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The school bus roaring past my house woke me from an email and social media stupor, and I looked up from my laptop to notice the sky growing dark. How? I whined to myself. I’d meant to sneak in a midday trail run, but somehow I was still cross-legged on the couch, running shoes still in the closet. I’d like to say I have it good as a freelancer—I work from home, and my schedule is flexible. And maybe I do get out more than most, sometimes heading to the trail midday in exchange for working late into the evening or occasionally packing up to work remotely. But I’ve learned a frustrating lesson over the years: Having a flexible schedule doesn’t mean having free time unless I make free time. I think most Americans would agree that work seems to expand to fill the time allotted to it—which, if we let it, would be all the time.

Countless legitimate obstacles stack up between us and our more adventurous dream lives: picking the kids up from school, deadlines, shifts that simply can’t get covered or swapped. But what irks me is when I know deep down I could be living more freely if I only managed my time differently. So I reached out to a time management expert to find out how to organize my life better to squeeze in more adventure. Laura Vanderkam is the author of Off the Clock: Feel Less Busy While Getting More Done and the upcoming Juliet’s School of Possibilities: A Little Story About the Power of Priorities. She blogs and hosts a podcast on time management and productivity. Here’s her advice—which applies for both nine-to-five workers and freelance folks.

“When people say ‘I don’t have time,’ what they really mean is ‘It’s not a priority,’” Vanderkam says. Of course, you may have good reasons why more adventure might not be your top priority. “If you’ve got a brand-new baby, taking a two-week hiking trip in Nepal might not be top on your list,” she says. But by choosing to say “It’s not a priority right now” instead of “I don’t have time,” you’re reminding yourself that you are in control of how to spend your time. It’s an empowering first step toward managing your time the way you want.

If you want to make free time a higher priority, whether it’s for a quick evening outing or a weeklong trip, treat it like the other important things in your life. “I think that ‘something’—work, personal obligations—always has a tendency to crowd out what is perceived as ‘nothing,’ like downtime and time for personally pleasurable activities,” Vanderkam explains. How to counter that? Turn your “nothings” into “somethings,” she says. Make commitments like joining a running club or rock climbing group. It turns fun into a specific item on your schedule, and having an obligation to other people holds you accountable.

Even without blocking out a two-week chunk for a big trip, there are ways most of us can eke out more time for ourselves by being more efficient, Vanderkam says. “Decide each day, before you end work, what are your top three to five priorities for the next day,” she says, and place those items on your schedule. That specific planning can be the difference between working late and getting out in time for an evening hike. “If you’re a freelancer, you might consciously block out open days in your schedule and not give these times away when people ask. I’ve carved out a few open fall days to go on leaf-peeping tours.”

“For most people, mornings are the best time for adding in things to your life that you’re not doing right now,” Vanderkam says. For example, if you want to work out more, getting up earlier a few times per week will help you fit it in. But resist the urge to pencil it in every single day; fitting it into realistic windows will help you stick to it. “Honestly, things don’t have to happen daily in order to count in our lives,” she says.

Don’t be afraid to do a little work on your vacation if it means you can take a vacation you otherwise wouldn’t. “Maybe half an hour in the morning a few times per week is enough to make you feel on top of things but will allow you to travel and take advantage of the flexibility that comes from self-employment,” Vanderkam says. Sure, there are times when it’s important to totally unplug. But using any flexibility allowed to you can go a long way. “For freelancers, your phone and laptop can truly be your friends,” she says. “Sometimes they feel like handcuffs, but we can change this perception. If you can work from anywhere, why not try it?”

“Most things matter less than we think they do,” Vanderkam says. “Can you remember what you were doing on today’s date two years ago?” It’s a good reminder, she says, that whatever is stressing you out right now most likely won’t matter much in two years. There will never be the perfect time to go for that hike or take a few days off. So stop looking for the perfect time, and instead just choose a reasonable one. “The reality is that for the vast majority of us, Earth will not stop orbiting the sun if we go on that vacation,” Vanderkam says. “We are just not that important.”

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The season of thick flannels and protective leather boots is on the horizon. Prepare early with these essential women’s boots, perfect for chilly fall days.

These boots got an upgrade this year with the addition of a fully waterproof and seam-sealed upper. The leather is paired with vulcanized rubber soles to keep you firmly planted on city streets when the weather turns icy. 

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The Cataluna proves that Chacos are no longer just for dirtbags. To create this stylish option, Chaco paired its plush sole with a full-grain waterproof leather upper. A molded TPU midsole, heel zipper, and bamboo heel complete the look. Wear them on a date or even just to dress up an oversize flannel. 

