Santa Catalina Island

If the thought of strapping on a clunky, astronaut-meets-deep-sea-diver helmet and strolling casually along Catalina's ocean floor sounds absurdly delightful, well, you're exactly right. The Catalina Sea Trek at Casino Point is what would happen if Jules Verne had a midlife crisis and figured snorkeling was too pedestrian. Descending into this clear-blue marine sanctuary, you're likely to rub elbows-or fins-with vibrant garibaldi, suspiciously charming leopard sharks, and curious octopuses, all while your face remains majestically dry, enabling selfies worthy of Jacques Cousteau's Instagram. Best booked at least a few weeks ahead and aiming for morning (when the visibility underwater is clearest and the fish seem more pleasantly caffeinated), the experience will set you back around $100 per person-so consider cutting back on avocado toast that week. Don't forget your swimsuit, towel, and adventurous spirit; sanity is entirely optional. Sure, you might look delightfully ridiculous, shuffling silently beneath the waves, but you'll leave with the kind of story that makes coworkers jealous and your grandchildren skeptical.

How a herd of massive American bison ended up roaming a sunny island off the coast of Southern California is exactly the sort of gloriously absurd historical footnote that makes long boat rides worth it. Catalina Island's shaggy inhabitants descend from a Hollywood western film shoot back in the roaring twenties-when film crews evidently weren't fussed with things like animal logistics-leaving these misplaced bovines to wander aimlessly across the rugged landscape ever since. Yes, you could glimpse buffalo in Yellowstone-but spotting a hundred-year cinematic mistake while careening around hairpin curves in an open-air Jeep tour adds a surreal charm. Schedule a morning ride (book at least a week ahead) when the bison are lazily munching and before the midday sun sends them into hiding. Bring sunblock, binoculars, and fifty bucks or so; you're not paying just for the wildlife, but also for the gleeful absurdity of Hollywood hubris run amok. Even if you don't snap a Pulitzer-winning photo, who doesn't want the bragging rights of spending a morning chasing the fiercely indifferent ghosts of Hollywood's golden age?

In the heart of Avalon's charmingly kitschy downtown, nestled among postcard stands and saltwater taffy shops, lies Catalina Pottery Classes-your chance to roll up your sleeves, channel your inner artisan, and shape a lump of clay into something resembling a bowl (or at least a delightfully misshapen ashtray). Catalina's pottery tradition harks back to the roaring 1920s when island ceramics adorned elite Hollywood homes and glitzy Catalina Island hotels, making this class a quirky homage to that glamorous, jazz-age heyday. Classes typically fill up fast, so book a week or two ahead and aim for a morning session (before your margarita lunch in the sun saps your fine motor skills). Set aside roughly $60-80 for a two-hour escapade and don't show up in your favorite shirt-unless Jackson Pollock splatter marks are your idea of fashion. Bring along a sense of humor, a willingness to embrace minor humiliation, and some sunscreen-it's Avalon, after all. Trust me, even if your final creation resembles something your kindergarten self would've sternly rejected, you'll leave with a story that starts with, "Did I ever tell you about the time I attempted fine pottery on an island mostly famous for buffalo sightings and overpriced cocktails?"

Camping overnight at Two Harbors isn't your average kumbaya-around-a-campfire situation; it's a wild coastal cocktail of rugged beauty and salt-sprayed adventure, tossed onto Catalina Island's quieter, quirkier shore. Once a smugglers' cove frequented by pirate wannabes and rum-soaked bootleggers, Two Harbors today hasn't lost that edge of mystery, offering secluded beaches perfect for pitching a tent beneath skies so star-studded you'd swear the Milky Way was photoshopped. To truly savor the solitude and beat the weekend wave of eager city campers, aim to land your spot midweek and book a few months ahead (seriously, spontaneity can be overrated). Pack minimal but smartly: sturdy footwear, plenty of water, sunscreen, snacks (unless foraging for seaweed and driftwood appeals), and don't forget a good lantern-campfire ghost stories hit differently in this salty darkness. With ferry fees, campsite charges, and a snack supply run, set aside around $75-$100 per person for your rustic revelry. Sure, sand will infiltrate your sleeping bag, raccoons might shamelessly raid your granola stash, and your phone signal will desert you like a fair-weather friend-but just think of the anecdotes you'll weave about nights spent stranded willingly, standing smugly at the edge of the Pacific.