Tennessee – Emily Takes a Hike

August 20, 2021

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.

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.

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.

March 31, 2021March 31, 2021

South Cumberland State Park: Savage Day Loop

If you read my most recent post about adventure gone awry on the Grand Canyon’s most difficult trail last September, you won’t be surprised to learn that I chose an easy trail to explore for the first time in October. Although Savage Day Loop in South Cumberland State Park couldn’t be more different from Nankoweap, my experience in the Grand Canyon heavily influenced my decision to hike this specific trail. I emerged from the Grand Canyon feeling utterly drained and defeated, but also inspired by the kindness of the strangers I encountered there. As soon as I returned to Nashville, I started looking for volunteer opportunities in the state parks I frequently visit in Tennessee. I felt so strongly called to pay forward the good will that the Grand Canyon park rangers and hikers from Sedona showed to me. As if by divine intervention, a representative from Friends of South Cumberland, a nonprofit organization that supports South Cumberland State Park, emailed me only a few days after I returned home and asked if I’d be interested in training for their Trail Friends volunteer program. I’m sure I received the email along with a massive list of other people who’ve donated money to this group in the past, but the timing made the message feel personal. I responded instantly and enthusiastically.

views from Rattlesnake Point, an overlook 2 miles into a counterclockwise hike of Savage Day Loop

Trail Friends volunteers support South Cumberland State Park by working shifts at the park’s more popular trailheads and advising park visitors on trails, park regulations, and hiker safety. We report visitor trends and trail conditions to rangers and often participate in other volunteer initiatives to protect the park and educate others about how to enjoy it responsibly. If you watched The Office, think of Trail Friends as something similar to Dwight’s volunteer sheriff’s deputy program, but we support park rangers instead of police officers. The program requires training, a test for certification, and an ongoing commitment of time and energy. However, it’s the most impactful way to give back to my favorite state park in Tennessee. South Cumberland State Park contains more than 90 miles of trails, ranging from very easy and heavily trafficked to brutally strenuous and remote, and I’ve hiked most of them. I’ve experienced this place in every season and know its cascading creeks and cavernous depths intimately. I felt like an awestruck imposter in the Grand Canyon, and although I’m often still surprised by the beauty of the most familiar places in South Cumberland State Park, I feel unequivocally at home here.

Trail Friends has given me the opportunity to share the majesty and perils of this incredible place with others, which brings me to my decision to hike the Savage Day Loop last October. I didn’t choose this trail for its ease and predictability compared to the previous month’s festival of danger below the rim of the Grand Canyon. I picked this trail because it’s the most heavily trafficked trail in South Cumberland State Park that I hadn’t already hiked. I wanted to experience this one firsthand so that I could share my thoughts and recommendations with others while volunteering for Trail Friends. In doing so, I discovered an immensely beautiful hike that was bursting with fall colors in late October. I’d always known about this trail but never prioritized it because I thought it’d be boring, compared to more challenging trails in this park. I humbly and wholeheartedly admit that I was wrong about this thoroughly lovely trail.

tranquil views of Savage Creek’s still waters upstream of Savage Falls

The trailhead at the Savage Gulf Ranger Station provides access to the Savage Day Loop, as well as other longer trails that eventually plunge into the delightfully and entirely rugged gulf. With this in mind, the trailhead is a popular starting point for casual day hikers and multi-night backpackers. There’s a hike-in campground near the ranger station and another about a mile and a half from the trailhead at Savage Falls, each with primitive toilets. The Savage Day Loop covers roughly 5 miles of mostly flat terrain, and the trail is marked and maintained well enough for novice hikers to navigate with ease. Hikers who don’t have the time or energy to hike the full loop frequently opt for a shorter 3-mile out and back hike to Savage Falls, bypassing the extended loop. The pooling creek at the base of Savage Falls was too cold for swimming when I hiked here, but in warmer months, it’d be hard to resist the temptation of jumping into these pristine waters. Although Savage Falls receives a decent amount of visitor traffic, this waterfall isn’t quite as prominent as its South Cumberland State Park neighbors, Greeter and Foster Falls, which are both overrun with swimmers in warmer months. Savage Falls provides a lovely alternative that’s further off the beaten path.

Savage Falls, a beautiful waterfall with a 30 ft drop into a shimmering pool of clear creek water

Due to COVID, parking at Savage Gulf Ranger Station was limited to designated parking spaces only when I hiked here, so I had to circle the lot for about 10 minutes before luck landed me a spot vacated by a chatty retired couple with a Border Collie. Sparse parking means sparse foot traffic on a trail that would have otherwise been busy on this spectacularly sunny fall day with temperatures in the low 50s and bold autumn colors adorning every tree along the trail. If I’d been in a hurry, I could have hiked this mild loop in an hour and a half, but I wasn’t and so I didn’t. I must have spent twice as much time on this trail, because Fall is a brief but beautiful season in Tennessee, and I wanted to savor as much of it as I could before getting back in my car for the hour and forty-five minute drive back to Nashville. I also felt a lingering desire to simply be present on this trail, with no obligation to a schedule. I often try to pack in as much distance as I can on my hikes, for the endurance challenge and the constant desire to do more and see more in my precious daylight hours. On the Savage Day Loop, however, I embraced the change of pace and absorbed my surroundings with an immense gratitude for the simplicity of an easy afternoon in a beautiful place.

I spent the whole hike looking up at the colors on the trees.

one more photo of Fall foliage from this basic white girl

November 3, 2020

Appalachian Mountain Trails: Waynesville, North Carolina

It took me a while to settle into the lifestyle, but time has taught me to appreciate the perks of working from home. I’ve had to establish some boundaries between my work life and my home life, now that they now exist under the same roof, but I’m grateful for the flexibility that the present circumstances have added to my daily routine. In a post-COVID world, I’ll have the freedom to travel to and work from anywhere with a WiFi connection, and I’m genuinely excited about the endless possibilities that this presents for me. Until then, I’m taking advantage of opportunities to travel domestically when I can safely do so, knowing that I can work remotely as much as I need to while I’m away from my new office, which doubles as my dining room table.

Looking Glass Rock, high above the hazy emerald waves of the Appalachian Mountains

By packing my MacBook and blending in a couple of days of working remotely, I recently spent a week in the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina while only taking two days of actual vacation time. My parents had planned a trip to Banff, but when COVID derailed those plans, they changed their destination to Waynesville, NC (reasonably drivable from my hometown in Mississippi) and invited my husband, brother, sister-in-law, and me to stay with them in a lakeside cabin nestled halfway between Asheville and Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Naturally, I spent every spare moment exploring the area’s abundant wild spaces. Waynesville, NC offers quick access to hundreds of miles of hiking trails in Great Smoky Mountains National Park and Pisgah National Forest, two expansive Appalachian wildernesses that host millions of visitors every year. Although the vast majority of those visitors stick to scenic drives along the parkways and paved trails to crowded waterfalls and hazy mountain overlooks, the hiking options are endless in number and variety for those who want to get their boots dirty. I hiked three trails, each one gorgeous, unique, and very worthwhile.

Smoky Mountain views from Charlie’s Bunion on the Appalachian Trail

Looking Glass Rock

My husband’s parents have spent a significant amount of time in this region, and they recommended hiking to the top of Looking Glass Rock in Pisgah National Forest. I thought it sounded appealing, but I was already struggling to narrow down my list of many incredible hiking options in the area and didn’t commit to any specific trails before our trip. While driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway with my family on our first day in North Carolina, we stopped at a scenic roadside overlook. Amid the velvety sea of evergreen that covers the Appalachian Mountains, I noticed a massive, exposed section of smooth rock, rising above its forested surroundings like a silver buoy among ocean waves. A sign at the overlook informed me that this enchanting anomaly was Looking Glass Rock, and I instantly decided to hike to the top of it the following day.

My husband, Andy, and I drove along a winding road surrounded by the lush green canopy of Pisgah National Forest before arriving at the trailhead. From Waynesville, the drive to the trailhead takes about an hour via Highway 276. I lost cell service many miles before the trailhead, and we passed a tiny handful of scattered facilities on the outskirts of Waynesville before leaving civilization entirely behind us and entering a remote and sprawling area within Pisgah National Forest. The weather was rainy, but we saw many other cars along the road and parked in clusters around the dozens of trailheads accessible from this scenic highway.

Because of morning rain, Andy and I started our hike early in the afternoon. After arriving at the trailhead during a beak between showers, we eagerly started moving up the trail, only to encounter a torrential downpour a few minutes later. We retreated to the car to wait for the weather to pass. In late summer months, sporadic afternoon showers occur frequently in Tennessee and North Carolina. As Nashville residents, we weren’t surprised by the pop-up storm and knew it’d pass quickly. It did, although it left a very muddy trail in its wake. However, the rain likely deterred many hikers from this popular trail, and we were surprised by the relatively light foot traffic on a Sunday afternoon.

