Beat the Crowds in March

By Paul Brady, David LaHuta, Erin Richards, Erik Torkells, and Brad Tuttle
June 13, 2006
Mount Rainier National Park
Voyageurs in Minnesota is open to cars only in the winter, along a seven-mile road made of ice. Opt for snowshoes instead at Washington's Mount Rainier.

The summer is brief and brilliant at Mount Rainier in Washington, when wildflowers cover the meadows, temperatures reach into the 70s and 80s—and the vast majority of the park's 2 million annual visitors crowd trails and campgrounds. "The weekends are a zoo," says Mike Bradford of guest services, which operates the National Park Inn at Longmire (360/569-2275, rainier.guestservices.com). "It's like you have to stand in line and get tickets to see nature."

For quietly communing with the outdoors, however, there's no beating Rainier in deep winter. Because such a staggering amount of snow falls here—nearly 100 feet in one record-setting season in the early '70s—much of the park is closed off during winter months. But visitor stations in the southwest corner of the park, at Longmire and Paradise, remain open. Trucks have to plow so many times that snowbanks are 15 feet high. Driving in is a bit like navigating an oversize bobsled run. (Bring chains, even if it's sunny.) By March, daytime temperatures reach into the low 40s, and lightweight winter gear is usually sufficient. Twice a day on the weekends, rangers at Paradise lead free two-hour snowshoe walks, with rentals only a $1 donation. The National Park Inn also rents sets of snowshoes for $15 a day, a limited amount of gaiters (to keep your feet and lower legs dry) for $6 a day, and cross-country skis, boots, and poles for $19 a day. Beginners should feel comfortable on either the 3/4-mile Barn Flats route or the slightly longer Nisqually Vista Trail, which offers a peek at one of the park's 76 glaciers.

After playing in the snow, go for a hot chocolate on the front porch of the National Park Inn, which looks out at the peak of 14,410-foot-high Mount Rainier. This is where you'll usually find manager Bradford, with his hiking boots propped up on the rail and a mug of tea in his hand. "I take a deep breath and just look out at the mountains and all the snow," says Bradford. "I don't think I'll ever get sick of this."

Likewise, serenity comes easy during chilly days at Voyageurs in Minnesota. Oddly enough, winter is the only time the park is accessible to cars. There are basically no roads inside the park, so people get around in summer by boat and/or walking shoes. In January a boat launch turns into the start of Rainy Lake Ice Road. Cars under 7,000 pounds are allowed to drive on the seven-mile road over the ice. The visitors center rents cross-country skis ($5 per day, kid-size equipment is free), loans out snowshoes for free, and most Sundays hosts programs—ice-fishing clinics, cross-country skiing lessons, talks on animals native to the park. This is Minnesota, so expect January to be frigid, with temperatures that dip below zero most nights. "In late February and March the days are longer and warmer," says Kathleen Przybylski, the park's management assistant. "You can snowshoe or ski more comfortably by then, without the cold wind whipping under your helmet."

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Warm up Deep in the Mountains
Yosemite has the Glacier Point Ski Hut, but the Mount Rainier area has a system of three backcountry lodges. The Mount Tahoma Trails Association (skimtta.com) maintains the huts, each with floor space for 6 to 14 sleeping bags. After buying a snow-park permit ($10/day; parks.wa.gov/winter/permits.asp), park at the trailhead 8 miles up the road from Ashford. Anyone is welcome to ski or snowshoe on the trails and stop in at one of the huts to get warm or heat up a meal in the kitchen. To stay overnight, inquire about availability (mtta@skimtta.com) and mail in a reservation form with a check or money order. There's no lodging charge, but there is a nonrefundable booking fee of $10 per person, plus a weekend deposit of $15 per person. Guests are encouraged to donate part or all of their deposit.

