Pinnacles in pupping season means closed bat caves. We knew that going in. We came for the rock formations, the hike, each other—and got exactly what we needed.
Through a park partnership, we rented a 12-person van and drove the road usually reserved for the official shuttle—no 45-minute wait, just us rolling up together. We hiked as one group, crawled through boulder passages, explored landscapes that took our breath away.
But here's what became trip legend: the dirt slide. Next to our campsite stairs sat this perfect patch of sandy soil. Our younger kids spotted it instantly and claimed it. Up. Slide down. Up. Slide down. For forty-eight hours straight, covered head-to-toe in dirt, grinning like maniacs. Nobody told them to stop. Nobody worried about the mess or the laundry we'd face later. They just lived it—that thing we talk about but they embodied perfectly.
Closed caves, incredible hikes, and kids so covered in dirt we could barely recognize them. Dirt don't hurt.