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If you’re looking to channel your inner lumberjack, then these will do the trick. Easily the burliest of the bunch, the Round Toe boots give a nod to Red Wing’s century’s worth of experience making men’s work boots, but in a slightly more refined package. They’re made from full-grain leather that will only look better as the years go by. The women’s fit has a narrower last to help your foot feel more secure while you walk around. 

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Going on an after-work hike? These fully waterproof boots look good enough to wear to the office but feature Vibram outsoles to keep you from slipping on ice or rocks. Plus, the gusseted tongue and taped seams prevent water and debris from entering your boots through the lace eyelets or the space between the tongue and the upper.

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Perfect for around town and your workday, these boots have steel plates in the midsoles for extra durability and structure. The outsoles also resist motor oil, acid, organic fat, and heat up to 284 degrees Fahrenheit. 

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Six months after withdrawing its IPO application, cooler giant Yeti has submitted new paperwork with the Securities and Exchange Commission, seeking to raise $100 million in an initial public offering, the first step toward becoming a publicly traded company.

Known best for its rugged, rotomolded plastic coolers, Yeti was at first popular primarily among hunters and fishermen, but word spread quickly through other outdoor groups. Today, the tough coolers are ubiquitous in the outdoors, from rafts to campgrounds to truck flatbeds. The company has been trying to go public since 2016, when it first submitted an application to the SEC. But the company withdrew this past March, afterthe company’s 2017 net income plummeted to $15.4 million from $48.7 million in 2016—roughly a 68 percent drop. In an executive summary as part of the SEC filing, Yeti said the drop in sales traced back to a cocktail of factors, including a slew of retailers that ordered too many coolers in 2016 and wound up with overstock (and fewer orders) in 2017, the prolonged merger of Bass Pro Shops and Cabela’s that led to delays in orders, and overall downward trends in physical retail business. 

To combat the decline and stimulate demand, Yeti cut ties with 1,100 “underperforming retailers,” putting more emphasis on digital marketing to grow its direct-to-consumer and online sales. The company also prioritized new product launches, including additions to its lines of soft coolers, waterproof duffels, and Rambler drinking vessels. 

Yeti fans, pay attention: If the IPO goes as planned, you’ll soon be able to buy stock in your favorite cooler company.

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For the vast majority of outdoor activities, I swear by non-waterproof trail runners—specifically the Altra Lone Peak 4s I told you about in September. But for hunting, I’m always careful to wear over-the-ankle boots. Bushwacking in frequently inclement weather dictates more foot and ankle protection. 

After testing virtually every other boot on the market over the past couple of years, I’ve worn nothing but the Salomon Quest 4Ds for that job. The tall upper totally encapsulates my ankle, the outsole provides excellent traction, while the whole package remains nearly as light as that trail runner. I’ve been so happy in the Salomons that I never planned on seriously considering anything else. 

So I was extremely skeptical when I opened a box recently to find the Lone Peak 4 Mid RSMs. There was no way a mid-cut hiker that barely covered my ankle was going to offer as much security as a proper boot, I thought. But I’d promised one of the brands founders, Golden Harper, that I’d give the Altras a try, so when I woke up at 4 a.m. Sunday morning, I pulled them on and headed into the mountains. 

Putting on the Altras is actually a pretty significant challenge and something I struggled with while I waited for the coffee to kick in. The uppers are incredibly tight, requiring you to really haul on the finger straps in order to stretch them over your feet. Fortunately, they’re strongly attached and sized for two fingers. The advantage of that incredibly tight upper is astoundingly good ankle support. Laced tight, you can feel the shoes gripping your ankle, preventing it from flexing sideways or too far front or rear. There’s ample cushioning to protect my ankle from impacts. In these, my feet feel more secure than they do in the taller Salomons. 

Combined with the highly cushioned, foot-shaped last that’s identical to the regular Lone Peak 4s (the merits of which I described at length in this review), my feet felt a whole new level of comfort and security. 

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Like the low-cut version, these mids feel comfortable and familiar from the very first second of the first wear, just now with the added confidence that ankle support brings. They were silent on the stalk, light and nimble as I sprinted across sage brush to a shooting position, and sure-footed as I packed out what felt like about 100 pounds of deer across shale side slopes, steep hills, and muddy creek bottoms. 

