Tag: climbing

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The Grandfather Trail: The Most Technical Hike East of the MS River

Touted as the most technical hike east of the Mississippi River that doesn’t require climbing gear, the Grandfather Trail in North Carolina offers an enticing challenge for adventurers who want to channel their inner American Ninja Warrior in the wild. Affectionately referred to as the chutes and ladders trail, this natural obstacle course traverses 2.5 miles (one way) of rugged terrain and thrilling exposure to the summit of Calloway Peak, the highest of a series of peaks along Grandfather Ridge at 5,964 ft. As the moniker suggests, the trail requires hikers to utilize numerous ladders and ropes on the way to the top. If you’re into scrambles and comfortable with exposure, this trail is absolutely exhilarating and offers stunning views of the surrounding Appalachian wilderness.

traversing the Grandfather Mountain ridge, with MacRae Peak ahead on my right, and Calloway Peak on the left in the distance

I live in Tennessee, a rare state that does not charge admission fees to state parks, ever. It’s one of many things I love about my home state, but it’s also set a low bar for what I consider to be “expensive” admission to parks in other places. The Grandfather Mountain Nature Park charges $22 per adult and $9 per child for entry at the park’s main access point. I’m not saying the price isn’t worth it, but this is the most expensive admission fee I’ve paid to enter any state or national park, since national parks charge per vehicle and not per person. I’ve paid $35 for entry to national parks, but this covers unlimited re-entry for me and anyone in my vehicle for a whole week. With this in mind, I think it’s really important to consider where those dollars are going, and in the case of this stunning park, 100% of admission fees are invested into the preservation of the park and its wild inhabitants. There are longer alternative options for hiking to the top of Calloway Peak, for those who want to avoid the admission fee, but these routes also bypass the daunting features that make the Grandfather Trail so unique. The Grandfather Mountain Nature Park offers the best access to the Grandfather Trail and the family friendly amenities close to the visitor center. Consider the admission fee as an investment in memories you won’t soon forget, and more importantly, an investment in the future of this spectacular place as a home for wildlife and an unforgettable destination for future generations of explorers. You can learn more about the organization that supports this park here.*

Most people who enter the park on the road that provides access to the Grandfather trailhead aren’t actually planning to hike this trail. There’s a visitor center across the parking lot from the trailhead and sweeping views along the winding road to the crest of this imposing ridge. There’s an attraction at the visitor center called Mile High Swinging Bridge that’s probably exactly what its name suggests. I may never know, because my husband and I decided to devote all of our daylight hours to the Grandfather trail instead. We hiked this trail in late November, and in warmer and busier months, I think hikers are required to park in a lot below the trailhead that served as our starting point. This may add a mile or so to the trail’s roundtrip distance, along with notable elevation gain on the way up. Leave your kids, dogs, and friends who are afraid of heights at home for this one. They’ll thank you for it later.

Andy and I travelled to Banner Elk, NC for a weekend getaway to celebrate his birthday, and after we climbed Mt Elbert in Colorado on my birthday a couple of years ago, it only felt appropriate to spend one of his birthdays on top of a mountain too.

After half a mile of modest elevation gain, the trail forks, just beyond a gorgeous overlook at Grandfather Gap. This marks the turnaround point for many hikers. For those that choose to press on, the fork to the right continues along the Grandfather Trail and wastes very little time before manifesting its technical and treacherous reputation through a series of ladders and cables that weave over and under the massive rock ledges that dominate the terrain along the ridge. The route is well-marked and easy to navigate, but it traverses several exposed surfaces that require what I like to refer to as “intentional hiking”. This means that every step is critical to the success of the next one, and moving forward requires unrelenting focus and determination. This pattern repeats itself several times along the way up to the summit of MacRae Peak (5,845 ft), accessible by an unconvincing ladder extending at a nearly vertical trajectory above the trail. I expected the climbing to end at the top of the ladder, but was instead greeted (or taunted, if we’re being honest) by an ominously thin cable that I gripped with white knuckles in chilling 25 MPH winds as I finished the precipitous climb to the top of MacRae Peak.

