Author: Emily

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Fiery Gizzard Trail to Raven’s Point

As much as I enjoy hiking with the people I love, there’s something empowering about tackling a new and challenging trail by myself. I frequently hike alone on trails I’m familiar with (Radnor Lake and Percy Warner Park offer access to amazing trails within the Nashville city limits), but I rarely embark on a solo hike on a previously unexplored trail. I’m not afraid to be by myself in the wild; I just usually prefer to have some company and love sharing new adventures with others who appreciate the experience as much as I do. Prior to last month’s hike at Fiery Gizzard, however, I’d only been alone on a new trail twice in 2018, and my bravery was at its peak after climbing Mount Elbert in September (pun intended, sorry about it).

Raven’s Point is the most expansive overlook on the trail, and luckily, I met another hiker here who was willing to take a photo of me.

The origins of Fiery Gizzard’s unique name are ambiguous and contested amongst Tennesseans, but locals unanimously agree on the trail’s status as one of the state’s most pristine hiking destinations. Located in South Cumberland State Park, the Fiery Gizzard Trail runs through a gorge only a dozen or so miles away from Savage Gulf, where I hiked in August. If you read that post, you may remember it as the place with all the snakes. Needless to say, I was acutely aware of this as I embarked on my hike at Fiery Gizzard, all by myself.

All things considered, I’d been looking forward to this trail for months, and I’d patiently waited to hike here until fall. I wanted to witness firsthand the accounts I’d heard about the magnificent colors of the changing leaves. Understandably, one rumor about the origins of Fiery Gizzard’s name credits the blazing fall colors. I planned this hike a week or so in advance, hoping that fall had arrived more quickly in the deep backwoods of southeast Tennessee than it had in Nashville. Unfortunately, it hadn’t. Despite this, I was grateful for the cooler temperatures and quickly realized that even without fall colors, every inch of this place radiates limitless natural beauty. 

the aptly named Blue Hole Falls, as viewed from the Grundy Day Loop

The route that I hiked, Fiery Gizzard to Raven’s Point, forms a double loop, starting with the Grundy Day Loop. From the Grundy Forest trailhead, the journey covers nearly ten miles of mostly strenuous hiking. As it was at Savage Gulf, the trail through the bottom of the gorge at Fiery Gizzard is extremely rocky and uneven, but the final stretch (before the trail reconnects with the Grundy Day Loop) runs along a mostly flat three-mile section of trail along the upper rim. In contrast with my hike at Savage Gulf, however, I saw many other hikers at Fiery Gizzard, on all sections of the trail. I passed other hikers frequently enough to feel like I wasn’t completely alone on the trail, but not often enough to lose the sense of blissful solitude that I’d intended to find.

The trail begins its descent quickly, leading down into the gorge and past enormous rock walls and several small waterfalls. Despite fairly dry weather in the days prior to my hike, plenty of water flowed through the creek, dancing around boulders and rushing over rock edges as it traveled down into the lower section of the gulf. The trail leads over a couple of wooden bridges, crossing a few smaller streams that eventually converge to form Fiery Gizzard Creek. Throughout the hike along the bottom of the gorge, Fiery Gizzard Creek flows parallel to the trail.

Fiery Gizzard Creek (flowing lightly on the right) runs parallel to the trail (moving upward on the left)

The most challenging portion of the trail stretches four miles from the intersection of the Grundy Day Loop and Fiery Gizzard Trail through the climb out of the gulf. This section resembles a game of connect the dots, where the uneven and often vaguely marked dirt path connects numerous boulder fields that hikers must scramble across in order to find the trail again. These boulder fields reminded me of the rocky terrain at the bottom of Savage Gulf, but more numerous and slightly more difficult to traverse. Because many of the rocks are loose, I often had to pause to evaluate the safest route forward or test my footing before putting my full weight on the next stone.

one of many extensive boulder fields along the bottom of Fiery Gizzard

Due to the constantly changing levels across the boulder fields, the next trail marker isn’t always clearly visible, so it’s easy to take a few steps in the wrong direction and end up exiting a boulder field with no trail in sight. I accidentally ventured away from the trail countless times, and then had to back track across the boulder field and start again. I never felt truly lost, luckily, and always managed to find my way again within a few minutes. One of the many advantages of hiking with a partner: Two sets of eyes looking from even marginally different angles are more likely spot a trail marker than a single set of eyes limited to one perspective. I wasn’t in a hurry, however, and I appreciate obscure trail markers because they aren’t a distraction from their unspoiled natural surroundings.

As with any hike through a gulf, getting out is tougher than getting in. After the final boulder field, the trail starts to rise and venture away from its comforting proximity to Fiery Gizzard Creek. A merciless series of switchbacks traverse upward and out of the gulf, but much to my surprise, I didn’t feel nearly as breathless on this part of the journey as I did during the very similar climb out of Savage Gulf. To be clear, it wasn’t easy – don’t underestimate this stretch if you ever find yourself on the Fiery Gizzard Trail. I exclusively credit my experience here to timing – the cooler October temperatures (compared to the blistering heat when I visited Savage Gulf in August) and my leftover strength after a rigorous training routine in preparation for Mount Elbert a month earlier. Regardless, when I reached the top of the gulf, my muscles ached but I didn’t need to stop and rest.

the final glimpse of Fiery Gizzard creek before the trail begins to climb out of the gulf

The dense forest along the short spur to Raven’s Point blocks any view of the gulf below until the trail abruptly ends at the overlook. The point extends sharply into the gulf, providing views from above across miles and miles of the gorgeous wilderness below. The views from Raven’s Point rival any I’ve seen on my various hikes along some of the most beautiful trails in Tennessee. The trees at the trail’s end provide enough cover to shade hikers from the sun’s glare, but they’re sparse enough to offer unobstructed views of the gulf on three sides. There’s no shortcut or alternative route that bypasses the tougher parts of the trail. Even the return trail along the rim becomes steep and difficult for a stretch before it reconnects with the Grundy Day Loop. As is usually the case though, the journey is worth the effort.

the panoramic view across the gorge from Raven’s Point

Although Savage Gulf and Fiery Gizzard each offer distinctly different and unique charms, it’s difficult to avoid comparing the two. Their close proximity to each other, the similarities in the terrain and level of difficulty, and the length of each trail are only a few of many reasons why hikers consider these to be similar hiking destinations. Only having hiked each trail once, Savage Gulf seemed more difficult to me, but again, this could be attributed to timing. Also, the return route along the rim at Savage Gulf offered more opportunities to take in views across the gorge than the one at Fiery Gizzard, which ventured through a dense woodland with few overlooks. In my humble opinion, however, the trail through the bottom of Fiery Gizzard, with the creek rushing alongside the trail, offers more aesthetic appeal than the section of trail running through the bottom of the Savage Gulf (and not just because I didn’t see any snakes at Fiery Gizzard).

