Category: Mountain Summits

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Mount LeConte: Hiking the Most Iconic Trail in the Smokies

When I hiked to the top of Mount LeConte via the Alum Cave trail in December, I achieved a milestone just as meaningful as completing the third iteration of my New Year’s resolution to explore a new trail every month. I feel immensely grateful for and humbled by the fortune I’ve had, to have been able to stick with this commitment for 36 straight months, and I’ve grown so much along the way, as a hiker and as a human. Every month, the new trail itself is a meaningful first, but I’ve accomplished other bucket list items that I never could have imagined possible when I started this journey. It took me all year to build up the courage, but with this grand finale hike of 2020, I crossed another milestone off my list. The night before my hike, for the first time ever, I camped alone.

views from the trail to the top of Mount LeConte via Alum Cave trailhead

I won’t spend too much time discussing the details of my first solo camping experience, but I’ll share a few key takeaways, in case anyone reading this is considering camping alone for the first time too. I’m certainly not an expert camper, as you’ll soon realize, which is why I rigorously vetted my campground options a couple of months in advance of the hike. I chose Greenbrier, a developed campground on the outskirts of Great Smoky Mountains National Park, with amenities like electricity and indoor plumbing, to help me ease into the experience of sleeping alone in a tent. Familiar comforts can provide a sense of security that soothes the inevitable feelings of vulnerability when you’re trying something new for the first time, especially when you’re doing it alone. Before my trip, I practiced the things I’d need to do alone at the campground, like assembling my tent and building a fire. I received this advice from a much more experienced member of my Middle Tennessee hiking community, and it’s proven to be one of the best pieces of camping advice I’ve ever heard. Doing something as a part of a group and doing the same thing alone can be very different experiences, and you need to be really confident in your ability to produce shelter and warmth on your own before you’re in a situation that requires it.

My tent assembly practice paid off, but I really should have invested more time and effort into my fire building skills. Outside of the Pacific Northwest, nowhere in the country receives more rain than the Smokies, which presents a real challenge for aspiring fire builders. I’d practiced building and maintaining a fire in the iron fire pit in my backyard in Nashville, but this experience didn’t exactly translate into success when trying to build a fire in a forest that stays damp 350 days a year. So, to make a long story short, I struggled to produce a meaningful fire and may or may not have taken some toilet paper from the campground bathroom to use as fire starter when my logs couldn’t sustain the flame. While one hand was feeding stolen toilet paper to my lackluster fire, the other was shoveling pasta salad into my mouth because I forgot to bring eating utensils. Camping alone certainly has its learning curves.

low quality tent selfie from a high quality (ish) first attempt at solo camping

Despite these obstacles and sub-freezing temperatures, I slept rather comfortably in my tent, tucked into my sleeping bag with my Grand Canyon camping blanket on top for an added layer of warmth (and security, if we’re being honest). I woke up feeling really optimistic about the hike ahead of me, undoubtedly fueled by the confidence of surviving my first night alone in the semi-wild. After packing up my camping gear, I headed off to the Alum Cave trailhead, located about 30 minutes away from the campground. Although there wasn’t snow on the ground where I camped, I knew there’d be snow on higher ground as I ascended the trail. I’d called the ranger station the previous day to ask about trail conditions (always a good idea when hiking a new trail, especially if you’ll be hiking alone) and learned that snow and ice covered the upper sections of the trail, but not enough to require additional gear like microspikes or an ice axe. This was good news, because I’d otherwise have had to call an audible and find a new trail. I don’t have enough experience hiking in true winter conditions to feel safe doing it alone, not yet anyways.

dreamy glimpses of the Smoky Mountains through the canopy of the evergreen forest

Unlike most other national parks, Great Smoky Mountains doesn’t charge an admission fee. I’d like to think that the reason for this has its roots in some rare act of altruism by the federal government, but that’s not exactly why admission to the Smokies will probably always remain free. I could create an entirely separate blog post on the pros and cons of free admission to America’s most-visited national park, but for now, I’ll link this article that covers the basics. Like many national parks, regardless of whether or not they charge admission, Great Smoky Mountains relies heavily on funding and volunteer efforts supplied by non-profit organizations. If you want to get involved, this list serves as a great resource, although there are plenty of other wonderful organizations that support this truly incredible park.

The hike to the summit of Mount LeConte from the Alum Cave trailhead traverses 11 miles roundtrip and includes nearly 3,000 feet of elevation gain. Despite the strenuous nature of the trail, it’s an incredibly popular one, and for good reason. If you search the AllTrails database for the best trails in the United States, this one currently holds the sixth place ranking. AllTrails rankings should be taken with a big chunk of salt, for the record, but they can be a telling indicator of the amount of foot traffic you’ll encounter. I’d intentionally waited to hike this trail until I could do it on a weekday in winter, hoping to avoid the congestion I’ve read about. I still saw dozens of other hikers, but I think my decision paid off because the trail never felt crowded. Also, I loved seeing the splendor of the Smokies covered in snow, but more on that later.

I had no trouble finding a parking spot at the trailhead at 8:00 AM on a frigid Friday in the middle of December. I’ve heard horror stories of cars parked along the road for a mile in either direction on weekends during warmer months, so go very early if you don’t go when it’s very cold. A half-empty trailhead parking lot in the Smokies should never be taken for granted though, so I embarked on my hike feeling too exuberant to be cold. The lower portion of the trail moves through a classically beautiful Smoky Mountains landscape of big trees and rushing water. In winter, patches of iridescent white adorn the numerous nooks and crannies that remain permanently shaded by the immense cover of the forest in winter. Icicles embellish the rocky outcroppings along the rugged mountain landscape. I absolutely adore hiking alone in winter in Tennessee. The vegetation that’s so thick in warmer months, despite its lush green beauty, often obscures dangers I don’t want to face by myself, like bears or copperheads, so I find comfort in the sparse and barren landscape of winter. God knew what He was doing when he decided which species would hibernate, and that’s a blessing worth counting twice.