The wind howled loudly as Andy and I emerged breathless and triumphant on the entirely exposed summit. Luckily, we were the only people up there, because space is very limited. The Grandfather Ridge towers prominently over its surroundings, so sitting on the summit of MacRae Peak, with majestic views for miles and miles in every direction, felt like sitting on top of the world. In my humble opinion, these views are the best of many spectacular ones on the entire hike, but they’re also the riskiest to attain. The final ascent to the top of MacRae Peak is not for everyone, so it’s important to trust your instincts and avoid overcommitting to a potentially dangerous situation.

immaculate views from the top of MacRae Peak (5,845 ft)

The thrillingly rugged terrain continues beyond MacRae Peak as the trail traverses the ridge, ascending and descending constantly. Although Calloway Peak lies only two and a half miles from the visitor center at Mile High Swinging Bridge, progress comes slowly. In addition to topography, the trail becomes incredible narrow in many places, especially those with ladders and cables. This makes two way traffic difficult. The Grandfather trail receives significant foot traffic, despite its brutal reputation, so expect to spend some time stopping to wait for hikers coming from the opposite direction to pass. According to the unwritten rules of hiker etiquette, the ascending hiker has the right-of-way, but use your best judgment and communicate with other hikers. It sounds like common sense, but small acts of courtesy and adaptability go a long way in preventing accidents.

After more exposed scrambling, the trail approaches an aggressive ascent through a jagged series of boulders, the final technical challenge that lies between hikers who’ve made it this far and the highest point on the Grandfather Ridge, Calloway Peak. Although the inevitable scramble looks intimidating from the bottom of the gully, it’s not so bad once you start climbing. The route is straightforward and moves upward through a notch. The exposure continues along the ridge beyond the notch for a brief stretch, but the trail eventually retreats into the cover of those sacred Appalachian pines before nonchalantly emerging on top of Calloway Peak. Although the views from Grandfather Mountain’s highest summit aren’t as expansive as the ones from the top of MacRae Peak, they’re just as stunning. The tree cover on the western side of the peak partially blocked the brutal winds that precede winter in Appalachia, and the views to the east from the summit make the ascent entirely worthwhile.

the ascent through the notch below the summit of Calloway Peak

We descended along the same route until reaching a turnoff for the Underwood Trail, a short segment that descends below the ridge line and bypasses the route to MacRae Peak. We’d done some research prior to our hike and knew that this trail would reconnect with the Grandfather Trail without adding any significant distance. Eager to see what this new segment offered, and equally eager for a break from the wind and exposure along the chutes and ladders surrounding MacRae Peak, we followed the Underwood Trail for a half mile or so before reconnecting with the Grandfather Trail near the Grandfather Gap overlook. From here, the trail modestly descends through the dense forest and returns to the trailhead.

The Underwood Trail connects to the Grandfather Trail on each end and descends below the ridge to avoid the wind and exposure of the trail’s most treacherous section. The views aren’t so bad either.

I can’t post about my experience on the Grandfather Trail without acknowledging that anyone with legitimate climbing experience (I have none) who’s reading this is likely scoffing at my ignorance for overusing the word “technical” to describe a trail that doesn’t require any technical experience at all. To be perfectly clear, although this trail does not require technical climbing experience or gear, it’s a strenuous and highly exposed hike along unforgiving terrain. If you’ve got the mettle for it, the effort and anxiety pays off in a big way, but observe caution when embarking on this (or any) trail. Avoid the crowds by hiking in the offseason, like we did, but be aware of adverse conditions like wind or snow and plan accordingly. The Grandfather Trail presents an opportunity for adventure unlike any other on this side of the Mississippi, as long as you manage your expectations wisely.

views from the highest point on the grandfather Ridge, Calloway Peak (5,964 ft)

*This post has been revised as of August 5, 2021 to reflect some helpful and clarifying information graciously offered by Grandfather Mountain Stewardship Foundation.

