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
After my husband and I planned a destination wedding in Telluride, Colorado in 2019, we decided to defer our honeymoon to 2020. We both had so much going on in 2019, personally and professionally, aside from planning a wedding. The year felt like an emotional rollercoaster with no time to spare for the honeymoon we wanted. 2020 was supposed to be a year of stability and settling into our happily normal lives as newlyweds. In hindsight, it sounds so naive, right? To be fair, the inconvenience of planning and cancelling two honeymoons in 2020 cannot compare to the struggles of brides who’ve had to postpone or significantly alter wedding plans this year. After aborted plans to travel to New Zealand in May, and then the Hawaiian island of Kauai in August, we made a third and final attempt to have a honeymoon in 2020 and decided to travel to Jackson, Wyoming. Neither of us had been before, and while it wasn’t the trip we thought we’d be taking for our honeymoon, we were grateful for the opportunity to go and excited to explore this place that’s touted as one of the most beautiful destinations in America.
Andy and I on the summit of Table Mountain (11,106 ft) in Grand Teton National Park
Located in a valley immediately south of Grand Teton National Park, Jackson provides immediate access to an endless array of hiking adventures against a sprawling and rugged mountain backdrop. The road that leads into the park from Jackson actually continues north into Yellowstone National Park as well. Admission to each park costs $35 per car (assuming up to four passengers per car) and covers unlimited travel into and out of the park for seven consecutive days. However, an annual National Parks pass costs $80 and grants pass holders admission to more than 100 federally managed recreation areas, including all National Parks. The annual pass does not cover camping permits or shuttle fees, but it’s an incredibly sensible purchase for anyone interested in exploring America’s public lands.
Despite reviewing multiple hiking resources (AllTrails, travel blogs, local guides, etc.), narrowing down our options in the Tetons and Yellowstone was so difficult due to the immense quantity and variety of attractive trails. I’d hike any of the four trails that we explored again, but for each of them, there are about a dozen others that appeared to be just as gorgeous and rewarding. As is the case in most National Parks, popular trails receive very heavy foot traffic, so I’d definitely recommend visiting in the off season or on a week day, and getting an early start regardless of when you visit. If you have the opportunity to speak to a local, ask for their recommendations. We received several recommendations for trails we hadn’t uncovered through our own research from our Airbnb host and from a friend’s sister who lives in the area. Utilize your social media network as well. Most people will gladly share their experiences and provide insightful tips, even if they don’t know you. Asking a stranger for advice is only creepy if you act like a creep.
We hiked three trails in Grand Teton National Park and one in Yellowstone. Although Yellowstone is seven times larger than its neighbor to the south, Grand Teton National Park is a more sensible option for day hikes. Yellowstone is vast and spread out, and a two-hour drive separates the park’s southern boundary from Jackson, WY. Even after entering Yellowstone from the southern road, visitors still have to travel for miles and miles before reaching any trails that could reasonably be hiked within a day, considering route lengths and the roundtrip travel time from Jackson. During our trip, all lodges and most campgrounds in both parks were closed or operating at very limited capacity due to COVID-19. With all of this in mind, we didn’t have many viable hiking options at Yellowstone. Based on our very limited time in both places, we both preferred our hikes in Grand Teton National Park over the one in Yellowstone. However, I feel like we barely scratched the surface of areas to explore in both parks and hope to see much more of both in the future.
BONUS: If you visit the Tetons in the summer and want to try an outdoor activity that isn’t hiking, I highly recommend renting a kayak or canoe from the Coulter Bay Marina on Jackson Lake. We only had a couple of hours to spend on the lake before heading to the airport, but in hindsight, we wish we’d dedicated an entire day to exploring this massive and beautiful lake beneath the mountains.
Taggart Lake and Bradley Lake Loop
This mild six-mile loop begins at the Taggart Lake trailhead and offers stunning views of the Tetons for less effort than most of the park’s trails. Because of this, the trail receives very heavy foot traffic, especially the Taggart Lake section. Most visitors only hike the Taggart Lake loop (about four miles) and omit the extension that includes trail to Bradley Lake. With little else to do and plenty of daylight, we hiked the full six miles, although I admit that the best part of the hike was the section along Taggart Lake. The trail to Bradley Lake doesn’t provide access to the lakeshore, only shrouded glimpses of the lake through the trees along a ridge above the lake. Beyond the loop, there’s an option to hike to Garnet Canyon, and this section of the trail may provides better access to Bradley Lake. We stayed on the loop, knowing we’d hike into Garnet Canyon on another trail a couple of days later.
