In southeast Oregon, the Alvord Desert stretches flat and white for miles, a cracked lakebed left behind by an ancient sea. On its eastern edge, Steens Mountain rises nearly 10,000 feet in a single, abrupt wall of basalt. One side bakes in silence under the desert sun. The other climbs through juniper, aspen, and sometimes snowdrifts. You might feel like these are two different planets pressed up against each other.

Find Your Wild: Soak in the hot springs under a night sky that you’ll remember for years. Or take the long drive up Steens Mountain Loop Road and hike into Wildhorse Lake, a glacier-carved bowl framed by cliffs and alpine wildflowers. Mindblowing is an understatement.

The Route: From the outpost town of Fields, follow East Steens Road 23 miles north on gravel to Alvord Hot Springs. If the playa is completely dry and hard-packed (usually by late summer or early fall), you can drive out onto it. But test the surface first.

This real-world labyrinth is the most remote part of Canyonlands National Park, and that’s saying something. The secluded corner of southern Utah is a tangle of sandstone fins and features carved out with narrow canyons. There are no services, nor is there room for bad judgment. Getting in is a journey; so is getting out: Always come with a plan. For those who make it, the surreal payoff is dreamlike views of spires that form a geologic puzzle no one has solved. Even the wind gets lost.

Find Your Wild: Scramble to the Harvest Scene, a haunting pictograph panel tucked deep in the canyons. Or camp among the Standing Rocks and watch the sunset through walls carved over the eons. Bring everything you need. You’ll return from this labyrinth with plenty of stories to share.

The Route: From Green River, it’s 46 miles of dirt to Hans Flat Ranger Station. From there, take the Flint Trail, a steep, technical 4WD descent into the Maze. After that, routes splinter into slow, rough tracks that require high clearance and a full tank of confidence. Backcountry permits are required.

Between Flagstaff and Sedona, the terrain is anything but static. One hour, you’re looking at ponderosa pine and lava rock. The next, red sandstone and cactus. A dirt road cuts west to the Edge of the World, a high cliff with no guardrails and a front-row seat to the sky. Jenga Rock stands near the rim, stacked like it might fall over if you laugh too hard. Two Spot Trail runs through the woods below, weaving between meadows and old logging cuts near Rogers Lake. Down in Oak Creek Canyon, Slide Rock carves a cold slick through the stone.

Find Your Wild: Climb the aforementioned Jenga Rock. Then take your pick: Ride Two Spot, shoot the sandstone chute at Slide Rock, or just stay put and watch the clouds pull new colors off the hills.

The Route: Climb the aforementioned Jenga Rock. Then take your pick: Ride Two Spot, shoot the sandstone chute at Slide Rock, or just stay put and watch the clouds pull new colors off the hills.

Every Texan who loves wild places has this on their list, but plenty never make it. Devils River is about as remote as Texas gets, tucked deep in the rocky hills of Val Verde County, where a spring-fed river runs cold and clear through desert canyons. The water looks tropical at first, almost Carribean-esque, but the landscape beside it is marked with mesquite and cactus. You won’t find crowds or cell service out here, just a quietude so complete it feels physical. The dark skies alone are worth the trip.

Find Your Wild: Wade straight from camp into the river’s cold current or explore the dry canyons that climb away from the banks. With a permit and a boat (outfitters in Del Rio can help with shuttles and rentals), you can paddle the river, navigating travertine shelves and some mild rapids. Whatever your approach, Devils River delivers the kind of raw, unfiltered setting that just might change you.

The Route: From Highway 277, turn onto Dolan Creek Road and drive 22 miles of rocky washboard gravel to the Del Norte Unit. High clearance is essential. Campsites are primitive, with no hookups or running water—but plenty of desert and sky.

Michigan’s Upper Peninsula is full of inland lakes, rocky cliffs, dark skies, and miles of forest: mostly jack pine, spruce, and maple. It’s the kind of rugged, remote country that Hemingway wrote about and Jim Harrison never got over. If it feels far away, that’s because it is. Once you cross the Mackinac Bridge, the roads get quieter and the towns spread out. This is part boreal forest, part freshwater coastline, with real elevation and real weather. Fall brings fiery leaves. Winter is deep and wild. Summer smells like pine and river rock. If your idea of a packed beach involves more than five people, prepare to recalibrate.

Find Your Wild: Kayak the mineral-streaked cliffs of Pictured Rocks, ice-climb frozen waterfalls in Munising, or search for Yooperlites, UV-reactive rocks that glow under black light, on the shores of Lake Superior near Grand Marais.