the creek beside the lower section of the trail

The trail meanders across a primitive wooden bridge over a creek and up a spiraling path through the rock face of the mountain before it continues to climb along a more exposed ridge that offers stunning views of the rolling peaks of the Smokies. After two or so miles, the trail arrives at Alum Cave Bluff, which feels a lot more like a bluff than a cave. The towering rocky overhang provides a concave shelter with gorgeous views across the mountains. There’s plenty of space to accommodate social distancing on a quiet day, which I love because I always want at least six feet between myself and other hikers on the trail, and that has nothing to do with the pandemic. I stopped here for a snack and some water before tackling the next two-mile section, which proved to be the steepest part of the hike to the top of the mountain. As I climbed, the trail narrowed and the views expanded. Also, the patches of snow and ice on the trail that had been pretty sparse between the trailhead and Alum Cave Bluff became much more frequent and eventually swallowed the trail entirely. For the last couple of miles before the summit, I hiked carefully across a slick white blanket, relying heavily on the cables drilled into the mountainside on narrow and exposed sections to avoid slipping into the beautiful void of the pristine winter wonderland below.

Alum Cave Bluff

I so rarely get to hike through true winter conditions in my home state, and I can’t overstate the joy of seeing a landscape that resembles a tropical rainforest for most of the year under a smooth layer of white. It’s an absolutely surreal experience, and the views on the upper portion of the trail are widely considered to be some of the best in the entire park, in any season. About a mile from the true summit of Mount LeConte, the trail rambles back into the cover of the woods as the elevation gain tapers off. The fragments of sunlight that penetrated the shroud of the forest created a glitter-like effect on the snow covered trail, and I could have turned around there and been satisfied with this dazzling end to a truly special hike. It’s a rare moment on a trail that feels so exhilarating that pressing on almost feels risky and makes you question whether or not the allure of the unknown is worth the effort when the hike has already exceeded your expectations. I rolled the dice and trudged onward, too intrigued by the opportunity to see the illustrious LeConte Lodge to turn back yet.

This primitive lodge near the summit of Mount LeConte accepts reservations through a lottery system. Guests can only reach the lodge by foot, and those seeking a coveted reservation must enter the lottery fifteen months in advance. LeConte Lodge is a community of rugged cabins surrounding a simple dining hall, and luxuries like electricity and showers aren’t available at this famed mountaintop oasis. They’ve got wine though, so keep that in mind on the long hike to the top if you’re lucky enough to secure a reservation. The lodge was closed when I hiked Mount LeConte, maybe due to COVID or maybe due to winter conditions, but spending a night or two here will remain at the top of my Smoky Mountains bucket list until I’m lucky enough to win the reservation lottery.

LeConte Lodge

Mount LeConte’s true summit lies half a mile beyond the lodge. To my surprise, the summit didn’t offer the expansive views that I’d expected of this famous peak. Upon reaching the true summit, I encountered an alcove ensconced by trees, and in the center, there’s a massive cairn that invites hikers to add a stone to contribute to the height of the mountain. This established tradition doesn’t really make the mountain taller, but it does instill a sense of pride and loyalty amongst those who have visited this sacred place. Adding a stone signifies a dedication to the preservation of the mountain and a hope that future generations will have the same opportunity to add to its story.

If you don’t take a summit selfie, can you really say you made it to the top?

Heading back towards the lodge, I noticed a spur trail I hadn’t seen on the hike in. Enticingly named “Cliff Tops”, this spur seemed like a route worth exploring before heading back down the mountain. Until this point, I felt somewhat bewildered by the fact that the views at LeConte Lodge and the true summit weren’t nearly as spectacular as what I’d seen along the trail on the way up. Then I reached Cliff Tops. Less than half a mile from the spur at LeConte Lodge, this tangental journey is an absolute must for anyone who’s already hiked that far up the mountain. The view from Cliff Tops in winter is one of the most breathtaking sights I’ve seen on any hike, and in that moment, I felt so grateful to live in a state that hosts this kind of raw beauty that’s often unfairly overshadowed by bigger mountains out west. It feels so intimate, to experience a place like this in a season when it’s so rarely visited. The Smokies certainly aren’t a secret to anyone, but I think the heavy foot traffic depreciates its reputation within national and global communities of hiking enthusiasts. It’s sad, because this place has so much more to offer than most people give it credit for, but at the same time, I get it. Nobody goes into the wild in search of civilization.

I guess the point I’m trying to make is that seasons are short and time is powerful, in nature among other things. The definition of growth is expansion into new territory, whether that uncharted space is physical or just a change of perspective. That’s why, after 36 months (and counting, because eight months have passed since this Mount LeConte hike that I’m just now getting around to writing about, oops…), I’m still committed to my 2018 New Year’s resolution to hike a previously unexplored trail every month. It’s a familiar concept at this point, but the adventure changes and evolves with every new hike. Additionally, no two hikes along a single trail are really ever the same. Time and experience shape the journey in a gloriously serendipitous way that thrives on momentum. I’ll never be able to explore every trail on my bucket list, and that’s not the point. I’m just grateful for the opportunity to chase a destination that I hope I never reach.

breathtaking views from Cliff Tops
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The Grandfather Trail: The Most Technical Hike East of the MS River

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the ascent through the notch below the summit of Calloway Peak

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

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

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

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

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

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Day Hikes in Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks

After my husband and I planned a destination wedding in Telluride, Colorado in 2019, we decided to defer our honeymoon to 2020. We both had so much going on in 2019, personally and professionally, aside from planning a wedding. The year felt like an emotional rollercoaster with no time to spare for the honeymoon we wanted. 2020 was supposed to be a year of stability and settling into our happily normal lives as newlyweds. In hindsight, it sounds so naive, right? To be fair, the inconvenience of planning and cancelling two honeymoons in 2020 cannot compare to the struggles of brides who’ve had to postpone or significantly alter wedding plans this year. After aborted plans to travel to New Zealand in May, and then the Hawaiian island of Kauai in August, we made a third and final attempt to have a honeymoon in 2020 and decided to travel to Jackson, Wyoming. Neither of us had been before, and while it wasn’t the trip we thought we’d be taking for our honeymoon, we were grateful for the opportunity to go and excited to explore this place that’s touted as one of the most beautiful destinations in America.