The trail weaves in and out of a dense forest, and magnificent views of the Tetons dominate the skyline along the open sections. There’s only about 750 feet of elevation gain, and most of that occurs on the Bradley Lake section. At Taggart Lake, we enjoyed absolutely majestic vistas of the Tetons rising above this sprawling lake. The trail runs along the edge of the lake for almost half a mile and offers many spots where hikers can step off the trail to explore the shoreline and experience uninterrupted mountain views, steps away from the congestion of other hikers along the trail.
Grand Teton (center) towering over Taggart Lake, amid hazy conditions due to the wildfires west of the Tetons during our visit
This was our first of our three hikes in Grand Teton National Park, and it turned out to be the easiest as well. We almost didn’t hike this trail at all, but I’m so glad that we did. Initially, we’d planned to hike the Cascade Canyon Trail, accessible via the Jenny Lake area in the park. However, we abandoned these plans after seeing swarms of people along the access trail. Jenny Lake is gorgeous, and Cascade Canyon is supposed to be one of the most beautiful hiking trails in the park, but we felt so discouraged by the masses we encountered here (at 9:00 AM on a Thursday, by the way) that we left the Jenny Lake area and didn’t go back during our trip. If you’re considering hiking here, especially during the peak summer season, 9:00 AM isn’t an early enough start time, regardless of the length of your planned hike. However, this created an opportunity to explore the Taggart Lake and Bradley Lake Loop, and this proved to be a less crowded option with much better views than we expected.
Bradley Lake, with Teewinot Mountain (12,166 ft) visible in the background, as viewed from the trail
Delta Lake via the Amphitheater Trail
When we asked the owner of the Airbnb rental where we stayed on our trip to Jackson Hole for hiking recommendations, she told us, without hesitation, that Delta Lake via the Amphitheater Trail was her favorite hike in the Tetons. With an endorsement like that, we knew we had to check it out for ourselves. This out-and-back hike covers eight miles roundtrip and about 2,300 feet of elevation gain. The Lupine Meadows Trailhead provides access to several popular hiking trails, so unless you arrive early (before 8:00 AM), plan on adding some additional distance to your eight-mile hike because you’ll have to park along the dirt road that leads to the small unpaved parking lot. Of all the trails we hiked, this one was the busiest. We started early enough to avoid heavy foot traffic on the way up to Delta Lake, but there was rarely a moment on the way down when other hikers weren’t within view.
views from the Lupine Meadows Trailhead at Grand Teton National Park
The trail climbs steadily over the first three miles, mercifully distributing the elevation gain relatively evenly over a series of switchbacks. The trail is wide and easy to follow, and the views become more and more expansive along the ascent. After about 3.2 miles of moderate hiking, a cairn marks the spot where hikers headed to Delta Lake exit the maintained trail and begin a primitive route up through Glacier Gulch and over a series of boulder fields. Although this final mile up to Delta Lake isn’t maintained by the park, there’s a clear route and a few cairns that make it easier to navigate through the boulders. This route is difficult and very steep, ascending nearly 900 feet in less than a mile. There’s very little shade, so if you hike this trail in August like we did, I highly recommend sunscreen.
Delta Lake isn’t visible until you climb the final stretch of trail and emerge through a few trees and right onto the lake’s rocky shoreline. This brilliant turquoise lake lies immediately below Grand Teton, and it’s one of the most breathtakingly beautiful places I’ve seen on any hike. Photos don’t accurately capture the magnitude of the scenery around this alpine lake. Nestled in a drainage basin at 9,000 feet, Delta Lake’s still transparent waters reflect images of the surrounding massive granite monoliths. The rocky shoreline offers plenty of space for hikers to spread out and enjoy the scenery around them. A few brave souls swam in the lake, but even in the summer heat, that water felt way too cold for comfort for this hiker from the Deep South. Regardless, we felt perfectly content to sit on a rock at the lake’s edge and enjoy a leisurely lunch before returning to the trailhead.
Grand Teton’s famous shark fin profile rises above the turquoise waters of Delta Lake
Table Mountain
During the weeks leading up to our trip to Jackson Hole, we seriously considered a summit hike to the top of Middle Teton, the least technical of the thee mountains that the range is named for. Although there’s no technical climbing involved, Middle Teton is a massive undertaking, with 13 miles of hiking and more than 6,000 feet of elevation gain, plus class 3 and 4 scrambling near the summit. After arriving in Jackson and seeing this beast in person, we reluctantly decided pick another mountain. I rarely let intimidation prevent me from any hike, and I’m sure we’d have been fine and successful if we’d tried to climb Middle Teton. However, we just didn’t feel compelled to climb a mountain like this one on our honeymoon. Instead, we followed the recommendation of a local and opted for Table Mountain, which is no small feat at 11,106 feet, but a milder alternative to Middle Teton.