The Route: Cross the Mackinac Bridge and the world opens up. Head west on US-2 through pine and dunes along the Lake Michigan shore. From Munising, H-58 runs 40 scenic miles through Pictured Rocks to Grand Marais.

If you’re looking for a place to clear your head, target the Maine North Woods. You’ll instantly reduce the endless smartphone notifications and increase the number of incoming loon calls. This vast, mostly undeveloped region of spruce and fir stretches from Baxter State Park to the Canadian border. It’s one of the last true backwoods in the Northeast. The quiet is real, and the cell service is spotty, if it exists at all.

Find Your Wild: Paddle the Allagash Wilderness Waterway, past beaver lodges and loon haunts, or go big and summit Mount Katahdin via the Knife Edge, a dramatic exposed ridge with views stretching all the way to Canada.

The Route: The Golden Road is a rugged 96-mile gravel track cutting through Maine’s remote wilderness from Millinocket and winding alongside the Penobscot River, with moose sightings and mountain panoramas. Prepare for rough terrain and logging trucks. Good clearance and maps are essential.

Dolly Sods sits high in the Alleghenies but feels like it came from much farther north. Perched on a plateau in West Virginia’s Monongahela National Forest, the alpine wilderness is full of stunted spruce, bogs, exposed outcrops, and epic views. In fall, the plateau turns red with huckleberry and low-lying brush. In winter, the wind howls across a tundra-like landscape. The air is thin, and the light hits differently here. Dolly Sods feels remote and out of place, like a slice of the boreal forest dropped into Appalachia.

Find Your Wild: Park near Bear Rocks and hike into the backcountry. Pick wild berries in late summer, or visit in the winter after a storm and snowshoe in solitude. Camp overnight to catch a night sky with no light spill.

The Route: From Jordan Run Road, take Forest Road 75, a narrow gravel track that climbs eight miles across the plateau. It’s rocky and washboarded. After rain, you’ll want four-wheel drive.

High on the spine of the Appalachians, Max Patch rolls out a 360-degree view and the kind of sky that will slow your hiking to a halt, guaranteed. On clear days, you can see the Smokies to the south and the Black Mountains to the east. On foggy mornings, it’s like standing on an island in the clouds. The place draws early risers, thru-hikers, stargazers, and occasionally a barefoot wedding party. (If you stumble into one, pretend you were invited.)

Find Your Wild: Watch the sunrise through rolling fog, then follow the Appalachian Trail northbound toward Hot Springs. Or bring a blanket and stay for the unobstructed views of meteor showers.

The Route: From I-40, take the Harmon Den exit and drive 6.2 miles up Cold Springs Road, a narrow gravel route that can get rutted after rain. Then it’s another 1.5 miles to the Max Patch Trailhead. High clearance is helpful. Four-wheel drive is a good idea if it’s been wet.

The Outer Banks aren’t one singular place. They’re a string of barrier islands that stretch nearly 200 miles off the North Carolina coast. This is the windswept and vulnerable Atlantic wild, flood-prone and constantly shifting. Roads get buried. Dunes move. From the remote sands north of Corolla to the weather-beaten charm of Ocracoke, it’s a place that rewards patience and improvisation. Each island has its own feel, and none of it stays the same for long. Here, the sand itself is infrastructure.

Find Your Wild:  Fish offshore from Ocracoke, paddle the salt marshes near Buxton Woods, or hang-glide from the sand summit of Jockey’s Ridge in Nags Head. North of Corolla, you might spot the area’s famous wild horses. If you do, slow down and let them lead.

The Route: Fish offshore from Ocracoke, paddle the salt marshes near Buxton Woods, or hang-glide from the sand summit of Jockey’s Ridge in Nags Head. North of Corolla, you might spot the area’s famous wild horses. If you do, slow down and let them lead.

Big Cypress sits next to the Everglades but sees a fraction of the traffic. Water moves slowly. Gators glide in the shallows. Egrets laze. The air smells like damp pine or a recent thunderstorm. You’ll find cypress domes and sawgrass prairies stretching to the horizon, tangled mangrove tunnels, and skies so wide they swallow the road ahead. This prehistoric swamp will enchant you even before the mind-melting sunset begins.

Find Your Wild: If you have all day, paddle the Turner River through twisting mangroves and open glades, or go thigh-deep on a ranger-led swamp walk among orchids, air plants, and cypress knees. You might spot a gator—or ten.

The Route: Loop Road runs 24 miles along the preserve’s southern edge. It’s partly gravel and often pitted with potholes. For more remote access, drive the Turner River/Wagonwheel/Birdon Loop through the interior. During the rainy season, expect standing water, soft shoulders, and muddy pullouts.