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Mount Elbert: Climbing Colorado’s Highest Mountain

On September 14, 2018, two monumental life events happened. I reached the summit of Mount Elbert, the highest peak not only in Colorado but the entire Rocky Mountain Range, and… I turned thirty. This day involved what was, without a doubt, the greatest physical challenge of my life so far, and as a result, the most incredible birthday I’ve ever had.

the magnificent westward facing view from the summit of Mt. Elbert at 14,440 feet

Until this recent trip, I’d never been to Colorado. My parents are beach people, so we never took any ski vacations growing up, and mountains didn’t appeal to me until I started hiking. One of the most enticing things about beaches is accessibility, and I’ve always loved that. It’s easy to immerse yourself in the sand, ocean, and salty breeze. It’s all right there within reach, minimum effort required. Nobody goes to the beach just to look at it, right? Mountains, however, fall on the other end of the spectrum. To me, the inaccessibility of most mountains, relative to most beaches, is immensely attractive. It’s easy to enjoy a mountain view from afar, but to physically be on a mountain like Mount Elbert, to climb it and feel the intoxicating thrill of standing on the summit, transforms the experience into something else entirely. Of course, most people who visit mountains have no desire to climb them, but for those like me, the view from below just isn’t enough.

Mt. Elbert (center), as viewed from a country road dozens of miles southeast of the peak

Although getting ready for Mount Elbert certainly required effort, physical and otherwise (leave a comment or send me a message if you’d like to learn more about how I prepared for this), I should make one thing very clear: despite this mountain’s status as the highest peak in the Rockies, it’s by no means the hardest one to climb. In fact, the route that Andy and I followed requires no technical climbing skills or equipment. However, the trail is painfully strenuous and ascends 4500 vertical feet over five miles to the summit. I’d only recommend it to those who are physically fit and have a high tolerance for heights and exposure.

All things considered, the toughest challenge we encountered was altitude: the great equalizer that doesn’t discriminate against skill, experience, or fitness. On a hike like this one, altitude complicates the journey long before the climb begins, because it takes time for the body to adjust to the lower oxygen levels at high elevations. The elevation at the North Mount Elbert trailhead is nearly 10,000 feet, and the average person begins to feel the impact of altitude at 8000 feet. Thus, I learned an excruciating lesson on the mountain: altitude affects everyone, even if it doesn’t make you sick.

taking a break at roughly 13,000 feet to catch my breath and enjoy the views to the east

A funny thing about mountains is that they tend to get steeper as you get closer to the top. It makes sense when you think about it, and trust me, you think about it constantly when you’re climbing one. As the slope increases, the physical challenge intensifies, and the air that was already thin at the trailhead becomes even thinner with every upward step. Although half of the trail lies below the tree line, this part of the journey is far from a leisurely stroll through the woods. The incline, though it varies in degree throughout different sections of the trail to the summit, is always noticeably present.

When we arrived at the North Mount Elbert trailhead at 6:00 AM, the small parking area was nearly full. When embarking on a high altitude hike in the summer months, afternoon lightening storms are very common above the tree line, and these often pop up with little warning. It’s crucial to get an early start so that you’ll have plenty of time to reach the summit and get back down below the tree line by 1:00 or so. When lightening’s in the area, it tends to strike the highest point on a surface. If you’re 14,000 feet up the side of a mountain and there aren’t any trees around, that high point is probably you. With this in mind, we came prepared for the below freezing pre-sunrise temperatures, but after the first mile or two, the sun came up and allowed us to shed our outer layers.

The first half of the trail lies below the tree line and winds upward through a beautiful forest that was ripe with fall colors during our hike.

Fall weather just recently arrived in Nashville, and it’s nearly November, but in Colorado, the leaves start to change much earlier. Below the tree line, we were surrounded by a rainbow of fall colors. As we approached the summit later in the hike, the expansive view of those fiery colors from far above the tree line was breathtakingly pretty. The dense forest that covers the lower half of the trail obscures any view of the mountain’s peak. However, several breaks in the trees on the way up reveal stunning views of Mount Elbert’s lofty neighbor, Mount Massive, whose summit measures only twenty vertical feet less than Mount Elbert’s. As the trail climbs and the trees become more sparse, Mount Elbert’s peak (or what appears to be its peak) emerges again.

The peak that’s visible from the tree line is actually a false summit, obscuring the top of the mountain from view at this angle.