Teton peaks (from left) as viewed form the summit of Table Mountain: Mount Owen (12,928 ft), Grand Teton (13,776 ft), Middle Teton (12,806 ft), South Teton (12,514 ft)
The hike to the summit of Table Mountain begins outside of Grand Teton National Park, and the peak lies on the park’s western boundary. Perhaps because the trail isn’t in the national park, or perhaps due to its difficulty, this trail doesn’t receive nearly as much foot traffic as the others we hiked. We ascended via the four-mile Face Trail and descended on the seven-mile Huckleberry Trail. The two trailheads are only a five-minute walk away from each other, and most people who climb this mountain do so by following the same loop that we took. With 4,000 feet of elevation gain over four miles, the Face Trail definitely presents a challenge. Factor in the altitude and the smoky conditions we hiked in, as haze from the wildfires many miles west of us permeated the air in the Tetons, and this trail felt entirely brutal. It felt only slightly less difficult than the fourteener hikes I’ve done in Colorado. For all of its adversity, the scenery is undeniably gorgeous. The hazy air obscured views of distant mountains, but we could see those that were within a few miles of us, and after we passed the tree line, less than a mile from the summit, we were surrounded on all sides by incredible mountain vistas.
the final push, about 300 vertical feet below the summit of Table Mountain
The final push to the summit includes a short class 1 or 2 scramble with some exposure, but the route is straightforward and obvious. As the name suggests, the summit of Table Mountain is flat and spacious, and it provides a truly epic panoramic view of the three Teton peaks: Grand, Middle, and South. The views were insanely gorgeous, but I can’t even imagine how much better they’d be on a clear day. We could have stayed up there all day and never tired of the views, but the wind was howling and thoughts of cheeseburgers and beer started to creep in, so we began the seven-mile return trek along the Huckleberry Trail. We didn’t expect the views to be even prettier along this trail than they were on the way up via the Face Trail, but we were shocked by the endless sea of colorful wildflowers surrounded by mountain vistas that we encountered throughout the descent. Unlike the Face Trail, the Huckleberry Trail offered views of Table Mountain from afar, and it felt really satisfying to look back at the peak we’d just climbed.
The views on the descent from the summit of Table Mountain, along the Huckleberry Trail, were magnificent. The peak shaped like a shark’s fin in this photo is Grand Teton, and the flat summit to the left of it in the foreground is Table Mountain. The terrain on Table Mountain looks deceptively easy from this vantage point.
About three miles from our end point, the vegetation thickened around the trail, and we started hiking through frequent patches of tall grass and shrubbery, often several feet high on either side of the trail. Many of the bushes were covered in bright berries, and we clearly weren’t the only ones in the area who noticed them. There was fresh and ample evidence of recent bear activity along this part of the trail, lying in little piles that we had to step over as we hiked. We saw dozens of bear sized interruptions in the shrubbery, the beginnings of paths clearly formed when these locals wandered off the trail in search of more fruit-filled bushes or water from the nearby creek. We hiked through these conditions for two and a half miles, feeling somewhat anxious considering how limited our visibility was because of the dense vegetation around us. The closer we became to the trailhead, the more surprised I felt that we hadn’t seen a bear. I’d accepted the fact that they were playing mind games with us, dropping bombs in our path and then retreating into the brush to mock us as we carefully moved past them without knowing they were watching.
And then, as if it’d been waiting on us the whole time, a Black Bear wandered out onto the trail about thirty or so feet in front of us, when we were only half a mile from the end of our eleven-mile hike. I spoke, to alert my husband who was hiking behind me, and the bear looked up and slowly started moving toward us. The bear wasn’t displaying any signs of aggression, but likely just investigating the noise it’d heard when we approached along the trail. Bears are curious creatures with poor vision, so it’s best to speak loudly when a bear notices you, so that it acknowledges you and differentiates your human voice from the natural sounds its prey may make. The bear was too close for me to feel comfortable whipping out my phone for a photo, or do anything besides recall the tenets bear safety protocol. We did what we were supposed to do, without using our bear spray, and the bear retreated into the woods on its own after only a minute or two. We safely made it back to our car, relieved and grateful for an exciting finale to one of the most incredible hikes I’ve ever taken.
abundant wildflower views along the Huckleberry Trail, and Table Mountain (center)
Fairy Falls and Grand Prismatic Hot Spring Overlook
As I’ve mentioned earlier, Yellowstone National Park isn’t very close to Jackson Hole. However, the drive up through the Tetons and into the park isn’t exactly boring. The views are immaculate, so the time flies by quickly. Be prepared for traffic jams caused by wild moose or bears on the side of the road, which will add time to your commute even if the animals have disappeared by the time that you emerge from the congestion. There’s no way to know for sure, but we think we experienced this kind of traffic about five times on our six-hour roundtrip journey to and from the Fairy Falls trailhead, even though we only saw one moose along the side of the road.