In short, I’d encourage anyone who’s able to hike both trails and form their own opinions. As my mom would say when my brother and I would argue about which one of us was the “favorite” growing up, it’s not a competition. That’s one of the many things I love about exploring out in nature: even when presented with very similar options, no two places are exactly alike.

one more photo of the lush wilderness at the bottom of Fiery Gizzard

 

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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
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Austin, Texas: McKinney Falls and River Place Nature Trail

Before jumping into my hiking adventure in the Lone Star State last month, I want to take a minute to reflect on my journey through the first half of 2018. In six months, I explored twelve trails I’d never hiked before, across three states. These include an easy one-mile hike along a river bluff close to home in Tennessee (Narrows of the Harpeth), a strenuous seven-mile hike across uneven terrain and two mountain summits in Maine (Penobscot Mountain and Sargent Mountain), and so much more. I’ve experienced trails that require more climbing than hiking, trails through caves and waterfalls, and trails that challenged my physical and mental limits. Through all of this, I’ve somehow managed to incur only a few minor injuries, an insignificant price to pay for adventures that I’ll remember for the rest of my life.

Big Laurel Falls, draped in icicles, Virgin Falls State Natural Area, Tennessee (January 2018)
on top of Battleship Rock, Natural Bridge State Park, Kentucky (March 2018)

When I started this journey, I never imagined I’d feel more excited half way through the year than I did at the beginning. Each new adventure in 2018 has only intensified my passion for exploring the great outdoors on foot (and sometimes on hands and feet), and July’s hikes near Austin, Texas were certainly no exception.

Austin is a city with many distinct reputations: live music, the Texas Longhorns, amazing tacos, and a steadfast affection for weirdness. Located on the outskirts of the Texas Hill Country, Austin provides outdoor adventure seekers with easy access to a wide array of activities on land, water, and even through the air (Learn more about your outdoor options in Austin here).

McKinney Falls

Rich in history and beauty (and sweltering heat in July), McKinney Falls State Park is home to several hiking trails, two swimming holes, and the remnants of a few buildings constructed in the nineteenth century by the original owner of the land. I discovered this place when planning a trip to Texas to visit friends, knowing that I would spend a couple of days in Austin in between my time in Dallas and Houston. My friend, Morgan (we hiked together at the Grand Canyon last summer), accompanied me on this adventure. Before embarking on the Homestead Trail, we decided to check out the park’s most famous attraction: the swimming hole located at the bottom of the lower of the two waterfalls that comprise McKinney Falls.

the lower falls, with only a trickle of water flowing over the rock’s edge due to lack of recent rainfall in the area

At times, shallow water flows heavily over the entire length of the rock face pictured above, presenting a challenge for those who attempt to cross the top of the falls and access the trailhead. Needless to say, we barely even got our feet wet on the crossing. The small pools on top of the falls contained hot, dirty water, as this part of the creek bed had nearly evaporated after weeks of dry heat. Many of the pools contained exposed debris left behind by the heavy crowds that visit the area during the summer. Naturally, the pollution made me feel disappointed in those who had traveled through the area before me and somewhat guilty for bringing my own human footprint to a place that was clearly better off before it was discovered by the masses.

I actively seek opportunities to explore remote natural spaces, so it feels somewhat hypocritical to advocate for keeping the wilderness wild and untouched. However, I firmly believe in the “leave nothing behind except for a footprint” mentality, so that these sacred places can be preserved to inspire future generations. More importantly, there’s an urgent need to protect the fragile ecosystems that existed long before we discovered them, as these environments should absolutely outlive us all.

baking under the Texas sun on top of Onion Creek’s lower McKinney Falls

Beyond the swimming hole, after we started down the Homestead Trail, we didn’t see many other hikers. The three-mile loop trail is mostly flat and makes for an easy trek with pleasant scenery. The narrow, dusty path winds through a dense forest, which provided us with frequent shade from the midday sun. The scattered pieces of the trail that weren’t shaded led us across flat rock surfaces and alongside dozens of large clusters of cactus plants. Views also included two sites containing ruins of a large home and a mill constructed more than 150 years ago by Thomas McKinney, after whom the park is named.

wild cactus plants, in bloom beside the trail
the remains of the first home constructed on this land, giving the Homestead Trail its name

Overall, this trail proved to be a worthwhile destination among Austin’s many outdoor options. Despite the significant human footprint left on the swimming hole that we passed en route to the trailhead, the trail itself traversed an area that’s clearly received more respectful treatment (perhaps due to less visitor traffic). The building remains, like their surrounding natural habitat, have been preserved and protected for their place in local history as well. The balance between natural and human history, as viewed from the Homestead Trail, appears to be a harmonious one, and that alone provides a much more meaningful experience than the park’s namesake falls.

River Place Nature Trail

It’d be difficult for me to provide a meaningful review on any of the trails I’ve hiked this year using only a single phrase or sentence, and for most of them, a paragraph wouldn’t be enough to adequately summarize the experience. However, when I think about the River Place Nature Trail in Austin, two simple words sum this one up pretty thoroughly: roller coaster.

Embedded in an upscale suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of Austin, there’s nothing remote about this one, which gave me the naive impression that it couldn’t be very difficult. I’d soon learn my mistake in underestimating this strenuous six-mile out and back trail. Beyond the wooden pier that runs alongside a manmade pond, picturesque with its fountain in the middle and dozens of turtles swimming about, lies the trailhead. From this point on, flat sections of trail are incredibly sparse, and none of these level stretches extend further than a hundred feet or so. The path constantly climbs and descends through the rugged canyon landscape, with at least a dozen trail sections involving quick elevation changes of a hundred feet or more,  hence my “roller coaster” description.

It’s hard to capture depth from the lens of an iPhone, but this image shows a steep descent and the ensuing uphill climb that follows, an incessant pattern on the trail.

The trail includes more than 2,700 steps and 1,700 feet in total elevation change, one way, which gives hikers who are into math a fun game to play while on the trail. Needless to say, I wasn’t counting the steps or calculating the ups and downs. The steps have been carved into the trail to diminish the damaging effects of erosion during rainy seasons. We’d have welcomed the cooling effect of some light rain on this hike, but we didn’t get so lucky.

To quote a wise Texan named Kacey Musgraves, “Texas is hot”. Um, yes girl. You nailed it. This is especially true in July. Although the trail winds through a heavily wooded area, shade becomes more sparse on the upper sections, where the trees open up to provide hikers with expansive views of the surrounding area. Even in the shade, however, the demanding nature of this trail will draw significant sweat from hikers of all skill levels. Based on what I’ve read, I’m not the only one who’s underestimated this trail, and paramedics frequently respond to calls from dehydrated and exhausted hikers here. Moral of the story: Bring more water than you think you’ll need.

my friend, Morgan, posed beneath a fallen tree on one of the few flat sections of trail
the view from one of overlooks along the trail’s upper section

Although the canyon backdrop provides plenty of gorgeous scenery, this journey’s most distinct and memorable feature is definitely the trail itself. Each and every step was worth the effort, and we felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment after we’d finished. Plus, taking a hike like that pretty much gives you free reign to eat and drink whatever you want afterwards and not think twice about it. That’s usually all the motivation I need to push onward.