The next agonizing lesson I learned on the mountain: the psychological trauma of a false summit. The physical strain of ascending a mountain pales in comparison to the emotional wrecking ball that hits you when you realize the peak you’ve been vigorously pursuing isn’t the summit after all, and the toughest part of the climb still lies ahead. False summits are a common occurrence on mountains, which are almost never smooth and cylindrical. When viewed from below at close range, a lower subpeak on a mountain may conceal the actual summit, due to its position and proximity to the climber. It’s difficult to explain, but the illusion that you’re closer to the summit than you are in reality elicits an inevitable feeling of defeat, even when you see it coming.

As the gradient increased sharply between the tree line and the first false summit, we pressed on through what was, in my opinion, the most difficult portion of the trail. Our breaks became more frequent, and aside from the shortness of breath that’s almost universally felt at high altitudes, we started experiencing more side effects above the tree line (roughly 11,900 feet). Most noticeably, these included headache and swelling in our fingers and toes due to poor circulation. The terrain was rugged and severe, so we moved forward carefully, testing our footing on the loose rocks to avoid sending a cascade of stones down the slope toward hikers below us.

view from the first false summit, facing north toward the peaks of Mt. Massive (right)

Beyond the first false summit (situated around 13,200 feet), the journey becomes increasingly difficult with every step. There were times when I couldn’t move more than twenty or thirty steps forward without needing to stop for a second to take in a few desperate breaths. Lightheaded from the thin air and physically exhausted from the climb, we continued, encountering a second false summit before we reached the final stretch: a narrow ridge that leads up to the top of the mountain. From here, the true summit lies in plain sight, unmistakable and magnificent.

the ridge leading to Mt. Elbert’s peak, viewed from the second false summit at 14,000 feet

I’m not embarrassed to admit that I cried when we finally reached the top of Mount Elbert. An adventure like this one takes you through every emotion imaginable, and then some. I felt immensely happy and energized at the trailhead, yet hopelessly discouraged and exhausted upon reaching the first false summit and seeing how much of the climb remained in front of us. I felt overwhelmed with panic when I couldn’t breathe, but then strong and resilient when I kept going anyways. When I looked up and saw other hikers far ahead of us, like tiny ants a thousand feet higher on the mountain, I felt consumed with envy and frustration because they were so much closer to the top than I was. On the summit, however, I felt extremely grateful that we were able to complete this journey at all, as we passed plenty of people on the mountain who never made it to the top.

Andy and I standing on top of Mt. Elbert

None of these emotions compare to the euphoric sense of accomplishment that we felt on the summit, but we only stayed for a few minutes. As I’ve repeatedly mentioned, it’s hard to breathe up there, and the top of the mountain is only the half way point. The descent, though challenging in its own way (because, you know, you’re more likely to fall down than up), was blessedly uneventful compared to the climb. On the way up, we were facing the mountain, and focusing all of our available energy on inching closer toward the summit. While making our way down, facing outward toward the gorgeous Colorado wilderness, we had a higher capacity for taking in many views that we were too distracted to notice before. This brings me to the final and most important lesson I learned on Mount Elbert.

This panoramic shot captures views to the south and west from the top of Mt. Elbert

Throughout the last year of my twenties, I spent a lot of time thinking about (and dreading) turning thirty. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I hadn’t accomplished enough over the past ten years, or that I was somehow “behind” where my twenty-year-old self thought I should be at thirty. I focused so much energy on what I hadn’t yet achieved that I lost sight of the many accomplishments I should be proud of. My salary didn’t cross the six-figure threshold in my twenties, but I’m working in a job that I love and earning more than enough to maintain financial stability. I didn’t get married or start a family, but I’m in the happiest, healthiest relationship of my life, and we have plenty of time to create our own version of happily ever after. I’ve finished two college degrees, travelled to places I never imagined I’d see in my twenties, and been overwhelmingly blessed by the love and support of family and friends who stood by me throughout the highest peaks and lowest valleys of my twenties.

Now that I’m a decade older and wiser, I see my blessings more clearly and regret that I didn’t appreciate them enough in my twenties. In my thirties, I’m sure I’ll climb more mountains, physically and metaphorically, and I’ll do so without fear or doubt that my peaks don’t measure up to everyone else’s.