Yours won’t be the only car in the parking lot at the Fairy Falls trailhead, as this trailhead also provides access to the Grand Prismatic Spring overlook, one of the most popular spots in the park. The main road offers immediate access to this massive hot spring’s steamy edges, but even from afar, we could see throngs of visitors along the boundaries of this intensely colorful hot spring. Our overlook wasn’t lonely but definitely wasn’t as crowded as the boardwalk that leads to hot spring. I haven’t been to the edge of Grand Prismatic Spring, but I’m telling you now, the views from above are better than the ones you’d find along the boardwalk. On our way back to the car, a woman in the parking lot asked me about the overlook, and after I showed her a photo I’d taken, she admitted that she should have skipped the boardwalk trail to Grand Prismatic Spring and only hiked the overlook trail.
Grand Prismatic Hot Spring, as viewed from the overlook on the trail to Fairy Falls
Beyond the overlook, the trail continues along a dirt road before veering off into an evergreen forest along the approach to Fairy Falls. The hike to and from Fairy Falls includes five total miles and less than three hundred feet of elevation gain, making this the easiest of all our hikes on this vacation. We passed through places where the forest had burned and started to regrow, revealing expansive views of the wide open landscape around us. and the thousands of yellow wildflowers that covered the forest floor. A high granite cliff rose above us in the distance on the left, and the trail meandered increasingly closer to this cliff wall as we hiked towards Fairy Falls.
Fairy Falls, an absolutely gorgeous 200 ft waterfall (I couldn’t capture the whole thing on my iPhone) in Yellowstone National Park
The sound of falling water grew louder and the trees became more sparse as we approached a clearing, nestled below the granite cliff. As we entered the clearing, Fairy Falls suddenly presented itself, cascading down from the top of the cliff, 200 feet above us. The water formed a gorgeous pool at the bottom of the falls and then trickled over rocks and fallen trees as it made its way down into the meadow beyond the clearing. I’ve seen dozens of waterfalls in Tennessee. You can hardly throw a rock in this state without hitting water, but they never cease to amaze me. The constant motion of the water and the ever changing flow make it impossible to really see the same waterfall twice. As gorgeous as Fairy Falls looked in the middle of summer, I’m sure it’s even more impressive in spring when the flow is heavier or in winter when it’s covered in ice and snow. Regardless, the trail to Fairy Falls is absolutely worth the minimal effort that this hike requires and an amazing destination in Yellowstone National Park that’s much more secluded than the attractions along the park’s main loop.
Here’s a rare photo of a wild animal that didn’t require any zoom. We encountered this local immediately beside the trail, about a mile into our hike to Delta Lake via the Lupine Meadows trailhead.
In January of 2020, when I began the third iteration of my New Year’s Resolution to explore a new hiking trail every month, I never thought I’d have to factor a global pandemic into my plans. The truth is that we’ve all experienced interruptions to our lives and routines due to COVID-19, and we’re all struggling to maintain a sense of normalcy despite these (cue the trendiest phrase of 2020) unprecedented times. Over the past few months, it’s been difficult to prioritize personal goals and comforts while our global community battles a health crisis that requires all hands on deck. Time passes like a fly through molasses these days, which has given me ample opportunity to think about balance. I’ve questioned my role in protecting the health and well-being of others and felt the overwhelming absence of previously mundane activities like going to the gym or making small talk in the elevator with other people who work in my office building. We all miss the routines we took for granted when the year began, and as a result, we’re desperate to find ways to enjoy the things we loved, only in a new format that’s more appropriate for the world we’re living in right now.
views of the beautiful Cloudland Canyon from the West Rim Loop trailhead
Nature is my greatest source of comfort and vitality. Hiking a new trail every month means more to me than maintaining a sense of normalcy, and despite the very abnormal current circumstances, I wanted to find a way to keep my routine alive, legally and with minimal risk to myself or others. Towards the end of March, Tennessee and most other states closed their parks indefinitely, and distant travel wasn’t a realistic or responsible alternative. Through extensive research, I learned that Georgia’s state parks remained open in April, at limited capacity and with an increase in park ranger presence to manage social distancing on popular trails. I carefully considered the potential risks of hiking during a pandemic. Ultimately, I concluded that by holding myself accountable and trusting the park rangers, I wouldn’t have to sacrifice my favorite routine just yet.
enjoying the views from above the rim, dreaming of the views below the trees
This led me to Cloudland Canyon State Park, a magnificent place a few miles south of the border between Tennessee and Georgia, close to Chattanooga and about two and a half hours southeast of Nashville. Under normal circumstances, I rule out day hikes (when departing from and returning to Nashville in the same day) that require more time in the car than time on the trail. However, I think we can all agree that 2020 has wholeheartedly failed to provide us with normal circumstances. Also, I had plenty of time to kill and a good friend that I hadn’t seen in a while who volunteered to chase waterfalls and overlooks with me at a park that’s been on my bucket list for a while.
