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Adventures in Puerto Vallarta

Last Wednesday in Puerto Vallarta, I took a fast zodiac boat ride with the family across glorious Banderas Bay. Led by the outfitter Vallarta Adventures, we landed on the docks of the seaside village of Quimixto. We walked the cobblestone streets past the sleeping chihuahas and soon made our way to a pack of horses that were waiting to take us up the mountainous hillside. We got out of the saddle, only to walk to a hidden waterfall where we swam in the cool waters. After horseback riding, we snorkeled with a slew of angelfish and then had a delicious lunch on a quiet beach farther south in Pizotita. Our guide, Poncho, made a helluva margarita for the adults, while the kids were served coconut juice. Life was bliss and we laughed when Poncho said “Where are all the bandits in their big sombreros and guns blazing?” It was so peaceful here that my daughter wandered over to a hammock and took a nap.
 
The next day, a busload of passengers from a Celebrity cruise ship were on the outskirts of Puerto Vallarta, on their way to a nature hike, when they were robbed at gunpoint by a bandit. I was stunned. I had just spent the past two days in Puerto Vallarta, walked the Malecon, the broad boardwalk down by the ocean, had an excellent meal of authentic Mexican fare at Old Town’s Margarita Grill, and felt perfectly safe my entire stay in the region. But then the robbery happened. This being Mexico, which already faces a huge media blitz about crime and their drug cartels, it can only add salt to the wound. Yet, let’s be realistic. There’s crime in every city in America, so why wouldn’t a city of over 400,000 people like Puerto Vallarta face some adversity. I feel horrible for the people on that bus who were robbed of their cameras, money, and cell phones. Hopefully, the robbery was an anomaly and the city can go back to doing what it does best, making guacamole tableside with homemade salsa. For that dish alone, I wouldn’t hesitate to return.
 

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5 Favorite Travel Days in 2013, Snowmobiling from Maine to New Brunswick

Last January, I flew to Presque Isle, Maine, the northern tip of the state to pen stories for The Boston Globe and Men’s Journal on snowmobiling from Maine into New Brunswick. Aroostook County, Maine, is the largest county east of the Mississippi River, known by avid snowmobilers as one of the top locales in the country to sample the sport. Potato farms connect with long dormant railroad corridors, seemingly endless logging roads through dense forest, and iced-over lakes and rivers to create a mind-boggling 2300 miles of snowmobile trails. But that’s not all. Simply bring a passport and you can cross into the province of New Brunswick to add another 4,000 miles of trail, half of which flows through state forests and parks. That was too good a story angle to pass up. 

 
In the morning, I met Kevin Freeman at his sled shop in Presque Isle. Freeman, a former professional snowmobile race, has logged more than 250,000 miles on snowmobiles in the region so he knows the routes like the back of his hand. He hooked me up with a 110 horsepower Ski-Doo, insulated snowmobile pants, jacket, helmet, and panniers so I could bring a change of clothing for an overnight in Canada. On a 250-mile weekend jaunt, we headed west to Portage Lake to have lunch at Dean’s, a favorite snowmobile stop known for their fish and lobster stews. Then we hit ITS 105, leading northeast from Washburn to Stockholm, a narrow and level railroad corridor where you can easily reach speeds of 75 miles per hour. 
 
At Hamplin, I went through Customs on snowmobile. The Canadians didn’t blink. But when I returned the next day into America, the guy was asking me questions for 20 minutes, like I was some sort of snowmobiling smuggler. “How come your passport is filled with stamps to Israel, Kenya, Ecuador?” “I’m a travel writer.” “Step aside from the snowmobile, please.” 
 
On the New Brunswick side, I snowmobiled with Ross Antworth, general manager of The New Brunswick Federation of Snowmobile Clubs. He led me across a long suspension bridge that glides above the St. John River. Then we made our way to the New Brunswick interior on logging roads past mills and on railroad beds where snowed-over balsams stood like spectators at a marathon. We spotted deer and the rare white ermine that call this forest home. 
 
To top it off, when I returned to Presque Isle, I went out that night with an incredibly talented photographer, Paul Cyr, who’s made a name for himself shooting the northern lights and wildlife. In typical Maine fashion, he humbly insists he’s an amateur photographer. Yeah, and Hendrix is an amateur guitarist. Check out his magnificent work online and then read my story. 
 
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Free Admission to Vermont State Parks on June 14 and 15

To celebrate Vermont Days, the state of Vermont is offering free admission to state parks and state historical sites next weekend, June 14 and 15. Sample two of my favorite state parks, Silver Lake and Button Bay. Just north of Woodstock, Silver Lake is open to non-motorized boating only. Thus, this gem of a lake is the perfect place to swim, canoe, or catch perch from the shores. Head here on June 14, the one day of the year when residents and non-residents can go fishing without a license in any Vermont State Park. Another favorite is Button Bay, located on the southern shores of Lake Champlain. Head to their Nature Center to learn about the mergansers, loons, woodchucks, and other animals that call this part of the world home. Then savor the exceptional biking through farmland that borders the lake. 

 
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A Stop at Saint-Pierre with Adventure Canada

Guest Post and Photo by Amy Perry Basseches

Six thousand French citizens on an island 2,600 miles from the coast of France? And only 12 miles from the coast of Canada? Yes, that’s right. I was recently in Saint-Pierre (often discussed with its less-populated neighbor, Miquelon), all that still belongs to France from "New France," the colonies in North America starting with Jacques Cartier in 1536. The French have retained Saint-Pierre and Miquelon, and associated fishing rights, since 1816. 

