Amid the whirlwind of new apps, platforms, and ever more data, it’s easy to forget that good old physical maps hold an astounding amount of knowledge. Unrolling one can allow for a more comprehensive perspective of an area, inspire ideas for new travel destinations, provide intel on forgotten places to explore, and help determine public and private land boundaries.

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Acadia National Park in Maine boasts 150 miles of trails on its official maps, but that’s only a part of what once existed. Matthew Sherrill tagged along with a couple of local history obsessives to explore some of the dozens of unmarked paths that lead to what were once major attractions—places some want to stay a secret.

Last summer, a group of friends and I backpacked to a favorite alpine lake northeast of where we live in Santa Fe. When we arrived, another hiker recommended an alternative return route that avoided the steep switchbacks out of the lake basin. All we had to do, she said, was follow a path past the lake and down a ridge until it met another established trail, which would take us back to the trailhead. I checked her advice against a map I’d downloaded to my phone, and could see the intersection she described. Excited to try a new loop, I convinced the rest of the group we should return that way. The next day, I led the way, glancing at my phone periodically. But the trail disappeared. We bushwhacked and backtracked, trying to stay close to the line on my iPhone screen. After descending a steep, forested slope into a trailless clearing covered in blowdown, I began to worry that we might be screwed—especially if my phone died. Eventually, we got our bearings with a creek running through the area, and after 45 more minutes of bushwhacking, we stumbled upon the established trail. I could have kissed the dirt. Later we learned a trail did once run down that ridge, but it hadn’t been maintained in years. I cursed the app, but of course, it wasn’t entirely at fault. I shouldn’t have put so much faith in the reality represented on my phone screen, and instead used data inputs from the world around me: there wasn’t a good trail, we were descending a steep hill that would be extremely difficult to backtrack up, and we knew another way to get back to the car—the way we arrived. This experience felt like a microcosm of the times we’re living through. Digital mapping apps have revolutionized backcountry exploration. But you could argue that we’ve also become too reliant on our devices and have forfeited the personal—and cognitive—growth that comes from cultivating a sense of place and orienting yourself without following a dot on a screen. In this moment of navigational upheaval, we set out to explore the past, present, and future of maps, and the role they play in our lives, through a series of reported stories, personal essays, and expert advice. We also wanted to highlight some of the maps that have changed the way we see the world. We're calling them Maps We Love, starting with this one, below, of one of the oldest maps of the Great Salt Lake. —Luke Whelan

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HOW wE FIND OUR WAY

Maps—whether drawn on paper or across the night sky—have helped humans navigate the earth for millenia. In the past decade, however, there’s been a revolution in the way we use technology to find routes and guide us on adventures. We’re taking a look at how we’ve historically used maps to move through and understand the world, and how that’s changing now.

The Ghost Trail Hunters of Mount Desert Island

In 1849, Captain Howard Stansbury of the U.S. Army Corps of Topographical Engineers set out from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, with orders to survey and map the valley of Utah’s Great Salt Lake. The expedition took place at a pivotal moment in the history of the American West, joining the wagon trains of fortune seekers on the California and Oregon Trails, and is ably—if dryly—memorialized in Stansbury’s seminal report “Exploration of the Valley of the Great Salt Lake.”

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What We’re Learning

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Where We Are

You Should Make Your Own Maps. Here’s How.

The way you navigate outdoors is outdated. Relying on commercial maps (printed or app-based) means you’re relying on someone else’s data. Here, Wes Siler walks you through creating your own custom maps on CalTopo, exporting them to your phone, and using them in the field with Avenza Maps.

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Ian Frazier explains how map apps can be useful but they don’t give you the big picture. “When I’m trying to figure out where I am nowadays, I generally use my phone. But when I’m thinking about where I want to be, I use the Rand McNally Road Atlas of the United States, Canada, and Mexico,” he writes.

Let Us Now Praise the Rand McNally Road Atlas

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David Icenhower, record keeper for the Washington State Department of Natural Resources, has a nearly impossible job: reconciling often inaccurate survey maps made in the 18th century with the modern needs of landowners and managers. Here’s how he does it.

We Mapped the West 200 Years Ago, and We’re Still Living with the Mistakes

The Stansbury Map of the Great Salt Lake (1852)

In 1849, Captain Howard Stansbury of the U.S. Army Corps of Topographical Engineers set out from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, with orders to survey and map the valley of Utah’s Great Salt Lake. The expedition took place at a pivotal moment in the history of the American West, joining the wagon trains of fortune seekers on the California and Oregon Trails, and is ably—if dryly—memorialized in Stansbury’s seminal report “Exploration of the Valley of the Great Salt Lake.” The document is a treasure trove of information: it maps a new route through the Rockies, records all manner of flora and fauna (some previously unknown), posits that the lake might be the remnant of an inland sea, and offers detailed accounts of both the emigrant trails and the growing Mormon community there. What Stansbury’s writing lacks in artistry is more than made up for by this masterpiece of a map, drawn partly by his second in command, Lieutenant J.W. Gunnison. When comparing the shape and extent of the lake as depicted in 1852 to the 2021 version, it’s hard to miss how much its footprint has shrunk from drought, water diversion, and climate change. —Tim Sohn