Cameron and I left Nashville early, hoping to beat the crowds to the popular waterfall trail segment off the West Rim Loop Trail at Cloudland Canyon State Park. Prior to visiting, I’d read that rangers were restricting access to the trails to the bottom of Cherokee and Hemlock Falls to ten parties at a time. I called the ranger station a few days before our hike to ask for advice on how early we should arrive and what to expect from a COVID management standpoint (Should we wear masks? Are the bathrooms open?) Admittedly, I call the local ranger station before most of my remote hikes, regardless of whether I’ve been there or not, to check on trail conditions. I know it’s overly cautious and nerdy, but I also hike by myself and/or on unfamiliar and lightly trafficked trails often. Calling the ranger station helps me plan my hikes and manage my expectations. Also, my mom feels more comfortable with my adventures when I can say in advance, “It’s fine, the park ranger said so”.
Cherokee Falls, stunning and well worth the journey into the canyon
We followed the advice of a park ranger named Austin and arrived early, around 9:00 AM. We parked in the shade, threw some hand sanitizer into our backpacks, and headed down the waterfall trail segment before hitting the West Rim Loop. Honestly, the waterfall segment was the most difficult part of our entire seven-mile journey, consisting of an endless sea of switchbacks and stairs that traversed the steep canyon walls surrounding Cherokee and Hemlock falls. We arrived at Cherokee Falls first, a beautiful waterfall that I’d imagine makes a great swimming hole during warmer and more carefree months. As we’d expected, a vigilant park ranger monitored the area, ensuring that each hiking party remained a safe distance from the next. Luckily, the base of Cherokee Falls offers plentiful views from many angles, which allows visitors to easily separate themselves without compromising their waterfall viewing experience.
Hemlock Falls lies less the a quarter of a mile downstream from Cherokee Falls, but the trail between the two is not a direct route. If you’ve hiked down to Cherokee Falls, you should also take the spur to Hemlock Falls. It adds about a mile roundtrip to the journey, but the scenery along the way is beautiful, and the ups and downs are great for the glutes. Hemlock Falls isn’t as visually appealing as its upstream neighbor, and there’s no direct access to the bottom. Regardless, I’d advise making the most of your time in the canyon by visiting both waterfalls. The inner canyon views are thoroughly gorgeous, and you’ll want to remember those images while you’re climbing out, to remind you that the effort was worth the journey.
the most magical place to enjoy the creek views between Cherokee and Hemlock falls
Aside from the waterfall segment, the West Rim Loop is probably the most popular trail in the park, and after hiking there during absolutely perfect weather conditions, I can understand why. The five-mile loop (measured from the access trailhead, not the beginning of the actual loop) traverses moderate terrain and majestic views overlooking the canyon below. This trail at Cloudland Canyon reminds me of my beloved trails in South Cumberland State Parkin Tennessee, because the enchanting views from above obscure layers of equally impressive scenery below, scenery that can only be appreciated by those who put in the effort to pursue it.
West Rim Loop offers easy access to multiple rocky outcroppings overlooking the canyon. Cameron and I had no trouble finding a scenic spot to break for lunch that provided plenty of social distance from the other hikers on the trail. We explored the trail at a leisurely pace, because the views were incredible and we didn’t have any other obligations. We enjoyed the time we had together, catching up on life and embracing the freedom of a day without other plans. When we returned to the trailhead, after hiking the five-mile loop and the two-mile detour to explore the waterfalls, I felt like we’d only been gone for a few minutes instead of a couple of hours. I love that feeling, the one where time stands still because the circumstances of the present outweigh the obligations to be elsewhere.
Views like this one from the West Rim Loop are plentiful along this amazing trail in northern Georgia.
In the midst of an emotionally turbulent weekend, celebrating my cousin’s wedding in Salt Lake City and mourning the sudden loss of my grandmother back in Nashville, I hiked Lake Blanche Trail in Wasatch National Forest. I explored this trail two days after an incredible hiking experience on Antelope Island in the Great Salt Lake with my parents, and my beloved grandmother unexpectedly passed on the day in between these two hikes. The trails pass through vastly different environments, despite their proximity to each other. They lie on opposite sides of Salt Lake City, separated by an hour-long drive, but they may as well exist on two different planets. This profoundly resonated with me, and still does, because in the midst of simultaneous joy and tragedy, I felt very thinly stretched between two extreme states of mind. The severe highs and lows aggravated emotional wounds that hadn’t yet healed after losing my grandfather only three months earlier and a week after mine and Andy’s wedding celebration in Nashville. I can’t really describe the amount of joy that my wedding brought into my life at a time when I so desperately needed it. However, the grief of losing my grandfather at the same time, filled me with so many intense and conflicting emotions, and all of these returned in full force when my grandmother passed away the day before my cousin’s wedding.