The trail climbs about 1,700 feet over three miles from the trailhead to the summit of Looking Glass Rock. The elevation gain is consistently dispersed across numerous thoughtfully placed switchbacks, which made this hike much less challenging than it appeared to be when viewed from the overlook along the Blue Ridge Parkway. However, the mud complicated the journey, as it tends to do, so we weren’t able to move quickly as we’d have been able to on a dry trail. We encountered more scattered showers on the way to the top, but as soon as we emerged from the thick shroud of the forest and onto the exposed surface of the summit, the rain stopped and we encountered the most magnificent view of the Appalachian Mountains that I’ve ever seen.

hazy views from Looking Glass Rock as a storm moves across the mountains

The views along the way to the top of Looking Glass Rock, although pretty and peaceful, don’t include any expansive overlooks or standout features. Andy and I thoroughly enjoyed the trail, which moves through a forest floor blanketed with an endless sea of ferns and flowering mountain laurels. This hike, however, indisputably culminates at the top of Looking Glass Rock. The panoramic mountain views are entirely shrouded until they’re directly in front of you, and the sprawling summit can accommodate a decent crowd without feeling crowded. There’s no definitive edge, so the drop-off can be really deceptive if you’re not paying attention, due to the smooth and wavy texture of the rock. Regardless, this place is absolutely special and iconic among Appalachian day hikes.

Max Patch

Located about an hour’s drive north of Waynesville and barely west of the border between Tennessee and North Carolina, Max Patch is a grassy bald that provides stunning 360 degree views of the surrounding mountain scenery. Driving to the trailhead requires a lengthy, slow ascent along a bumpy gravel road that would be difficult to manage without a 4WD vehicle, although we did see a couple of small cars in the parking lot. There’s no bathroom at the trailhead, and cell service is weak at best. Max Patch lies on the Appalachian Trail, and many thru and section hikers pass through this area on a daily basis. Camping is permitted on the summit of Max Patch as well, but it’s become controversial in recent years. The area receives heavy foot traffic because the short trail to the top requires minimal effort to access truly magnificent and expansive views, but there’s no permit system in place to regulate camping and no ranger presence to enforce leave-no-trace principles. Sadly, Max Patch endures some abuse from careless visitors, so please be aware of your human footprint when you visit and practice responsible outdoor ethics.

My parents and I hiked to the summit via a 1.5 mile loop with modest elevation gain. The trail was maintained well and easy to follow, and the views from the top extend for miles and miles in every direction, across the rugged peaks and valleys of Tennessee and North Carolina. We hiked clockwise and reached the summit of Max Patch after only 0.6 miles of hiking. After taking some time to enjoy the views and the cool breeze on a summer day, we descended via the Appalachian Trail and returned to the parking lot .

My parents aren’t avid hikers, but they thoroughly enjoyed this short, scenic expedition. Nothing could have adequately prepared us for the views from the top, and I understand why so many people choose to visit this place. We visited during the day, but I’m sure the views are incredible at sunrise and sunset, which explains Max Patch’s popularity as a camping destination. We visited on a weekday, and I’d advise others to do the same to avoid the crowds.

Aren’t my parents cute? We loved the time outside with each other as much as we loved the views.

Charlie’s Bunion via the Appalachian Trail

I began my hike to Charlie’s Bunion at Newfound Gap, one of the most popular (and crowded) overlooks in the Smokies. To be honest, I felt really discouraged at the trailhead. I knew that this trail was popular, but I thought that hiking it on a Tuesday morning would mitigate the crowds. I was wrong. The views from Newfound Gap are absolutely incredible, so this easily accessible overlook draws flocks of tourists. I thought about leaving and choosing a more obscure trail, but I haven’t done much hiking in Great Smoky Mountains National Park and don’t know about many trails besides the popular ones. The region is just far enough from Nashville to be out of reach for a day trip, and I regret to admit that I’ve never made it a priority to plan an overnight hiking trip in the Smokies.

Despite the crowds, something about hiking the relatively minuscule four-mile section of the Appalachian Trail between Newfound Gap and Charlie’s Bunion captivated me. This segment of the AT runs along the state line between Tennessee and North Carolina, and the views from Charlie’s Bunion are widely considered to be among the very best in the Smokies. The views along the way to Charlie’s Bunion are dominated by ferns, exposed roots, and a canopy of greenery. There aren’t any expansive vistas, but the trail is entirely shaded, which can’t be taken for granted in the sweltering heat of late summer months.

Mossy Rocks and dense forest views dominate the section of the Appalachian Trail to Charlie’s Bunion.

The trail ascends roughly 1,700 feet over four miles on the approach to Charlie’s Bunion, and the route is easily discernible every step of the way. Upon reaching the overlook at Charlie’s Bunion, I felt immensely humbled by the views around me that were almost entirely obscured throughout my hike. Charlie’s Bunion actually lies beyond the overlook and requires an airy scramble. I managed to climb out to the bunion safely, but I’ll admit that my heart was pounding uncontrollably throughout the climb, as I stared into the abyss of drop-offs several hundred feet high on three sides of this narrow, uneven outcropping. I was lucky enough to encounter another hiker who offered to take photos from the safety of the overlook, and none of the other dozen or so hikers I saw during my time at Charlie’s Bunion actually climbed out onto the bunion.

Charlie’s Bunion, as viewed from the edge of the overlook

There’s a smaller upper overlook about fifty or sixty feet above Charlie’s Bunion, and it’s accessible via a short spur trail just past the initial turn-off to the main overlook. There’s also the option to climb up directly from the main overlook. I wouldn’t have realized that this option existed unless I’d seen someone else do it when I first arrived at Charlie’s Bunion. I followed this climber’s route, and the short (although entirely vertical) ascent somehow felt less intimidating than the climb out onto the bunion. The views from the upper overlook are gorgeous, but not any better than the views from the main overlook. The only benefit of the upper overlook is privacy. There’s only enough space to accommodate four or five people due to dense vegetation.

As ominous-looking storm clouds rolled in and darkened the peaks and valleys around me, I left Charlie’s Bunion and backtracked down the Appalachian Trail at a quick pace. I returned to the parking lot at Newfound Gap minutes before the rain started. Roundtrip, I completed this eight-mile hike in a little over four hours, including time for short water breaks and roughly thirty minutes at Charlie’s Bunion. I didn’t see any snakes or bears on this hike (or at all during this trip), but I crossed paths with another hiker who said he’d seen a black bear about twenty or thirty yards from the trail close to Charlie’s Bunion. Bear sightings are very common in Great Smoky Mountains National Park, so it’s important to remain vigilant and practice bear safety while hiking in this region.

A final thought from Max Patch… Sometimes, it’s tempting to break the rules, but this hike wasn’t one of them.

August 5, 2020

Day Hikes Near Nashville: Barfield Crescent Park

Amid the current circumstances with COVID, I’ve been embracing the opportunity to spend more time on trails close to home. Now more than ever, I feel very lucky to live in a place with close access to many beautiful hiking destinations. I think it’s still so important to spend time outside, while taking the recommended precautions, and that sunshine and sweat are inherently good for physical and mental health.

This mentality led me to Barfield Crescent Park in Murfreesboro, TN. From Nashville, the drive to this lovely park takes about 35 or 40 minutes, and the journey is worth it for those who want to avoid the crowds commonly found at Nashville parks like Percy Warner and Radnor Lake. I love those two Nashville parks, by the way, but sometimes the heavy foot traffic deflates the experience. I certainly wasn’t alone on the trail at Barfield Crescent Park, but when hiking the extended loop on a beautiful Sunday in late May, I encountered very few people beyond the first section of trail that leads to the swimming hole at Stones River. Despite its location in the middle of a sprawling suburban landscape, Barfield Crescent Park often feels surprisingly remote, and social distancing wasn’t difficult at all during my hike here. As is the case with many heavily trafficked urban or suburban parks, the paved sections of trail close to the parking lots and trailheads are wide enough to comfortably accommodate two-way foot traffic, even during a pandemic. Beyond that, more rugged trail options provide an escape from the crowds.

Hiking the loop counter clockwise, I stopped briefly at the Stones River swimming hole (located about three quarters of a mile from the trailhead), which is little more than an easily accessible section of creek that’s deep enough for swimming. If you’re expecting to find a swimming hole in Murfreesboro like what you’d find at Cummins Falls or Foster Falls, prepare to be disappointed. There’s no waterfall on this hike. On a hot day, however, the calm and relatively shallow waters provide a safe and refreshing environment for swimmers and sunbathers of all ages. When I visited on a bright and sunny Sunday afternoon in late May, I was surprised to find myself in the company of less than twenty people at the swimming hole.