Andy and I on the summit of Table Mountain (11,106 ft) in Grand Teton National Park

Located in a valley immediately south of Grand Teton National Park, Jackson provides immediate access to an endless array of hiking adventures against a sprawling and rugged mountain backdrop. The road that leads into the park from Jackson actually continues north into Yellowstone National Park as well. Admission to each park costs $35 per car (assuming up to four passengers per car) and covers unlimited travel into and out of the park for seven consecutive days. However, an annual National Parks pass costs $80 and grants pass holders admission to more than 100 federally managed recreation areas, including all National Parks. The annual pass does not cover camping permits or shuttle fees, but it’s an incredibly sensible purchase for anyone interested in exploring America’s public lands.

Despite reviewing multiple hiking resources (AllTrails, travel blogs, local guides, etc.), narrowing down our options in the Tetons and Yellowstone was so difficult due to the immense quantity and variety of attractive trails. I’d hike any of the four trails that we explored again, but for each of them, there are about a dozen others that appeared to be just as gorgeous and rewarding. As is the case in most National Parks, popular trails receive very heavy foot traffic, so I’d definitely recommend visiting in the off season or on a week day, and getting an early start regardless of when you visit. If you have the opportunity to speak to a local, ask for their recommendations. We received several recommendations for trails we hadn’t uncovered through our own research from our Airbnb host and from a friend’s sister who lives in the area. Utilize your social media network as well. Most people will gladly share their experiences and provide insightful tips, even if they don’t know you. Asking a stranger for advice is only creepy if you act like a creep.

We hiked three trails in Grand Teton National Park and one in Yellowstone. Although Yellowstone is seven times larger than its neighbor to the south, Grand Teton National Park is a more sensible option for day hikes. Yellowstone is vast and spread out, and a two-hour drive separates the park’s southern boundary from Jackson, WY. Even after entering Yellowstone from the southern road, visitors still have to travel for miles and miles before reaching any trails that could reasonably be hiked within a day, considering route lengths and the roundtrip travel time from Jackson. During our trip, all lodges and most campgrounds in both parks were closed or operating at very limited capacity due to COVID-19. With all of this in mind, we didn’t have many viable hiking options at Yellowstone. Based on our very limited time in both places, we both preferred our hikes in Grand Teton National Park over the one in Yellowstone. However, I feel like we barely scratched the surface of areas to explore in both parks and hope to see much more of both in the future.

BONUS: If you visit the Tetons in the summer and want to try an outdoor activity that isn’t hiking, I highly recommend renting a kayak or canoe from the Coulter Bay Marina on Jackson Lake. We only had a couple of hours to spend on the lake before heading to the airport, but in hindsight, we wish we’d dedicated an entire day to exploring this massive and beautiful lake beneath the mountains.

Taggart Lake and Bradley Lake Loop

This mild six-mile loop begins at the Taggart Lake trailhead and offers stunning views of the Tetons for less effort than most of the park’s trails. Because of this, the trail receives very heavy foot traffic, especially the Taggart Lake section. Most visitors only hike the Taggart Lake loop (about four miles) and omit the extension that includes trail to Bradley Lake. With little else to do and plenty of daylight, we hiked the full six miles, although I admit that the best part of the hike was the section along Taggart Lake. The trail to Bradley Lake doesn’t provide access to the lakeshore, only shrouded glimpses of the lake through the trees along a ridge above the lake. Beyond the loop, there’s an option to hike to Garnet Canyon, and this section of the trail may provides better access to Bradley Lake. We stayed on the loop, knowing we’d hike into Garnet Canyon on another trail a couple of days later.

The trail weaves in and out of a dense forest, and magnificent views of the Tetons dominate the skyline along the open sections. There’s only about 750 feet of elevation gain, and most of that occurs on the Bradley Lake section. At Taggart Lake, we enjoyed absolutely majestic vistas of the Tetons rising above this sprawling lake. The trail runs along the edge of the lake for almost half a mile and offers many spots where hikers can step off the trail to explore the shoreline and experience uninterrupted mountain views, steps away from the congestion of other hikers along the trail.

Grand Teton (center) towering over Taggart Lake, amid hazy conditions due to the wildfires west of the Tetons during our visit

This was our first of our three hikes in Grand Teton National Park, and it turned out to be the easiest as well. We almost didn’t hike this trail at all, but I’m so glad that we did. Initially, we’d planned to hike the Cascade Canyon Trail, accessible via the Jenny Lake area in the park. However, we abandoned these plans after seeing swarms of people along the access trail. Jenny Lake is gorgeous, and Cascade Canyon is supposed to be one of the most beautiful hiking trails in the park, but we felt so discouraged by the masses we encountered here (at 9:00 AM on a Thursday, by the way) that we left the Jenny Lake area and didn’t go back during our trip. If you’re considering hiking here, especially during the peak summer season, 9:00 AM isn’t an early enough start time, regardless of the length of your planned hike. However, this created an opportunity to explore the Taggart Lake and Bradley Lake Loop, and this proved to be a less crowded option with much better views than we expected.