Lake Blanche, frozen and magnificent beneath the gorgeous profile of Sundial Peak
My hike to Lake Blanche, on my cousin’s wedding day and in the immediate aftermath of my grandmother’s death, felt incredibly selfish. I can’t think of a more accurate way to describe how I felt about it as soon as my boots hit the dirt. I honestly don’t know if I process grief in a healthy way, but I do know that the part of sadness that I struggle with most is the suffocating weight of it. I need room to breathe and time alone to grieve, and this (unsurprisingly) can create an inadvertent distance that raises concern among people around me who rely on the community of loved ones to carry them through difficult times. I certainly appreciate the power of family and togetherness in times of joy and sorrow, but I have little faith in my ability to provide comfort to others when the burden of our collective grief makes all my words and actions feel so insignificant. So much sadness under one roof just makes me feel like we’re all being buried alive by circumstances beyond what we can control. Spending time alone outside helps me find the clarity and strength that I need to heal.
There’s so much about my experience on the trail to Lake Blanche that felt surreal, but I can say with unflinching certainty that I felt the presence of my grandparents on this hike. Maybe that feeling was just the result of wishful thinking during a time of immense vulnerability. They never hiked this trail, but I felt their presence there as strongly as I felt the crisp mountain wilderness around me. This hike was a deeply personal experience for me, and as a result, I’ve been on the fence about sharing it. However, I’ve learned that writing about my hikes, especially the ones I take while I’m experiencing significant life events off the trail, helps me process my thoughts and emotions in a more rational way. Hindsight from a comfortable distance often provides perspective that makes me feel just a little less crazy than I may have in the moment.
I shed my outer layer to pose for a photo taken by the one other hiker I saw at the crest above Lake Blanche. It seemed like a good idea at first, but it was also 20 degrees and very windy, so that lasted exactly as long as the photo op.
Logistically, the trail to Lake Blanche and back covers about 7 miles and almost 3,000 feet of elevation gain. This one burns the glutes, but it’s entirely beautiful. As the trail climbs, the views get bigger and the spaces between patches of sparkling snow and ice get smaller. Hiking here in late November, on the verge of winter, I felt grateful for the opportunity to experience this trail just days before it’d become indistinguishable beneath a thick blanket of snow. Snow and ice presented a challenge in some places, especially on the upper mile or so of trail, but I didn’t use crampons or microspikes and managed to stay upright with some careful foot placement when necessary. The weather forecast on the day after my hike predicted at least a couple of inches of snow, which would have complicated this hike that’s far from easy under the most ideal conditions. The opportunity to hike this trail, on what may very well have been the final day before winter truly encompassed the area, felt like a magnificent and much needed byproduct of divine intervention.
This one’s easily among my favorite photos from any of my hikes from 2019. This is the final segment of trail to the crest above Lake Blanche. The lake isn’t visible yet, but the tree line has faded into the background, and Sundial Peak dominates the skyline.
Start to finish, views of stunning peaks and serene woodlands surround the trail to Lake Blanche on all sides. Everything within sight, in every direction I turned, appeared to be so naturally and majestically flawless. The trail’s strenuous and rocky incline, combined with the altitude, exhausted my body. Mentally and spiritually, however, I’ve hardly ever felt more alive and energetic. AllTrails and many other sources rank the trail to Lake Blanche as one of Utah’s very best, which shouldn’t be taken lightly in a state that’s home to five national parks and some of the country’s most diverse environments. After experiencing this trail for myself, during a time of seasonal (and personal) transition nonetheless, I’m a believer. I can’t appropriately capture the trail’s immense natural beauty with words or photos.
Even the lower section of the trail provided breathtaking and snow speckled views of the Wasatch National Forest during the final days of Fall.
The trail offers plenty of panoramic mountain views on the way up, but Lake Blanche isn’t visible from the trail until its crest at nearly 9,000 feet. The frozen lake, sparkling beneath the mighty profile of Sundial Peak, comes into view all at once in a moment of triumph after a grueling ascent. That’s the moment when I felt the presence of my grandparents more strongly than any other on this hike. I heard their voices and felt the excitement in their cheers as my tired body finally emerged on the rocky terrain above the edge of the lake. They followed my hiking journey more closely than anyone and loved hearing stories from my experiences. They read every blog post and cherished the photos I’d send after every new hike. They traveled all over the world when they were healthy enough to do so, and I believe they saw something of themselves in me as I developed a similar passion for exploring new places. I believe that brought them joy, and I find comfort in knowing that their everlasting spirits can experience these wild and wonderful places with me now.