I opted out of swimming and continued to work my way around the loop. The trail beyond the swimming hole is unpaved and very narrow, providing access to an immersive experience in a woodland oasis secluded from its neighboring subdivisions and outlet malls. The main trail, Marshall Knobs Trail, forms a 2.5 mile loop (including the paved section that leads to the swimming hole), but visitors can stretch this loop into a 4.5 mile hike with the addition of two horseshoe shaped spur trails, Valley View and Rocky Path. Although the trail is uneven and rugged in many places, there’s little elevation gain, making this an easy and pleasant journey for hikers of all ages and fitness levels. I encountered fewer than ten other hikers on the unpaved parts of the trail, which has never happened on any of the dozens of hikes I’ve taken at Percy Warner Park or Radnor Lake in Nashville, not even on winter days with subfreezing temperatures or summer days with triple a digit heat index from sunrise to sunset.

The trail continues to run parallel to Stones River past the swimming hole before turning inland about 1.3 miles into the hike. From here, the trail passes through a unique landscape littered with dozens of mysterious sinkholes. I’m sure everyone reading this has extensive knowledge of Tennessee’s geological history (jokes, I checked my facts on Google before posting this). However, in case you aren’t familiar with sinkholes or why Tennessee has so many of them, here’s a brief overview. Tennessee’s foundation is loaded with limestone, a notoriously soft rock that erodes more quickly than most other types of rock found below the earth’s surface. Water causes erosion, and Tennessee’s humid subtropical climate delivers a high volume of rainfall. Rain drips into the foundation below the soil and erodes the limestone beneath the earth’s surface over time, creating our state’s vast network of underground caverns and rivers. Eventually, erosion can strip away more limestone from the foundation than what’s needed to bear the weight of the ground above it, causing the surface layer to collapse into a hollow space in the earth formerly occupied by rock. This, ladies and gents, is where sinkholes come from.

one of many sinkholes alongside the trail at Barfield Crescent Park

Barfield Crescent Park is loaded with sinkholes, which might be why this land became a park instead of a residential or commercial development. Regardless, I’ve never seen more sinkholes so close together on any hike I’ve ever taken. It’s fair to assume, however, that most sinkholes in the forest go unnoticed unless you’re looking for them, and I’m usually not. Sinkholes aren’t particularly cute, unless they mature and evolve into caves, which is common in Tennessee but obviously not something that happens quickly enough to notice during a single lifetime.

On this hike, the sinkholes are hard to miss because they’re literally everywhere, dotting the densely wooded landscape like little craters with vein-like roots and vines climbing their smooth limestone walls. Because sinkholes are delicate micro ecosystems, avoid climbing down into them. Also, sinkholes are inherently cool, dark, and damp pits, which makes them prime real estate for snakes. In this park, you’ll have ample opportunity to admire sinkholes from them trail without disrupting their fragility or putting your own safety at risk.

Hiking at Barfield Crescent Park feels like an escape, not a stroll through the neighborhood.

You’ll likely have cell service throughout this hike, and I’d recommend using the AllTrails map for the Barfield Wilderness Trail Loop after the trail turns away from the river. You won’t get truly lost in this park, but the network of intersecting trails can be difficult to navigate, and there aren’t many signs. I accidentally ended up on the bike trail at one point, and I encountered another hiker who was hiking in the opposite direction along his intended course after getting turned around when reconnecting with the main trail after following one of the spurs.

As I completed the loop and returned to the parking lot, where a visitor center and its adjoining bathrooms were locked due to COVID (just an FYI, if you plan to visit soon), I felt pleasantly surprised by this trail. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting much, considering the location. I’d originally planned to hike at Old Stone Fort on this particular day, but that parking lot was full when I arrived, and TN State Parks isn’t allowing parking outside of designated spaces right now, as a measure to increase safety by limiting foot traffic on trails. Barfield Crescent Park was my back-up plan, but the accessibility from Nashville and light foot traffic made the experience very worthwhile nonetheless.

scenic views along the trail at Barfield Crescent Park

June 22, 2020

Backpacking in South Cumberland State Park: Collins Gulf & Rim Trails

In the beginning of 2018, I made a New Year’s Resolution to explore at least one new hiking trail every month. Nearly two and a half years later, I’m still committed to this adventure. Every new hike presents an opportunity to do something I’ve never done before, and I’ve experienced so many firsts throughout this journey. I hiked alone for the first time ever on my first new hike of 2018, and that magical winter hike to Virgin Falls in Tennessee has influenced every new hike I’ve taken since. In September of 2018, I visited Colorado for the first time in my life and climbed the highest mountain in the state, my first fourteener. A year later, I made my first successful solo ascent of a fourteener, and then summited an adjacent fourteener on the same day, also by myself. I’ve had my first bear encounter, my first rattlesnake encounter, my first buffalo encounter, and a million other firsts not related to animal encounters. In the early morning hours of my wedding day, before make up and mimosas, I explored a new hiking trail with my maid of honor. Then on my first day of marriage, I hiked another new trail with my new husband. These firsts have significantly influenced my life on and off trails, and in March, I added another incredibly meaningful milestone to this journey: my first overnight backpacking trip.

Located less than a mile into this sixteen-mile hike, Suter Falls provided a stunning backdrop as we began a two-day journey through Collins Gulf.

I’d been waiting for the right opportunity to venture into the world of backpacking for a while. I’d accepted the fact that I should be a relatively experienced hiker before transitioning into overnight backpacking, but also that no amount of experience would really prepare me for the impact that a 25-lb backpack has on a long, remote, and difficult trail. As much as I planned and prepared, this trip taught me countless lessons about the do’s and don’t’s of backpacking that can only be taught by experience. I won’t share them all here. It’s too much, and call me crazy, but I genuinely enjoyed the roller coaster of emotions that I experienced on this hike, and I’d hate to ruin that ride for other wannabe backpackers who might be reading this.

My friend, Megan, and I decided to hike the Collins Gulf loop in South Cumberland State Park. If you’ve been following my adventures, you know that I’m no stranger to this state park. In my humble opinion, it’s the best hiking destination in Tennessee. While most of the trails in this park can be hiked in a day, several require a little more time and ambition. Collins Gulf and Collins Rim trails meet at both ends to form a very strenuous fourteen mile loop (sixteen miles if you include the added distance to and from the Stagecoach Road campground, where Megan and I camped) that traverses the most magnificent scenery I’ve witnessed on any trail in Tennessee. This hike combines all of the features that define my love for exploring the deeply intimate and enchanting wild spaces in my home state. The trail passes secluded but mighty waterfalls, high cliff walls that form canopies over rocky trails, caves so subtle you’ll miss them unless you’re looking from the right angle, creeks that seamlessly flow above and below ground to carve out rugged and captivating boulder formations, and stunning overlooks high above it all where views of a breathtaking sea of velvety green tree tops obscure these wonderful things from the distant eye. I just threw a lot of adjectives at y’all, but I cannot contain my excitement about this Tennessee gem that receives little recognition and even less foot traffic. Regardless, words and photos don’t adequately capture the magic of this trail or the thrill of having my first backpacking experience there.

sunset views on the rim of the gulf after a long first day on the trail (celebratory wine not pictured)

Megan and I didn’t have all of the appropriate supplies for backpacking, but between the two of us, we had enough of what we really needed: large backpacks, a tent, sleeping bags, matches, a water filtration system, headlamps, ramen noodles, wine, and an iPad with previously downloaded episodes of Parks & Recreation. Obviously, we brought other things too, but in hindsight, those are the ones that added the most value to our experience. Our first mistake was not packing and weighing our backpacks until 10 PM the night before we drove from my house in Nashville to the trailhead. Walking from my guest bedroom to the end of my driveway with a loaded backpack is one thing. Carrying that backpack sixteen miles down, through, up, and around an isolated and rugged canyon in the backwoods of Tennessee is a different game all together.

Another mistake, one that I take full credit for, was hiking the trail clockwise, descending into the gulf and hiking back up to the rim before taking the spur trail to our campground, on the first day. I’d made a foolish assumption that this route would ensure a relatively easy hike along the rim of the gulf on our second day. In my experience with trails in this area (in this park nonetheless, at Fiery Gizzard and Big Creek Gulf), it’s easier to hike through the gulf first, and then return along the rim. I’ve since come to learn that this is not true of the Collins Gulf loop. The elevation gain hits different (as people younger and cooler than me would say) when hiking clockwise at Collins Gulf because the ascents are steeper and more frequent than the descents.

