National Park Splendor
Your very own GIGANTIC backyard!

By Wendy DeGiglio, staff writer

I spent my childhood in New York City where my only interaction with the natural world was squishing waterbugs that dared to invade my room. Now I take every opportunity to ditch my laptop, escape the noise of the city, and head for the mountains, seashores, and forests.

I've eyeballed an elk with a full rack from just 10 feet away. Poked about the mysterious cliff dwellings of an ancient tribe. And hiked to the highest point on the Continental Divide (pass the oxygen, please!).

I don't know exactly how it happened, but sometime in my teens, I became a huge fan of our national park system. My first stop was Assateague Island off the coasts of Maryland and Virginia, during a week-long trip with friends who claimed that I would just love camping by the ocean. Hey, a week on the beach? What could be better?

Surprise, Surprise

Well, remember the story, Misty of Chincoteague? It's the beloved classic about the wild ponies of Assateague and the adventures of two siblings who yearn to own the wildest mare. I'd been on the island for several days and hadn't seen a trace of a horse, so you can imagine my shock when a small herd came galloping through the campground one night and set up a loud whinnying right outside my tent. I screamed and hollered like crazy and wound up taking refuge in the ranger station. My neighbors in the next campsite just laughed.

Somehow I survived that encounter with wildlife; the lack of amenities (what, no pizza? no hot showers?), the very hungry mosquitoes, and the storm (we had to abandon our tent and head inland!) In fact, I actually wound up having a grand old time. Why? Because after Mother Nature had played her neat little tricks on us and all my friends gave up and headed back to New York, I decided to tough it out—alone. I walked the shores, searched for ghost crabs buried in the cool sand, and explored the dunes. It was such a feeling of freedom.

Call of the Wild

The next year I set out to see several parks on the Eastern seaboard—Shenandoah, where I got up close and personal with Virginia's black bears; Acadia in Maine, where I watched the sunrise from the top of Cadillac Mountain, and my forever favorite: Cape Cod on Massachusetts (it's the beach thing). I was in love with the beauty and solitude of our parks; most of all, I liked the adventure, the discovery of secret paradises, the challenge of testing my endurance. In time, I visited every "must see" glamour park—from Yosemite and Bryce Canyon to Yellowstone and the Badlands—plus a lot of smaller gems. I can still remember the thrill of watching baby alligators hatch from their eggs at Barataria Preserve, a section of Jean Lafitte that deals with the natural and cultural history of Louisiana's Mississippi Delta region.

Safety First

Of course, if you really want to have a good time in the wilderness, you need to be informed. I went to talks and programs by park rangers every chance I got. I learned what to do when you see rather large animals (did you know a bear can run up to 35 miles an hour?), how to read trail signs (getting lost is a bummer) and why it's important to watch the weather (you never want to be above tree line in a storm). Most importantly, I found out what I can do to help preserve these special places.

Where to next? The bottom of the Grand Canyon. Seven miles on the trail from rim to river. Then back a couple of days later. Can I do it? Definitely. I'm getting in shape right this minute.

Want find out more about parks? Check out the STUDIO 2B Focus Book: Parks Matter.