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Beat the Crowds in January and February

As wonderful as Yosemite and Yellowstone are in summer, the peaceful outdoorsy vibe can be spoiled by having to elbow for space to snap a photo of El Capitan or line up 10 deep at Old Faithful. The premier parks are far less crowded—and arguably more beautiful—in the heart of winter. Snow drapes the mountains, meadows, and every last tree branch, and things are never quieter or more pristine. But for an off-peak time, there is surprisingly a lot going on. During four weeks in January and February, Yosemite hosts the annual Chefs' Holidays, when the men and women in charge of some of the best restaurants in the country give cooking demonstrations and host five-course dinners during three-day sessions. All events take place in the Ahwahnee, a granite lodge built in 1927, now a National Historical Landmark. Chef presentations are held in the hotel's appropriately named Great Lounge, among its 24-foot-high ceilings, wrought-iron chandeliers, and enormous windows topped in stained glass. Jesse Cool, chef and proprietor of the Bay Area's Flea Street Cafe, has participated in the event for two decades. "Winter is my favorite season at Yosemite," says Cool. "The setting is just gorgeous, especially when it snows." Paired with top wines from California and elsewhere, the dinner costs $250 per person (plus tax). Tours and demos are only available in a lodging package, which will include dinner—often a better deal. Throughout the year, kids can join a program called Wee Wild Ones, with stories, singing, crafts, and games, all free. Yosemite Lodge at the Falls hosts s'mores nights at its fireplace, and nearby there's an outdoor ice-skating rink with an unobstructed view of Half Dome, the famous rock formation that shoots up nearly 5,000 feet from the valley. Most nights the park offers free events of some sort—artist slideshows, talks by mountain climbers, documentaries on photographer Ansel Adams. Yosemite is also home to the oldest ski resort in the Sierra Nevada. Badger Pass offers five chairlifts, 10 runs, and $42 lift tickets, and while the terrain might not get an expert skier's adrenaline rushing, the scenery is fantastic, the sunshine is plentiful, and the ski school specializes in teaching beginners. "Badger Pass is one of the last of the great little ski areas in the West," says Colin Baldock, Yosemite's manager of guest recreation. "Parents feel comfortable here letting their 9-year-olds ski off on their own. That wouldn't happen at the big resorts." A system of free shuttles connects Yosemite Valley to Badger Pass and other key spots in the park, so there's no worrying about driving in the snow—or having a few too many glasses of wine over dinner at the Ahwahnee. There are five entrances leading into Yellowstone, but in the winter the only way for visitors to drive in is through the North Entrance, nearest to Gardiner, Mont. A few miles inside the park, at the Mammoth Hot Springs area, you'll find an ice-skating rink, a restaurant, and several natural pools that gurgle and spout off steam in the cold air. It's easy to spot wolves, bison, and elk just off the lone plowed road. To venture further into the park, hop aboard a special snowcoach. They're customized vans or buses outfitted with snowmobile-type wheels and steering, arranged by private companies in towns bordering the park. All Yellowstone Sports offers a full-day snowcoach tour to Old Faithful for $105 (800/548-9551, allyellowstone.com). ________________________________ Chill With the Animals The Yellowstone Association offers four-night Winter Wildlife Expedition packages with food, transportation, lodging, and the chance to see bighorn sheep, elk, wolves, and other animals on a hike or snowshoe trek. $579 per person based on double occupancy; $747 for single occupancy (307/344-2293, travelyellowstone.com). ________________________________ A High Point at Yosemite Like hiking, cross-country skiing is especially nice if there's something special at the end of the trail. After 10 easygoing miles—four to five hours on average—from Yosemite's Badger Pass, you reach Glacier Point Ski Hut. About 3,000 feet directly below is the ice-skating rink in Yosemite Valley, and spread in front are Half Dome and snowcapped mountains that seem to go on forever. The views would be reward enough for some, but what makes the journey especially enticing is that there's no need to turn around and hoof it back by nightfall. The Glacier Point Ski Hut sleeps up to 20 people in bunks (BYO sleeping bag; rentals are available for $13). There's a staffed kitchen, indoor bathroom, and heat via a wood-burning stove. One-night packages with a ski guide, lodging, and hot meals are $192 per person; self-guided trips are $110 per person (209/372-8444, yosemitepark.com).