Although we certainly (and accidentally) made this strenuous trail even more challenging by hiking clockwise, this gave us the opportunity to witness two of the trail’s most beautiful features within the first three miles of our hike. After less than a mile of following the loop access trail and descending into the gulf, we began hiking under a concave cliff wall that formed a hook-shaped arch above the trail. This part of the trail runs parallel to Collins River, which flows mightily downstream of Suter Falls, an absolutely secluded and stunning waterfall that’s only visible when you’re already in front of it. This is what I love about hiking in Tennessee: the intimacy of experiencing a place that cannot be seen without effort and close proximity.

Suter Falls, located on Rocky Mountain Creek, just before it joins Collins River, the enigmatic river that flows both above and below ground at the bottom of the gulf

Horsepound Falls lies only two miles beyond Suter Falls, accessible via a very worthwhile and short spur off the main trail. Hiking to Horsepound Falls and back from the Collins West trailhead only covers about 4.5 miles. Many day hikers seeking gorgeous views opt for this journey, and I must admit that the magnificent scenery at each of these waterfalls would have provided a glorious finale to mine and Megan’s extended hike, if we’d hiked the loop counterclockwise. Regardless, both of these waterfalls are among the most dazzling I’ve seen in Tennessee, and whether you take the long or the short journey to them, you’re likely to encounter very few (if any) other hikers at either destination. I can’t say that about any other significant waterfalls in the area that I’ve hiked to, and that makes these two even more special.

A short and clearly marked spur off the main trail provides access to Horsepound Falls, a mighty waterfall that flows downstream of Suter Falls

Beyond Horsepound Falls, the trail runs along the bottom of Collins Gulf for a couple of miles. The only other hikers we encountered were boy scouts with leaf blowers, charged with clearing the trails for the annual Savage Gulf Marathon. Yes, this is a thing. I’ve hiked most of the terrain that the marathon covers, and even as a relatively fit young-ish adult with a resting heart rate that hovers around 60 BPM, I do not understand how anyone can run 26.2 miles over this extreme terrain in a single day. I certainly admire these mythical creatures. I haven’t met a single person who’s actually run this marathon, but I have faith that they exist.

Anyways, Megan and I continued onward across multiple creek crossings and countless boulder fields at the bottom of Collins Gulf, feeling the weight of our backpacks more and more with each step. The scenery was breathtaking, even more extravagantly wild and elusive than what I’d previously experienced on other trails int he area. As much as I wanted to focus exclusively on the scenery, my body and mind suffered beneath the weight of my backpack. I expected to feel the burden of the weight mostly in my upper body, but honestly, this hike hurt everywhere. My lower body ached from the added pressure of carrying much more than my own body weight through the elevation changes along the trail. My core had to work harder to balance a top-heavy load when crossing rugged boulder fields or slippery creek beds. Previous hiking experience on other challenging trails, combined with a moderately strenuous indoor fitness routine (I take boxing classes about four or five times per week), did not prepare me for the rigors of Collins Gulf. To put it lightly, I struggled, consistently and sometimes tearfully, on this trail.

The section of Collins River that flows through the gulf usually appears dry, but this is one of several rivers in the area that primarily flows underground.

The greatest challenge of day one arrived about six or seven miles into the nine miles of hiking we’d planned before settling into our campsite for the night. At this point, Collins Gulf Trail splits into two strenuous options for climbing out of the gulf, via the connector trail that ascends toward the North Plateau or the steeper and shorter trail that ascends to the South Plateau via Stagecoach Road. Mine and Megan’s route included an exhausting and slow ascent towards the South Plateau via Stagecoach Road. Despite the intensity of this route, we felt overwhelmed and humbled by the opportunity to experience this historically significant trail segment. In the 1800’s, wealthy landowners commissioned Stagecoach Road in an attempt to build a highway between McMinnville and Chattanooga. Hundreds of slaves labored over this road’s construction, although the project was never completed. This trail segment remains, and to this day, ancient metal and iron cables still lie on the forest floor surrounding the trail, a haunting reminder of the cruel disdain that the road’s benefactors demonstrated toward the land and those who risked their lives in that extreme environment in order to build it.

A small waterfall provides a welcome sight at the top of Stagecoach Road

There’s another waterfall at the summit of Stagecoach Road (Yes, I’m calling it summit. Hike it from the bottom up with a massive backpack after traversing six miles of slippery boulders before you judge me). It’s a refreshing sight after an arduous uphill climb. Beyond the waterfall, a relatively mild one-mile spur trail toward the Stagecoach Road campground was all that remained between us and cozy night by the fire with a Bota Box and April Ludgate’s one-liners. I failed to realize however, that tents don’t assemble themselves, and not all wood is firewood. Even after blissfully separating from our backpacks upon arrival at our campsite, Megan and I still had plenty of work to do before nightfall. Luckily, Megan knew how to build a proper fire, but wood doesn’t dry out after rain as quickly in March as it does in summer months. Without an ax, we had to scavenge the forest surrounding the trail for dry branches and limbs, so we were mostly reliant on smaller pieces of wood that burn quickly. We had to make several expeditions to scavenge for firewood after dark, powered by headlamps (one of man’s greatest inventions, in my humble opinion), but I’m proud to say that we survived to see the sunrise on day two of our backpacking adventure.

Megan and Maggie in our carefully assembled tent at our campsite at Stagecoach Road

This is me volunteering for chef duties because nature is cold after dark and fire isn’t.

We woke up at sunrise after a night of little sleep, freezing temperatures, and the intermittent howl of coyotes. Hikers at a neighboring campground gifted us some firewood before they packed up and headed out, and this provided warmth for our stiff, cold muscles and our gourmet breakfast of ramen noodles. We expected a relatively mild day of hiking eight miles along the rim of the gulf, but this section of trail is far from flat. The elevation gain and loss isn’t significant, but it’s constant. Our bodies already felt thoroughly sore and exhausted after the first day of strenuous hiking with heavy backpacks, and that didn’t help. Other than conversation and commitment, scenery was our only source of comfort, and although the views weren’t as diverse as what we witnessed in the gulf, the trail provided countless reminders of why we’d embarked on this journey, so we pressed on.

Another peril of hiking clockwise involves crossing a seemingly endless uphill sea of unstable boulders that starts about two miles from the finish line. The boulder field looks magnificent. It’s easily one of the most beautiful sections of a trail, packed with with gorgeous moss-capped stones resting between an imposing canyon wall and the rocky banks of the powerful Collins River. If we’d hiked the loop counterclockwise, I’d have had energy to take photos as we descended through this enchanting area. However, by the time Megan and I reached the boulder field, fourteen miles into a brutal and exhausting sixteen mile hike, we were prepared to spend every drop of the dwindling energy we had left on getting up and out of the boulder field. The ascent through the boulder field rivaled the previous day’s ascent of Stagecoach Road. After reconnecting with the access trail, a mile or less from the Collins West trailhead, we completed the final stretch of this glorious hike with astounding speed, motivated by visions of cheeseburgers and indoor plumbing.

Maggie leads the way across a suspension bridge over Collins River, the final section of flat terrain before the arduous boulder field.

The timing’s a coincidence, but Megan and I completed this hike on International Women’s Day, and that makes the journey feel especially satisfying. Several people (male and female) told us, in so many words, “I wish a man were going with you”. As a woman who often hikes alone, I hear this a lot, and I’ve always thought that kind of statement says much more about the messenger than it does about me as the recipient. Megan had never backpacked before either, but neither of us ever felt vulnerable enough to question our decision to hike sixteen miles over two days on a remote and very challenging trail without a male chaperone. We were strong enough to carry everything we needed, resourceful enough to filter drinking water from a stream, competent enough to build a fire, and brave enough to spend a night in the woods without a man there to protect us. We prepared well (enough) and trusted our instincts. We didn’t execute perfectly, but at the end of the day, we accomplished something big, something new and important that neither of us had previously done before. This may have been my first overnight backpacking experience, but I can promise you that it won’t be my last.

views from Collin Rim Trail, a lightly travelled segment of trail above the most magnificent gulf I’ve seen in Tennessee

April 2, 2020

Waterfall Hikes of South Cumberland State Park: Foster Falls and Denny Cove

If you’d have asked me two years ago, I’d have said that this journey wasn’t sustainable, and that I’d eventually run out of new trails reasonably close to home. Two years later, I still feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface. I travel as often as I can, and since I began this journey, almost half of my new hikes have occurred on trails outside of Tennessee. As much as I’ve loved the trails of amazing destinations like Maine, Colorado, Utah, and California… there’s no place like home. I appreciate the breathtaking beauty of expansive mountain views, but there’s something so intimate and comfortable about the hidden waterfalls and majestic limestone bluffs of the Cumberland Plateau. If you’re looking for views that extend far and wide, Tennessee may not be for you, but if you’re looking for pristine beauty that’s buried and unpretentious, come on in. The water’s fine. And so are the caves.

