One year ago, I had this tiny impulse to take a hike on a trail I’d never visited before. Honestly, this idea didn’t begin as a New Year’s Resolution. I’d never followed through on a New Year’s Resolution before, so as 2018 approached, I had little incentive to make that annual empty promise to become “better” in the coming year. I was burnt out on resolutions, and I didn’t want to deal with the subsequent self-loathing of failing to achieve a goal set with good intentions, even with the knowledge that success was never very realistic to begin with. The timing of this idea that evolved into my New Year’s Resolution was purely coincidental, a thought born out of boredom and a nagging desire to fill the cold post-holiday void known as January. My journey didn’t really begin until I realized that hiking this one trail I’d been wanting to explore for a while might only be the first chapter of a much bigger adventure.
There’s no comprehensive way to quantify my hiking experience over the past twelve months, but I’ll give it my best shot: twenty-five previously unexplored trails, seven states, five mountain summits, dozens of waterfalls, a handful of caves, a few snakes, twenty or so alligators (yep, that happened), plus five incredible humans and two dogs who accompanied me on these assorted journeys. And that list barely scratches the surface.
Words and numbers can’t capture the countless views that took my breath away, or the heart-pounding moments of intense exposure and narrow ledges that forced me to make a choice: confront my fear of heights and press on, or turn around and go home. I’m so grateful for every minute of this adventure and the value it added to my life in 2018, and one of my biggest triumphs is the fact that when presented with that choice, I never turned around and went home. I came close a few times, and there are a couple of hikes that I know I couldn’t have completed without support from my trail companions.
My friend, Megan, gave me the courage to shimmy across the smooth, vertical rock wall that led to the top of Cloud Splitter at Red River Gorge (and she went first to prove it wasn’t a death trap). Andy climbed the tallest peak in the Rocky Mountains with me, and for me, just because it was my birthday and I wanted to do it (one of many reasons why I’m marrying him). On my first new hike of 2018 at Virgin Falls, I was alone and slipped on a patch of ice, which sent me tumbling down a drop-off from the trail and into the dry creek bed below. A nameless stranger went out of his way to help me climb out and make sure I wasn’t seriously injured. Without that act of kindness, I may have abandoned this entire journey before it even began. I could go on and on about the support that’s carried me throughout this grand adventure.
All of this brings me to the final chapter of my 2018 New Year’s Resolution. I didn’t climb a mountain or plan a trip to some remote wilderness on the other side of the country. I drove to Prentice Cooper State Forest, two hours southeast of Nashville and a short distance from Chattanooga. I didn’t learn about the trail to Snooper’s Rock until after Christmas, so not much planning went into my decision. But to be fair, not much planning went into my decision to start this journey in the first place, so it seems kind of appropriate.
The Cumberland Trail combines more than 200 miles of disjointed trail segments along the eastern border of Tennessee. My journey to and from Snooper’s Rock totaled 6 miles, though the namesake attraction is more easily accessible from a separate half-mile trail attached to a nearby parking lot. The section of trail that I hiked stretches along a high bluff, hundreds of feet above the Tennessee River, the same Tennessee River that runs through other parts of Tennessee, Alabama, and Kentucky before flowing into the Ohio River and eventually the Mississippi. For the most part, the trail runs close enough to the sharp edge of the bluff to expose panoramic views of the river below.
There are many things that I enjoy about hiking in Tennessee during the colder months. Fewer people on the trails, much milder winter weather than the oppressive heat and humidity of summer, waterfalls and high rock walls adorned with hundreds of massive icicles, and enhanced visibility along trails due to the naked trees. My hike to Snooper’s Rock in late December checked all of these boxes. When I arrived at the small parking area beside the trailhead, there couldn’t have been more than five other cars in the lot. About half a mile into the journey, the trail descends through a staircase built into a crevice of a massive rock, which reminded me of the Stone Door at Savage Gulf (read more about that here), where I hiked in August 2018. Beyond this point, I only passed about six or eight other hikers on my way to Snooper’s Rock. Upon my arrival, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I had the place all to myself, at least for a few minutes until two other people showed up.
Snooper’s Rock extends like a peninsula from the edge of the bluff, providing panoramic views of the Tennessee River Gorge below. The rock area is large, flat, and treeless, with ample space in the middle for visitors who want to keep a safe distance from the edge without diminishing the impact of the view. Of course, if you’re like me and prefer the adrenaline rush of standing inches from the edge of a high cliff (sorry, mom), there’s plenty of room for that as well.
Every time I have the opportunity to confront my innate fear of heights, I take it. I understand the risk, but in my lifetime, I know I’ll only explore a microscopic fraction of this world’s wild and beautiful places. Time, resources, and access all create barriers beyond my control. But a fear of heights? That’s internal, and it’s one of the few things I can control. Conquering this fear significantly increases my limited opportunity to see places that I’d otherwise never even consider. It’s not easy, but I’m overcoming it a step (closer to the edge) at a time. It takes practice, plus a willingness to accept overwhelming vulnerability and then fight to find comfort in it, while exercising extreme caution and common sense, of course. Sure, challenging my fear of heights could lead me to an early death, or it could lead me down a path that ends with climbing Mount Everest one day. Neither scenario is very likely, so odds are quite high that I’ll land somewhere in between, happy and blessed.
I knew long before this final new hike of 2018 that I’d carry this resolution over into 2019. This journey means more than an annual promise to me, and while I’m so proud of how it all unfolded last year, I’m even more excited about what the future holds. As I write this, on the last day of the first month of the new year (another delayed post, something I’ll do my best to improve on in 2019), I’ve already completed my first hike of the new year, at Mount Rainier National Park in Washington. This place is mesmerizing, even in January during a government shutdown, and I can’t wait to share that experience. I’ve got plenty of other big plans for new hikes in 2019, including San Diego for an extended business trip in March and Telluride for our wedding in July. Side note: Ecstatic doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about marrying Andy in front of a small group of people we love and a big mountain backdrop.
As I move into the next phase of this adventure, one thing remains abundantly clear: This journey is not about checking off locations on a map. It’s about setting aside time at least once a month to do something I love, something I can experience either by myself or with others who share my curiosity about nature. It’s less about the actual trails and more about the thrill of seeing something beautiful for the first time. That’s what inspired me in 2018, and it’s the fuel that’s keeping this fire burning in 2019.
So, cheers to 2019! if last year was any indication, this one’s going to be WILD .
