Halfmoon Bay, Stewart Island

If you're itching for adventure, fresh sea spray, and a guaranteed dose of salty local wisdom, hopping aboard a fishing charter in Halfmoon Bay is your ticket-an experience that lands you somewhere between Hemingway bravado and Gilligan's mishaps. Get ready to join Captain Bob (or whoever happens to still be sober that morning) at the ungodly but strangely exhilarating hour of dawn. Plan at least a week ahead because, believe it or not, you're not the only lunatic chasing Pacific salmon at 6 a.m. Bring layers, sunscreen, snacks, and extra cash-$150 to $300 per person usually covers a half-day voyage, bait, tackle, and endless tall tales spun by your weather-beaten skipper. Once you're offshore, bouncing through waves and squinting at the horizon, you'll understand why the indigenous Coast Salish people revered this stretch of water-though they probably didn't punctuate their fishing with salty language and lamentations about lost lures. Even if your catch ends up embarrassingly undersized or altogether nonexistent, the absurdity, camaraderie, and relentless beauty of a morning spent wrestling with stubborn fish and even more stubborn egos make it worth every penny. At the very least, you'll return to shore with sea legs, epic tales of "the one that got away," and bragging rights-just enough material to last through several rounds at the local pub.

Forget scrolling aimlessly through your streaming queue. Instead, haul yourself out into the night, plant your posterior firmly in the dirt (or preferably in a portable chair-you're not an animal), and tilt your head skyward for some classic celestial voyeurism at Star Gazing Nights. Choose a dark, remote spot-think national parks, open fields beyond city limits, or a desert wilderness-to avoid the obnoxious glow of civilization, whose dedication to ruining star viewing seems positively cosmic. Aim to show up about an hour after sunset when the stars roll out their nightly extravaganza, and avoid full moons-our closest celestial neighbor, charming though it may be, hogs the limelight. Plan at least a few days out to dodge overcast skies and cranky weather-gods bent on ruining your evening. Financially speaking, it's deliciously cheap; a decent pair of binoculars, a thermos of something warm and suitably spiked, and snacks that won't loudly crunch in your ears are about all you need, setting you back maybe a few tens of bucks. Sure, staring at the cosmos might seem a tad lofty, but nothing puts your trivial earthly dramas into perspective faster than spotting a meteor casually vaporizing through the night sky. And let's face it, even if you confuse Orion's Belt with the Big Dipper, you'll still have a great story about that night you communed with the universe, reminiscing wistfully about humanity's ancient astronomers-who had fewer conveniences but likely far superior neck muscles.

Staying overnight at Stewart Island Lodge is much like camping out at the end of the world, except your tent is swapped for comfy beds, heated towel racks, and mesmerizing balcony views that are the hospitality equivalent of a smug grin. Perched just above Oban, Stewart Island's quaint fishing village and the official southernmost outpost of civilization in New Zealand, this lodge is your chance to disconnect from modern life (good luck finding consistent Wi-Fi) and reconnect with noisy kiwi birds and unapologetically starry skies. Plan your pilgrimage several months in advance-this is a tiny speck on the map, after all-and aim for early autumn, when the crowds thin out but the island has yet to descend into its trademark Antarctic gloom. Come equipped with sturdy hiking boots, insect repellant for the militant sandflies, and at least $200 per night tucked in your wallet as tribute. Sure, the lodge may not have the glitz and glamour of a five-star Manhattan penthouse, but its authentic charm and aggressively pristine panoramas make it utterly irresistible. Most importantly, you'll leave Stewart Island with the kind of delightfully eccentric travel story destined to dominate dinner party conversations-just casually mention you spent your weekend sipping Pinot Noir while contemplating penguin migration patterns at the very bottom of the civilized world, and watch the envy flow.