The icicles surrounding Foster Falls may be too small to notice in this photo, but the views of this area in January were a rare and magnificent treat when I hiked here.

Tennessee offers no shortage of incredible waterfall hikes, and nothing influences the kind of experience you’ll have on one of these trails more than timing. I’d love to tell y’all that any time is a good time for a waterfall hike in Tennessee, but I’ve learned from experience that this isn’t necessarily true. The magic of seasonality can make one hike feel like four unique experiences, and I wholeheartedly appreciate that. Hiking to Foster Falls and Denny Cove in January reminded me so much of how my journey began two years ago, with my winter hike to Virgin Falls. If you’ve got the layers for it, I highly recommend a Tennessee waterfall hike in January. We don’t get much snow in winter in this part of the country, but temperatures fall (and stay) below freezing often enough to create magnificent icicle formations on our waterfalls. With all of this in mind, a sunny January day with sub-freezing temperatures may not be an ideal day for hiking for most people, but fortune favors the bold… or the cold, in this case.

As an added bonus, Tennessee’s popular trails don’t receive much foot traffic in January. Most of the visitors to South Cumberland State Park drive in from other parts of Tennessee, and winters in the volunteer state just aren’t consistent enough for our Southern blood to properly acclimatize. It’s a mystery to me though, because winter can still be beautiful without the presence of snow-capped peaks and frozen lakes. Snow flurries against a waterfall backdrop and high cliffs draped with thousands of sparkling icicles decorate the Cumberland Plateau in winter, and the trails (usually) remain clear of ice and other winter obstacles. It’s rare to experience conditions that offer the best of both worlds, but when the opportunity presents itself, why not take advantage of it?

Thousands of gorgeous icicles drip from the jagged cliffs along the trail to Denny Cove Waterfall in South Cumberland State Park.

It was 20 degrees with a forecast of clouds and sporadic snow snow flurries when I started my morning at the Foster Falls trailhead, named for the landmark feature at the eastern terminus of Fiery Gizzard. I hiked a western portion of Fiery Gizzard, one of Tennessee’s most alluring and popular trails, in October of 2018, and a through hiker I met on the trail told me about the idyllic brilliance of Foster Falls. I’ve wanted to visit ever since, and I’m so grateful that I had the opportunity to witness this beautiful place for the first time without anyone else around. I’ve heard that visitors flock to this waterfall in the summer months, because of the gorgeous and spacious swimming hole at the bottom of the falls. The hike to Foster Falls is relatively short and easy as well. I hiked a loop trail that runs two total miles, starting with a steep descent from the top of the falls to the swimming hole and spacious creekside areas at the bottom. From the base of the falls, the trail follows a moderate incline along the base of one of Tennessee’s most popular rock climbing walls, which was dripping with icicles and thus understandably vacant in January.

After ascending to the rim of the canyon that Foster Falls flows into, the trail continues along the edge and provides an outstanding glimpse of the waterfall from above before returning to the trailhead. Overall, the this loop offers many gorgeous views for a relatively easy hike. There’s also the option to continue hiking along the rim of the canyon on the Fiery Gizzard Trail, which extends for 12 miles in one direction before meeting its western terminus at the Grundy trailhead.

Foster Falls as viewed from an overlook on the Fiery Gizzard Trail

I’d be lying if I said it’s worth the effort to drive two hours one way for a two mile hike in January, although I thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful scenery at Foster Falls. South Cumberland State Park’s newest addition, however, is accessible from a trailhead only ten minutes down the road from Foster Falls. Denny Cove offers about four total miles of trails. It doesn’t sound like much, but this trail packs in a lot of value over a relatively short and moderate distance. A vast and beautiful cliff runs parallel to the trail on the north side, and this area is accessible to rock climbers during warmer months. In winter, however, the tree cover between the trail and the cliffs is sparse enough to provide extensive views of this gorgeous landscape. Overall, the terrain is mild but not entirely easy, and the trail ends at a glorious waterfall that isn’t visible until you’re right beside it. As the trail ascends, it inches closer to the creek that runs through the cove. As the trail approaches the waterfall, the incline increases before leading to a small open space with unobstructed views of Denny Cove Falls.

views of Denny Cove Falls on the steep section of trail that runs upward toward the base of the falls

On the return trip from Denny Cove Waterfall, I hiked the spur trail to and from a secluded overlook off the main trail. This route extends the 3-mile roundtrip hike to the falls by a mile, but the views are worth the short detour. It’s worth noting that, for the first time since I started this journey two years ago, I was entirely and blissfully alone on this previously unexplored trail. I saw a few people on the Foster Falls loop, but I didn’t see anyone on my hike through Denny Cove. This surprised me, even though the trail is relatively new and the weather was brutally cold (for Tennessee, anyways). Most people avoid hiking on days like this, but I eagerly anticipate them and hope they land on weekends when I can actually get outside to enjoy the solitude of a sub-freezing hike.

This overlook along the trail to Denny Cove Falls offers stunning views of the valley below.

It takes more than just cold weather to make a hike like this possible. Cliffs and waterfalls need rain and the resulting runoff to sprout icicles, and then the sun needs to shine for a day or two to reduce ice and slushy mud enough to make the trails navigable. The sunny days need to be bright enough to warm the ground, but the temperatures need to be low enough to keep the ice on the cliff walls from melting. Rock surfaces warm more slowly than dirt, so it takes nothing short of an act of God to create the perfect conditions for a waterfall hike adorned with icicles. It doesn’t happen often around here, but when it does, the rare opportunity to see a sight like this in Tennessee is certainly worth the extra layers.

Here’s a low quality image (iPhones don’t work well during prolonged exposure to 20 degree temperatures) of a high quality moment alone at the base of Denny Cove Waterfall.

February 26, 2020April 2, 2020

Waterfalls of South Cumberland State Park: Greeter Falls

Just when I thought I’d already seen the very best of the many magnificent waterfalls along the Cumberland Plateau, I hiked the Greeter Falls loop. Slowly but surely, I’m making progress toward my goal of hiking every inch of trail in South Cumberland State Park. I’ve hiked about 30 unique miles here so far, but I’ve got at least 60 more to go. This is my local hiking passion project. Not many people outside of Tennessee and its neighboring states have heard of South Cumberland State Park. It’s often unfairly overshadowed by the state’s other incredible hiking destinations, like Big South Fork and Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Both of those places are exquisite in their own ways, but there’s a much more secluded and intimate gem located less than two hours outside of Nashville. South Cumberland State Park is home to several of the state’s best hikes that you’ve never heard of (also Fiery Gizzard, which deserves its status as a household name, but it’s much more heavily trafficked than several equally gorgeous trails in the area). In addition to Fiery Gizzard, I’d hiked Big Creek Gulf and Buggytop Cave before I hiked Greeter Falls in December 2019, my last new hike of the decade.

Greeter Falls (lower) on Christmas Eve, with a rainbow reflection to the right of the falls

Completing my 2019 New Year’s Resolution with a waterfall hike at South Cumberland State Park felt like an appropriate move, so on Christmas Eve, I woke up with Christmas morning energy levels and hit the trail. I hiked a mild two-mile loop that included a spur trail to Blue Hole, a beautiful swimming hole along Firescald Creek. I definitely wasn’t jumping into any creeks in late December, but the area was pleasant and worth the short detour. The water was moving pretty quickly, likely due to recent heavy rains. Even if it’d been a hot summer day, I’d have been skeptical about swimming at Blue Hole based on the current I observed, and more importantly, its precarious proximity to the top of Greeter Falls. Water levels are usually lower in the summer months, however, and this sparkling creek certainly would have seemed more inviting under different circumstances. I was lucky enough to be alone at Blue Hole, but I’m sure the scene is much less pristine and quiet on a hot Saturday in August.