BONUS: If your’e looking for a spot to take in some of the most breathtaking views in Austin, I’d recommend Mount Bonnell. Although the journey to the top involves ascending a stone staircase and trekking along a dirt trail, I’d hardly call this a hike. Reaching the top requires minimal effort, but the limitless views across the Colorado River and Austin skyline make this a must-see destination for visitors in the area.

Morgan and I on top of Mount Bonnell, with the Colorado River flowing in the background
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Window Cliffs and Burgess Falls

I never doubted that summer would be the most difficult season of my New Year’s Resolution. It’s not easy to find a trail close to home that isn’t fiercely hot at this time of year. And as much as I regret to admit it, I don’t have the resources, financial or otherwise, to travel to cooler hiking destinations outside of the Southeast once a month during the warm season . Maine provided a stellar escape from the southern heat for May, and I’ve got epic plans for September (I’m keeping my cards close to the chest on that one for now). My best alternative for the months in between: water, and not just the drinkable kind.

the gorgeous series of rapids located at the trailhead of the path to Burgess Falls

In previous posts, I’ve expressed my love for waterfalls at length, and I’ve been lucky enough to witness an assortment of these beauties on my hikes throughout the year so far (I highly recommend hiking at Virgin Falls and Fall Creek Falls, both in Tennessee). In hindsight, maybe I should have saved these trails for summer, because very few things in life are more refreshing than taking a dip in a creek or swimming hole on a hot day. Fortunately, Tennessee is loaded with trails that provide hikers with ample opportunity to get their feet wet.

Window Cliffs 

Window Cliffs State Natural Area, Tennessee

When looking for a new hike, I naturally start by asking people I know, but beyond that, my search begins at alltrails.com. I’m a big fan of AllTrails because this site enables users to share data from their own experience on different trails, and then organizes this information so that it’s easily searchable for those who may not know exactly what they’re looking for. Think of AllTrails as a version of Yelp for hikers, only with a lot less whining. I discovered Window Cliffs by searching through AllTrail’s listings for the top trails in Tennessee. After I read that this trail features nine creek crossings AND a waterfall, in addition to the namesake cliffs that look like something out of a Dr. Seuss book, I was sold.

My friend, Megan, came down from Louisville and joined me on this hike. She’s been a big part of my hiking journey to date (Old Rag Mountain in 2017 and Red River Gorge in 2018), and I felt excited to share this new hike with one of my closest friends (Plus, we had a lot of important things to talk about; it’s almost football season).

Megan, underneath this unnamed waterfall’s upper edge, Window Cliffs State Natural Area

One of the most challenging things about the Window Cliffs trail is finding it. Getting to this state park requires a journey down miles and miles of back roads, and you’ve got better odds of finding a unicorn in those woods than a cell signal. The last stretch of the drive leading to the park is actually a gravel path that runs through a privately owned farm. Although it feels like driving into the opening scene of a bad horror movie, the remote nature of this place is part of what makes it so appealing and special.

Window Cliffs is an out-and-back trail, which means that you turn around at the end point and hike out on the same route that brought you in. This essentially doubles the number of creek crossings, because the trail leads back across all nine of them again on the way out. I can’t speak to the water levels after significant rainfall, as the weather had been relatively dry during the week prior to my visit. Despite the lack of rain, only a couple of the creek crossings were dry, and walking through cold water so often throughout the hike brought welcome relief to our sweaty bodies and sore feet.

Each creek crossing is signed and numbered for reference. Here’s a glimpse of the expansive view across CC #3, one of the widest crossings on the trail.

All of the creek crossings are spread across about a mile or so of the middle section of the 2.75 mile trail to Window Cliffs, and this part of the path is fairly flat. However, the first and final sections of the trail, though short in distance, are relentlessly steep. This includes a sharp descent from the trailhead into the canyon and a steady climb to the top of the cliffs at the end of the trail. Along this upward climb, between the overlook across from the cliffs and the last section of the path that leads to the top, there’s a stunning (yet nameless, as far as I know) waterfall. By ducking underneath a railing beside this part of the trail, hikers willing to take a risk and venture away from the main trail can access an overgrown path down to the top of the falls. It’s a short journey that’s definitely worth the effort.

the gorgeous waterfall below Window Cliffs

After leaving the waterfall, we continued moving up the path that leads to the top of the cliffs. The trail doesn’t provide any view of the cliffs along this section, because of the dense forest, so we didn’t see them again until we’d reached the top. From there, the trail ends and the trees open up to reveal a narrow stretch of rocks that tower over the surrounding woodlands.

I wouldn’t advise anyone who’s uncomfortable with heights or exposure to climb up and over the rocks where the trail ends and venture out on top of the cliffs. The space is narrow, and the drop off on either side is completely vertical. However, if you’ve got the stomach for it, the views are magnificent in every direction, and unlike many of the hikes I’ve completed this year, the Window Cliffs trail isn’t widely known and receives few visitors. So, it’s likely that you’ll have the opportunity to enjoy the views from the top without anyone around to crowd the limited space or photo bomb your nature pics.

the jagged terrain on top of Window Cliffs, two hundred feet above the canyon’s floor

As with all trails that descend into a canyon, the hardest part of the hike isn’t going down, it’s coming back up on the way out. After nearly five miles of hiking under the blazing summer sun, we’d made it back across the trail’s first creek crossing. While the creek crossings provided sweet relief from the heat, hiking in wet shoes creates some serious blisters, which made the journey out of the canyon even more of a challenge.  But the only way out is up, so that’s the way we went. After we emerged at the trailhead, tired and sore but inspired by a truly unique hiking experience, we moved on to the day’s next adventure.

Where there’s a flat rock in a shallow creek, there’s a basic white girl doing this, and it’s probably me.

Burgess Falls

Located a short distance from Window Cliffs, Burgess Falls is a popular destination for hikers and casual visitors. Although I’d heard of this place, I never gave it much thought. Fall Creek Falls receives so much praise as the highest plunge waterfall east of the Mississippi River, and most would agree that Virgin Falls ranks among the best trails in the state. I can’t debate the height of Fall Creek Falls, and in my limited experience, I haven’t found a better waterfall destination hike in Tennessee than the trail to Virgin Falls.

However, if asked to share my humble opinion on the most beautiful waterfall in the state, based on the waterfall alone and not any associated hike, I wouldn’t hesitate to nominate Burgess Falls.