When it’s hard to find something to smile about, go outside.
The purity of the Wasatch National Forest and the trail to Lake Blanche that runs through it, somehow made me feel simultaneously vulnerable and invincible. I needed to feel vulnerable to open myself up to the healing process, and I needed to hike this very challenging trail by myself to affirm the strength and courage I’d rely on to carry me through the difficult days ahead. Adjusting to life without their physical presence hasn’t been easy, but the legacy they’ve left behind inspires me to continue writing my own adventure. And from this first adventure after grandmother’s death until the day when I take my final hike, I know they’ll be with me every step of the way.
The blazing sun manifests itself in most of my photos from this hike, and even in the sub-freezing temps, the sunlight warmed my body. I like to think my grandparents nudged God about keeping me warm, in that affectionate but really persistent way that only grandparents have.
On September 14, 2018, two monumental life events happened. I reached the summit of Mount Elbert, the highest peak not only in Colorado but the entire Rocky Mountain Range, and… I turned thirty. This day involved what was, without a doubt, the greatest physical challenge of my life so far, and as a result, the most incredible birthday I’ve ever had.
the magnificent westward facing view from the summit of Mt. Elbert at 14,440 feet
Until this recent trip, I’d never been to Colorado. My parents are beach people, so we never took any ski vacations growing up, and mountains didn’t appeal to me until I started hiking. One of the most enticing things about beaches is accessibility, and I’ve always loved that. It’s easy to immerse yourself in the sand, ocean, and salty breeze. It’s all right there within reach, minimum effort required. Nobody goes to the beach just to look at it, right? Mountains, however, fall on the other end of the spectrum. To me, the inaccessibility of most mountains, relative to most beaches, is immensely attractive. It’s easy to enjoy a mountain view from afar, but to physically be on a mountain like Mount Elbert, to climb it and feel the intoxicating thrill of standing on the summit, transforms the experience into something else entirely. Of course, most people who visit mountains have no desire to climb them, but for those like me, the view from below just isn’t enough.
Mt. Elbert (center), as viewed from a country road dozens of miles southeast of the peak
Although getting ready for Mount Elbert certainly required effort, physical and otherwise (leave a comment or send me a message if you’d like to learn more about how I prepared for this), I should make one thing very clear: despite this mountain’s status as the highest peak in the Rockies, it’s by no means the hardest one to climb. In fact, the route that Andy and I followed requires no technical climbing skills or equipment. However, the trail is painfully strenuous and ascends 4500 vertical feet over five miles to the summit. I’d only recommend it to those who are physically fit and have a high tolerance for heights and exposure.
All things considered, the toughest challenge we encountered was altitude: the great equalizer that doesn’t discriminate against skill, experience, or fitness. On a hike like this one, altitude complicates the journey long before the climb begins, because it takes time for the body to adjust to the lower oxygen levels at high elevations. The elevation at the North Mount Elbert trailhead is nearly 10,000 feet, and the average person begins to feel the impact of altitude at 8000 feet. Thus, I learned an excruciating lesson on the mountain: altitude affects everyone, even if it doesn’t make you sick.
taking a break at roughly 13,000 feet to catch my breath and enjoy the views to the east
A funny thing about mountains is that they tend to get steeper as you get closer to the top. It makes sense when you think about it, and trust me, you think about it constantly when you’re climbing one. As the slope increases, the physical challenge intensifies, and the air that was already thin at the trailhead becomes even thinner with every upward step. Although half of the trail lies below the tree line, this part of the journey is far from a leisurely stroll through the woods. The incline, though it varies in degree throughout different sections of the trail to the summit, is always noticeably present.
When we arrived at the North Mount Elbert trailhead at 6:00 AM, the small parking area was nearly full. When embarking on a high altitude hike in the summer months, afternoon lightening storms are very common above the tree line, and these often pop up with little warning. It’s crucial to get an early start so that you’ll have plenty of time to reach the summit and get back down below the tree line by 1:00 or so. When lightening’s in the area, it tends to strike the highest point on a surface. If you’re 14,000 feet up the side of a mountain and there aren’t any trees around, that high point is probably you. With this in mind, we came prepared for the below freezing pre-sunrise temperatures, but after the first mile or two, the sun came up and allowed us to shed our outer layers.
The first half of the trail lies below the tree line and winds upward through a beautiful forest that was ripe with fall colors during our hike.