RSM stands for rain, snow, and mud, indicating that these boots come equipped with an eVent waterproof-breathable membrane. (Altra also makes a non-waterproof mesh version that's $30 cheaper.) This waterproof membrane does highlight a possible limitation of the mid-height configuration: these are not going to keep rain, snow, or any liquid you have to ford out, as taller boots likely would. To counter this issue, Altra made these boots compatible with ultralight gaiters, with four connection points on the toe, heel, and on both sides of the foot. You’ll want a set of those if you plan to hike in wet or snowy weather. 

What I haven’t gotten to yet is the weight. At just 12.9 ounces, each shoe is only 2.7 ounces heavier than the regular low, non-waterproof Lone Peak 4s. That makes them 10 ounces lighter than the tall Salomons, which is a significant enough difference that I noticed it as soon as I put the boots on. 

If you need ankle support and weather protection, then you’ll find more of that in these Altras at less of a weight penalty, and with more comfort, traction, and support, than you will in just about anything else. Just take them off before you head to the bar for après.  

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Expert Essentials

The Best Running Socks, According to Ultramarathoners

We asked eight athletes what socks they’ll be wearing for the Western States Endurance Run

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Jun 22, 2018

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Jun 22, 2018

When you buy something using the retail links in our stories, we earn an affiliate commission that helps pay for our work. Read more about Outside’s affiliate policy.

We asked eight athletes what socks they’ll be wearing for the Western States Endurance Run

The Western States Endurance Run is the world’s oldest 100-mile race. This weekend, nearly 400 runners will set off from Squaw Valley, California, and head west along the crest of the Sierra Nevada, through exposed high-alpine terrain, rambling streams, and dense forest.

A race like Western States demands the highest level of commitment, physical fitness, and mental preparation. Of course, it also requires high-functioning gear—like, you know, good socks. These are the socks that eight Western States runners will put their faith in this weekend.

Fruit of the Loom Heavy Duty Reinforced Crew Socks ($30 for 10 pairs)

Gordy Ainsleigh

Western States evolved from a 100-mile horsepacking race known as the Tevis Cup. In 1974, Gordy Ainsleigh, a chiropractor from Auburn, Colorado, became the first person to run it on foot, finishing just 18 minutes under the 24-hour time limit and thus founding the iconic event. This year, the 71-year-old hopes to secure his 23rd Western States finish, and he’ll be running in Fruit of the Loom crew-cut work socks—which he also wears for gardening, landscaping, and maintaining local trails. “These American-made work socks are simply astounding for the way they feel on my feet, especially when I’m running long distances,” Ainsleigh says. The socks are a blend of cotton, polyester, and spandex. Ainsleigh cuts off the elastic band at the top of the sock, because it’s constrictive and limits circulation. “The socks hold up without them just fine,” he says.

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Injinji Run Lightweight Mini Crew ($12)

Meghan Laws

At 57, Meghan Laws has finished Western States 11 times—including ten top-ten finishes. The Californian runner, coach, and mom swears by five-toe socks from Injinji. “Without them, I get blisters between my toes,” Laws says. Injinji has a patent on its popular five-toe sock design. The lightweight mini crews are a minimalist sock made with synthetic, breathable Coolmax and nylon.

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Smartwool PhD Outdoor Medium Crew and Injinji Liner Crew NuWool ($24 and $12)

Jesse Marco Haynes

Jesse Haynes, a 45-year-old Southern Californian with four Western States finishes, has an “interesting and complicated protocol” when it comes to socks. He layers Injinji’s thin, lightweight wool liner socks with Smartwool’s merino medium-cushion crew that’s designed with an extra-durable knit. The five-toe Injinji socks protect his toes from blisters, and the Smartwool offers extra cushion to combat soreness. A nearly seamless toe prevents abrasion, and mesh zones dump heat. The taller crew height also shields Haynes’ feet from debris on the trail. “I am all about the wool,” he says. “It’s durable, moisture-wicking, cool in the heat, and warm in the cold.”

Smartwool​ Injinji

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CEP Women’s Ultralight Socks ($60)

Fiona Hayvice

Fiona Hayvice is still searching for the perfect sock. The 42-year-old from New Zealand has worn CEP Ultralight Socks for the past three years, including one Western States finish. The compression fabric increases circulation in her lower legs. “The snug, knee-high fit really does stabilize my joints and muscles,” Hayvice says. “Ultimately, they help me run faster for longer and recover faster, too.” Compared to CEP’s other compression socks, the Ultralights are lower volume and more breathable. That said, Hayvice’s toes were plagued with blisters that hindered her performance at Western States last year. “Sock choice may not have made any difference. However, I’m pretty keen to find out if the issue can be mitigated with individual toe socks,” she says. This year, she’ll try out the Injinji Ultra Compression ($49), a lightweight sock with compression that starts at the ankle and gradually increases as it moves to the upper calf.