Bradley Lake, with Teewinot Mountain (12,166 ft) visible in the background, as viewed from the trail

Delta Lake via the Amphitheater Trail

When we asked the owner of the Airbnb rental where we stayed on our trip to Jackson Hole for hiking recommendations, she told us, without hesitation, that Delta Lake via the Amphitheater Trail was her favorite hike in the Tetons. With an endorsement like that, we knew we had to check it out for ourselves. This out-and-back hike covers eight miles roundtrip and about 2,300 feet of elevation gain. The Lupine Meadows Trailhead provides access to several popular hiking trails, so unless you arrive early (before 8:00 AM), plan on adding some additional distance to your eight-mile hike because you’ll have to park along the dirt road that leads to the small unpaved parking lot. Of all the trails we hiked, this one was the busiest. We started early enough to avoid heavy foot traffic on the way up to Delta Lake, but there was rarely a moment on the way down when other hikers weren’t within view.

views from the Lupine Meadows Trailhead at Grand Teton National Park

The trail climbs steadily over the first three miles, mercifully distributing the elevation gain relatively evenly over a series of switchbacks. The trail is wide and easy to follow, and the views become more and more expansive along the ascent. After about 3.2 miles of moderate hiking, a cairn marks the spot where hikers headed to Delta Lake exit the maintained trail and begin a primitive route up through Glacier Gulch and over a series of boulder fields. Although this final mile up to Delta Lake isn’t maintained by the park, there’s a clear route and a few cairns that make it easier to navigate through the boulders. This route is difficult and very steep, ascending nearly 900 feet in less than a mile. There’s very little shade, so if you hike this trail in August like we did, I highly recommend sunscreen.

Delta Lake isn’t visible until you climb the final stretch of trail and emerge through a few trees and right onto the lake’s rocky shoreline. This brilliant turquoise lake lies immediately below Grand Teton, and it’s one of the most breathtakingly beautiful places I’ve seen on any hike. Photos don’t accurately capture the magnitude of the scenery around this alpine lake. Nestled in a drainage basin at 9,000 feet, Delta Lake’s still transparent waters reflect images of the surrounding massive granite monoliths. The rocky shoreline offers plenty of space for hikers to spread out and enjoy the scenery around them. A few brave souls swam in the lake, but even in the summer heat, that water felt way too cold for comfort for this hiker from the Deep South. Regardless, we felt perfectly content to sit on a rock at the lake’s edge and enjoy a leisurely lunch before returning to the trailhead.

Grand Teton’s famous shark fin profile rises above the turquoise waters of Delta Lake

Table Mountain

During the weeks leading up to our trip to Jackson Hole, we seriously considered a summit hike to the top of Middle Teton, the least technical of the thee mountains that the range is named for. Although there’s no technical climbing involved, Middle Teton is a massive undertaking, with 13 miles of hiking and more than 6,000 feet of elevation gain, plus class 3 and 4 scrambling near the summit. After arriving in Jackson and seeing this beast in person, we reluctantly decided pick another mountain. I rarely let intimidation prevent me from any hike, and I’m sure we’d have been fine and successful if we’d tried to climb Middle Teton. However, we just didn’t feel compelled to climb a mountain like this one on our honeymoon. Instead, we followed the recommendation of a local and opted for Table Mountain, which is no small feat at 11,106 feet, but a milder alternative to Middle Teton.

Teton peaks (from left) as viewed form the summit of Table Mountain: Mount Owen (12,928 ft), Grand Teton (13,776 ft), Middle Teton (12,806 ft), South Teton (12,514 ft)

The hike to the summit of Table Mountain begins outside of Grand Teton National Park, and the peak lies on the park’s western boundary. Perhaps because the trail isn’t in the national park, or perhaps due to its difficulty, this trail doesn’t receive nearly as much foot traffic as the others we hiked. We ascended via the four-mile Face Trail and descended on the seven-mile Huckleberry Trail. The two trailheads are only a five-minute walk away from each other, and most people who climb this mountain do so by following the same loop that we took. With 4,000 feet of elevation gain over four miles, the Face Trail definitely presents a challenge. Factor in the altitude and the smoky conditions we hiked in, as haze from the wildfires many miles west of us permeated the air in the Tetons, and this trail felt entirely brutal. It felt only slightly less difficult than the fourteener hikes I’ve done in Colorado. For all of its adversity, the scenery is undeniably gorgeous. The hazy air obscured views of distant mountains, but we could see those that were within a few miles of us, and after we passed the tree line, less than a mile from the summit, we were surrounded on all sides by incredible mountain vistas.

the final push, about 300 vertical feet below the summit of Table Mountain

The final push to the summit includes a short class 1 or 2 scramble with some exposure, but the route is straightforward and obvious. As the name suggests, the summit of Table Mountain is flat and spacious, and it provides a truly epic panoramic view of the three Teton peaks: Grand, Middle, and South. The views were insanely gorgeous, but I can’t even imagine how much better they’d be on a clear day. We could have stayed up there all day and never tired of the views, but the wind was howling and thoughts of cheeseburgers and beer started to creep in, so we began the seven-mile return trek along the Huckleberry Trail. We didn’t expect the views to be even prettier along this trail than they were on the way up via the Face Trail, but we were shocked by the endless sea of colorful wildflowers surrounded by mountain vistas that we encountered throughout the descent. Unlike the Face Trail, the Huckleberry Trail offered views of Table Mountain from afar, and it felt really satisfying to look back at the peak we’d just climbed.

The views on the descent from the summit of Table Mountain, along the Huckleberry Trail, were magnificent. The peak shaped like a shark’s fin in this photo is Grand Teton, and the flat summit to the left of it in the foreground is Table Mountain. The terrain on Table Mountain looks deceptively easy from this vantage point.

About three miles from our end point, the vegetation thickened around the trail, and we started hiking through frequent patches of tall grass and shrubbery, often several feet high on either side of the trail. Many of the bushes were covered in bright berries, and we clearly weren’t the only ones in the area who noticed them. There was fresh and ample evidence of recent bear activity along this part of the trail, lying in little piles that we had to step over as we hiked. We saw dozens of bear sized interruptions in the shrubbery, the beginnings of paths clearly formed when these locals wandered off the trail in search of more fruit-filled bushes or water from the nearby creek. We hiked through these conditions for two and a half miles, feeling somewhat anxious considering how limited our visibility was because of the dense vegetation around us. The closer we became to the trailhead, the more surprised I felt that we hadn’t seen a bear. I’d accepted the fact that they were playing mind games with us, dropping bombs in our path and then retreating into the brush to mock us as we carefully moved past them without knowing they were watching.