Burgess Falls cascades down over 130 feet of rock wall before crashing into the river below.

The moderate half-mile trail to Burgess Falls runs along Falling Water River, beginning at a stunning cluster of small rapids (pictured near the beginning of this post), a space that’s easily accessible for those who want to wade in and cool off. Watch your step though, as Megan and I spotted a small water snake here. Water snakes are harmless and non-aggressive, but as a child growing up in a small town in Mississippi, I learned that it’s best to treat any snake encountered in the wild like it’s venomous, so we maintained a safe distance.

Surprisingly, this was my first snake sighting on any of the hikes I’ve taken this year.

The short path to the park’s namesake waterfall packs in a lot of scenery, as the fast-flowing river stays in view throughout the hike. This scenery includes the hauntingly beautiful remains of an abandoned, decaying bridge, hanging ominously above the powerful water below. The level section of the trail ends at an overlook that provides a magnificent view of Burgess Falls from above, before taking a sharp descent downward and then onto the top of the falls.

Unfortunately, the final section of trail that leads down to the bottom of the falls was closed when we visited, due to damage from erosion. Although this unexpectedly cut our adventure at Burgess Falls short, I’d still say it was well worth the trip.

Megan and I, at the top of Burgess Falls

In conclusion, the day was full of firsts and unexpected new favorites. Window Cliffs has officially claimed the top spot in my book for a summer hike in Tennessee. I enjoyed it so much the first time that I’ve actually already been back. I coaxed a couple of friends from Nashville into joining me on my second hike at Window Cliffs, two weeks after my first one. As for Burgess Falls, that one left me speechless. If you have the opportunity to see it in person, do it. This special place is only 80 miles east of Nashville, and the trail requires little effort to reach a spectacular view of the falls.

On deck for July:  scorching heat and plenty of weirdness in Austin, Texas

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Acadia National Park: Hiking as a First Time Visitor

When talking to friends and family about my plans for May and the next step toward achieving my New Year’s resolution, I encountered the same question in almost every conversation: “Why do you want to go to Maine?”

It’s a fair question. There are plenty of magnificent parks and trails within driving distance of Nashville, and I’ve only explored a few of them. Further away from home, places like Montana and Colorado attract hikers from all over the world, and I regret to admit that I’ve only ever seen the Rocky Mountains from an airplane. Many esteemed hiking destinations in this region are more accessible and less expensive to visit than the remote northeastern coastline of Maine.

So, why visit Acadia National Park? I think the most attractive thing about traveling to Maine was the fact that so few people in my immediate circle of family, friends, and coworkers have ever been there. The place carried this alluring mystery in my mind, and I wanted to explore it for myself, alongside my significant other and favorite hiking partner, Andy.

Acadia National Park, as viewed from the top of Sargent Mountain

Although I don’t personally know many people who have visited Acadia, the park receives plenty of tourist traffic, especially during the summer months. As the only national park in the northeastern United States, I can understand why. Acadia National Park exists in its entirety on Mount Desert Island, which is also home to the charming town of Bar Harbor, Maine. Yes, it’s a big island. In addition to its expansive woodlands and pristine lakes, Acadia’s terrain is rugged and mountainous, but there’s also a gorgeous beach and a rocky coastline that extends for miles and miles. For those seeking a civilized alternative to the Acadian wilderness (or a lobster roll), Bar Harbor is nothing short of delightful.

Sand Beach, Acadia National Park

As first-time visitors to Acadia National Park (and the state of Maine), Andy and I spent our first day exploring a couple of the most popular hiking trails, Beehive Loop Trail and Ocean Path. Both trailheads are accessible from the Sand Beach parking area. If visiting the park on a weekend day during the peak summer season, plan to get there early, or you may miss out on hiking the trails in the area due to limited parking space. We arrived around 8:30 AM on a Saturday and were lucky to find one of the last remaining spots.

Beehive Loop Trail

There’s no shortage of amazing trails at Acadia, but the one that generated the most excitement for me prior to our visit was the Beehive Loop Trail. For a relatively short hike (about a mile and a half), this one packs in all kinds of fun.

The Beehive Loop Trail’s upper portion provides a panoramic view of Mount Desert Island’s eastern coastline

The upward ascent begins at the trailhead and doesn’t stop until you’re standing on top of the mountain. Beehive Mountain rises about 600 feet above sea level, and the total distance from the trailhead to the summit is only half a mile. This is definitely the most challenging stretch of the trail, considering the significant elevation gain over a short distance, plus the climbing required to reach the top. In my opinion, the climbing portion wasn’t physically demanding, but with many narrow ledges hundreds of feet above the forest floor, I’ll admit that the exposure felt daunting at times.

On the climb to the top of Beehive Mountain, the path becomes too narrow to allow more than one person to pass through at a time.

I tried to channel the adrenaline pumping through my veins into excited energy, not paralyzing fear, and leveraged the iron rungs drilled into the rock face as often as they were available. All of the mixed emotions and mental anxiety transformed into an overwhelming sense of calm and accomplishment after I reached the top of the mountain, which is spacious and flat enough to enjoy without much risk of falling over the edge.

Andy and I on top of Beehive Mountain

The climbing section is intended to provide one way access to the top, and two-way traffic on this trail would be seriously difficult (and dangerous) because the trail simply isn’t wide enough to allow it. The path downward isn’t nearly as steep and winds through rocky open spaces with expansive views before descending into the lush forest below. This part of the trail offers an easy, pleasant journey, and we encountered many hikers who opted to take this route both up and down the mountain. As is usually the case though, the more challenging route is much more satisfying.

Ocean Path

After we’d returned to the Beehive Loop trailhead, we decided to check out Sand Beach and make our way down the Ocean Path from there. By the way, I’m convinced that the same middle-aged white man with a mid-level government job named both the beach and this trail without ever seeing either one, because each space is much more stunning and inspiring than those lackluster names suggest.

gorgeous view of the ocean, with a tiny glimpse of Sand Beach, from the cliffs along Ocean Path

As the name implies, Ocean Path runs along Acadia’s eastern shoreline overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. It’s a flat and relatively wide trail with little elevation gain and many access points from the park’s main road. This trail runs about two and a half miles (one way) and ends just past Otter Cliff. Along the trail, there are dozens of short spurs that lead out onto the cliffs for a closer and more extensive view of the ocean. As an easy hike with incredible views, this trail stays crowded. However, with so many quick opportunities to venture out onto the cliffs, it isn’t difficult to find a spot away from the crowd to relax and enjoy an unobstructed view of the limitless beauty that Acadia has to offer.

We noticed that the trail became gradually less crowded as we moved further away from Sand Beach. With this in mind, if I could do it over again, I’d have started at Otter Cliff and hiked in the other direction, toward Sand Beach. The cliffs are higher around Otter Cliff,  providing more expansive views, and because the crowds are smaller, it’s an all around win. If you start at Otter Cliff, there’s no need to hike all the way to Sand Beach, since the beach is easily accessible from a parking lot off Park Loop Road.