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Compressport Pro Racing V.3 Trail Sock ($18)

Paul Giblin

“Western States is a hot race,” says Paul Giblin, a 40-year-old professional ultrarunner and coach. Temperatures during the race regularly hit the nineties and sometimes even inch their way into triple digits. Compressport uses an ultra-breathable mesh that keeps air moving through the whole foot. Giblin says that a seamless sock with a reinforced cushioning under the toe and a roomier toe box keeps his toenails intact. “These just feel like a natural part of your feet,” he says.

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Drymax Running Socks ($40 for 3 pairs)

Karl Meltzer and Ian Sharman

Two-layer Drymax socks have a hydrophobic inner layer that pulls sweat and water away from the skin and into a moisture-attracting outer layer. So even when your socks don’t have a chance to dry out, the moisture won’t cause friction that leads to blisters. Drymax’s system works so well that many of the Western States runners we reached out to were quick to recommend the brand. (Drymax also sponsors many of them.)

“I never have problems with socks, blisters, or feet issues,” says Karl Meltzer, who holds the world record for the most ultramarathon wins (he’s won 38 100-mile races). He always opts for Drymax, and the brand even named a model after him, called the Speedgoat. Ultrarunner Ian Sharman, who also worked with Drymax to develop his own sock, adds, “I like a decent amount of cushioning in the sock, nothing too light around the toes, robustness and moisture-wicking.” These socks check all those boxes.

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Photographer Camille Seaman has a viral TED Talk, a new book, and an uncanny knowledge of weather and storms.

Name: Camille Seaman
Job: Photographer
Home Base: Emeryville, California and County Clare, Ireland
Age: 49
Education: Bachelor of Fine Arts in photography from the State University of New York at Purchase

In 2008, photographer Camille Seaman was vacuuming her living room when her eight-year-old daughter spotted storm chasers on TV. Seaman, taken by the color and quality of light in the footage, said, “Wow, look at that.” Her daughter responded, earnestly, “Mom, you should do that.”

Seaman, who’d spent the previous decade photographing the Arctic and the Antarctic for publications like National Geographic, went online and found a guy in Oklahoma who led tornado-chasing tours. His upcoming trips were all sold out, but Seaman emailed anyway and asked to be put on a waiting list. He wrote back: “Can you be here in three days?” So she hopped a flight from California’s Bay Area to Oklahoma to chase her first storm, a hobby that would soon transform her career.

She stopped storm chasing in 2014, but the images she captured during those years can now be seen in a new book, The Big Cloud, published in May. Her 2013 TED Talk about photographing storms has been watched more than 1.6 million times. Seaman is now living in Ireland working on her first novel, but we spoke to her during a brief visit back home in California.

On What It Feels Like to be a Storm Chaser: “We’d pull into these towns and inevitably, we’d stand out. We have this equipment on our car that’s known for storm chasing. People either saw us as a bad omen or they’d say, ‘Is it coming our way?’ There is nothing more frightening than hearing those storm sirens go off. You have all this warm, moist air being sucked into the plains, you have rotating clouds. You can feel the warm air against your back, being pulled into the storm. You end up with this lotto machine, with balls of hail that get bigger and bigger. The clouds become turquoise and green.”

On the Challenges of Shooting Epic Storms: “These storms are 50 miles wide, so it’s almost impossible to fit that into a 24-mm lens on a full-frame camera. There is no time to set up a tripod. You have to steady yourself in blowing winds. Clouds are a little forgiving, but it’s very dark. A lot of the images are taken with the camera wide open.”

On Nailing the Shot: “I like images that don’t look overworked or manipulated. The storm is already so amazing, there’s no need to accentuate it. I look for images that capture the structure and compositional balance and have a sensitivity to color and light. When you get the shot, you feel it. There’s a lot of screaming and enthusiasm, and not from fear.”

On What Else She Saw: “We are traveling through middle America that has been lost by the side of the freeway. These are little one-stoplight towns. It’s this whole other cultural trip. You see these places that were once boom towns that have totally dried up.”

On the One Item She Brings Everywhere: “You’re on the road every night in a different place. So I would bring my own pillow case. It’s something that can help you sleep better and feel more relaxed in a strange place. And I always carry microwave popcorn for an easy snack.”

On Her Level of Risk Tolerance: “I grew up always knowing to respect nature and its power. At no point did I feel brazen, like I’m invincible. I wasn’t stupid. At the same time, in storm chasing, you want to stay on the chasing side. You don’t want to become chased. That can pivot very quickly. As careful as you can want to be, sometimes that’s irrelevant."