And then, as if it’d been waiting on us the whole time, a Black Bear wandered out onto the trail about thirty or so feet in front of us, when we were only half a mile from the end of our eleven-mile hike. I spoke, to alert my husband who was hiking behind me, and the bear looked up and slowly started moving toward us. The bear wasn’t displaying any signs of aggression, but likely just investigating the noise it’d heard when we approached along the trail. Bears are curious creatures with poor vision, so it’s best to speak loudly when a bear notices you, so that it acknowledges you and differentiates your human voice from the natural sounds its prey may make. The bear was too close for me to feel comfortable whipping out my phone for a photo, or do anything besides recall the tenets bear safety protocol. We did what we were supposed to do, without using our bear spray, and the bear retreated into the woods on its own after only a minute or two. We safely made it back to our car, relieved and grateful for an exciting finale to one of the most incredible hikes I’ve ever taken.

abundant wildflower views along the Huckleberry Trail, and Table Mountain (center)

Fairy Falls and Grand Prismatic Hot Spring Overlook

As I’ve mentioned earlier, Yellowstone National Park isn’t very close to Jackson Hole. However, the drive up through the Tetons and into the park isn’t exactly boring. The views are immaculate, so the time flies by quickly. Be prepared for traffic jams caused by wild moose or bears on the side of the road, which will add time to your commute even if the animals have disappeared by the time that you emerge from the congestion. There’s no way to know for sure, but we think we experienced this kind of traffic about five times on our six-hour roundtrip journey to and from the Fairy Falls trailhead, even though we only saw one moose along the side of the road.

Yours won’t be the only car in the parking lot at the Fairy Falls trailhead, as this trailhead also provides access to the Grand Prismatic Spring overlook, one of the most popular spots in the park. The main road offers immediate access to this massive hot spring’s steamy edges, but even from afar, we could see throngs of visitors along the boundaries of this intensely colorful hot spring. Our overlook wasn’t lonely but definitely wasn’t as crowded as the boardwalk that leads to hot spring. I haven’t been to the edge of Grand Prismatic Spring, but I’m telling you now, the views from above are better than the ones you’d find along the boardwalk. On our way back to the car, a woman in the parking lot asked me about the overlook, and after I showed her a photo I’d taken, she admitted that she should have skipped the boardwalk trail to Grand Prismatic Spring and only hiked the overlook trail.

Grand Prismatic Hot Spring, as viewed from the overlook on the trail to Fairy Falls

Beyond the overlook, the trail continues along a dirt road before veering off into an evergreen forest along the approach to Fairy Falls. The hike to and from Fairy Falls includes five total miles and less than three hundred feet of elevation gain, making this the easiest of all our hikes on this vacation. We passed through places where the forest had burned and started to regrow, revealing expansive views of the wide open landscape around us. and the thousands of yellow wildflowers that covered the forest floor. A high granite cliff rose above us in the distance on the left, and the trail meandered increasingly closer to this cliff wall as we hiked towards Fairy Falls.

Fairy Falls, an absolutely gorgeous 200 ft waterfall (I couldn’t capture the whole thing on my iPhone) in Yellowstone National Park

The sound of falling water grew louder and the trees became more sparse as we approached a clearing, nestled below the granite cliff. As we entered the clearing, Fairy Falls suddenly presented itself, cascading down from the top of the cliff, 200 feet above us. The water formed a gorgeous pool at the bottom of the falls and then trickled over rocks and fallen trees as it made its way down into the meadow beyond the clearing. I’ve seen dozens of waterfalls in Tennessee. You can hardly throw a rock in this state without hitting water, but they never cease to amaze me. The constant motion of the water and the ever changing flow make it impossible to really see the same waterfall twice. As gorgeous as Fairy Falls looked in the middle of summer, I’m sure it’s even more impressive in spring when the flow is heavier or in winter when it’s covered in ice and snow. Regardless, the trail to Fairy Falls is absolutely worth the minimal effort that this hike requires and an amazing destination in Yellowstone National Park that’s much more secluded than the attractions along the park’s main loop.

Here’s a rare photo of a wild animal that didn’t require any zoom. We encountered this local immediately beside the trail, about a mile into our hike to Delta Lake via the Lupine Meadows trailhead.
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Appalachian Mountain Trails: Burnsville, North Carolina

President’s Day is a special day when we put our political differences aside to celebrate a universal American joy: a Monday without work. Nobody crushes work-free Mondays like America, and I’m here for it. I’m especially here for it when it presents an opportunity for me to travel without burning vacation days. Andy and I had been talking about hiking in the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina for years, but we never made it a priority. The mountains of North Carolina are just far enough away to make a weekend trip seem like a stretch without taking off a day or two on either side, but we also tend to save our precious PTO days for longer trips to places further away that we don’t have a chance to visit as often. The long weekend presented the perfect conditions for a quick getaway to Burnsville, North Carolina, a remote and sleepy town nestled deep in the Appalachian Mountain wilderness.

Andy and I enjoying views from the summit of Mount Craig, the second highest peak in the eastern United States

Andy and I had both been to North Carolina many times, but we’d only been there together once, and I’d never been to Burnsville or the majestic wilderness areas surrounding the town. Burnsville offers quick access to many gorgeous hiking trails and a wide array of other outdoor activities in the middle of a seemingly endless sea of brilliant blue mountains and dense evergreen forests. Located less than an hour’s drive north of Asheville, Burnsville provides a quieter alternative and a more immersive experience in the mountain wilderness than what we’d have found in one of North Carolina’s more popular mountain destinations. Asheville is an amazing and incredibly worthwhile place to visit, and I’d recommend it to anyone considering a trip to North Carolina. However, we wanted to go somewhere where there’s not much to do unless you’re outside exploring, and Burnsville is the kind of place that has one grocery store and zero restaurants open after 7:00 PM in the off season. In our twenties, we’d have been bored, but in our (very, very, somewhat early) thirties, we were in heaven.

views from the summit of Hawksbill Mountain, the exhilarating sunset hike that Andy and I took shortly after arriving in North Carolina

We explored two mountain trails in two days on this trip to North Carolina, but we could have spent two months in Burnsville without running out of new and beautiful hiking trails. After driving into our Appalachian Mountain destination on Saturday morning, we settled into our Airbnb on the outskirts of Burnsville, a surprisingly charming basement apartment below a retired couple’s gorgeous mountain cabin. Over the past couple of years, I’ve become increasingly impressed with retired couples who convert their basements into chic one bedroom apartments and rent them out on Airbnb. It’s a genius move, and when Andy and I retire to Telluride, CO in 2055, maybe we’ll have the opportunity to play host to future generations of weekend adventurers.