Back on the main trail to Greeter Falls, my solitude continued. Throughout my hike, I only encountered one other group, a father and two relatively young children. The trail to Greeter Falls, including the spur to Blue Hole, wouldn’t present much of a challenge for young or inexperienced hikers. It’s one of those hikes where minimal effort offers maximum reward. If you’re looking for a longer hike or more of a challenge, the trail continues beyond Greeter Falls, and after a mile or so, it connects with the Big Creek Gulf and Big Creek Rim trails at the Alum Gap campground. I’ve hiked the rugged eight-mile loop that these two trails form, but from the access point at Stone Door, on the opposite end of the loop from Alum Gap (If you’re interested, you can read about that hike here).

a throwback photo from my hike at Big Creek Gulf in August, 2018

I wasn’t looking for a long and solitary journey into the wild on Christmas Eve, and I couldn’t have been happier with the gorgeous views packed into this short hike. Greeter Falls is actually a set of two concurrent waterfalls, and while both are gorgeous, the lower of the two falls certainly outshines its upper counterpart. A spur off the main trail provides access to both, and there’s a sign that provides clear and foolproof directions. The trail to the upper falls is fairly easy, descending mildly over a rocky path before the trees open up and offer an expansive view of a broad, angular waterfall behind an oddly placed, massive boulder. I can’t imagine how the boulder got there. It’s much too large to have been placed by anything but nature, but it appears so out of context among its surroundings and obscures a huge section of the waterfall. It looks completely unnatural, but there’s no other explanation for its placement. In a way, sights like this one make me appreciate the randomness of nature. Sure, the views would be more photo friendly without this massive boulder in front of the falls, but I’d have plenty of unobstructed views of the lower section of Greeter Falls in my immediate future.

the upper section of Greeter Falls, mostly obscured by a boulder as big as an RV

I started moving back from the upper falls towards the split in the trail that leads down to the lower falls. Almost immediately after the split, the trail steadily descends along the bottom of a high rock wall over loose rubble before abruptly ending at an iron staircase. The staircase spirals tightly down the side of a nearly vertical rock wall and then connects with two more iron stair cases that lead down to the edge of the brilliant blue waters below Greeter Falls. The lower section is much taller than its upper counterpart and flows with much more force, creating an impressively beautiful scene when viewed from below. It appears as if the mighty waters carved out part of the cliffs over time, creating a bowl beneath, as indicated by the pattern of horizontal impressions running along the curved cliff walls surrounding the falls. The water was high and cold when I visited, so I couldn’t get closer to the falls than the outcropping of rocks at the bottom of the staircase. I’d imagine that these waters are safe for swimming on warmer days and would provide a sublime reprieve from the intense heat of Tennessee summers.

After ascending the iron staircase and returning to the main trail, I ventured onward to Boardtree Falls, a small but lovely waterfall accessible via a short, but very steep, spur. I mean no disrespect, but Boardtree Falls doesn’t compare to Greeter Falls. However, it’s an easy and worthwhile detour, and I’m all for maximizing my time on any trail by taking every spur available, as long as time and conditions allow for it. I considered hiking the extra 2 miles roundtrip to Alum Gap, to take in some views overlooking the expansive gulf. I ultimately decided against it and returned to the trailhead, choosing the road home to Christmas Eve with my husband and the dog instead. All things considered, I can’t imagine a better finish to two years of hiking a new trail every month, and I’m so excited to share my tales from the trails in 2020. Things are off to an amazing start, and I know they’ll only get better from here.

Boardtree Falls, a hidden waterfall just beyond Greeter Falls, provided an unexpected bonus on my Christmas Eve hike.

all smiles as I completed my 2019 New Year’s Resolution to hike a new trail every month, and Greeter Falls felt like a cherry on top of a spectacular year in the wild

November 14, 2019November 21, 2019

Buggytop Trail to Lost Cove Cave

I always look forward to September with excited anticipation. The month carries my birthday, and more importantly, it triggers the return of my favorite season: football season (roll tide). The only downside of September in the South: the sweltering heat is like a house guest who wears out their welcome after about three days, but three months later, they’re still around and it’s entirely suffocating. Also, Tennessee’s many spectacular waterfall hikes lose their luster in late summer as the rainfall tapers off and the creek beds dry up. In my humble opinion, September is the least appealing month for hiking in Tennessee, by a landslide. In September of 2018, I climbed the highest mountain Colorado, on my 30th birthday, to fulfill the September chapter of my resolution to hike a new trail at least once a month. Highly recommend. September may the best month for hiking in the Colorado Rockies, because the fall colors start to emerge but it’s too early for snow. In Tennessee, however, choosing a new trail to explore in the September chapter of the second iteration of my New Year’s resolution required some creativity and determination to beat the heat.

Here’s a selfie I took at the massive Buggytop entrance to Lost Cove Cave. The image doesn’t truly capture the size of the entrance, which measures about 100 feet wide and 80 feet high.

So, in September, feeling inspired by my underground hike at Mammoth Cave National Park in August, I decided to explore a cave trail with fewer rules and more risk: Buggytop Trail to Lost Cove Cave. This trail checks a lot of boxes for an ideal late summer hike in Tennessee. Round trip, the out-and-back hike covers roughly four miles of modest terrain. The trail lies entirely beneath the shade of a dense forest and twists along a rocky slope that rises above the gaping mouths of Lost Cove Cave.

Candidly, the trail itself isn’t as majestic as its neighbors in the brilliantly remote and enigmatic South Cumberland State Park. Buggytop Trail is certainly pleasant, with serene forest views and huge mossy boulders scattered generously across the surrounding landscape. However, the unique appeal of this particular trail, and the feature that makes it stand out among other trails in the area, is Lost Cove Cave. At roughly two miles, the trail splits at an overlook above the small canyon carved over thousands of years by Crow Creek, which flows steadily downward from the mouth of the Buggytop entrance . The fork to the left traverses the cliff’s edge before receding into the forest and towards the Peter Cave entrance to Lost Cove Cave. The path to the right of this overlook leads sharply downward toward the much more popular and visually magnificent Buggytop entrance.

Apparently, this stunning entrance to Lost Cove Cave received its name because the inward curve of the 150-foot cliff wall above resembles the shape of an actual “buggy top”.

One hundred feet across and eighty feet high, the Buggytop entrance to Lost Cove Cave is widely considered to be the most impressive cave entrance in Tennessee. Based on my own experience, which is limited but not entirely superficial (yes, “superficial” is my best attempt at an above-ground hiking pun), this cave entrance rightfully earned its reputation. The cave’s massive threshold, in the middle of an excessively average forest but almost large enough to encompass a football field, is entirely worth the relatively low investment of time and effort. Even on a scorching day in early September, the air surrounding the rugged exterior of the Buggytop cave entrance felt cool and refreshing, and the swift waters of Crow Creek instantly chilled my fingers to the bone. There’s a flat rock shelf extending from cave’s interior at the end of the trail, which provides an ideal setting to stop for lunch or a short reprieve to throw on an extra layer or two before entering the cave.

I encountered a group here as they were pulling on jumpsuits and headlamps and preparing to embark on the ultimate journey through Lost Cove Cave: climbing and crawling from the Buggytop entrance through the cave’s interior depths of darkness and emerging at the Peter Cave entrance. I’d read that this was possible and not entirely dangerous, aside from difficult route finding and the subsequent risk of getting hopelessly lost in the dark. I hadn’t read any reports of bears in the cave, so therefore, not a guaranteed death trap. However, I was hiking alone and had never explored the depths of a cave (I define “depths” as parts further back than where light from the outside reaches) by myself. I carefully considered these factors as I chatted with the group I’d just met at the Buggytop entrance, who quickly offered to let me join their journey through the cave. They’d never explored Lost Cove Cave either, but claimed to have deep cave experience from other adventures.

The sheer size of the Buggytop entrance allows light to flood the expansive open space that lies beyond the threshold. This part of the cave can easily be explored without a supplemental light source, but the passages extending from this room become much more narrow, dark, and treacherous.

Naturally, I accepted this exciting offer to follow a group of strangers into a deep, dark cave in the remote backwoods of Tennessee, with no witnesses or cell phone service around (Sorry, mom). The opportunity to explore further into the cave than I comfortably could have on my own, as a part of a group that appeared to know what they were doing, obscured any sense of stranger danger in that moment. Besides, these people just seemed normal. I’m not excusing my complete disregard for safety and wouldn’t advise anyone to do the same in my position. The increasing weight of second thoughts, along with the very quick realization that my inexperience was forcing this group to move more slowly than they could have without me, prompted me to abort the mission soon after we’d embarked. Guided only by my head lamp, I parted ways with the friendly group of strangers and carefully retraced our route back to the Buggytop entrance of Lost Cove Cave.

As I learned at Mammoth Cave in August, flash photography has an immensely negative impact on the dark ecosystems that exist deep within caves. However, if you’re within sight of natural light and want to capture a cave photo on your phone, work with angles until you find one that reflects light from your headlamp and natural light on an interior wall.

Part of me regrets this cowardly act of delayed responsibility, but another part of me acknowledges that I’ll have plenty of other opportunities to hike and climb through this cave under more appropriate circumstances. After the steep ascent back to the overlook on top of the cave, I hiked the quarter-mile trail over to an obscure third entrance to Lost Cove Cave, but I opted out of completing the very short remaining distance to the Peter Cave entrance. I still had plenty of energy and courage, and I genuinely wanted to see the group of strangers I’d met emerge successfully on the other side. I wanted to ask them about it and learn from their experience so that I’d be better equipped to accomplish this on my own in the future.