The trail descends downward near Otter Cliff, providing a unique view of the coastline from half way down the cliffs

Penobscot Mountain and Sargent Mountain

This hike. It’s currently the front runner for my favorite hikes of 2018 so far, and we ended up here by accident. I’ve already mentioned the limited parking at the more popular trailheads. Candidly, this hike is so far off the beaten path that it wasn’t really on our radar until we’d had two failed attempts to park anywhere remotely close to trails we’d intended to explore. Even with this one, we had to park on the side of the road about a mile away from the trailhead, and I’m so very grateful for all of it.

Fortunately, many trails originate from the starting point of the Penobscot Mountain trail. All of the alternative trails are easier to hike, so despite the overcrowded parking lot, the Penobscot Mountain tail receives relatively low traffic. Like the Beehive Loop Trail, this one involves some entry-level climbing, but it all happens early in the hike, below the tree line. After that, the trail climbs steadily past a couple of dazzling overlook points, which offer stunning views of Jordan Pond and Cadillac Mountain, the tallest mountain at Acadia National Park (AND the first place in the United States that sees the sunrise each morning).

Jordan Pond and Cadillac Mountain, as viewed from the Penobscot Mountain Trail

After the trail climbs above the tree line, small rock arrangements called cairns mark the path forward. These man-made rock formations have been used since prehistoric times to designate scared places and help travelers navigate through their natural surroundings. Although they can be found all over the world and vary wildly in age and significance, I’d never encountered any used as trail markers before and thought this was a brilliant alternative to the bright paint that’s generally used to mark trails when the path becomes hard to distinguish.

All of the cairns on the upper sections of the Penobscot and Sargent Mountain trails followed this format: two bases supporting a long, flat rock with a smaller rock on top.

Our reward for reaching the summit of Penobscot Mountain: unparalleled 360 degree views of Acadia and Mount Desert Island. I can’t put into words exactly how incredible this view really is. I’d never been to the summit of a mountain that overlooked both land and sea, and there’s something especially powerful about experiencing this on an island, because you can see both in nearly every direction.

The one thing that obstructs the combined land and sea views to the north: Sargent Mountain, which stands about 200 feet taller than Penobscot Mountain. Sargent Mountain claims the title of second highest mountain in Acadia National Park, and we didn’t even know it existed until we reached the top of Penobscot Mountain. The trail that connects these two summits runs just over a mile, one way, so the decision to continue on to the top of Sargent was an immediate one.

view looking northwest from the summit of Penobscot Mountain, with Sargent Mountain sneaking into view on the left

After a brief descent below the tree line between the two mountains, we started the steep climb toward the peak of Sargent Mountain, guided once again by the cairns. As we approached the summit, we quickly realized that the views from the top of Sargent, though similar to those from neighboring Penobscot Mountain, would extend much further due to the extra elevation. It sounds obvious, but thinking it and seeing it are totally different things.

Andy and I at the summit of Sargent Mountain

Have I mentioned that we ended up on this trail after several failed attempts to hike others that we thought would be “better”? I know I have, and I’m here to admit that we were wrong. I can’t imagine a more breathtaking hiking experience at Acadia, and none of the other trails that we considered would have brought us up as high as this one did (with the exception of Cadillac Mountain, but you can actually drive to the summit of this mountain, which made the idea of hiking to the top less appealing).

In short, our entire trip to Acadia National Park affirmed my belief in taking the road less traveled. From the moment we decided to make Acadia our destination, instead of a more popular park out west, to accidentally discovering these captivating trails that most park visitors overlook, it really did make all the difference.

This basically sums up how I feel about Acadia National Park (Penobscot Mountain Trail)
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Fall Creek Falls State Park

Ever since my first hike of 2018 at Virgin Falls, I’ve been itching for another waterfall hike. I’ve always felt a fascination with waterfalls. There’s something majestic about the infinite motion of water cascading over a vertical rock face, always flowing and never stopping.

the signature attraction of my first (and coldest) hike of 2018, Virgin Falls, covered in hundreds of massive icicles

As the highest plunge waterfall (meaning the water drops vertically, losing contact with the rock surface) east of the Mississippi River, Fall Creek Falls has been on my bucket list for a while.  Fall Creek Falls State Park and the surrounding areas endured a torrential downpour of rain for several days before I visited the park. Disclaimer: Wet conditions present a serious challenge on any trail, and I’d advise hikers to proceed with caution when considering a hike that may be impacted by weather. With that in mind, however, the best time to visit a waterfall is shortly after significant rainfall, when the water flow is at its peak.

Park visitors can catch a spectacular view of Fall Creek Falls from an easily accessible overlook. And when I say easily accessible, I mean this overlook has a parking lot attached and a set of bathrooms, no hiking required. Honestly, this surprised me, but then again, Fall Creek Falls is the most visited state park in Tennessee. After seeing the falls in person, I can understand why a view like this, that requires minimal effort, attracts so many visitors.

The overlook provides an immaculate view of Fall Creek Falls, which always appears to be shrouded in mist, resulting from the forceful impact of falling water hitting the creek below.

My friend, Lexi, joined me on this adventure. After parking in the lot at the overlook, we started out onto the network of trails that runs along the cliffs surrounding Fall Creek Falls. We didn’t have to hike very far before it felt like the civilized overlook was far behind us. The trails are designed to provide ambitious hikers with multiple vantage points of Fall Creek Falls, as well as the area’s other waterfalls. The main trail, Fall Creek Falls and Cane Creek Falls, has many short spur trails that provide worthwhile detours to secluded overlooks with expansive views.

a breathtaking view of Fall Creek Falls from a small section of cliff accessible from a spur running off the main trail

Wanting to make the most of our day at Fall Creek Falls, and having plenty of time to do so, Lexi and I decided without much hesitation to explore all of the spur trails that we encountered. The main trail is a 2.5 mile loop, and all of the spurs are relatively short (the longest one measures less than a mile, round trip). To say the least, some of these spurs were more worthwhile than others, but each presented a unique journey to a view that we’d have otherwise missed.

We actually ventured down the first spur trail by mistake. We assumed that the first split in the trail was the beginning of the loop, and that hiking in either direction would eventually bring us back to this spot. We veered to the left and didn’t think twice about it until we’d hiked almost half a mile further and found ourselves scrambling over roots and boulders along the edge of a high and precipitous cliff, several hundred feet above the floor of the gorge.

The first spur trail ended on top of a jagged section of cliff, surrounded on three sides by stunning views of Fall Creek Falls and the surrounding scenery.
another spectacular view of the gorge from above, and the creek that flows away from the foot of Fall Creek Falls

After some very careful and very exposed navigation on the edge of the cliff, we realized that there was no route forward from where we were. However, this happy accident provided us with some of the best views of the day, so this side trip set the precedent for deciding whether or not to explore the other spur trails that we encountered later.