In the decades following the Civil War, politicians in Washington, D.C., were tasked with dividing the booming Western territories into states. John Wesley Powell—a Civil War veteran, river runner, explorer, and then head of the U.S. Geological Survey—begged Congress to mold the borders of western states around major rivers rather than with arbitrary political lines. To illustrate his argument, Powell helped create a map that organized the West by its watersheds, which he called “that area of land, a bounded hydrologic system, within which all living things are inextricably linked.” The map was visually stunning, technically complex, and reflected Powell’s hard-won understanding that water, more than any other resource, would shape the future of the arid region. Congress

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Or, the greatest oversimplified explanation of how to navigate ever written

How to Read a Map

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In the decades following the Civil War, politicians in Washington, D.C., were tasked with dividing the booming Western territories into states. John Wesley Powell—a Civil War veteran, river runner, explorer, and then head of the U.S. Geological Survey—begged Congress to mold the borders of western states around major rivers rather than with arbitrary political lines. To illustrate his argument, Powell helped create a map that organized the West by its watersheds, which he called “that area of land, a bounded hydrologic system, within which all living things are inextricably linked.” The map was visually stunning, technically complex, and reflected Powell’s hard-won understanding that water, more than any other resource, would shape the future of the arid region. Congress ignored his recommendations, however, and the federal government went on to build enormous dams, flood natural and cultural wonders, and implement byzantine interstate water diversions. Today, as human populations climb and drought shrinks freshwater supplies, Powell’s map remains a powerful reminder of what the West might have looked like if we’d worked with the natural world instead of against it. —Krista Langlois

John Wesley Powell Watershed Map of the Western U.S. (1890)

Every map prioritizes some data and leaves out other information. Indigenous knowledge, in particular, has been neglected and even intentionally ignored by western mapmakers, who have often used their maps to disenfranchise and colonize tribes. Enter the movement to reclaim and recenter Indigenous knowledge, which has changed how we navigate and name outdoor spaces.

Amid a national conversation about race, colonialism, and justice, Native mappers and outdoor athletes are reclaiming Indigenous cartography, names, and land in the places where we recreate and compete.

Using Maps to Empower Indigenous Communities

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The nonprofit Native Skywatchers has spent more than a decade collecting and preserving Indigenous star knowledge. Now organizations like NASA and the National Park Service are using it to educate outer-space lovers.

National Parks Are Embracing Indigenous Astronomy

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Leaders of the nonprofit Indigenous Women Outdoors describe how learning about the traditional territories where they ski and snowboard enhances their time outside and connects them with their ancestors. (From Gaia GPS)

Why We Learn the Indigenous Names of the Outdoor Spaces We Love

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The interactive Native Land map shows North America according to Indigenous nations and communities, rather than state and country borders. You can use the map in Gaia GPS. (Gaia GPS is owned by the same parent company as Outside, and Gaia GPS Premium is now included with an Outside+ membership.)

Native Land Map

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In 1957, cartographer and geologist Marie Tharp drafted a map of the North Atlantic Ocean and discovered the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, a mountain chain on the earth’s seafloor located between the East Coast of the U.S. and Europe. It provided the first mapped evidence of continental drift, the theory that shifting tectonic plates move the planet’s continents over thousands of years. At the time, the concept was widely dismissed and under-researched. But that didn’t deter Tharp. Women weren’t allowed on scientific expeditions then, so she created hand-drawn diagrams at her office at Columbia University in New York, where she was a research assistant, using ocean-depth measurements collected from

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In 1957, cartographer and geologist Marie Tharp drafted a map of the North Atlantic Ocean and discovered the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, a mountain chain on the earth’s seafloor located between the East Coast of the U.S. and Europe. It provided the first mapped evidence of continental drift, the theory that shifting tectonic plates move the planet’s continents over thousands of years. At the time, the concept was widely dismissed and under-researched. But that didn’t deter Tharp. Women weren’t allowed on scientific expeditions then, so she created hand-drawn diagrams at her office at Columbia University in New York, where she was a research assistant, using ocean-depth measurements collected from ships with sonar data. As she and her research partner, Bruce Heezen, continued their work mapping the rest of the Atlantic and other oceans, they discovered that the Mid-Atlantic Ridge is just one part of a larger ridge that runs around the world for 40,000 miles. In 1977, Tharp drafted the first map of the entire seafloor, revealing a vast network of underwater mountain ranges. Its meticulous detail and bright colors make it a piece of art, too. —Maura Fox

Marie Tharp’s Ocean Floor Map (1977)

New technology is making navigation easier than ever, but it is also eroding our sense of context and place. There are real cognitive risks to offloading navigation to automated devices, but more importantly, we may miss out on experiences that happen when we orient ourselves by engaging directly with the physical environment.

Graham Averill gave his 12-year-olds the Rand McNally on their 300-mile drive from Atlanta to the South Carolina coast, to impart the joys of reading a physical map. They didn’t take the easiest route, but they learned a lot along the way.