The view from the overlook on top of the Buggytop entrance to Lost Cove Cave is much more colorful than the landscape inside the cave directly below.

However, something didn’t feel right about completing the journey between the two entrances above ground when I’d failed to do so underground, even though I had plenty of good reasons for turning back inside the cave. I have no doubt that the group I met made it all the way through to the Peter Cave entrance, and I’m sure they’re all law abiding Sunday School teachers who run marathons to raise money for charity or cancer research when they’re not exploring caves. Their fortitude to attempt to conquer the mile-long route through the dark and complex cave passages, although none in their group had ever done it before, inspired me to do more research on the best approach for this. There’s surprisingly little information available, but in general, it doesn’t seem to be excessively technical or claustrophobic.

I’ve thoroughly enjoyed exploring these two cave trails over the past couple of months, and both provide exciting alternatives to escape the oppressive mid-summer temperatures above ground in Tennessee. However, I have a lot to learn about safe and secure navigation through caves before I’ll feel comfortable doing this on my own. It’s definitely an intriguing opportunity, but I think I’ll always prefer the diverse and colorful vistas above ground.

One more photo from inside the magnificent cave entrance, just before beginning my journey with the group I met and leaving the light from outside behind us

August 7, 2019

Big South Fork: Honey Creek Loop Trail

We’re halfway through another trip around the sun, and I’m halfway through the second year of my resolution to explore at least one new hiking trail every month. Through the first half of 2019, I explored eight new trails across four states, and nine adventure loving friends joined me on one or more of these hikes. I’ve experienced some overwhelmingly beautiful and diverse wild places over the past six months, from the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in California to the wildflower-spotted forests of Alabama. However, the memories that stand out to me the most aren’t about the scenery, but about exploring those magnificent wild places for the first time with so many wonderful people. Hiking alone challenges me, especially on strenuous trails (like Fiery Gizzard, one of my favorites that can be hiked as a day trip from my home in Nashville), but hiking with friends presents a totally different and equally meaningful kind of gratification.

Carley, Lexi, Anne, me, and Megan, hiking through the cavernous woodlands of Honey Creek Loop at Big South Fork in Tennessee

Over the last weekend in June, I rented a cabin with friends at Big South Fork National Recreation Area and hiked Honey Creek Loop, an enigmatic trail that felt more remote and unpredictable than anything I’ve encountered yet in my home state, maybe anywhere. I think this deserves some back story. I travel out west as often as I can because a panoramic view from the upper slopes of a big mountain takes my breath away every time I look up from the trail. It’s a powerful thing to feel so small and humble yet so triumphant and infinite in the same moment. My first immersive experience in a mountainous wilderness was on a trip to Alaska with Andy just two years ago. After my first summit hike, to the top of Mount Healy in Denali National Park, I knew with unflinching certainty that I’d always love big mountains and the man who introduced them to me.

Andy and me, near the summit of Mount Healy in Denali National Park in Alaska

I say all of this to illustrate the unlikely balance between the trails I travel to and the trails that I call home. My passion for one is idealistic and ambitious, and my passion for the other feels familiar and comfortable. It’s a union between branches and roots, and a tree needs both in order to thrive. As much as I love the expansive beauty of mountains, the allure of the deep woods and canyons surrounding the Cumberland Plateau in Tennessee feels so immensely personal. Hiking these trails in summer months guarantees dense woodlands with limited lines of sight, hidden waterfalls and caves, the incessant sounds of nearby wildlife – seen and unseen, and an invigorating sense that you’re enveloped on all sides by your immediate surroundings.

My experience on Honey Creek Loop represents the pinnacle of everything I love about hiking in Tennessee: the mystery and anticipation of what lies beyond my immediate surroundings while immersed below the thick canopy of the forest, and the refreshing inhalation of open air that accompanies a seat on the edge of an exposed cliff that really wasn’t visible until it was only a few feet in front of you. Honey Creek Loop includes a whole lot of the former and very little of the latter. Then again, it’s likely that we overlooked many of this trail’s hidden gems because the path itself was so difficult to follow. My friends and I accidentally wandered off the trail more times than I can recall. Although we were never really lost, I got the sense that we missed things, and that this alluringly complex trail needs to be hiked a few times before it can really be appreciated, and certainly before it can be properly navigated.

Much of the trail ran in a narrow line alongside the bottom of large, cavernous cliff formations, shrouded beneath a dense woodland canopy

All five of us who hiked Honey Creek Loop together lost phone service long before we arrived at the trailhead, and we didn’t regain it once while on the trail. After studying the topographic trail map and reviews from other hikers on AllTrails, we decided to hike the loop counter-clockwise. The map of the route in the AllTrails listing is accurate, but the length is incorrectly listed at four miles, when the full loop (including the spur to the overlook – which is totally worth a short detour), is realistically almost six miles. As advised by signs at the trailhead, hikers should plan for one hour per mile on this strenuous trail. This strategy allows extra time to scout and navigate (and backtrack after a wrong turn) when the correct path forward isn’t apparent, which happens often. It also accounts for the trail’s many boulder scrambles and slow traverses across uneven, unpredictable terrain. Overall, the trail’s elevation gain and length may seem modest, but trust me, neither of those are accurate indicators of what hikers will actually encounter here.

We turned off the main trail (on purpose this time) and climbed a series of long ladders to reach the overlook, and the views were definitely worth the effort.

Over the first mile or so, the trail steadily descends into a canyon, with the surrounding vegetation encroaching more and more on our group as we approached Honey Creek at the bottom. To make a mediocre attempt at a poetic nature metaphor (or simile, I forget the rules), the descent into the increasing density of the surrounding woodlands feels like slowly wrapping yourself up in a blanket. Although it’s a magnificent blanket, at a certain point its closeness becomes constrictive, so you keep moving in hopes that you’ll regain a comfortable balance between immersion and flexibility. And we hadn’t even reached the caves yet.

I vividly remember the caves surrounding this trail and the high cliffs rising above them. Their daunting beauty was impossible to miss, and our imaginations ran wild trying to envision the mysteries that their shadows obscured. As I mentioned earlier, hiking through the canyons along the Cumberland Plateau is not a quiet endeavor, at least not in the warm months (in Tennessee, that’s about nine of them). The sounds of water, wind, and wildlife moving through these spaces is ever present, and there’s not always a visual explanation to accompany the varied sounds along the trail. The ambiguous relationship between sound and sight on trails like this one can’t be taken for granted, and it always keeps you guessing. After the initial descent into the canyon, trail conditions intensified. Suddenly, we were no longer hiking alongside dark and obscure caverns, but through them.

If there’s a graceful way to travel through a cave, I haven’t learned that trick yet. Also, if you look on the right side of this photo, you’ll notice a trail marker on the tree outside of the cave, a rare sight in these woods.

None of the caves or rock formations that we hiked through or scrambled over were individually extensive, but they were frequent enough to stand out as a defining feature on the trail. A simple wrong turn within the cavernous void often led us to believe that as long as we emerged back into the light, we were headed in the right direction. However, these short-lived perceptions frequently ended with resounding confirmation of our inadequate navigation skills. The most straightforward path wasn’t always the trail. Even when we weren’t passing through rocky dens or boulder fields, the overgrown forest often obscured the trail or created an illusion that led us astray. Needless to say, we relied heavily on the GPS function within the map on AllTrails, but when you’re buried so deep in the wilderness, location accuracy is only an approximation. We usually didn’t realize we’d ventured off the trail until we moved far enough in the wrong direction to create a distinguishable distance between us and the trail on the digital map.

Lexi and Megan search for the trail as Maggie observes. As we learned after trial and error, the trail does not move upward past Megan on the right side of this photo. It actually runs through the narrow opening between the boulders on the left.

In a way, the constant need to focus on navigation created some blind spots. In places where we felt uncertain of the right path forward, we weren’t paying as much attention to the pristine beauty surrounding us. While passing along a narrow section of trail through a particularly rugged boulder field, maybe a mile and a half into the hike, I was walking ahead of our group and so focused on my footing that I didn’t notice a massive snake until I was only a few feet away from it. At least five feet long and sprawled across a rock immediately on my left, the snake was already staring at me as I became of aware of its presence. Despite instantly realizing that this was a common king snake, nonvenomous and nonviolent, I froze, shocked by the sight of something so glaringly present that I’d somehow overlooked.

I took this photo only a few feet ahead of where I was standing on the trail when I first noticed the snake, still and quietly watching me become of aware of its presence.

