National Parks

When we mapped out this trip, visiting National Parks was always part of the plan, but I don't think either of us fully understood what that would mean until we were actually standing inside them. Six months in, Skuhlie has carried us through 19 national parks across 11 states. Some we planned carefully, others we stumbled through. A few humbled us. One nearly gave me a heart attack, Black Canyon of the Gunnison. And at least two: we count on a technicality. We showed up; the universe said no, and we decided that still counted.

What surprised me most wasn't the scenery, though the scenery was always staggering. It was how different each park felt. Underground silence in Kentucky. Swamp boardwalks in South Carolina. Feeling the gypsum sand, cold beneath my feet, in New Mexico. Ancient wood turned to stone in Arizona. Salt flats gleaming white in California. And somehow, impossibly, a mountain of sand sitting at the base of the Rockies in Colorado.

I've also learned things about myself along the way. Primarily, I have a spirit tree, and it's a cactus. That I can kayak through crocodile-adjacent waters if my sister is with me. That running down a White Sand Dune is wonderful, and running back up is a completely different story. We're not racing through these parks to check boxes; though yes, we are absolutely keeping a list, and some only counted on a technicality. We're trying to actually connect with them. We aim to walk the quieter trails, take the ranger talks, sit with the views, and let the places do what they're supposed to do: remind us how vast and strange and beautiful this country is. Here's what six months of national parks looked like for us.

Shenandoah National Park, Virginia — November 2025 We didn't make it to the visitor center, and we didn't stay long, just a couple of hours. But this was our very first national park of the trip, and that made it special in a way that had nothing to do with how much we saw. While Don worked from the bus (because real life travels with us), Lucky and I set off on a trail together. The fall air was crisp, the trail was quiet, and the Virginia woods did exactly what fall Virginia woods very quiet. It was a gentle beginning.

Mammoth Cave National Park, Kentucky — November 2025 Here is my strong, unsolicited advice: do the ranger-led tour. Don't try to wander this one on your own. The cave itself is extraordinary, but it's the rangers who make it unforgettable, weaving together geology, history, and their own personal stories into something you can't get from a trail map. Going this deep underground is genuinely a little creepy. The dark is a different kind of dark. The silence is a different kind of silence. But the rangers hold it all together, and by the end, you're not creeped out anymore — you're just amazed. Do the tour.

Congaree National Park, South Carolina — November 2025 We timed this one well, even if it wasn't entirely intentional. November in Congaree means the alligators and mosquitoes are less active, two facts that have significantly moved this park up my personal enjoyment scale. Walking the boardwalk through the old-growth bottomland forest, we felt transported into Shrek's swamp, in the best possible way. We learned about cypress knees and palmetto palms and the resilience of a forest that floods and recovers and floods again. Lucky, for her part, was deeply suspicious of the boardwalk for a while before keeping on. She's our little trooper!

Biscayne National Park, Florida — December 2025 Full disclosure: We didn't visit the park in the traditional sense. But we did go kayaking on the waters of Biscayne Bay with my sister, and those waters are technically part of the national park, so we're counting it. More importantly, I kayaked in waters that may or may not contain crocodiles, which, if you know me and my fear and dislike of large reptiles, is a significant personal achievement. Nora was the motivating force here; if my sister is with me, I'm happy to join in. This was a beautiful day shared with people I love, on water that was fun, even if I had to face a potential crocodile.

Everglades National Park, Florida — December 2025 We stopped at the visitor center. We did not venture onto the trails. The reasons are simple and stacked: no dogs allowed (for obvious, swampy, toothy reasons), and I am not enthusiastic about alligators either. The Everglades are extraordinary and wild and ecologically irreplaceable, and I mean no disrespect to this magnificent park. But on this particular day, with this particular dog and this particular level of alligator anxiety, the visitor center was the right call. No further explanation required.

Guadalupe Mountains National Park, Texas — February 2026 We came for the mountains. The wind came for us. The Guadalupe Mountains sit at the highest point in Texas. On the day we visited, it was windy. The ranger said, "No, the wind hasn't really started". We're talking the kind of wind that makes you reconsider your life choices, lean at a forty-five-degree angle, and have a very serious conversation about what counts as a worthwhile hike, and "The winds haven't really started?" We did one short trail and retreated. We're glad we went, but regret not checking the forecast first.

Carlsbad Caverns National Park, New Mexico — February 2026 If Guadalupe taught us anything, it's that underground is better on a windy day. Carlsbad Caverns was the perfect answer. We entered through the natural cave opening and walked the long descending trail down into the cavern; the entire journey to the main chamber is downhill. It is, objectively, our kind of hike. The downhill walk into the Caverns was by far our favorite part. What awaits at the bottom is indeed staggering, but the walk was our memory-maker. The scale is hard to describe. You just have to go down there and let it be bigger than you expected. Taking the 750' elevator ride back up to surface level put the whole downhill walk into perspective.

White Sands National Park, New Mexico — February 2026 White Sands was pure, unexpected joy. The gypsum sand is unlike anything we'd ever walked on, soft and fine and cold just beneath the surface! This last part is something you really have to experience in person! Lucky was allowed on the dunes, which immediately made it one of our favorite parks. We walked, we wandered, we ran down dunes with complete abandon. Getting back up was a different matter. Lucky and I both struggled in a way we would describe as "character building," and Don videoed our uphill struggle. No regrets. Would run down again, but better educated of what the uphill will be like.