On Her Craziest Day on the Job: “One day, we were watching this storm sucking in air in South Dakota. Then all of a sudden, the guy who was leading us was like, ‘Get in the car now.’ Within a few seconds, that warm air was cut off like a faucet and a huge cold blast of air came out of the clouds toward our faces. That was a sign that the storm was about to get more intense. We drove 95 miles per hour and I could see this dark cloud of dust behind us. We’d stop for ten seconds, take a picture, get back in, drive like mad. At the end of the day, as we were driving, something felt weird. I got out and the back wheel was being held on by one lug nut.”

On the Good Luck Token All Storm Chasers Carry: “All the serious chasers on their first day of a big chase will go into one of those arcades where you try to grab the stuffed animal with a claw. You grab an animal and that becomes your mascot. If you have a good chase, that’s the mascot to keep. You attach this mascot to the grill of your car and it does not leave. We had this purple monkey. He was pummeled by hail, lost body parts, and was attached to that hood for the whole season.”

On Misconceptions About Storm Chasing: “You see these guys on TV who are screaming, ‘Go faster, we’re going to die!’ That’s not me. I don’t need that in my life. I tend to go with people who are calm, respond well under pressure, don’t freak out. I had the same crew for years. We would say, ‘This doesn’t feel right. Does anyone disagree with us bailing on this storm?’

On Why She Stopped Chasing Storms: “When Tim Samaras died in El Reno in 2013 , that storm felt like a wake-up call. From the beginning of that day, I felt like something was off. That was the first time that my daughter texted me to make sure I was OK. I tried to chase the following year, but when we were out there, it was like I had lost my nerve. I missed a lot of great opportunities because I wouldn’t get close enough. I could feel that I was done. Suddenly I wasn’t so excited to sit in a car for ten hours, eat bad food, and stay in a motel with bed bugs—all things you have to do when you’re storm chasing.”

On Her Next Project: “After eight years of absence, I went back to Antarctica. I’m looking at what’s changed there. I’ve been spending time near the Equator and islands that are threatened by the rising sea level. This September, I will go back to Greenland for the first time since 2010. In Antarctica, it felt like there was more precipitation, it’s not as cold. The penguins seemed to carry on in their way and it’s still beautiful, but it felt more melty.”

Jason Nez studies something that’s too often forgotten amid the awe-inspiring views and canyon walls: those who live there

Jason Nez wears a wool vest, scuffed boots, and a look of total concentration. We’re on the remote eastern rim of the Grand Canyon in the Navajo Nation, where Nez has taken me to talk about archaeology. He pauses next to a yucca and picks up a small stone. One of its edges has been subtly sharpened into a cutting tool by a former resident of the area, perhaps 1,000 years ago. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, Nez stoops to cleanly slice off a fistful of bunchgrass. “It’s been a while since anybody cut with that,” he says, dropping the tool where he found it.

For Nez, there is no clean break between prehistory and modernity, but a continuous human story that’s been unfolding on this landscape since the first hunters followed bison herds to the Grand Canyon’s rim roughly 11,500 years ago.

“You used to go to the [national] parks and there would be signs that said, ‘The mysterious Anasazi disappeared,’” Nez tells me. “We need to reeducate the world that Native people never left.”

Nez, who recently turned 40, grew up bouncing between an extended family on the western part of the Navajo Nation near the Grand Canyon. Boyhood days rounding up lost sheep with his grandfather were his first career training. A skilled tracker, like a skilled archaeologist, reads stories told by traces on the land, Nez says. “If you let that landscape talk to you, it will. It will pull you. It will guide you. And Native people, we’ve been doing that for thousands of years.”

In 2003, Nez landed an interpretive job at Navajo National Monument and stayed for two seasons while studying environmental science in Flagstaff. After graduating, he heard a research team was excavating a prehistoric dwelling on the reservation. Nez visited the site out of curiosity and ended up joining the crew as an archaeological technician, screening buckets of dirt for small artifacts. He loved the work and was soon promoted to field director for other excavations. After seven years with the Navajo Nation Archaeology Department, Nez took a seasonal job (also as an archaeologist) in Grand Canyon National Park in 2011. More recently, he has worked as a fire archaeologist for the Park Service, helping fire crews protect cultural resources across the western United States.