Although we didn’t encounter any other snakes on this hike (none that we saw, anyways), that experience makes me wonder what else we missed. To be clear, this trail definitely doesn’t lack excitement or up close and personal views of the gorgeous Tennessee wilderness. And as has been my experience on similarly remote and challenging trails in my home state (Savage Gulf comes to mind), we saw only a small handful of other hikers, all in groups. The absence of solo hikers didn’t cross my mind at the time, but it’s a rare thing to witness and a testament to the enigmatic nature of the trail. If I’d hiked this one alone, never having been there before, I’d probably still be out there, utterly lost and resigned to my new life as a modern day cave dweller.

The trail passed beside this ominous cave, not through it. The mysterious presence of the ladder, however, piqued our curiosity. Unfortunately, the ladder was incredible unstable, and putting weight on the upper rungs would have caused it to fall apart.

Speaking of cave dwellers, I experienced my first ever bear encounter near the end of Honey Creek Loop. With only a mile or so remaining between us and the sacred air conditioning of our car, we started to feel the increasing the weight of physical exhaustion. This realization, in addition to growing concern over the waning daylight hours as afternoon turned into evening, motivated us to move at a quick pace on this last stretch of our journey. The trail became easier to distinguish (finally) as it ascended away from the jagged canyon floor and the creek. As we passed what may have been the final cave that we saw on the trail, about thirty yards to our right and on the opposite side of a shallow creek, I heard a short, low, rumbling sound. The sound was faint and far enough away to make me question whether or not I’d really heard it, but when I heard it again less than a minute later, I knew. That sound was coming from a bear, and that bear wanted us to know we were hiking through its territory.

We never saw the bear, but we didn’t linger in the area or get any closer to the cave to investigate. We didn’t even acknowledge it until we got back to the car, but we all knew in that moment what the dark depths of that cave obscured. I think none of us wanted to create a sense of panic among the group, and there wasn’t much we could do about it anyways, except to keep moving and hope that the bear would remain in its cave. We discussed it at length later that evening over beer and pizza, relieved that the moment had passed without confrontation, but thrilled to have had the experience.

I’ll scale snake-infested boulder fields for a good photo op.

Those sentiments about the bear encounter apply to our overall experience with Honey Creek Loop as well. Please brace yourself for the following emotional ramblings of another basic white girl who went outside and had a nice time (because the world needs more of that, right?). The significance that I took away from my hike through this magnificent, untamed space was this: In the wild and in life, we’re not meant to see everything. Because of our limited capacity as humans, we’ll inevitably miss many extraordinarily beautiful things, dangerous things, and things that are painfully both. We’ll have faith in the reality of things we cannot see, and we’ll often overlook or take for granted things that lie in plain sight. We’ll stray from our rightful paths and move through dark places, and we’ll rely on friends for guidance when we can’t seem to find a way to move forward. As we approach the end of the trail, maybe we’ll find peace in knowing that we’ve already conquered our greatest challenges, and hopefully we’ll feel fulfilled and grateful for the beauty we’ve been blessed to encounter along the way.

Maggie, the true leader of our party and the fiercest animal in the forest

May 31, 2019

Beaman Park: A Wild and Often Overlooked Hiking Destination in Nashville

I can’t really pin it on one thing, but for a collection of small reasons, last month I came closer to failing to fulfill my monthly new hike than I have since this journey began sixteen months ago. Each of these reasons would have been individually insignificant (until they started to pile up), and I found myself staring down the final weekend in April and hadn’t made any plans for a new hike. To complicate matters, I’d already booked a flight to New Orleans that weekend to visit my parents and attend a concert with my dad for his birthday (We saw Van Morrison at Jazz Fest, and in case you were wondering, Van’s still got it). While New Orleans is an outstanding destination for music and culture, it’s not a great destination for hiking. I took an early flight back to Nashville on the final day of April, praying for no delays, and started looking into the few trails I hadn’t yet hiked within a dozen or so miles of the city.

Henry Hollow Loop at Beaman Park in Nashville, TN

I decided to visit a 5.5 mile loop trail at Beaman Park, a place I’d heard very little about. Despite the park’s relatively close proximity to Nashville (about half an hour’s drive from downtown), the area feels much more remote. Soon after leaving the city limits behind me, I noticed that the landscape changed quickly. The buildings started getting smaller as the spaces between them grew bigger. After only a few minutes, the buildings nearly faded away all together as the road twisted through rolling hills and dense woods toward Beaman Park.

When I arrived at the parking lot near the Creekside trailhead, there was only one other car in sight. Even at 3:30 PM on a muggy Tuesday, this surprised me. I frequently hike at Percy Warner and Radnor Lake, where the trails stay packed, regardless of time of day or week. I suspected that Beaman Park, as a smaller park further away from the city center, would be less crowded than the other two, but this place was eerily, and delightfully, deserted. Eager to explore this park in its most natural, undisturbed state, I made a brief stop at the information sign to plan my route before hitting the trail.

views from the Creekside trailhead at Beaman Park

I hiked a combination of Henry Hollow Loop and Ridgetop Trail. I’m naturally inclined to hike loop trails in clockwise direction, unless there’s a compelling reason why I shouldn’t. With no one around to suggest otherwise, I followed my instincts and veered to the left as I started to make my way around Henry Hollow Loop. The initial stretch of Henry Hollow Loop runs roughly parallel to Henry Creek, a scenic, quiet creek with patches of wildflowers sprouting from its banks during my visit in late spring. After about a mile, the trail splits, with the left fork leading across a bridge over the creek and uphill toward the Nature Center. Working with a limited amount of remaining daylight, I declined this detour and followed the right fork as it twisted upward toward the intersection with Ridgetop Trail.

Henry Creek, slowly flowing alongside Henry Hollow Loop

The trail narrows as it climbs the ridge, but the elevation gain is moderate. The dense forest completely envelops the scenery along the trail and creates a tunnel-like effect, a constant reminder that I was completely alone on this trail. A year ago, this would have made me feel apprehensive and vulnerable, but I’ve since learned to appreciate these rare moments of solitude on hiking trails, especially those so close to Nashville. I only passed one other hiker after turning onto Ridgetop Trail, an out-and-back tangent off of Henry Hollow Loop that contributes about two thirds of the total distance covered by the combined trails. Ridgetop Trail ends abruptly in the middle of the forest, in a clearing with a few primitive benches. The trees are too dense to allow any view across the surrounding area, but the clearing provides a quiet space to rest (and take a selfie, maybe) before turning around to head back to Henry Hollow Loop.

the clearing that abruptly ends Ridgetop Trail

Lightly trafficked trails generally offer a better opportunity to see snakes. I’m always looking out for snakes on my hikes, but I usually don’t see any. As strange as it may sound, I think snakes are fascinating and beautiful, when viewed from a safe distance (that part is critical to an enjoyable snake sighting). I’d seen a photo of a rattlesnake on the information sign at the trailhead, and I was hoping I’d see one on my hike (again, from a safe distance, I can’t stress this enough). I regret to report that I didn’t see any rattlesnakes, but I did see a small, harmless brown snake slithering across the trail and out the way of my approaching footsteps.

the small, non-venomous brown snake that I encountered on the trail

The snake sighting occurred close to the end of my hike, after I’d returned to Henry Hollow Loop from Ridgetop Trail. This part of the loop covers mild terrain, but the trail remains narrow and heavily covered by a thick canopy of trees. The sounds of birds frequently interrupted the quiet. I’m not sure if this park has an abnormally high concentration of birds compared to other parks in the area, or if I was just more aware of the birds because there wasn’t really any other noise in the park. No noise from other hikers or cars, no noise from water rushing over rocks, just the birds and the occasional squirrel rustling through the leaves on the forest floor.

Throughout the 5.5-mile hike, I only saw four other people on the trail. I’m sure it’s busier on weekends, but I rarely have the opportunity to hike on weekdays due to my job. It only worked out for me to hike at Beaman Park on a Tuesday afternoon because I’d taken the day off to travel back to Nashville from New Orleans. I’m so grateful to have experienced this park for the first time on such a quiet day. I think many people would feel underwhelmed by this park, because there aren’t any scenic overlooks or so-called attractions like waterfalls or caves along the trail. However, the first word that pops into my mind when I think back to my hike here is “solitude”. It’s a rare thing to find so close to Nashville, and it stays with you after its gone. I find spiritual peace and comfort in these moments, and think of them often when the daily grind of my indoor obligations, like work and laundry, starts to wear me down.

naturally, pausing for a quick wilderness selfie in the clearing at the end of Ridgetop Trail

Places like Beaman Park are a big part of why I wanted to continue this New Year’s Resolution in 2019. This one wasn’t even on my radar last year, totally obscured by more well known trails and parks. It makes me wonder what I’ll discover if (let’s be real, it’s a matter of when not if) I continue on this adventure in 2020. I’m hopeful about what else is out there and can’t imagine that I’ll run out of unknown places to explore any time soon.