 

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Savage Gulf State Natural Area: Stone Door and Big Creek Gulf

For the past few weeks, I’ve been struggling to find the right words to tell the story of my hike through Savage Gulf last month. While each of the new hikes I’ve taken this year has had distinguishing features that make that trail unique in comparison to the others, mostly due to terrain or scenery, this one stands out for a few reasons unrelated to the spectacular views. In addition to claiming the title of 2018’s most challenging hike so far, this is the only hike I’ve taken this year that I wouldn’t feel comfortable revisiting alone. Although I’m becoming increasingly confident on my own in the wild, even on difficult or remote trails, I’m grateful that I didn’t attempt this one solo, for several reasons. You’ll learn more about those soon enough.

my hiking companions at Savage Gulf, Megan (human) and Maggie (fur baby)

Savage Gulf State Natural Area is immense, and home to multiple converging gulfs and more than 50 miles of trails along the rim and through the rocky depths below. Located in Grundy County, Tennessee (you know the place, where John Michael Montgomery found love with a ruby red lipped blonde at an auction), Savage Gulf is out there. To put it into perspective, we spent the second half of the two-hour journey to this destination on country back roads, two lanes (if that) and no cell signals.

We selected a combination of three trails: Stone Door, Big Creek Gulf, and Big Creek Rim. Recommended by my beloved hiking guide, AllTrails, this route forms a lollipop loop, covering nearly 10 miles of pristine wilderness along the rim of Savage Gulf and down through the dry creek bed at the bottom. With 1,500 feet of elevation change along the trail, most of which happens during brief segments of incredibly steep canyon walls, this one ain’t easy. However, Savage Gulf is considered by many as one of Tennessee’s premier destinations for back country hiking, and after my experience here, I wouldn’t argue against it.

Savage Gulf, breathtakingly stunning and wild

Our journey started on the Stone Door Trail, and easy one mile trek that provides access to several trailheads of more remote paths along and through the gulf. At the end of this trail, we encountered one of the area’s most expansive overlooks and the trail’s namesake feature, the Stone Door. A large split, 100 feet deep and as much as 15 feet wide in spots, separates a massive section of cliff from the gulf’s main rock wall. A narrow bridge crosses over the split and provides hikers with access to this area, which juts out into the gorge and offers panoramic views across Savage Gulf.

Savage Gulf as viewed from the overlook at the end of the Stone Door Trail

At the end of the Stone Door Trail, the path splits and offers hikers two options: the Big Creek Rim Trail on the right and the Big Creek Gulf Trail on the left. We opted for the latter, operating with the mentality that we’d tackle the more challenging trail first. These trails connect at opposite ends to form a loop, but I’d recommend hiking clockwise, as we did, or you’ll end this tough 7.5 mile stretch with a punishing uphill climb out of the canyon.

The initial descent on the Big Creek Gulf Trail drops more than 100 feet through the Stone Door, a fascinating passageway formed by the deep split beneath the bridge we crossed to access the overlook. Before our visit to Savage Gulf, I’d read about the amazing views we’d take in on our hike, but I came across little mention of Stone Door. I was expecting a relatively unsubstantial arch but felt thrilled and awestruck when I witnessed the magnitude of this colossal natural wonder.

Megan and Maggie making their way down the many steps of Stone Door

After we emerged from the bottom of the Stone Door, Megan and I quickly realized that our descent into the gulf had only just begun. We didn’t realize at the time, however, that the two hikers we passed traveling up through the Stone Door would be the last people we’d see until after we climbed back out of the gulf, four miles later. Solitude can be transcendent and invigorating on a hike, and while heavy crowds can ruin the natural ambiance, sometimes it’s reassuring to know that you aren’t totally alone in a remote wilderness. The lack of foot traffic we encountered on the Big Creek Gulf Trail made me wonder: If I were alone and became injured or lost, how long would it take for someone to  find me here? It sounds dramatic, but more experienced adventurers have run into trouble in less remote areas, so it’s hard not to think about the “what ifs”.

The terrain in the gulf is very uneven, as the path constantly leads up and down small inclines and over loose rock. Rainy weather had passed through the area the night before our hike and into the morning, so everything was wet. The bottom of the gulf receives little sunlight due to to the density of the forest rising above it, so we moved forward with caution, slipped a few times, but luckily avoided any injuries.