When travelling to Saint-Pierre, you’ll go through customs (don’t forget your passport), you’ll use the Euro, and you’ll experience French food, wine, and, of course, the language. It was a fun stop on my Adventure Canada expedition. I opted for a hike in the morning on the Anse à Henry trail, then a short bus tour to make sure I could see as much as possible. This put my time in the charming town center right around midday, exactly the time of day when all the shops close (between 12 and 2 pm). Les Delices de Josephine cafe opened for us and the quiche was great, which I washed down with one of the only products made in Saint Pierre and Miquelon, beer from the new micro-brewery Miqu’ale (Brasserie Artisanale de l’Anse). 

If I ever get there again, I’d make sure to walk around town more in the morning or late afternoon, exploring the windy roads and small shops, and then spend the time in between hiking or exploring the now uninhabited L’Île-aux-Marins, just a stone’s throw from Saint-Pierre (several unique buildings still stand even though no one lives there year-round). Au revoir!
 
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Great Late Summer Day Hikes: Climbing Monadnock

Climbing the broad-shouldered peak Henry David Thoreau called a “sublime mass,” Mt. Monadnock, is a rite of passage for many New England children. Just over the border of Massachusetts in southern New Hampshire, Monadnock is less than a two-hour drive from Boston. Its accessibility and locale, smack dab in the center of New England, has made it one of the two most popular mountain ascents in the world going toe-to-toe with Japan’s Mount Fuji. 

 
Early September, when the black flies are long gone and the first hints of fall color can be seen, is the ideal time to bag this 3,165-foot peak. Head up the White Dot trail, one of the steepest ascents, but also one that rewards with you with incredible vistas in a very short time. Above treeline, the forest recedes to form open ledges covered with low-lying shrubs like mountain cranberry bushes. This gives you ample opportunity to rest and peer down at the soft blanket of treetops, small towns with their requisite white steeples, a smattering of lakes and ponds, and farms that fan out to anonymous ridges. Soon you’ll reach the summit, where Thoreau watched in dismay as his fellow mid-19th century trampers inscribed their names in rock. You can still spot names like “T.S. Spaulding, 1853” clearly etched in the stone. 
 
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Hot Off the Press: ActiveTravel’s June/July Newsletter

This is our combined June/July issue. Like many of you, we’ll be traveling with the kids once school ends in late June. This summer, we’re off to Istanbul and Cappadocia. We’ll report back on our adventures in the August issue. As many of you know, I just returned from a memorable week of travel in Nova Scotia. To give you a little taste of what I experienced in this Atlantic Maritimes province, our “News from the Road” feature is devoted to Nova Scotia. In mid-July, Lisa and I will be hiking, biking, and paddling our way to the four huts of the Maine Huts & Trails system, as discussed in our Quick Escape. Also in this issue, Lisa talks about her favorite hotels in Hong Kong, an outfitter we use in Asia to book trips to Bali, Vietnam, and Cambodia, and luggage that has its own GPS system, so you know exactly where it is at all times. 

 
Next week I’ll be partnering with The Trustees of Reservations, the Massachusetts-based nonprofit conservation organization, to design Dream Day Itineraries for families based on their 112 locales in the state. So please stay tuned and also follow me on Twitter @ActiveTravels. Enjoy the weekend and stay active!
 
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The Trustees of Reservations Week, Central Massachusetts Highlights

Massachusetts might border the ocean, but it’s not until you drive the interior of this state on backcountry roads that you really appreciate the abundance of water. I woke up at Tully Lake Campground this morning and took the 10-minute trail to Doane’s Falls. Little did I realize I was about to witness one of the most majestic sites in New England. An onslaught of water came gushing down a series of rock ledges under a perfectly sculpted stone bridge, one that was built by the CCC under FDR’s helm. It would set the theme for the day—the rushing water of springtime and the wall of rock that’s continually shaped by these rapids. 
 
Chapel Brook in Ashfield is a popular swimming hole in summer, when this tributary of the South River snakes through a dense hardwood forest before cascading over ledges and forming natural pools. Earn that dip by walking across the street and taking the half-mile trail up Pony Mountain. You’ll be rewarded with a panorama of mountains and valley. 
 
The sound of rushing water also greets me at the next stop, Chesterfield Gorge, a 30-minute drive from Chapel Brook. Here, the East Branch of the Westfield River drops dramatically through rock walls that are close to 70-feet high. Below the gorge, fly-fishermen were seen casting their lines in the riffles in the hopes of hooking a trout. I took deep breaths of sweet pine and walked a ways through the thick forest on the East Branch Trail. This 7-mile long dirt road is open to both hikers and mountain bikers who can cruise through the adjacent Gilbert Bliss State Forest, perfectly suited for a day trip. 
 
Even my last stop of the day, the homestead of William Cullen Bryant, has a water theme. Stroll under the tall and ancient-looking sugar maples and hemlocks his family planted 200 years ago, when the great poet was just a boy, and you’ll reach a rivulet, a trickling stream. The Trustees has posted Bryant’s entire poem from 1823, “The Rivulet,” next to the spring. “The same sweet sounds are in my ear, my early childhood loved to hear,” wrote Bryant. Long after his family had sold off the land and moved to Illinois to farm, the poet and abolitionist would buy the land back in 1865, the same year his good friend Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. Bryant, as he documents so well in his poetry, always preferred country life to city life and he would spend all of his summers here until his death in 1878. Look out at the meadows, forest, and Berkshire foothills and you realize little has changed thanks to conservation efforts. It’s still a sylvan slice of heaven, one that I’ll return to next time with a picnic lunch made by the Old Creamery in Cummington, just down the road. 
 

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