Nez sees his Navajo heritage as one of his most important assets as a researcher, and he tries to “blend tradition and science” in the field. While working in the Grand Canyon, Nez has studied everything from 11th-century pueblos tucked under sandstone alcoves to the wreckage of a 1956 airplane collision that caused 128 fatalities and led to the creation of the Federal Aviation Administration. There are Native American clans who still live in the area and trace their lineage to the cliff dwellings. “The Grand Canyon isn’t just a canyon,” Nez says. “It isn’t just a river. The canyon is people, living people, out there right now on the Navajo, Hopi, Zuni, Hualapai, and Havasupai reservations.”

Nez swings his pickup into another turnaround and gets out. I follow him down rock ledges for 100 yards. All at once, the canyon opens before us. Three thousand feet below, the powder-blue streak of the travertine-rich Little Colorado River flows into the larger green Colorado.

Sitting on the rim, Nez tells me the legend of a Navajo hero named the Dreamer who once lived on the San Juan River in southern Utah. The Dreamer climbed into a hollow log one day and rode down the San Juan to the Colorado River and into the Grand Canyon. Nez says the Hopi have a similar story, and he’s convinced the legend was inspired by a historical person.

“So you don’t think John Wesley Powell was the first one to float the canyon?” I ask.

Nez smiles. “No way,” he says.

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On October 1, two hikers traversed a cliff about 100 feet below the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. They were on what’s known as a social trail, a path that is not maintained or recognized by the National Park Service but is created over time by visitors as they step off established routes. This particular social trail runs below the Trailview 2 Overlook, one of the park’s most popular destinations. On a clear day, you can see the full expanse of the canyon from the overlook, including the legendary Bright Angel Trail, which stitches its way six miles from the rim down to the Colorado River.

As the two hikers made their way around the base of the cliff, they came across the bodies of a couple in what park spokesperson Kari Cobb calls “close proximity” to one another. Neither of the deceased carried any identification with them, nor was there any evidence that they had brought a backpack, water, or other supplies. It wasn’t clear how long they had been dead or how they had died.

In the days that followed, a few of those questions would be answered. The deceased individuals were identified as Garret Bonkowski, 25, and Jessica Bartz, 22, both from Peoria, Arizona, a suburb of Phoenix. The couple had been recorded entering the park at approximately 3:30 p.m. on September 18, presumably as part of an extended road trip they were taking as they relocated to Bartz’s native Iowa. Her car was found parked in a designated lot near the overlook.

Everything else about what brought Bonkowski and Bartz to the Grand Canyon—and more importantly, how it is that they died on this trail—remains a mystery. And that’s proving intensely frustrating for their friends, family, and park officials.

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Each year approximately six million people visit the Grand Canyon. That’s about 20,000 a day. The overwhelming majority of them—about 90 percent, Cobb estimates—visit the South Rim. From sunrise to sunset, tour and shuttle buses disgorge passengers at the Trailview Overlook every 15 minutes. The overlook is also an easy walk from the park’s visitor center and main village. If any of the thousands of people who visited the overlook that day saw Bonkowski and Bartz, they haven’t yet spoken up, despite repeated calls for information from the National Park Service.

“We have no idea what happened to them,” says Cobb.

Presumably, she says, the couple fell to their deaths. The Trailview Overlook is part of a paved network of walkways. There’s a sturdy metal guardrail intended to keep people from falling. Although it’s prohibited, visitors sometimes hop over the rail to get better views or scramble down to the top of the cliff to sit or pose for pictures.

Could Bonkowksi and Bartz have tried to do the same? Did she begin to tumble and he made a fatal attempt to save her? Or was it something more tragic or sinister? The Park Service hasn’t ruled out foul play or that a crime may have occurred.

Certainly, accidents happen in the park. Of the 19 fatalities last year, eight were ruled accidental. One included a teenager who lost his footing on some snow and ice near the South Kaibab Trailhead. Another included a middle-aged man who presumably tried to retrieve his hat as it blew toward a precipice. In July, visitors at the South Rim’s Mather Point watched with horror as a 24-year-old nurse from Illinois climbed over the rail, intent on landing just on the other side; instead he fell 500 feet to his death. (And this week in Yosemite, another national park with high overlooks, a couple plunged to their deaths from Taft Point. The Park Service hasn’t released their names and is investigating the cause of the fall.)

Each death is undeniably tragic. But prior deaths in the Grand Canyon had witnesses able to recount what had happened. And that offered at least a little closure for family and friends.

Brian Bartz, Jessica’s father, is seeking some of that for himself. What details are known of her death, and Bonkowski’s, he says, just don’t add up. “We don’t believe this is a simple case of two people falling off a cliff,” he says.