Fall weather just recently arrived in Nashville, and it’s nearly November, but in Colorado, the leaves start to change much earlier. Below the tree line, we were surrounded by a rainbow of fall colors. As we approached the summit later in the hike, the expansive view of those fiery colors from far above the tree line was breathtakingly pretty. The dense forest that covers the lower half of the trail obscures any view of the mountain’s peak. However, several breaks in the trees on the way up reveal stunning views of Mount Elbert’s lofty neighbor, Mount Massive, whose summit measures only twenty vertical feet less than Mount Elbert’s. As the trail climbs and the trees become more sparse, Mount Elbert’s peak (or what appears to be its peak) emerges again.
The peak that’s visible from the tree line is actually a false summit, obscuring the top of the mountain from view at this angle.
The next agonizing lesson I learned on the mountain: the psychological trauma of a false summit. The physical strain of ascending a mountain pales in comparison to the emotional wrecking ball that hits you when you realize the peak you’ve been vigorously pursuing isn’t the summit after all, and the toughest part of the climb still lies ahead. False summits are a common occurrence on mountains, which are almost never smooth and cylindrical. When viewed from below at close range, a lower subpeak on a mountain may conceal the actual summit, due to its position and proximity to the climber. It’s difficult to explain, but the illusion that you’re closer to the summit than you are in reality elicits an inevitable feeling of defeat, even when you see it coming.
As the gradient increased sharply between the tree line and the first false summit, we pressed on through what was, in my opinion, the most difficult portion of the trail. Our breaks became more frequent, and aside from the shortness of breath that’s almost universally felt at high altitudes, we started experiencing more side effects above the tree line (roughly 11,900 feet). Most noticeably, these included headache and swelling in our fingers and toes due to poor circulation. The terrain was rugged and severe, so we moved forward carefully, testing our footing on the loose rocks to avoid sending a cascade of stones down the slope toward hikers below us.
view from the first false summit, facing north toward the peaks of Mt. Massive (right)
Beyond the first false summit (situated around 13,200 feet), the journey becomes increasingly difficult with every step. There were times when I couldn’t move more than twenty or thirty steps forward without needing to stop for a second to take in a few desperate breaths. Lightheaded from the thin air and physically exhausted from the climb, we continued, encountering a second false summit before we reached the final stretch: a narrow ridge that leads up to the top of the mountain. From here, the true summit lies in plain sight, unmistakable and magnificent.
the ridge leading to Mt. Elbert’s peak, viewed from the second false summit at 14,000 feet
I’m not embarrassed to admit that I cried when we finally reached the top of Mount Elbert. An adventure like this one takes you through every emotion imaginable, and then some. I felt immensely happy and energized at the trailhead, yet hopelessly discouraged and exhausted upon reaching the first false summit and seeing how much of the climb remained in front of us. I felt overwhelmed with panic when I couldn’t breathe, but then strong and resilient when I kept going anyways. When I looked up and saw other hikers far ahead of us, like tiny ants a thousand feet higher on the mountain, I felt consumed with envy and frustration because they were so much closer to the top than I was. On the summit, however, I felt extremely grateful that we were able to complete this journey at all, as we passed plenty of people on the mountain who never made it to the top.
Andy and I standing on top of Mt. Elbert
None of these emotions compare to the euphoric sense of accomplishment that we felt on the summit, but we only stayed for a few minutes. As I’ve repeatedly mentioned, it’s hard to breathe up there, and the top of the mountain is only the half way point. The descent, though challenging in its own way (because, you know, you’re more likely to fall down than up), was blessedly uneventful compared to the climb. On the way up, we were facing the mountain, and focusing all of our available energy on inching closer toward the summit. While making our way down, facing outward toward the gorgeous Colorado wilderness, we had a higher capacity for taking in many views that we were too distracted to notice before. This brings me to the final and most important lesson I learned on Mount Elbert.
This panoramic shot captures views to the south and west from the top of Mt. Elbert
Throughout the last year of my twenties, I spent a lot of time thinking about (and dreading) turning thirty. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I hadn’t accomplished enough over the past ten years, or that I was somehow “behind” where my twenty-year-old self thought I should be at thirty. I focused so much energy on what I hadn’t yet achieved that I lost sight of the many accomplishments I should be proud of. My salary didn’t cross the six-figure threshold in my twenties, but I’m working in a job that I love and earning more than enough to maintain financial stability. I didn’t get married or start a family, but I’m in the happiest, healthiest relationship of my life, and we have plenty of time to create our own version of happily ever after. I’ve finished two college degrees, travelled to places I never imagined I’d see in my twenties, and been overwhelmingly blessed by the love and support of family and friends who stood by me throughout the highest peaks and lowest valleys of my twenties.
Now that I’m a decade older and wiser, I see my blessings more clearly and regret that I didn’t appreciate them enough in my twenties. In my thirties, I’m sure I’ll climb more mountains, physically and metaphorically, and I’ll do so without fear or doubt that my peaks don’t measure up to everyone else’s.