Petrified Forest National Park, Arizona — March 2026 This was the first park on our trip that genuinely stopped us cold. We'd been enjoying the parks, really enjoying them, but Petrified Forest was something different. Walking the Blue Forest Trail with Lucky, surrounded by awe-inspiring scenery, was one of those experiences that makes my brain quietly short-circuit in the best way. Then there is the petrified wood, the park's namesake. The colors alone, purples and reds and yellows bleeding through the petrified wood, are unlike anything we'd seen.

Saguaro National Park, Arizona — March 2026 I found my spirit tree in Arizona, and it turns out it's a cactus. I found peace in this Park. The saguaro is dignified and a little absurd and completely magnificent. Honestly, these are qualities I aspire to in myself. We stayed at a Pima County campground right next to the park, surrounded by saguaros, chollas, and other desert landscapes. It became one of our favorite campgrounds of the entire trip. Waking up among saguaros, watching the light change on the desert as the sun went down; that's the kind of evening that reminded me exactly why I resigned from my job and went on a journey in our school bus.

Joshua Tree National Park, California — March 2026 Joshua Tree rewarded our overnight stay, and we were glad we did. Our campsite at Jumbo Rocks put us directly beneath the giant boulder formations, with Joshua Trees growing from the cracks between them. The night sky was extraordinary. There's something about the combination of the trees and the rocks that makes every trail feel like you've wandered into a landscape someone invented. We did several hikes around the formations, sought out Skull Rock, Heart Rock, and Natural Arch Rock. They left us with full hearts and very tired legs.

Death Valley National Park, California — March 2026 My sister joined us for Death Valley, and I think that was exactly the right way to experience it. The heat is abstract until you're standing in it. Having your sister next to you helped me feel delirious and laugh through it anyway. But beyond the heat, Death Valley surprised us with its sheer variety. Sand dunes. Salt flats. Volcanic craters. Wildflower blooms. And at night, we enjoyed a ranger-led astrology program. The park really does feel like five parks compressed into one. We kept saying, "Wait, this is also Death Valley?" We were left hot, a little sunburned, and completely impressed.

Great Basin National Park, Nevada — April 2026 We're including Great Basin on this list because we technically did go. But let the record show: the top road was closed due to snow, making the ancient Bristlecone Pines inaccessible unless we wanted to hike ten miles round trip and leave Lucky alone for hours (we didn't). The Lehman Caves were closed for an electrical upgrade. The park was essentially closed to us in the ways we wanted to experience it. We count it anyway, as a placeholder and a promise; Great Basin, we're not done with you. We'll be back.

Capitol Reef National Park, Utah — April 2026 Capitol Reef quietly became one of our favorite parks of the entire trip, and we didn't see it coming. It has everything: deep geological history, scenic drives through canyon walls, spectacular hikes, and a working orchard selling pies. We camped on nearby BLM land, with sweeping views of the reef at sunset, and woke up to the same views in the morning light. The combination of history, landscape, and pie is, it turns out, unbeatable. If Capitol Reef isn't on your radar, put it there.

Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park, Colorado — April 2026 Black Canyon of the Gunnison pushed me right to my edge. This entire park is built around standing on the rim of one of the most dramatic, sheer, stomach-dropping canyons in the country. Every overlook is exactly the kind of precipice that activates my fear of heights. I did it anyway. I white-knuckled every viewpoint, heart in my throat, legs unsteady, and approached that dark, narrow canyon. At times, I played see-saw as Don looked over the edge and knelt to balance him. IYKYK! This park is raw and severe and genuinely a little terrifying, and that's exactly what makes it unforgettable.

Arches National Park, Utah — April 2026 We almost didn't go. Arches is one of the most visited national parks in the country, and we've been quietly steering around the crowded ones. This is part of our commitment to the slower, less-trampled version of our trip. But we were already in the area for Canyonlands, and it was a calm day at the park, so we went. I'm genuinely glad we did. We avoided Delicate Arch, the iconic one, the one on the license plate, the one where everyone goes to see, and instead found a couple of quieter trails that gave us the park on our own terms. The arches are astonishing up close in a way photos don't capture. I'm glad we went, even though we weren't planning to.

Canyonlands National Park, Utah — April 2026 Canyonlands is simply massive. The scale of it resists comprehension until a ranger sits you down and walks you through the geology (layer by layer, era by era), and suddenly what looked like a dramatic landscape becomes a readable record of time. We caught a geology talk that genuinely shifted how we saw everything around us. The layers weren't just beautiful anymore; they were a story. That's the gift of a good ranger, and we've been collecting those gifts all year. Canyonlands earns its name. Give it a full two days and find someone who can translate the rocks.

Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado — April 2026 Mesa Verde was our first park explored primarily by bike, and the rhythm of it felt like exactly the right pace for a place this impressive. The cliff dwellings are extraordinary, but what moved us just as much was the park's evolving approach to interpretation. The collaboration between the National Park Service and Native Nations in developing a new interpretive center was evident throughout. That matters, and we noticed it, and we were grateful for it.

Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado — April 2026 Nothing quite prepares you for Great Sand Dunes. You're driving through the San Luis Valley, flat and wide open, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains rising ahead of us, and then there they are: an enormous pile of sand sitting at the base of the Rockies like it simply decided to be there. The logic of it escapes me, and I love that. We walked deep into the dunes on a windy day, and somehow the sand wasn't blasting us. I hiked up to a lookout point on my own the next morning and looked down at the tiny figures moving across the sand below. Tiny ant-people, all of us, completely dwarfed by this sand absurdity.