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
I believe that fear is one of life’s greatest blessings, and this mentality has significantly influenced both my adventures in the wild and my everyday life. I think of fear as an opportunity demonstrate courage, overcome challenges, and succeed at something I may have previously thought impossible. Fear presents a choice: retreat or move forward.
Grays Peak (left) and Torreys Peak (right) are Colorado’s 9th and 11th highest peaks at 14,270 ft and 14,267 ft, respectively.
Until about two and a half years ago, I didn’t think I could climb a mountain, any mountain. I was afraid of heights and exposure, but with help from some friends, I made it to the top of Old Rag Mountain (3,284 ft) in Shenandoah National Park in July of 2017. To this day, that remains one of my favorite hikes ever, and the experience played a critical role in inspiring the first iteration of my New Year’s Resolution to explore a new trail every month in 2018. Throughout the first few months of 2018, I didn’t think my hiking adventure would ever lead me to the summit of a big mountain. I was afraid of the physical impact that altitude can have on the body and didn’t think I’d ever have the strength or stamina to endure hiking at high elevations. On September 14, 2018, my thirtieth birthday, I climbed to the summit of the highest peak in the Rocky Mountains, Mount Elbert (14,439 ft). I wouldn’t have made it to the top without Andy’s help and encouragement. To show my appreciation, I promoted him from boyfriend to husband ten months later.
Until a few months ago, I didn’t think I could climb a big mountain by myself. I was afraid of the possibility that I hadn’t really conquered my fears, but had instead relied on the strength of others to carry me through them. In October, a trip to Colorado with a couple of friends (Lexi and Anne, who have joined me on several hikes over the past two years) presented me with an opportunity to find out. On a wild, and possibly wine induced, impulse a couple of weeks before the trip, I changed my return flight to allow an extra day in Colorado after my friends planned to fly back to Nashville. I didn’t know if I was ready to climb a fourteener by myself, but I knew I was ready to try.
I had one day, an exceptionally tight window in October in the Rockies, due to intense wind gusts and single-digit temperatures above the tree line that signal the imminent arrival of the first big snow of the season. Also, I knew I’d need to choose from a small handful of mountains relatively close to Denver, to allow enough time for a successful summit, descent, and subsequent drive to the airport for a 9:00 PM flight back to Nashville. There weren’t many realistic options, but there was one that presented me with an opportunity to summit the highest peak on the continental divide and traverse an exposed ridge to the summit of an adjacent fourteener, all in less than ten miles out and back.
Grays and Torreys are part of the Wasatch Range and Arapaho National Forest.
Admittedly, Grays and Torreys are two of the easiest fourteeners to summit in Colorado, and very popular options due to their proximity to Denver and the opportunity to climb two non-technical mountains in one hike. However, “easy” is a relative term, not a literal one. There aren’t any easy fourteeners, only some that are less difficult than others. Experts usually evaluate a mountain’s difficulty based on the technical ability required to climb it, not the amount of route distance or elevation gain from the trailhead, although these factors often influence each other. Environmental factors, like weather and time of year, weigh heavily on individual experiences and can make any hike feel more or less challenging than expected. Every day leading up to the day I’d planned to climb Grays and Torreys, I checked online forums for new trail reports from other hikers and prayed for favorable conditions. At best, I knew I could expect single digit temperatures and severe wind gusts that would only intensify on the precarious ridge between the two summits. Multiple trip reports in the weeks leading up to my hike recounted abandoned attempts at crossing the ridge due to the intensity of the wind, a seasonal side effect of the transition from fall to winter at high altitudes.
The days in Colorado prior to my Grays and Torreys summit hike only increased my concerns about the coldness and brutality of the wind gusts. My friends and I experienced them while hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park, and the highest altitude we reached there was about 12,000 feet. Considering the severity of the winds in less exposed environments and more than 2,000 vertical feet below the summits of Grays and Torreys, fear dominated my thoughts, and doubt started creeping in.
My hair looks like this is every photo from this hike. What can you do, though?
The day before the hike, I said goodbye to my friends as they headed to the airport, and I checked into a cheap motel in Idaho Springs, a 45-minute drive from the trailhead. Maybe my expectations were low, but as it turns out, Idaho Springs is actually kind of cute. I wouldn’t recommend it as a destination, but if you’re passing through on I-70 or want to take advantage of the incredible hiking in the surrounding area, it’s not a bad place to be. I ate some of the best pizza I’ve had in a long time (Beau Jo’s), and promptly went back to my room around 8:00 PM to prepare for an early start on the trail. In the quiet loneliness of my motel room in that isolated town, sleep did not come easily as my mind raced with the uncertainties of the next day.
I reached the trailhead before sunrise, after a dark and skecthy drive up a rugged mountain road that would have been insurmountable without a 4WD vehicle with some clearance. My rented Dodge Journey made the trek at a slow and steady pace, but she got me there. I hiked west along the trail and watched the sun rise above the mountains as I approached the tree line. Because the trailhead rests at nearly 11,000 feet, the trees fade into the background after less than a mile of steady uphill hiking. As a result, both Grays and Torreys tower majestically in view throughout most of the approach.