He says that his daughter would regularly wake up before dawn to set out for a day in the mountains. She was a responsible hiker, and he’d taken her on wilderness trips. She was a motivated young woman excited about life. “She had a lot of dreams and plans for the future,” he says. “She wanted to go places.”

Sally Liddicoat, Jessica’s friend and former employer, agrees. Two year ago, Bartz attended Liddicoat’s real estate school in Phoenix and became like a daughter to Liddicoat. She describes Bartz as “always happy, always upbeat,” even when she was working two jobs and taking courses. On an employee-orientation form, Bartz listed Reese’s Pieces, tennis, and the color purple as some of her favorite things.

Jennifer Follis and Gary Bonkowski, Garret’s parents, say they want answers as well. They agree on the character of their son. He was a visionary thinker, they say: self-taught in art and metaphysics, he read deeply about artificial intelligence, spirituality, and existentialism. For Garret, they say, the canyons and mountains of Arizona were a leveling place to head when he needed renewal.

Bartz and Bonkowski began dating two years ago and moved in together shortly thereafter. Bartz waited tables and worked at a department store while she studied for her real estate license; Bonkowski was teaching himself computer programming. Last spring, when money got tight, they moved in with Follis. But everyone agreed it was temporary. Bonkowski had been talking about moving somewhere different. He first thought about the Bay Area, and then said he had a job prospect in Florida. In May, Liddicoat began helping Bartz figure out how she could work in Florida in real estate. But in July, Bartz stopped returning her employer’s texts and calls. Liddicoat imagined that she was lying on a beach somewhere in the Sunshine State, doing what happy 22-year-olds do. She reluctantly removed Bartz from her staff roster.

Meanwhile, Bartz and Bonkowski both told their parents that his job offer in Florida had fallen through. After that the couple made plans to move to Cedar Rapids, Iowa, together, but those plans became unclear, as both Follis and Brian Bartz cite that Jessica and Garret’s relationship had become rocky. What is clear is that the couple left Follis’s house the evening of September 17. That was the last time any of their parents heard from them. That wasn’t uncommon, they all agree. According to his father, Garret had always been a bit of a wanderer—the kind of guy who let you know he was taking a backpacking trip after he had finished.

“He was an adventurer,” says Gary Bonkowski. “He was always going to do his thing and follow his heart, and you’d maybe get a text a few days later.”

Bartz was the same way. She moved to Arizona after high school, excited about starting a new life. She wasn’t always great about staying in touch with folks back home. Neither she nor Bonkowski was the type to consistently log the details of their lives on social media.

But they were both undeniably well loved. On October 13, more than 60 people attended a memorial service for Bonkowski at the Church of Latter Day Saints in Glendale, Arizona. This week, Bartz’s friends and former coworkers got together in Arizona for a commemorative dinner near the restaurant where she worked part-time. On November 3, her family will host a memorial service for her in Iowa.

In the meantime, the National Park Service Investigative Service Branch (ISB) is working to solve the case. Brian Bartz is hopeful that the medical examiner’s report, due to be released next month, will shed light on what happened. It could offer important clues about how and why the couple fell. It will include a full toxicology analysis and details about the injuries sustained by Bartz and Bonkowski and could help flesh out the narrative of their deaths and indicate whether a crime was committed.

The ISB will issue its own report, says Cobb. Its aim is to determine the nature of Bartz and Bonkowski’s death. While it’s rare for two people to die together of accidental causes in the park, it does happen. Last year a grandmother and grandson were both swept away after losing their footing while crossing a creek there. Of the remaining 17 deaths last year, six were ruled suicides. A murder-suicide hasn’t been recorded in the park since 2011.

To make headway on the case of Bartz and Bonkowski, Cobb says, the park needs witnesses to come forward. “Right now we literally have nothing to go on,” she says.

Anyone with information that could help investigators is being asked to call or text 888-653-0009. Information can also be submitted online at nps.gov/ISB or by e-mail at [email protected].

From missing cats to murder, these Outside stories explore the weird, wild, and terrifying corners of the outdoor world

Sometimes, a story asks questions too big and muddy to answer. But that hasn’t stopped Outside from diving into the world’s curious, dark corners over the years, seeking a little insight into missing person cases, missing animal cases, and the lives of wonderfully counterculture figures. These are the strangest and most-read of all our mystery stories.

#10. Where in the Hell Is Our Cat?

In 2015, editorial director Alex Heard was pulled into a wintertime search-and-rescue drama that began with the predawn disappearance of his cat and a single terrifying clue: blood. No big deal, though. All they needed was a miracle.

#9. What Killed the Bear Lady?