Beat the Crowds in November and December

Masses of people head to Hawaii, Florida, and the Caribbean over Christmas and New Year's simply because that's when it's convenient for work and school schedules—not because the weather is better then. Travelers who are flexible with their vacation time don't have to cope with either the end-of-year crowds or the peak-season airfares and hotel rates. Summer and early fall in Florida's Everglades can be brutal, with overwhelming humidity, giant mosquitoes, and fierce storms. November marks the end of hurricane season and the beginning of dry, pleasant days--but tourism doesn't hit its stride until Christmas. (More than 80 percent of visitors come between December and March.) As the swamps slowly dry up, the bugs are less of an annoyance. Alligators, herons, egrets, warblers, and pelicans gather around remaining lakes and become easier to spot. Traveling by canoe or hiking is the best way to poke around the Everglades' 1.5 million acres, with miles of canals and hiking trails that lead to hidden nooks and backcountry campgrounds. Information Officer Linda Friar recommends a series of connected waterways known as the Nine Mile Pond Loop. "You have three ponds right at the beginning, and you'll see cormorants, terns, white-crowned pigeons, maybe alligators," she says. "The trail has mangrove tunnels and also some open areas. You get some variety." Look for piles of snail shells under trees--a sure sign that the rare snail kite is roosting above. It's a forked-tail bird that feeds on freshwater snails, extracting them from their shells with a hook-shaped bill. More than 100,000 people visited Hawai'i Volcanoes in December 2008. The park service doesn't break down visitor statistics by the week, but it's safe to say that things are always busier at Volcanoes during the Christmas and New Year's rush. That means early December is quiet compared to, say, June—which saw 109,000 visitors in 2008. Weather at the Big Island's 333,000-acre park is always unpredictable. There's no especially good or bad time to come, and visitors should always be equipped with rain gear, sunscreen, and a sweater. The park's main attraction is Kilauea, the volcano that's been spewing out lava in a mellow fashion for more than 25 years. To find out about the latest volcanic activity, check out the Hawaiian Volcano Observatory's website (hvo.wr.usgs.gov), or call park information (808/985-6000). Both sources are updated regularly and tell exactly where lava is flowing. The weather at Haleakala, the 10,000-foot-high volcano on Maui, is just as variable as its Big Island counterpart. At any time of year it can be 80 degrees on the beach at Kaanapali but in the 40s at the Haleakala summit—and it often feels colder because of the strong winds. A paved road literally snakes through the clouds to the edge of a dark, otherworldly, 19-square-mile crater. (It's safe: Haleakala hasn't erupted in more than 400 years.) The sunrise views are phenomenal, but if you're not an early riser, watching the sunset or star-gazing are nice alternatives. Temperatures in December and March are virtually identical on the Caribbean island of St. John, more than half of which is preserved as U.S. Virgin Islands National Park. Highs are in the upper 80s, with lows in the 70s, though it does tend to rain slightly more in December. Yet last March the park's campgrounds and beaches saw nearly 61,000 visitors, compared to less than 37,000 in December. This leaves plenty of space for hiking through lush tropical forests and swimming, boating, and fishing in the park's turquoise waters. ________________________________________ That's a Whole Lot of Nature for $10 For seniors, the newly named America the Beautiful-National Parks and Federal Recreational Lands Pass-Senior Pass goes way beyond the usual senior discount: If you're 62 or older, $10 buys lifetime entrance to national parks, wildlife refuges, and historic sites across the country. If there's a per-vehicle charge, everyone with the passholder is covered. Buy it at any park that charges an entrance fee. Folks under 62 who are visiting several parks should consider getting an annual pass, good for 12 months from first use ($80).