Grays and Torreys, as viewed from the trail at dawn
God and Mother Nature blessed me with favorable weather, so despite the cold and the wind gusts, the sky was a brilliant shade of solid blue. I felt the bone-chilling intensity of the wind every time it picked up, which happened more frequently as I climbed upward, but the consistency of that sky and the serenity of the alpine tundra landscape fueled me forward. I realized the magnitude of loneliness quickly and often thought of challenging hikes I’ve taken before this one. I remembered the support and encouragement I had from others, those who accompanied me on previous hikes and those who were cheering from the sidelines. Regardless, it didn’t take long for me to realize that a hike like this one is much harder on your own. I struggled with doubt and fear constantly, and there wasn’t anyone there to reassure me in the many moments when brutal winds, incessant breathlessness, or dizzying exposure made me want to turn around and return to my rental car. I thought about that often, knowing I’d have other opportunities in the future to come back and summit these mighty peaks under more favorable conditions. Nonetheless, I kept going.
views across the valley from the upper slopes of Grays Peak, around 13,500 ft
Somewhere north of 13,500 feet, I convinced myself that reaching the summit of Grays would be enough, considering the reports I’d read about the treacherous and highly exposed trail along the ridge to Torreys Peak. Grays is the taller and less technical of the two mountains, and I could avoid the ridge by descending along the same trail I’d taken up. I’d return home feeling content to have even climbed one fourteener by myself. These were my thoughts as I climbed the final stretch of exposed scree to reach the summit of Grays.
Breathless and shaking, I emerged onto the summit of Grays, only to be greeted by a wind gust so strong it nearly sent me tumbling off the mountain. Luckily, someone had assembled a wind shelter on the summit in the form of a curved rock wall several feet high. I crouched beside it to take in the incredible views. It’s funny how the view always feels different from the summit, even when looking at scenery that’s been visible along the upper sections of the trail that lie immediately below the top. It’s as if your brain changes gears and finally allows you to take it all in with a fresh perspective of achievement. I gazed in awe across the terrain I’d just hiked and looked for the first time into the vast mountainous beauty that lie on the other side of Grays Peak. Hundreds of mountains surrounded me on all sides, and I felt like I was perched majestically above all of them.
The summit of Grays Peak (14,270 ft) is the highest point on the Continental Divide.
From the summit of Grays, Torreys suddenly looked less intimidating. I could now see the entire route across the ridge, and although it still intimidated me, with wind so intense that I could literally see it in the form of wispy dust clouds flying off the mountain like tiny translucent hawks, it appeared to be more manageable than it had looked from below. I decided to try it, knowing I could descend from a trail near the saddle if I changed my mind on the way down the from the summit of Grays. I started moving down the side of mountain and quickly realized that this trail was much steeper than the one I’d ascended on the way up. The winds on this part of the trail were stronger and colder than any I’d encountered yet, but I moved slowly forward until I reached the saddle and the spur trail that reconnected with the one I’d ascended to the summit of Grays.
This is the view from the saddle on the ridge between Grays and Torreys, facing the valley that the trail ascends through on its way to the peaks.
I don’t know if it was divine intervention or if I’d just crossed an endurance threshold that made the winds seem less noticeable, but in that moment of decision, I found a sudden burst of energy and determination. The most exposed section of the ridge was still in front of me, but for the first time on that hike, I felt calm and confident. I figured I’d better start moving again before that faded. The trail leading to the summit of Torreys is steeper and more technical than the one I’d taken to the top of Grays. Despite the more rugged terrain, however, the wind wasn’t as much of a factor as it had been before. It was almost 11:00 AM by now and still well below freezing at this altitude, but as the sun rose higher in the sky, the mountain felt warmer and less threatening.
I propelled my aching body over the final pitch and onto the summit just in time to high-five a couple from North Carolina who I’d met on the summit of Grays. These mountains were their first fourteeners, and they’ll never know it, but hiking behind them motivated me to keep going when I felt discouraged along the ridge. I could see them pressing on ahead of me, tiny dots on the side of the mountain, and it reminded me of hiking my first fourteener with Andy a year earlier.
The altitude written on the rock is 8 ft higher than the mountain’s actual height, but I support whoever made the decision to round up.
From the top of Torreys, I stared across the ridge I’d traversed from the summit of Grays, standing in the spot I didn’t think I could reach just two hours earlier. This filled me with an overwhelming sense of triumph and a humbling dose of perspective. The views were different but just as magnificent as the ones from the summit of Grays, and if I hadn’t been running behind an already tight schedule, I could have stayed on top of that mountain all afternoon, despite the wind and the cold. Reluctantly, I started making my way down the trail and back to the saddle, feeling exhausted but invincible.
The fall colors on the alpine tundra sparkled beneath the bluebird sky. I hadn’t noticed their brightness on the hike in, during the dim dawn hours as the sun rose behind the mountains east of Grays and Torreys, casting a shadow across the valley beneath the peaks. I encountered several groups of hikers on the way down, sharing advice from my experience when asked, and providing words of encouragement to those who looked like they needed it. When I returned to the trailhead, I felt physically and mentally drained but entirely fulfilled by the experience. That’s always the goal, right?
Grays Peak, as viewed from the summit of Torreys Peak
Without a doubt, this was one of my best hiking adventures yet. I tested my perceived limitations and emerged from the experience stronger and braver than I’d been before. The confidence I gained on those mountains has manifested itself in my everyday life too, as I pursued an incredible and competitive new job opportunity. I started that new job three weeks ago and couldn’t be happier. This hiking adventure continues to amaze me, not just through the places I’ve seen, but through how much I’ve learned about myself and grown as a result. I still have the same fears, but through my own courage and the support of others, I’m learning how to face them. Fear isn’t a choice, but courage is.
celebrating on top of Torreys Peak, my second fourteener of the day
