankings, attendance is a problem as well. In fact, according to a story on CBSSports.com, after the first five weeks of this college football season, attendance has been down 1% overall, down 7% at Michigan, down 20% at Miami, and down a whopping 36% at Purdue.
Recently, I read another story in the New York Times, showing that in states that voted for President Obama (primarily in the Midwest and Northeast), participation in high-school football is on the decline. As the story noted, even Obama himself said if he had a son, he wouldn’t let him play football.
Should these factoids be chalked up to an aberrant season, or are they part of a larger trend, a symptom of America’s changing relationship with what might plausibly be argued is its national sport?
In recent years, pro football players like Ray Rice or Aaron Hernandez make headlines for crimes rather than touchdowns. On the college level, the Jerry Sandusky scandal was closely followed by disturbing stories about the past two Heisman Trophy winners, one a simple matter of greed, the other involving charges that an accusation of rape was hushed up by the university to keep its star player on the field.
Also disturbing are the stories of the severe injuries suffered by players, particularly to their brains. We’re not just talking about professionals after a lifetime in the game. This year, Michigan quarterback Shane Morris made national news when he was sent in to play after suffering a concussion. After some hedging, Michigan’s athletic director admitted Morris had suffered what he called a ‘mild’ concussion. In fact, as Eric Winston, president of the NFL Players Association, has pointed out, concussions don’t come in the ‘mild’ variety.
Then again, it could have been worse. In October, a high-school kid in Virginia died after being hit while playing football.
In his recent book Against Football, literary writer Steve Almond explores issues like these as he examines the darker side of the gridiron. His conclusion? Given the various hypocrisies and dangers of the sport, longtime fan Almond decides he can no longer watch football with a clear conscience.
As I watched Michigan decimate Indiana 34–10, I kept thinking of the issues raised by Almond’s book, particularly while watching a player go down on the field during the Michigan game. Eventually the injured player was helped off the field, to a round of applause from the audience, and yet I felt what we were watching wasn’t a happy ending. It’s a scene that repeats every weekend during the fall.
Are we turning our young people into modern gladiators for our entertainment?
And yet, I’m struck by a passage in Almond’s book describing a doctor who specializes in brain injuries. After she explains to Almond the terrible aftereffects of playing the sport, she confesses she’s still a fan, for reasons she can’t quite explain.
I too am not ready to quit football. I love the intricate ballet of watching 11 men on the field perform in unison, the deliberate misdirection of a reverse or a play-action pass, or the drama of a last-second field goal.
At the same time, I think we need a rethinking of the sport. Back at the beginning of the last century, when football was even more brutal than it is now, President Theodore Roosevelt stepped in to usher reforms that have been credited with saving football, changing its rules to make it safer for the players. Perhaps at the beginning of our century, it’s time for football to undergo a similar kind of intervention and reinvention. 
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