Beat the Crowds in October

Big Bend in Texas is one of the least-visited national parks, and its 800,000 acres of rugged mountains, canyons, and deserts are never emptier than in late summer and fall, despite pleasant weather. The busiest months are March and April, when the wildflowers of spring first make an appearance. Fewer visitors are aware that after a scorching May and June--"mind-numbingly miserable," according to park ranger Eric Leonard--late summer rains produce a second bloom of flowers, with purple ceniza and long-spur columbine sprouting up in August. Butterflies such as the two-tailed swallowtail, the Mexican yellow, the red spotted admiral, and the California sister flit through the flower fields. The "rainy season," when Big Bend averages between two and three inches of rain per month, lasts through October. The desert turns surprisingly green, and the Rio Grande sometimes overflows into the flood plains. By October the daytime highs are in the 70s, which is downright chilly compared to the three-digit temps of June. It's comfortable enough to hike through the desert or up into the Chisos Mountains. You're bound to spot a few of the 450 bird species in the park, and perhaps even a mountain lion or black bear. Another suggestion is Wind Cave in South Dakota. Like neighboring parks, summer is peak season. October is when the crowds have dwindled and when the elk put on a concert of sorts. Every evening, bull elk emit eerie, high-pitched wails that echo through the ponderosa forests. It's called bugling, and it's part of an annual mating ritual that males use to protect their harems from would-be suitors. The bugling is said to also relieve stress on the bulls' shoulders and necks, which swell due to increased testosterone levels. You should always stay a safe distance away from the elk, especially during mating season. A good place to listen in is right outside your car on Route 87, a few miles north of the visitors center. The 28,295-acre park is also home to bison, mule deer, prairie dogs, antelope, and of course its namesake attraction: a cave in which the temperature is 53 degrees year-round (and protected from cool autumn breezes). "It's really like two parks in one here," says Tom Farrell, chief of interpretation. "You can arrive in the morning and wander through the fourth-longest cave in the world, then hike in the afternoon, and listen to the elk bugle in the evening." __________________________________________ Wake Up! Hitting the trail early is always rewarding. The best times for spotting wildlife are just after the sun rises and just before it sets. Conveniently, the sunlight during early morning and dusk is also great for taking photos. __________________________________________ Take Advantage of Off-Season Autumn is a slow period at most parks, when you can even find solitude at hugely popular destinations such as the Grand Canyon. Last October, the chasm brought in around 365,000 visitors, compared to 651,000 in July. October is when the weather is nice throughout the park—highs of 86 at the bottom of the canyon and 65 on top of the South Rim, compared to 106 and 84 respectively in July. The first couple weeks of October are also your last chance to check out the less-visited North Rim before access is shut down for the snowy season. Deep winter is even quieter than the fall at the Grand Canyon, but by then the hiking trails are usually covered in snow—and this sure isn't the place you want to risk slipping and taking a tumble.

