9:00 AM, Recreation.gov, and the Longest Five Seconds of My Year

There are moments in the National Parks world that don't involve mountains, wildlife, or views — but still feel just as intense.

The morning of February 7th 2026 was one of them.

At exactly 9:00 AM, sitting alone in my van in Yosemite Village, I was not watching bears.

I was competing for 60 slots against the entire internet.

Preparation Is Everything

This wasn't casual clicking.

I had rehearsed the flow. I had rehearsed the order. I had rehearsed the mistakes Recreation.gov likes to make.

The exact booking URL was already loaded in my address bar — no extra navigation, no wasted milliseconds. I knew my dates. I knew my party size. I knew what buttons I needed to hit, in what order, and how fast.

At 8:59:59, I stopped breathing.

9:00:00 — Refresh

Nothing.

Refresh again.

There they were. 60 available person-slots per day.

Availability appeared like a mirage.

I clicked 2 people. Selected dates. Hit Add to Cart.

And then… time slowed.

The Cart Is a Lie (Until It Isn't)

The page loaded.

The permit was in my cart!

Anyone who has played this game knows what that means:

• The permit slots are now "allocated" in YOUR cart - for 15 minutes

But "in cart" is not success.

Success is a confirmation number.

Anything before that is theoretical.

I scrolled. Checked the agreement box. Hit Checkout.

ERROR

Please add party member names.

Of course.

I typed my wife's name into the second slot. Hit checkout again.

ERROR

Too many people are booking these dates.

Oh shit.

Panic.

But I knew one thing:

The permit was still in my cart.

I tried again. Same error. On the 3rd attempt it goes!

Payment screen.

Click Pay.

A loading spinner appeared.

And then...

CONFIRMATION NUMBER

It loaded.

I yelled.

Like, actually yelled!

If there were any bears hibernating nearby, I apologize — but also, I was coming to see their cousins.

I immediately navigated to My Reservations.

There it was.

Real.

Confirmed.

Brooks Camp - July 2026 ✅

How Katmai Became My Second Favorite

In 2024, I was on one of the greatest adventures of my life — visiting all eight Alaska National Parks back-to-back over the span of two months.

On July 18, 2024, I flew alone (with two pilots) in a float plane from Lake Clark National Park to Brooks Camp in Katmai.

As the plane landed on Naknek Lake and floated toward the shore, my excitement was simply… peak. When I set foot on the beach, Katmai became my 61st National Park.

The very first step for all visitors arriving at Brooks Camp is attending Bear School at the visitor center — a short 10-minute video followed by a ranger-led session where the rules are clearly outlined and proper behavior is taught. We are just visitors here. This is the home of grizzly bears, and we must act accordingly.

After Bear School, I went to set up my tent in the designated camping area — surrounded by an electric fence — and then made my way toward the bear-viewing platforms.

Within seconds, I saw my first bears. My excitement surged.

As I moved from the River Platform toward the trail leading to the main platforms, I watched three full-size bears leave the river and run down the trail. I waited for a bit, then left the safety of the platform and started up the trail myself.

About 100 yards in, I saw all three bears running toward me.

Panic.

Having just gone through Bear School, I knew I should not run. I casually stepped off the trail into the trees. The bears ran past me — and the third slowed as it reached my position. It looked at me, almost as if it were more afraid of me than I was of it, and then ran ahead to catch up with its companions.

Throughout the afternoon, I spent hours on the platforms watching bears move through the river — coming and going, catching fish mid-air as they attempted to reach the top of Brooks Falls. It was a wildlife-viewing experience unlike anything I had ever seen.

I returned to camp for dinner, then headed back out for another four hours of bear watching. Along the way, I had several more encounters. I've had many bear encounters in my life — but these felt different.

That evening, around 11 p.m., as I sat back at camp unpacking my thoughts, I remember thinking:

This is my third-favorite National Park. Yosemite. Yellowstone. Now Katmai.

And that was after just half a day.

Over the next three days, I saw more bears than I had ever seen in my life. At times, I could count more than 50 bears in the water at once. It was unbelievable.

By the time I was leaving, my mind was already on 2025. The must-come-back decision was made before I even reached my van in Anchorage.

In January 2025, I went through the same anxiety-inducing Recreation.gov process to secure two permits for a full week — this time planning for my wife to join me. Sadly, due to work PTO complications, she wasn't able to make the trip that year.

In July 2025, I returned.

The float-plane arrival. Bear School. Setting up my tent inside the electric fence. Everything was now familiar — and still just as exciting.

Over the course of that week in Katmai, I had countless incredible encounters — close, distant, quiet, intense. I talked with rangers, volunteers, and fellow visitors. At some point, it hit me:

I felt like I belonged here.

And somewhere in those reflections, I realized something else.

At first, it felt strange to admit. But once I was honest with myself, I knew it was true.

Katmai had become my second-favorite National Park.

Looking Ahead

Every year I learn the same lesson in a slightly different way: I don't need more places. I need depth.

It took me 17+ years to visit all 63 National Parks — not because they're hard to reach, but because I kept choosing repeats. The places that mattered and called me back again and again.

Now that I've finished, people ask what's next. The answer is simple: nothing new. I'm done chasing numbers. I'd rather return to Katmai every July for the rest of my life than see ten new places once.

Yosemite is where I can simply be. It doesn't ask anything of me. I can show up, sit on a familiar rock, walk the same trails, and still feel fully present. It's home in a way no other National Park ever could be.

Katmai is different — and it's meant to be.

There is no other place in the National Park system — or in the world — where I know the name of a wild animal.

Returning to Katmai feels less like a trip and more like checking in on friends. For one week a year, I watch in silence and amazement as familiar bears move through the river. I wonder how they're doing. I notice what's changed and what hasn't. Bears like Grazer and Biggy. They don't know me, and they shouldn't — and that distance is exactly what makes the experience so profound.

If I could live in Yosemite and leave for a week each summer to return to Katmai, that would be perfection. One place where I belong. One place I visit, that reminds me the wild doesn't need me — I need it.

So when the clock hit 9:00 AM, and I refreshed the page, and my heart raced over a confirmation number, it wasn't really about a campsite.

It was about protecting that rhythm — and that reunion — for another year.

🫶🐻