Our adventurous brand ambassadors are setting off to explore our national parks, from tiny historical sites to expansive landscapes like Yellowstone. As they journey through these incredible places, they’ll be using Chimani’s Live Alerts feature to report on real-time park conditions, keeping fellow travelers informed and prepared. If you’re passionate about national parks and want to be an ambassador too, contact support@chimani.com
My parents took a huge risk naming me Acadia. How ironic would it have been if I had grown up with no interest in the great outdoors? I think they successfully avoided that possibility by ensuring we were never a “Disney family.” Instead, our family vacations were filled with hiking, exploring, and laughter—most often in state or national parks. I was proud of my name and liked to think I lived up to it.
By the time I was 10, I had scaled the infamous Beehive Trail, climbed the west face of Cadillac Mountain on a particularly wet morning, and tackled both North and South Bubble trails. By 17, I had hiked Angel’s Landing, trudged through the chest-deep waters of the Zion Narrows, and braved the Fiery Furnace in Arches. My love for the parks was authentic, an intrinsic part of my identity. Over the years, this love has blossomed into fervor, and my goal of visiting all 63 national parks is already one-third complete.
I’ll turn 26 soon, and I like to think my 10-year-old self would be excited to know that, 16 years later, I still delight in discovering untouched, often precarious, corners of the park system.
More than ever, I feel drawn to share my stories and passion for public lands. My best friend and I were fortunate to secure John Muir Trail permits via Yosemite for August of this year. But what should be full-blown excitement feels clouded by apprehension. I know I’m not alone in these feelings. Given this, I am ecstatic to be Chimani’s inaugural ambassador.
I’ve used Chimani as a tool for planning extensive park trips since 2021, and I’m thrilled to share my experience with such a carefully cultivated app. Chimani has always been a champion of public lands, and I know it will remain a valuable resource for park-goers—especially this summer. I’ll be sharing my experience with features such as live check-ins and the newly launched AI trip generator, ensuring that park enthusiasts from all walks of life can enjoy unhindered access to our national parks.
When people ask why I’m so passionate about the parks, I don’t often mention being named after one. It’s uniquely me, but not the primary reason. More often than not, I talk about how, time and again, the parks have been the places I retreat to—reminding me of life’s fleeting nature and the importance of cherishing every moment.
One of the most profound experiences of my life took place atop Triple Divide Pass in Glacier National Park—a geographic marvel where any water that falls can flow to the Arctic Ocean, the Pacific Ocean, or the Atlantic via the Gulf of Mexico. It’s a lesser-known site within the park, perched at the apex of a trail often closed due to high grizzly activity. My mom and I were lucky to traverse it on a quiet day, absent of both other hikers and wildlife.
The hike up is a demanding 2,500-foot ascent along a narrow shelf overlooking the dazzling blue of Medicine Grizzly Lake. It’s relentless and, much like the more popular Highline Trail, largely without shade. But we were determined. Once we reached the top, we were breathless—and so ready for lunch.
A marmot greeted us, keeping solemn company as we finished our tuna and M&Ms. He watched as my mom carefully spread a small amount of her dad’s ashes on our lunch rock, and we both had a good cry.
My grandpa was a quiet man who cherished animals, his blueberry bushes, and the sand on the beach more than most humans—save for my grandma, of course. He was my hero, and I know he would be incredibly disappointed by the present-day threats to and devaluation of protected lands. In his lifetime, he dipped his toes in the Arctic Circle, routinely swam in the Gulf of Mexico, and loved the Pacific Coast. After fighting our way to the top of Triple Divide Pass to return him to nature, I like to think he’s at peace—forever flowing through three oceans at once, carried by glacial runoff from the heart of a national park.
Moments like these prove just how important our public lands are. There are few experiences more humbling than standing breathless, subject to the whims of the elements, reminded of our humanity. When people ask why I chase summits or remote places, it’s not about collecting them. As the famous phrase—often misattributed to John Muir—says: “The mountains are calling, and I must go.” But they’re not calling to be conquered. They’re calling us home.
The Transcendentalists had it right. Returning to nature reminds us to live simply and offers a space to reflect on life’s essential truths. Now, more than ever—in an era of constant information overload and disheartening news—we need protected access to the outdoors. The mountains are calling those of us who seek reprieve in the tranquil hills and valleys, those who crave the clarity of quieter places.
As I consider the future of our public lands, I reflect on the inspiration, the trepidation, and the sense of unfinished business I felt staring down at Grinnell Glacier. I think about the whimsy of watching a rare desert rainstorm roll across Mesa Arch, and the silent tears I shed in awe beneath the canopy of the Hoh Rainforest. What all these moments share is a silent prayer—that the rainforests remain lush, that the glaciers don’t melt before they become mere stories.
One of the greatest gifts I’ve ever been given is my wanderlust. And so, with an intrepid and rugged heart, I hope we can rally around our public lands—to ensure they remain accessible for generations of Acadias to come.
Acadia is entering her final year of veterinary school and is looking forward to working in clinical practice on the East Coast after she graduates. She’s a lover of all creatures—great and small—but has a soft spot for dogs, cats, and cows. In her free time, she can be found—of course—hiking, but also running, cooking, and reading.
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