We made our way back to the main trail, which eventually led across a wobbly suspension bridge, about twenty feet above the fast flowing water that runs over the edge of Cane Creek Falls. Although Cane Creek Falls can’t compete with Fall Creek Falls in height, it far exceeds the park’s namesake waterfall in volume. Cane Creek Falls is actually responsible for carving out the gorge, therefore making it possible for Fall Creek Falls and the other waterfalls in the area to form and thrive over time.

Cane Creek Falls, as viewed from the landing adjacent to the suspension bridge, which allows hikers to cross over to the other side of the falls

Although you can’t see it from the angle shown in the picture above, Rockhouse Falls, another of the park’s plunge waterfalls, is located just a few hundred feet away from Cane Creek Falls and cascades over the same rock face. The trail that leads to the suspension bridge runs along the top of the ridge that faces these two waterfalls, granting hikers access to idyllic views of both from above.

At 125 feet tall, Rockhouse Falls is about 40 feet taller than its neighbor, Cane Creek Falls, but still only half as high as
Fall Creek Falls.

Lexi and I were lucky enough to see Rockhouse Falls and Cane Creek Falls from above AND from below, which brings me to our most exciting hike of the day: Cable Trail. “Exciting” is only one of many, many ways to describe our experience on this very short (but very dramatic) journey. When we initially reached the top of the cable, that first glimpse of the sharply downward trail to the banks of Cane Creek, at the foot of the waterfalls, sent waves of panic through my brain. I’d read that the Cable Trail was steep, but I didn’t expect it to be quite so intimidating.

This view of Cable Trail from half way down captures the severity of the trail’s the upper portion.

We were the only ones on the cable during our descent, so we didn’t have to worry about the potential domino effect of someone above us falling and taking us out with them on the way down. Hikers (or climbers, as that’s the more appropriate description) on this trail are definitely at the mercy of anyone above them on the cable. Because the cable isn’t within arm’s reach the entire time, we had to plan ahead to put ourselves in favorable positions as we made our way down to the bottom of the gorge.

Despite the lingering fear of slipping and falling, this was an exhilarating journey, and the reward was an intimately close view of Rockhouse Falls and Cane Creek Falls.

side by side view of Rockhouse Falls and Cane Creek Falls, from the bottom of Cable Trail

I’ve seen photos from other hikers who’ve completed this trek when the water level is much lower, which creates an opportunity walk out into the shallow water of Cane Creek for a closer view of the falls. Unfortunately, the creek was way too high and moving way too quickly for this to be an option for us. However, it’s very uncommon to catch a glimpse of these waterfalls flowing as heavily as they were when we saw them, and we were very lucky to experience this extraordinary view with no other people around.

taking a moment to celebrate this stunning view (and test my balancing skills)

In case you were wondering, the journey up the cable and back out of the gorge is even more challenging than the journey down. More importantly, it’s absolutely worth it, whether the falls are barely trickling over the edge of the cliff above or blasting at full force. That’s another thing I love about waterfalls: they’re constantly moving and therefore constantly changing. You can visit the same one a hundred times and witness something different every time.

Up next for May: a highly anticipated trip to Acadia National Park in Maine. I’ve heard great things and can’t stop daydreaming about what this place must look like in person. I’ve seen some amazing new places in 2018, each one more wild and beautiful than I could have imagined, so I’m sure this one will be full of surprises too.

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Red River Gorge and Natural Bridge State Park

There’s more than one way to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.

This year, instead of drinking green beer on a patio, I traveled to Red River Gorge in eastern Kentucky with two friends for an overnight hiking trip. Before this trip, I hadn’t slept in a tent since I was a kid, so I was really excited (and a little nervous, because you know, bears…) about the opportunity to sleep under the stars and roast marshmellows over a campfire. In reality, we had to put a cover over the top of the tent to keep the rain out, and there was no campfire to roast marshmellows over, also because of the rain. But hey, that’s why we brought wine, which we enjoyed inside the tent after a long day of exploring, protected from the rain (and the bears).

a stunning view of Red River Gorge from above, via the top of the Cloud Splitter Trail

Candidly, the camping piece of our weekend was not very primitive. We pitched our tent in an assigned spot at a campground. We drove right up to our spot and actually had access to indoor plumbing. All things considered, these were ideal conditions for a novice camper like me. We got to experience sleeping outside (next to a babbling brook, I might add), but didn’t have to carry all of our supplies up the side of a mountain. I have no doubt that I could handle more extreme camping, but I’ll never underestimate a scenario that allows me to sleep out in nature without sacrificing bathroom access.

After we prepared the campsite and erected our tent on Saturday morning, we set out to find and climb the infamous Indian Staircase, a very smooth  and steep rock face that adventurous hikers can scale with no equipment by relying on small recesses worn into the rock over hundreds of years.

the small cavities that run several hundred feet up the rock face, giving the Indian Staircase its name

An important thing to note about Red River Gorge is that many of its 100+ trails are unmarked and can be difficult to find unless you know what you’re looking for. For example, Indian Staircase is only accessible through a series of spur trails originating  from the Bison Way Trailhead. Despite some thorough research, my friends and I accidentally hiked around the backside of this section of the gorge and came out on top of Indian Staircase.

view from the top of Indian Staircase

The path we followed was completely gorgeous, but I honestly can’t tell you how we ended up on top of Indian Staircase, except that we opted for the more upward route every time the trail split. We thought that this would eventually lead us to the foot of the staircase, but we came around a sharp corner on a high and narrow trail only to realize that we’d already reached the top via an alternate route. Oops! Ideally, we’d have hiked to the bottom of the staircase and ventured up, as crawling down proved to be much more of a challenge than climbing up.

panoramic view of the gorge on the way up to Indian Staircase
view of Indian Staircase from about a mile or so away, where the trees open up enough to give hikers their first view of the staircase from the trail

After a slow, careful descent of Indian Staircase, we followed a series of paths back out to the Bison Way Trailhead. From there, we made our way over to the Cloud Splitter Trail, which proved to be the most difficult, but most rewarding, hike of the weekend. As with the trails that provide access to Indian Staircase, the trail up to Cloud Splitter isn’t signed. However, on this hike, the “always upward” strategy works. I could provide more specific direction, but actually finding this gem is part of the fun, so good luck (:

shamelessly taking a selfie break between the Indian Staircase and Cloud Splitter trails

This one felt like an obstacle course, demanding and dangerous at times but totally worth the effort. After a steep upward hike that involved scrambling over rocks and hoisting ourselves up the steep path, using roots and vines for leverage, we reached the mouth of a cave. The visible trail ends here, presenting hikers who want to proceed further with two options: through the cave or over it. Each route has a unique and breathtakingly gorgeous end point, but both present significant challenges.