Maggie and I, taking a quick break on the rocky trail through the bottom of Savage Gulf

About half way through the Big Creek Gulf Trail, we encountered a spur trail to Greeter Falls. The sign didn’t indicate the amount of distance to the falls, which led us to believe that this would be a short detour. We decided to go for it and started down the path, which led across the vast dry creek bed that runs parallel to the main trail. The rocky creek bed was damp from the rain, but wide enough to create a significant break in the trees and allow sunlight to shine through. Maggie was off her leash at this point, because there weren’t any other hikers around and we thought she may enjoy cooling off in water if any had collected in the creek bed after the rain.

the expansive dry creek bed that we crossed on the way to Greeter Falls

Before we started across the creek bed, Megan casually said, “I’m surprised we haven’t seen any snakes on all these rocks, this seems like the kind of place where we’d see them”. Guess what happened next… A few short minutes later, we were half way across the creek bed and spotted two copperheads, coiled up together and watching us from a rock only a few feet away. Although we’d been looking out for snakes, we didn’t see these, because of the way they were positioned on the rock, until we’d already passed them. There’s no mistaking that they were copperheads, a venomous species with arrow-shaped heads and golden cat-like eyes.

We weren’t within striking distance, so we had no reason to be concerned for our own safety, but we knew that if Maggie noticed the snakes and went over to investigate, that probably wouldn’t end well. Plus, copperheads are known as social snakes, meaning that they tend to nest and move in groups. If you see one, there are probably more close by. We quickly put Maggie back on the leash and abandoned our detour to Greeter Falls.

Not long after returning to the main trail, we encountered a short path leading to a section of the creek bed that actually had water flowing through it. This little oasis provided a welcome stop for rest and rehydration during our journey across the otherwise dry bottom of the gulf. However, the water flowed against the direction in which we were headed, a clear indication that our long uphill journey out of the gulf was about to begin.

no snakes in this pleasant space (none that we could see, anyways)

Honestly, the climb out of the gulf was brutal. I wish I could say that scenery and stamina made it easy to push through, but this section of the trail was hard. The loose, rocky terrain that had presented a somewhat appealing challenge along the bottom of Savage Gulf transformed into a precarious balancing act as the gradient increased. We were so focused on the ascent that we barely had the capacity to take in the surrounding views. One thing that we did notice: another snake. Unlike the first two, this one was just a harmless garden snake, no more than a foot long and so still that Maggie didn’t notice it, even off the leash.

Shortly after emerging from the depths of Savage Gulf, the Big Creek Gulf Trail merges with the Big Creek Rim Trail, a flat and easy 3-mile path that provides multiple vantage points for panoramic views across the area. We stopped several times along this trail to gaze across the gulf and bask in the realization of the treacherous (but completely magnificent and worth every step) journey that we’d just experienced. Our hike through the bottom of the gulf, as incredible and wild as it was, involved significant risk and uncertainty that was absent along the rim.

Megan and Maggie, taking a break at one of the overlooks along the Big Creek Rim Trail

In conclusion, there wasn’t one specific thing that would prevent me from attempting this trek by myself, but a combination of several factors. Naturally my first venomous snake sighting on a hike this year plays a contributing role. Megan and I were so close to these snakes before we noticed them, despite the contrast between their copper coloring and the grey stone of the creek bed, which makes me wonder how many other snakes we passed without realizing it. Loose rocks cover the floor of the gulf and dominate the terrain on the trail, creating an ideal habitat for snakes.

Additionally, Megan and I hiked four miles through the bottom of the gulf without seeing any other signs of human life, and we both lost cell service before we’d even reached the parking lot. If either of us had been alone and something happened, like a snake bite or a debilitating fall on the slick, jagged terrain, hours could pass before anyone noticed.

Savage Gulf, early in our hike when the fog was heavy after the overnight rain

Despite all of this, Savage Gulf is one of the most untamed and idyllic places I’ve hiked through this year, in Tennessee or elsewhere. I’d go back in a heartbeat and highly recommend this area to anyone who wants to explore off the grid. Just remember to bring a friend, keep your eyes open, and don’t be afraid to get close to the edge.

front row views of Savage Gulf