For 28 years, Kay Grayson lived side by side with wild black bears in North Carolina’s swampy coastal forests, hand-feeding them, defending them against poachers, and letting them into her home. When Grayson went missing in 2015, the only thing investigators could find were her clean-picked bones. And that’s just the start of the mystery.

#8. The Man Who Created Bigfoot

Bob Gimlin was a small-town cowboy when his friend coaxed him into hunting the famous mythical creature 50 years ago. Today, as the legend of Bigfoot has grown, Gimlin is viewed by the community of believers around the country as something of a prophet.

#7. On the Hunt for America’s Last Great Treasure

Millionaire Forrest Fenn launched a thousand trips when he filled a chest with gold, rubies, and diamonds and hid it somewhere north of Santa Fe. If one man is going to find it, by god, it’s an ex-cop from Seattle named Darrell Seyler.

#6. Cliffhanger

On New Year’s Day in 1985, Eastern Air Lines Flight 980 was carrying 29 passengers and a hell of a lot of contraband when it crashed into the side of a 21,112-foot mountain in Bolivia. For decades, conspiracy theories abounded as the wreckage remained inaccessible, the bodies unrecovered, the black box missing. Then, two friends from Boston organized an expedition that would blow the case wide open.

#5. Dead of Night

A brilliant American financier and his exotic wife build a lavish mansion in the jungle of Costa Rica, set up a wildlife preserve, and appear to slowly, steadily lose their minds. A spiral of handguns, angry locals, armed guards, uncut diamonds, abduction plots, and a bedroom blazing with 550 Tiffany lamps ends with a body and a compelling mystery.

#4. Yosemite Horror

In a setting of beauty and grandeur, a twisted soul was on the loose, a murderer who revived gnawing fears that our national parks are no longer safe. New evidence reveals the confessed killer’s tortured past—and his bizarre obsession with Bigfoot.

#3. The Thieves Who Steal Sunken Warships, Right Down to the Bolts

How could someone (or many someones) steal a single multiton ship—let alone three or four—without leaving a trace?

#2. The Curious Case of the Disappearing Nuts

In California, millions of dollars’ worth of almonds, walnuts, and pistachios are disappearing. Farmers are perplexed, the cops are confused, and the crooks are getting richer. We sent Peter Vigneron to the Central Valley to take a crack at the crimes.

#1. Leave No Trace

When 18-year-old Joe Keller vanished from a dude ranch in Colorado’s Rio Grande National Forest, he joined the ranks of those missing on public land. No official tally exists, but their numbers are growing. And when an initial search turns up nothing, who’ll keep looking?

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On November 8, 2016, Patagonia shut down its U.S. operations so that its employees would have time to vote. This year, ahead of the November midterms, Patagonia went ahead and enlisted almost 150 other companies—including Walmart and Lyft—to follow suit. “This is the single most successful program in the history of Patagonia,” brand spokesperson Corley Kenna says. 

While Patagonia plans to again give all its roughly 1,500 U.S. employees a paid day off on November 6, Time to Vote looks different at other participating corporations. Lyft, for instance, plans to provide discounted rides to polling stations and free rides to people in underrepresented communities. So, rather than give its one million plus drivers the day off, it's instead making sure they have the information they need to to file absentee ballots. 

The campaign’s other big success is that it’s managed to enlist CEOs from both sides of the political spectrum. In addition to Walmart’s 1.5 million American employees, companies like Tyson Foods (which employs 122,000 people), Kaiser Permanent (216,199), and VF Corporation (70,000) have signed on. 

The seeds of the campaign were sown back in June, when Patagonia CEO Rose Marcario announced her plan to again close the company for the midterm elections, then called on other CEOs to do the same. She noted that just 36 percent of eligible voters participated in the 2014 midterms and that “35 percent of eligible voters said scheduling conflicts, either with work or school, kept them from the polls on Election Day.” 

“We can fix that,” Marcario wrote. Patagonia began reaching out to other corporations, while others approached the company on their own to volunteer. In addition to giving their employees the tools they need to vote, Time to Vote participants are also buying ads aimed at encouraging even more employers to sign up. And individual brands are putting ad budgets behind voter turnout efforts. Levi Strauss and Co., for instance, will begin running this television ad during NFL games:

“We’re long overdue for a greater number of voters to exercise their right to make their voices heard, for politicians to empower and not disenfranchise prospective voters, and for we as employers to do our parts in making that happen,” says Ian Golden, the CEO of Finger Lakes Running, one of the brands participating in Time to Vote. 

Marcario has an even simpler call to action. “Let our people go vote,” she writes.