By the time we’d unloaded at the Airbnb made a quick grocery run, we only had a few hours of daylight left. I spent most of my time in the car on the way to North Carolina that morning researching hiking trails in the area and weighing our options against the estimated amount of daylight we’d have by the time we arrived at the trailhead and the amount of time I thought it’d take to hike the trail. I call this “geographic math”, which apparently means something different to real mathematicians. However, I often use this technique to choose hiking trails when scenery, seasonality, and level of difficulty aren’t enough to narrow down my options. I like to maximize my experience on hiking trails, especially when traveling, and that usually requires some planning in advance.

Watching the sunset form this peak felt so special and so unique. The vibrant colors reflecting off the mountains seemed so enchanting in this pre-dusk time.

Hawksbill Mountain Trail

Ultimately, Andy and I opted for a sunset hike to the summit of Hawksbill Mountain, and I’m so happy that we did. Sunset hikes, especially in the mountains, can be difficult to find and execute safely. Watching a sunset from the top of a mountain, breathless after a steep climb, offers tremendous reward for your efforts. The experience feels much more meaningful and satisfying than watching a sunset from a mountaintop or overlook that can be reached by car. The tricky part, however, is hiking back down in the dark. Luckily, daylight isn’t like a light switch that’s either on or off and never anywhere in between, and going down usually takes less time than going up. With all of this in mind, it’s important to select a sunset hike that suits your comfort level, and when in doubt, choose a short one.

The hike to the summit of Hawksbill Mountain, aptly named for the outline of its peak (or should I say… beak?! OK, that’s my only attempt at a pun this time, I promise) is only two miles, roundtrip. As you may suspect, the trail is steep, entirely and without exception. It’s manageable though, and we saw several small children and smaller dogs on our way to the top. Because we hiked here on a Saturday, and at sunset, we certainly weren’t alone on the trail, but the summit is a sprawling and craggy space that provides 360 degree views of the surrounding Linville Gorge Wilderness in Pisgah National Forest. Hawksbill Mountain measures 4,009 feet, which may not sound like much compared to the thousands of peaks two or three times as high in the western United States. The Appalachian Mountains hold a different kind of beauty, a pastoral simplicity that manifests itself in peaks that resemble ocean waves, both in color and texture. Having a front row seat to this rare landscape, at sunset nonetheless, provided a humbling reminder that unique and breathtaking mountain scenery exists much closer to our home in Nashville, TN than some might think.

gorgeous sunset views from the summit of Hawksbill Mountain

Mount Mitchell: Deep Gap Trail

On our second day in Burnsville, we decided to take the one hour drive from our Airbnb to Mount Mitchell State Park, home to America’s highest peak east of the Mississippi River. Although it’s possible to hike to the top of Mount Mitchell (6,683 ft) via several different trails, this summit is also accessible by car. The parking lot rests about 200 vertical feet below the peak, and a short walk up a wide paved path completes the easiest route to the top.

I know I just gushed over the rewards of a summit hike, so the fact that we drove to the top of Mount Mitchell may seem to contradict everything I said earlier about the significance of a summit that’s earned on foot and not gifted by a paved road. I wholeheartedly stand by that. However, I also have mixed emotions about putting in the effort to climb a mountain, reach the summit, and then share the views with toddlers and tour buses. It doesn’t diminish the view from the top, but it does compromise the purpose of the climb, for me anyways. My philosophy is this: If I can drive to the top, I will do that with gratitude, and I will reserve the limited time and energy that I have for summit hikes to the peaks that can’t be reached by car.

Appalachian Mountain views from the cold and windy summit of Mount Mitchell in February

We drove the the top of Mount Mitchell to visit the highest peak in the eastern United States, but the summit also served as our starting point for a breathtaking hike along the ridge line that connects Mount Mitchell to neighboring peaks including Mount Craig, the second highest peak in the eastern United States. Black Mountain Crest Trail, also known as Deep Gap Trail, extends more than eleven miles (one way) north from the summit of Mount Mitchell, ascending and descending as it traverses a string of some of the highest peaks in the Appalachian Mountain range. We hiked out to Cattail Peak (6,584 ft), which lies only three miles from the trailhead near the top of Mount Mitchell but crosses three additional summits in between. In the order of their appearance on the trail, these mountains include: Mount Craig (6,647 ft), Big Tom (6,581 ft), and Balsam Cone (6,611 ft). Although the summits of Mount Craig and Big Tom provided more expansive views across the rugged mountain wilderness than Balsam Cone and Cattail Peak, I enjoyed the evergreen canopy that shrouded the latter two peaks. Partially due to altitude and mostly due to hot, wet Southern air, the mountains around Burnsville don’t have tree lines. The dense woodland blanket that covers the Appalachian Mountain range from top to bottom is part of what makes these mountains so visually stunning.

Appalachian scenery form the summit of Mount Craig resembles a vast ocean of rolling hills and peaks across the surrounding wilderness.