Relaxation Damnation

I like to get stress relief from mundane things like TV, exercise, and paperbacks. When I'm sick, I turn to legal drugs and people with a healthy respect for the scientific method like, say, doctors. To steal from the Piña Colada Song, I'm not much into yoga. Or crystals, colonic incense aromatherapy, or homeopathic anything. So when I found myself driving up the California coast to a holistic health spa, it was with a stunned wife and not a little trepidation. Ten years of living in wacky Los Angeles, two months of intense back pain, and one fat gift certificate from my agent had pried my mind open. "It's the best, the only spa my wife goes to," he bragged. Low expectations were probably a good thing. Spas set the bar pretty high for themselves with words like "rejuvenate," "pamper," and "indulge." As it turns out, even if we had been headed to the Abu Ghraib Desert Inn we would have had seriously dashed hopes by trip's end. Trouble was in the air as soon as we got out of the car. Literally. We were prepared for the geothermal "rotten egg" smell, a sign that nearby sulfurous springs were doing their salubrious thing. But we weren't prepared for garbage. Rotten eggs, sure, but also old banana peels, putrefying fish sticks, and other telltale aromas of trash. An open dumpster placed ten feet from the entrance helped to explain the smell. But nothing explained our receptionist's bizarre anger at being told of the problem or her reluctance to remedy it. "We'll take care of it," she lied testily, handing us our keys. The open dumpster was proudly basking in the sun when we left two unhappy days later. After we checked in, I guilted myself into letting the bellhops bring our lone suitcase to the room. While waiting three hours for them to lose it, find it, and carry it 50 yards to our cramped, stuffy room, my wife and I sat by the window, drinking warm pomegranate juice (the minifridge was broken) and admiring the partial view. Unfortunately, "partial" turned out to mean around 1/32, so only one of us could admire at a time. We had scheduled massages for the afternoon and were advised to soak in the resort's hot tubs beforehand to loosen the muscles and get into the general spirit of things. The tubs were co-ed, and apparently clothing optional. An obese gentleman, au naturel, soon joined us in ours. Our hot tub being, in fact, a tepid tub made escape from Mr. Immodesty all the easier. But, streak holding fast, the second tub was pretty much scalding. In my life I've had pretty good luck at adjusting to what at first seemed like an excessively hot bathtub or Jacuzzi, but when acclimation yields to countless microblisters I'm ready to throw in the towel and call the maintenance guy a sadist. Or a moron. Or nonexistent. Our early departure from the heat-challenged tubs took us into a pre-massage waiting area complete with trays of organic orange slices, assortments of holistic health magazines, and impressive swarms of all-natural fruit flies with an ardent desire to explore our noses, ears, and mouths. Shortly after we commenced battle with the fruit flies, our pursuit of peace was again thwarted, this time auditorily. Distressed cooing noises cried out from behind a wall. At first, we were sure a dove was being choked to death, but when the terrified gurgles turned human we realized that a young woman was being massaged the wrong way or in the wrong places. Later, the poor soul emerged and revealed himself to be an elderly man, intensifying our horror and coating it with a sort of creepiness, especially we saw how red and swollen his eyes were from crying. Without time to shudder, my wife and I were simultaneously called to our sessions. We nervously scanned the two masseuses, wondering which of us would soon be gurgling. My therapist being burly and austere, with a Wagnerian name, I figured I held the short straw. The massage corroborated. Hildegaard or Gretchen, or whoever she was, lashed out at my defenseless kidneys like a laser-guided missile. My pleas for lighter pressure helped a bit, but so displeased Gretchen that I ended up with pretty much no massage at all. I wondered if she doubled her spa duties as hot-tub thermostat setter. Chastened by the first half of the first day, and somewhat constrained by torrential rains, I hid in our dank room, emerging only to force down flavorless vegan meals. My wife bravely tried avocado masks and mud-pack treatments until an angry red rash on her chest, neck, and face forced her to join me in exile. It was with a combination of relief and disbelief that we packed our bags, headed home, and tried not to let the experience harden into bitter hatred of all humanity. My back was still hurting, so my wife took the wheel and flew us down the pitted dirt road that led to the Pacific Coast Highway. A lesson dawned on me: Vacations are just one of those things you ought to pick entirely yourself. Then a pebble shot out from the car in front of us and cracked our windshield. No, we didn't meet the deductible. ____________________________________________ Andy Robin is a film and television writer and director. He spent six seasons on "Seinfeld," penning such memorable episodes as "The Junior Mint" and "The Fatigues," which won the 1998 Writers Guild Award. He and writing partner Gregg Kavet recently wrote "Saving Face," a humorous guide to awkward social situations. The duo also wrote and directed the feature film "Live Free or Die," which won the Jury Prize at the 2006 South by Southwest Film Festival. For the past five years, Robin and his family have made their home in Rhode Island.