My Kids Navigated Our Road Trip—It Was an Adventure

Rachel May gets lost—a lot. But despite how foolish it might sound for someone with a really, really bad sense of direction to adventure solo, those experiences soothe her near constant anxiety and make her pay attention to the world differently.

Navigating the World with a Terrible Sense of Direction

American tourist Noel Santillan became an unlikely folk hero in Iceland after he entered a typo into his GPS and drove hundreds of miles out of his way. A growing body of research suggests that our reliance on navigational technology might be altering our brains in ways we’re only beginning to understand.

Is Your GPS Scrambling Your Brain?

What types to bring, where to find them, and how to make your own

A Backpacker's Guide to Maps

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On a trip to the Grand Canyon in 1969, mountaineer and photographer Bradford Washburn and his wife, Barbara, noticed no one had made a large-scale map of the iconic destination. So he decided to make one himself, embarking in 1971 on a seven-year endeavor that would result in one of the most intricate and heavily researched maps ever made of the Grand Canyon. Over the years, the project doubled in size from 84 square miles of the South Rim to a 165-square-mile area that included the North Rim and the majority of the canyon’s

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Where We Are Going

Meaghen Brown explains why there is no such thing as a truly accurate map, and how we should all be critical of them as we navigate through the world.

A bevy of mapping apps exist to track and plan trips for different outdoor activities. Here are the best ones for running, cycling, hiking, backpacking, climbing, and skiing.

The Best Map App for Every Sport

Guthook Guides' maps and have made hiking the Pacific Crest and Appalachian Trails easier. But is that a good thing?

How the Guthook App Revolutionized Thru-Hiking

Our apps and devices are giving us newfound confidence to explore the world. Used correctly, and alongside old-fashioned paper maps and navigational skills, they can open the door to new adventures and enrich our journey along the way.

Use Gaia GPS to save your route on your phone so you never get lost again.

How to Download Your Trail Maps

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James Neihuis’s carefully hand-painted ski maps have guided skiers down mountains across the U.S. for 30 years. While they’re made to orient resort visitors—they’re used by more than 200 ski areas—Neihuis’s maps are also heralded for their artistic value. They show perfectly manicured slopes lined with pine trees, blue skies with a touch of clouds, and partially filled parking lots, as well as panoramic views of surrounding terrain. While the images are idealized and don’t capture the reality of packed

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James Neihuis’s carefully hand-painted ski maps have guided skiers down mountains across the U.S. for 30 years. While they’re made to orient resort visitors—they’re used by more than 200 ski areas—Neihuis’s maps are also heralded for their artistic value. They show perfectly manicured slopes lined with pine trees, blue skies with a touch of clouds, and partially filled parking lots, as well as panoramic views of surrounding terrain. While the images are idealized and don’t capture the reality of packed mountains and long lift lines, that’s part of the appeal of these picturesque representations. Looking at Niehuis’s 1990 map of Vermont’s Stowe Mountain Resort——the detail of the small town below and the different shades of green and purple that he used on the mountain—is like peering inside a snow globe. —M.F. READ MORE ABOUT THE MAP HERE

James Neihuis’s Stowe Mountain Resort Ski Map (1990)

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The Stansbury Map of the Great Salt Lake (1852)

Marie Tharp’s Ocean Floor Map (1977)

Bradford and Barbara Washburn’s “Heart of the Grand Canyon” Map (1978)

On a trip to the Grand Canyon in 1969, mountaineer and photographer Bradford Washburn and his wife, Barbara, noticed no one had made a large-scale map of the iconic destination. So he decided to make one himself, embarking in 1971 on a seven-year endeavor that would result in one of the most intricate and heavily researched maps ever made of the Grand Canyon. Over the years, the project doubled in size from 84 square miles of the South Rim to a 165-square-mile area that included the North Rim and the majority of the canyon’s popular trails. The work was intensive: the Washburns spent more than 140 days in the canyon, calculating thousands of angles and distances. Painting the map took more than 1,000 hours. “The Heart of the Grand Canyon,” at 33 by 34 inches, was finally published by the National Geographic Society in 1978, and also appeared as a supplement that year in the magazine’s July issue. —M.F. READ MORE ABOUT THE MAP HERE

Bradford and Barbara Washburn’s “Heart of the Grand Canyon” Map (1978)

James Neihuis’s Stowe Mountain Resort Ski Map (1990)

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Research. Packing. Gear prep. Maximizing fun. Here’s everything you need to know to pull off your next backcountry mission.

How to Nail Your Next Adventure

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Your Map Is Lying to You

Map Courtesy Stansbury, H. J./ Geographicus Rare Antique Maps

Map Courtesy John Ross

Map Courtesy Fiona Yaccopino

Map Courtesy National Geographic Maps

Map Courtesy Todd Bennett/James Neihuis

John Wesley Powell Watershed Map of the Western U.S. (1890)

Illustration by Cristina Spano/Animation by Vivacobi Studio