Have you ever wondered why these mountains look so smooth and brilliantly blue? Brace yourselves for some sweet nature science, y’all. When viewed from afar, the mountains of the southern Appalachian range, including the Smokies and the Blue Ridge mountains, appear to be blue because of a hydrocarbon released by the trees covering these slopes: isoprene. Some trees emit more isoprene than others, and oak trees, abundant in the southeastern United States, release isoprene like Michael Scott releases “that’s what she said” one-liners. These isoprene molecules react with other molecules in the moisture-heavy air surrounding these mountains to create that alluring haze that blurs lines between peaks. When light from the sun hits this haze, it reflects a rainbow of colors, literally, because sunlight reflecting off moisture in the air creates actual rainbows. The human eye interprets blue more easily than almost any other color found in nature (it’s not a coincidence that skies and oceans are also blue), especially from a distance. Therefore, we see blue mountains. It’s amazing, right? You’re welcome.

Science is neat, but that’s not what I was thinking about during mine and Andy’s blissful long weekend in North Carolina. I kept thinking, why did it take us so long to do this, and when can we come back? North Carolina provided a wonderful combination of the intimacy and seclusion of my favorite close to home in Tennessee and the immense and imposing beauty of mountain landscapes I’ve hiked through in the western United States. Hiking these trails felt comfortable and exotic at the same time, and I can’t wait to return and explore more of this mountain paradise.

perhaps the most magnificent sunset I’ve ever seen
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Climbing Colorado Fourteeners: Grays and Torreys Peaks

I believe that fear is one of life’s greatest blessings, and this mentality has significantly influenced both my adventures in the wild and my everyday life. I think of fear as an opportunity demonstrate courage, overcome challenges, and succeed at something I may have previously thought impossible. Fear presents a choice: retreat or move forward.

Grays Peak (left) and Torreys Peak (right) are Colorado’s 9th and 11th highest peaks at 14,270 ft and 14,267 ft, respectively.

Until about two and a half years ago, I didn’t think I could climb a mountain, any mountain. I was afraid of heights and exposure, but with help from some friends, I made it to the top of Old Rag Mountain (3,284 ft) in Shenandoah National Park in July of 2017. To this day, that remains one of my favorite hikes ever, and the experience played a critical role in inspiring the first iteration of my New Year’s Resolution to explore a new trail every month in 2018. Throughout the first few months of 2018, I didn’t think my hiking adventure would ever lead me to the summit of a big mountain. I was afraid of the physical impact that altitude can have on the body and didn’t think I’d ever have the strength or stamina to endure hiking at high elevations. On September 14, 2018, my thirtieth birthday, I climbed to the summit of the highest peak in the Rocky Mountains, Mount Elbert (14,439 ft). I wouldn’t have made it to the top without Andy’s help and encouragement. To show my appreciation, I promoted him from boyfriend to husband ten months later.

Until a few months ago, I didn’t think I could climb a big mountain by myself. I was afraid of the possibility that I hadn’t really conquered my fears, but had instead relied on the strength of others to carry me through them. In October, a trip to Colorado with a couple of friends (Lexi and Anne, who have joined me on several hikes over the past two years) presented me with an opportunity to find out. On a wild, and possibly wine induced, impulse a couple of weeks before the trip, I changed my return flight to allow an extra day in Colorado after my friends planned to fly back to Nashville. I didn’t know if I was ready to climb a fourteener by myself, but I knew I was ready to try.

I had one day, an exceptionally tight window in October in the Rockies, due to intense wind gusts and single-digit temperatures above the tree line that signal the imminent arrival of the first big snow of the season. Also, I knew I’d need to choose from a small handful of mountains relatively close to Denver, to allow enough time for a successful summit, descent, and subsequent drive to the airport for a 9:00 PM flight back to Nashville. There weren’t many realistic options, but there was one that presented me with an opportunity to summit the highest peak on the continental divide and traverse an exposed ridge to the summit of an adjacent fourteener, all in less than ten miles out and back.

Grays and Torreys are part of the Wasatch Range and Arapaho National Forest.

Admittedly, Grays and Torreys are two of the easiest fourteeners to summit in Colorado, and very popular options due to their proximity to Denver and the opportunity to climb two non-technical mountains in one hike. However, “easy” is a relative term, not a literal one. There aren’t any easy fourteeners, only some that are less difficult than others. Experts usually evaluate a mountain’s difficulty based on the technical ability required to climb it, not the amount of route distance or elevation gain from the trailhead, although these factors often influence each other. Environmental factors, like weather and time of year, weigh heavily on individual experiences and can make any hike feel more or less challenging than expected. Every day leading up to the day I’d planned to climb Grays and Torreys, I checked online forums for new trail reports from other hikers and prayed for favorable conditions. At best, I knew I could expect single digit temperatures and severe wind gusts that would only intensify on the precarious ridge between the two summits. Multiple trip reports in the weeks leading up to my hike recounted abandoned attempts at crossing the ridge due to the intensity of the wind, a seasonal side effect of the transition from fall to winter at high altitudes.

The days in Colorado prior to my Grays and Torreys summit hike only increased my concerns about the coldness and brutality of the wind gusts. My friends and I experienced them while hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park, and the highest altitude we reached there was about 12,000 feet. Considering the severity of the winds in less exposed environments and more than 2,000 vertical feet below the summits of Grays and Torreys, fear dominated my thoughts, and doubt started creeping in.

My hair looks like this is every photo from this hike. What can you do, though?

The day before the hike, I said goodbye to my friends as they headed to the airport, and I checked into a cheap motel in Idaho Springs, a 45-minute drive from the trailhead. Maybe my expectations were low, but as it turns out, Idaho Springs is actually kind of cute. I wouldn’t recommend it as a destination, but if you’re passing through on I-70 or want to take advantage of the incredible hiking in the surrounding area, it’s not a bad place to be. I ate some of the best pizza I’ve had in a long time (Beau Jo’s), and promptly went back to my room around 8:00 PM to prepare for an early start on the trail. In the quiet loneliness of my motel room in that isolated town, sleep did not come easily as my mind raced with the uncertainties of the next day.

I reached the trailhead before sunrise, after a dark and skecthy drive up a rugged mountain road that would have been insurmountable without a 4WD vehicle with some clearance. My rented Dodge Journey made the trek at a slow and steady pace, but she got me there. I hiked west along the trail and watched the sun rise above the mountains as I approached the tree line. Because the trailhead rests at nearly 11,000 feet, the trees fade into the background after less than a mile of steady uphill hiking. As a result, both Grays and Torreys tower majestically in view throughout most of the approach.