We decided to venture through the cave first, enticed by rumors we’d heard about the view from the opening on the other side. To say the least, getting through the cave involved more climbing and crawling than hiking. The total distance from the mouth of the cave to the opening on the other side can’t be more than 100 yards, but the end isn’t visible until you’re almost there.

one of the small openings we had to squeeze through in the cave

Needless to say, this part of the journey would be uncomfortable for a person of size or anyone who feels apprehensive in small, confined spaces. The view that awaits the ambitious hiker on the other side, however, is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The opening provides a stunning view of the gorge below, and the flat lower surfaces of the cave allow hikers to comfortably sit with their feet dangling over the sharp edge for an exhilarating view of the surrounding scenery.

the view of the gorge from inside the cave, nestled in the vertical rock face near the top of Cloud Splitter
my friend, Megan, enjoying the view from the cave’s edge, high above the bottom of the gorge

We stayed here for a while, taking in the gorgeous views, before traveling back out to the mouth of the cave and making our way up the final section of rock that leads to the top of Cloud Splitter. Admittedly, this part of the journey was terrifying, but thrilling at the same time. Apparently, the park service puts ropes in place here during the peak summer season, to assist hikers with the most perilous section of the climb. The ropes weren’t up yet, this early in the year, so I channeled my inner Spiderman and asked God for forgiveness on a couple of unresolved transgressions (just in case) as I shimmied across the smooth and nearly vertical rock surface that diagonally climbs up toward more level ground.

As you may suspect, I survived, and the reward was absolutely worth the risk. The top of Cloud Splitter provides a spectacular 360 degree view of Red River Gorge. It’s one of those truly special experiences that’s difficult to capture in words or photos and impossible to comprehend unless you’re there in person to take it all in.

breathtaking view of the Red River running through the gorge, on top of Cloud Splitter and about 100 feet directly above the cave

With rain and nightfall approaching, we descended back into the gorge and rewarded ourselves for the 6+ miles of strenuous hiking with a pizza feast at Miguel’s, a dive that’s deservedly popular with both locals and visitors. Sleep came easily in our tent that night, as the result of full stomachs and tired muscles (and the wine, of course).

The following day, we headed over to Natural Bridge State Park, an area adjacent to Red River Gorge and a short 20 minute drive from where we camped. We set out on a 3.5 mile hike along the Natural Bridge and Battleship Rock Trail.

standing on Battleship Rock, across the gorge from the Natural Bridge

The first mile of the hike is a steady uphill climb through a combination of natural inclines and manmade staircases. The path traverses through a serene forest before it curves upward through a narrow, rocky passage and emerges on top of Battleship Rock. Battleship Rock provides a beautiful view of Natural Bridge from about a mile away (as pictured above), but the trail eventually leads across the top of the bridge, which in return offers an unobstructed view of the immense Battleship Rock (as pictured below).

panoramic view of Battleship Rock from the top of Natural Bridge

The section of the trail between Battleship Rock and Natural Bridge is fairly level, as it’s on top of the wall of the gorge, and there are plenty of opportunities to veer off the main trail to explore short spurs that lead to various overlook points on either side. After crossing over the top of Natural Bridge, the trail then descends down, around, and under the bridge, offering hikers amazing views of this natural phenomenon from every angle.

taking a moment to enjoy the view at an overlook along the ridge between Battleship Rock and Natural Bridge

All things considered, this St. patrick’s Day celebration may have been my best one yet. I didn’t have any green beer or find any four-leaf clovers, but I felt beyond lucky to experience this holiday in an unconventional way with friends who share my passion for exploring. I’m not sure what’s on deck for April, but March’s adventure at Red River Gorge will be tough to beat.

one more photo from the cave, to show off the shamrock shirts

 

 

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Harpeth River State Park: Hidden Lake Double Loop Trail and Narrows of the Harpeth

Short months mean short hikes. Right?

Seriously, I didn’t expect to have to improvise this early into my resolution , but as they say, everything happens for a reason. That reason in February: rain. Then more rain, followed by… you guessed it, RAIN. Compared to years past, Nashville and the surrounding areas received nearly three times the average amount of rainfall in February. Due to other obligations, a hike more than a day trip away from Nashville wasn’t realistic for me last month. So, I found myself approaching the second half of February, with only one dry weekend day left in forecast in the already short month.

And what a beautiful day it turned out to be.

Bluff Overlook Trail at Narrows of the Harpeth, Harpeth River State Park, Tennessee

I’d already ruled out several more strenuous hikes further away home, not willing to wade through mud and slip over perilous wet rocks for miles and miles when I can experience these trails in much better condition later in the year. So Fiery Gizzard, you’ll remain at the top of my list for Tennessee hikes in 2018 for at least one more month. In a scramble to find just one worthwhile hike close to home, on a trail that would still be relatively enjoyable despite wet conditions, I found two.

Harpeth River State Park, home to the Hidden Lake Double Loop Trail and the Bluff Overlook Trail at Narrows of the Harpeth, offers a pristine escape from the city. The park is only a 30 minute drive from downtown, or a 10 minute drive from the O’Charley’s in Bellevue, where I frequently meet my grandparents for lunch on Sundays.

After one of these Sunday lunches, my significant other and I drove out to the trailhead of our first hike, the Hidden Lake Double Loop Trail. Honestly, I didn’t have high expectations for this one. I’d never heard any friends or coworkers mention it, and the trailhead is only 1.5 miles away from  a perpetually busy section of I-40. Despite these details, it didn’t take long for me to realize that this trail is truly a hidden gem, and our Sunday afternoon here was absolutely well spent.

swampy conditions in the woods surrounding the Hidden Lake Double Loop Trail

The first section of the trail runs parallel to the Harpeth River, which was abnormally high and muddy when we visited, due to all of the recent rain. However, the sun was out on this day, and the trail was actually in better condition than I’d expected. This part of trail winds through a dense forest, before it eventually splits to form the narrow and rocky loop around the lake. We followed the path to the left at the fork, walking through the forest beneath a high bluff to the right of the trail before arriving at the lake.

While the vast majority of the lake is surrounded by steep bluffs, there’s a short spur off the main trail that leads down to the water’s edge.