Grays and Torreys, as viewed from the trail at dawn

God and Mother Nature blessed me with favorable weather, so despite the cold and the wind gusts, the sky was a brilliant shade of solid blue. I felt the bone-chilling intensity of the wind every time it picked up, which happened more frequently as I climbed upward, but the consistency of that sky and the serenity of the alpine tundra landscape fueled me forward. I realized the magnitude of loneliness quickly and often thought of challenging hikes I’ve taken before this one. I remembered the support and encouragement I had from others, those who accompanied me on previous hikes and those who were cheering from the sidelines. Regardless, it didn’t take long for me to realize that a hike like this one is much harder on your own. I struggled with doubt and fear constantly, and there wasn’t anyone there to reassure me in the many moments when brutal winds, incessant breathlessness, or dizzying exposure made me want to turn around and return to my rental car. I thought about that often, knowing I’d have other opportunities in the future to come back and summit these mighty peaks under more favorable conditions. Nonetheless, I kept going.

views across the valley from the upper slopes of Grays Peak, around 13,500 ft

Somewhere north of 13,500 feet, I convinced myself that reaching the summit of Grays would be enough, considering the reports I’d read about the treacherous and highly exposed trail along the ridge to Torreys Peak. Grays is the taller and less technical of the two mountains, and I could avoid the ridge by descending along the same trail I’d taken up. I’d return home feeling content to have even climbed one fourteener by myself. These were my thoughts as I climbed the final stretch of exposed scree to reach the summit of Grays.

Breathless and shaking, I emerged onto the summit of Grays, only to be greeted by a wind gust so strong it nearly sent me tumbling off the mountain. Luckily, someone had assembled a wind shelter on the summit in the form of a curved rock wall several feet high. I crouched beside it to take in the incredible views. It’s funny how the view always feels different from the summit, even when looking at scenery that’s been visible along the upper sections of the trail that lie immediately below the top. It’s as if your brain changes gears and finally allows you to take it all in with a fresh perspective of achievement. I gazed in awe across the terrain I’d just hiked and looked for the first time into the vast mountainous beauty that lie on the other side of Grays Peak. Hundreds of mountains surrounded me on all sides, and I felt like I was perched majestically above all of them.

The summit of Grays Peak (14,270 ft) is the highest point on the Continental Divide.

From the summit of Grays, Torreys suddenly looked less intimidating. I could now see the entire route across the ridge, and although it still intimidated me, with wind so intense that I could literally see it in the form of wispy dust clouds flying off the mountain like tiny translucent hawks, it appeared to be more manageable than it had looked from below. I decided to try it, knowing I could descend from a trail near the saddle if I changed my mind on the way down the from the summit of Grays. I started moving down the side of mountain and quickly realized that this trail was much steeper than the one I’d ascended on the way up. The winds on this part of the trail were stronger and colder than any I’d encountered yet, but I moved slowly forward until I reached the saddle and the spur trail that reconnected with the one I’d ascended to the summit of Grays.

This is the view from the saddle on the ridge between Grays and Torreys, facing the valley that the trail ascends through on its way to the peaks.

I don’t know if it was divine intervention or if I’d just crossed an endurance threshold that made the winds seem less noticeable, but in that moment of decision, I found a sudden burst of energy and determination. The most exposed section of the ridge was still in front of me, but for the first time on that hike, I felt calm and confident. I figured I’d better start moving again before that faded. The trail leading to the summit of Torreys is steeper and more technical than the one I’d taken to the top of Grays. Despite the more rugged terrain, however, the wind wasn’t as much of a factor as it had been before. It was almost 11:00 AM by now and still well below freezing at this altitude, but as the sun rose higher in the sky, the mountain felt warmer and less threatening.

I propelled my aching body over the final pitch and onto the summit just in time to high-five a couple from North Carolina who I’d met on the summit of Grays. These mountains were their first fourteeners, and they’ll never know it, but hiking behind them motivated me to keep going when I felt discouraged along the ridge. I could see them pressing on ahead of me, tiny dots on the side of the mountain, and it reminded me of hiking my first fourteener with Andy a year earlier.

The altitude written on the rock is 8 ft higher than the mountain’s actual height, but I support whoever made the decision to round up.

From the top of Torreys, I stared across the ridge I’d traversed from the summit of Grays, standing in the spot I didn’t think I could reach just two hours earlier. This filled me with an overwhelming sense of triumph and a humbling dose of perspective. The views were different but just as magnificent as the ones from the summit of Grays, and if I hadn’t been running behind an already tight schedule, I could have stayed on top of that mountain all afternoon, despite the wind and the cold. Reluctantly, I started making my way down the trail and back to the saddle, feeling exhausted but invincible.

The fall colors on the alpine tundra sparkled beneath the bluebird sky. I hadn’t noticed their brightness on the hike in, during the dim dawn hours as the sun rose behind the mountains east of Grays and Torreys, casting a shadow across the valley beneath the peaks. I encountered several groups of hikers on the way down, sharing advice from my experience when asked, and providing words of encouragement to those who looked like they needed it. When I returned to the trailhead, I felt physically and mentally drained but entirely fulfilled by the experience. That’s always the goal, right?

Grays Peak, as viewed from the summit of Torreys Peak

Without a doubt, this was one of my best hiking adventures yet. I tested my perceived limitations and emerged from the experience stronger and braver than I’d been before. The confidence I gained on those mountains has manifested itself in my everyday life too, as I pursued an incredible and competitive new job opportunity. I started that new job three weeks ago and couldn’t be happier. This hiking adventure continues to amaze me, not just through the places I’ve seen, but through how much I’ve learned about myself and grown as a result. I still have the same fears, but through my own courage and the support of others, I’m learning how to face them. Fear isn’t a choice, but courage is.

celebrating on top of Torreys Peak, my second fourteener of the day
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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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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)