There’s no view of the lake from the trail that leads there until you’re basically standing right in front of it, hence the name: Hidden Lake. The lake is small (the the entire loop around the lake runs about half of a mile), and it’s gorgeous. The trail ascends steadily from the spur that runs down to the water, so the loop around the lake provides a variety of scenic views from above. Along the way, there are plenty of opportunities to venture off the main trail  to explore the bluffs and take a closer look over the edge.

a view of Hidden Lake from the trail along the bluffs

Hidden Lake is pretty enough on its own to make the short journey worthwhile, but there’s more to this trail than the lake. After the trail loops around and starts to veer away from the lake, it runs past a series of abandoned, dilapidated buildings. Unexpected, right? This is the hike’s most unique feature. Despite the trail’s steady stream of foot traffic and relative proximity to civilization, these old structures have been left alone and mostly untouched, destined to decay on their own without much human interference. It’s oddly peaceful and nostalgic.

the eerie view approaching one of the decaying buildings along the trail
the remains of a home, sharing space with the plant life that’s grown up through its rooms over time
an abandoned shed in the woods close to the trail

Soon after passing the abandoned buildings, the loop reconnects with the main trail and leads down the bluff and back out to the trailhead. We completed the 2-mile round trip hike in about an hour and a half. It’d be easy to finish this hike in less time if you don’t veer off the main trail or stop to take in the scenery, but where’s the fun in that? Take your time with this one. It’s worth it.

After leaving the Hidden Lake Double Loop Trail, we took the scenic drive over to Narrows of the Harpeth, about 15 minutes away. Harpeth River State Park is surprisingly large, and these two trailheads aren’t within walking distance of each other. We set out on the Bluff Overlook Trail, which can barely be considered a hike because the total distance from the parking lot to the overlook and back is less than a mile. Unsurprisingly, the hike to the overlook is mostly an uphill journey.

Bluff Overlook Trail at Narrows of the Harpeth

As the trail climbs, the view of the surrounding scenery below expands, and the Harpeth River flows on either side. As the name implies, Narrows of the Harpeth is a small sliver of land wedged in between two sections of the river that are joined by a sharp bend. The overlook rises about 200 feet above the river, offering a panoramic view across miles of rolling hills, forests, and wetlands.

The absence of trees at the edge of the bluff’s highest point provides an unobstructed view of the scenery below.
view of the Harpeth River from the edge of the overlook

This trail was more crowded than the one to Hidden Lake, so I’d recommend going early if you’re interested in making this journey. The bluff faces east, so I’m certain that the overlook would provide a stunning spot to watch a sunrise on a clear day.

Overall, we thoroughly enjoyed our afternoon at Harpeth River State Park. Both of the trails that we hiked offer quick access to beautiful and unique scenery, without requiring much effort. We encountered hikers of all ages and apparent skill levels, and everyone seemed genuinely happy to be there, soaking up the afternoon sunshine during  a much needed break from the rain.

Up next for me: a St. Patrick’s Day weekend overnight hike at Red River Gorge in eastern Kentucky with one of my closest friends. This one’s been on my adventure bucket list for a while, and although it’s an intimidating hike (with some alleged rock climbing), I can’t wait to get out there.

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2018: Resolving To Explore More

New Year’s resolutions.

I cringe at the thought of how many resolutions I’ve made, to be healthier or happier or somehow “better” than I was in the previous year. My head and heart seem to be in the right place in January, but then I abandon my resolution long before the year is up or any goal is achieved. Honestly, I can’t think of a single resolution I’ve kept, so why should I expect this year be any different?

Looking back, I think I’ve failed at New Year’s resolutions so many times before because I’ve just been bad at making them. I know that sounds like a weak excuse, but hear me out. I’ve learned that making a resolution is the starting point, and achieving a resolution requires… well, resolve. And a damn good plan. Most importantly, it takes passion, and committing not only to what you want to achieve, but why you want to achieve it. In the past, I’ve failed to accomplish my resolutions because either a) I didn’t make adequate plans to support them, or b) I simply wasn’t passionate about what I was pursuing and made an empty promise for the sake of fulfilling the pervasive “new year, new you” obligation.

This brings me to my resolution for 2018: Explore More. That’s what I’m calling it, anyways. To provide a little background on where this is coming from, in 2017, I was lucky enough to experience some of the very best wilderness that our country has to offer, for the first time. Seriously, whoever dubbed the National Park Service as “America’s Best Idea” was very right. From the Denali backcountry of Alaska to the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia (and quite a bit in between), 2017 inspired me to pursue my passion for exploring in a way I never have before: with intention.

Hiking the Mount Healy Overlook Trail in Denali National Park, Alaska. June, 2017

So, here we are in 2018, and I’m going ALL IN on my New Year’s resolution. As a tribute to my many unprecedented adventures into the wild in 2017, I’m committing to taking a new hike every month, throughout 2018. Whether it’s a new hike close to home or a new hike on the other side of the world, my goal is to add at least twelve totally new hikes to my life in 2018, but it’s not just about quantity. To be clear, I accept the fact that many of the hikes I take this year will seem easy and small in comparison to 2017’s hike through the Grand Canyon. However, I’m not interested in pursuing exclusively strenuous or reputable hikes.

embracing the sunrise at Grand Canyon National Park, a magnificent 2-day detour on an unforgettable best friends’ road trip from LA to Dallas. September, 2017

Yes, I love a good challenge and have some extremely difficult and remote hikes on my bucket list, but I’m also seeking diversity. I won’t pass up a gorgeous hike just because the internet calls it “easy” or because it’s accessible to the masses. As a fairly average hiker with big ambitions, I’m approaching 2018 with a “the world is my oyster” mentality. I will go forth and experience this world for myself, instead of relying on others to tell me what is and isn’t worth my time.

I’m #blessed to live in Nashville, TN, a short drive from an abundance of great hikes. This includes a couple of local favorites (Mossy Ridge Trail at Percy Warner Park and Ganier Ridge at Rador Lake) that are actually within the city limits.

Radnor Lake State Natural Area: Nashville, Tennessee. December, 2017

While I love these trails and will surely hike  them multiple times in 2018, I want to focus this resolution on new experiences, so here we go.

It’s already February, so I’m late to start the blog, but I actually haven’t cheated on my monthly commitment to new hikes. I took an incredible 9-mile hike at Virgin Falls last month (my longest and toughest solo hike to date), pictured below. If you’re into terrible puns, consider this my *virgin* voyage into 2018. I couldn’t help myself on that one, but will try to keep the puns to a minimum moving forward.

Virgin Falls State Natural Area in Tennessee. January, 2018

I am sincerely and deeply excited about the adventures to come in 2018, and if you’re reading this, you’re probably someone who’s also invested in my journey (I see you, mom).

As a toast to 2017, and to the hikes and humans that inspire me, please see the photos below and understand that these places and these people are my passion, my inspiration, and my reason for FINALLY committing to a resolution in 2018. Cheers!

hiking the remote and challenging (and insanely beautiful) Harding Icefield Trail at Kenai Fjords National Park in Alaska. June, 2017
Old Rag Mountain: one of America’s most iconic hikes, and a savage rock scramble. Shenandoah National Park, Virginia. July, 2017
an urban hike at Laurel Canyon in the Hollywood Hills, where we happened to meet a fellow hiker named Miley Cyrus (OMG) March, 2017

As a wise and fictional character once said, “That’s all I have to say about that”.