Tag: nature

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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.

Looking Glass Rock, as viewed from an overlook along the Blue Ridge Parkway

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.

Max Patch was covered in fluffy white wildflowers when we hiked here in late July.

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.
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Georgia Day Hikes: Cloudland Canyon State Park

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.

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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
ladies conquering trails, always (:

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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
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Hiking Underground at Mammoth Cave National Park

In the South, there’s no better time for an underground hike than the middle of summer. When August temperatures above ground make even the most heavily shaded trails feel like saunas, Tennessee and Kentucky offer several optimal underground hiking alternatives. None of these is more well known than Mammoth Cave National Park, easily accessible by a ninety-minute drive north from Nashville. As the only national park that’s justifiable as a day trip from my home in the Music City, the fact that I didn’t explore this place sooner completely baffles me. However, I couldn’t have picked a better opportunity to reunite with one of my favorite hiking partners and beat the heat by taking this chapter in the second iteration of my New Year’s Resolution underground.

Megan and I in a low-quality photo from a high-quality underground hike at Mammoth Cave. NPS strictly prohibits camera flashes inside the cave, so this is the best shot my iPhone could manage to produce.

Naturally, Mammoth Cave has been high on my “unexplored hiking destinations within a couple of hours of Nashville” bucket list (yes, I’ve got one of those) since the beginning of this journey in January of 2018. But this local climate that’s nothing short of smoldering for about eight months every year, as I’ve since learned, significantly changes beneath the earth’s surface. My hike at Mammoth Cave with Megan, a close friend who I’ve hiked with more times than maybe anyone, felt different than any other hike I’ve ever taken, and not just because of temperature differential below ground. I’ll admit that part felt so refreshing, because I can’t think of another summertime activity (outdoors and out of water) this close to home that gives me the chills, in the best way.

The entirety of the four-mile trail that Megan and I hiked lay beneath the ground. However, I’d describe this trail as generously moderate, for a number of reasons. First and foremost, the National Park Service does not allow mere mortals to explore Mammoth Cave without a guide. I respect this, since Mammoth Cave is the world’s largest known cave system. The cave encompasses more than 400 miles of explored passages, only 14 of which are accessible to the general public, and many experts believe that at least half of the Mammoth Cave system has yet to be discovered. To the federal government, that translates to countless opportunities for unaccompanied and inexperienced tourists to get lost in the dark. As if NPS needs an additional reason to require Mammoth Cave visitors to enter the cave with a guide, it’s also extremely hazardous for the cave’s internal ecosystem to endure the human impact associated with unmitigated foot traffic.

Stalactites hang from the ceiling in several places in Mammoth Cave. Formed by mineral deposits on the limestone surface of the cave, stalactites grow at a rate of 10 cm per thousand years.

Accompanied by two park rangers and sixty other cave visitors, Megan and I descended into Mammoth Cave and embarked on the Grand Avenue Tour, the longest and most strenuous option available that doesn’t require caving equipment or experience. If you’re planning to visit Mammoth Cave, check out their website to learn about your tour options, as many (including Grand Avenue) are only offered seasonally. Megan and I were lucky to snag two of the last remaining spots on our tour about a week in advance. All tours require check-in at the Visitor Center prior to departure via shuttle to one of a handful of cave entrances.

Soon after entering the cave, I began reaching into my backpack for my pullover jacket, as the temperatures inside the cave felt at least forty degrees cooler than those above ground. Besides the chill in the air, the first thing I noticed was the infrastructure built within the cave, thoughtfully designed to accommodate crowds who don’t spend much time underground. The trail was smooth and even, and actually paved with a concrete mixture made from loose rubble cleared from the cave’s passages that are now accessible to visitors. The cave also had electricity, powered by generators along the trail that the enabled the rangers to turn lights on and off as we moved from one area to the next. Ladies and gentlemen, this cave even had bathrooms, and not the portable kind. These toilets flushed.

NPS strategically places small spotlights within the cave that allow visitors to see into the recesses along the trail without obstructing the path or the view.

All things considered, this might be the most civilized hike I’ve ever taken. It’s certainly the largest group I’ve ever hiked with, and the first guided hike I’ve taken since I started this journey. Although part of me feels disheartened about the manmade modifications to such an astounding natural wonder, another part of me appreciates that the National Park Service has made it possible for people like me to safely explore a place that would otherwise be inaccessible. This managed approach grants access to a limited number of guests and only in predetermined areas, all for a price. The controlled nature of this organized system, and the revenue that it generates, helps to preserve the cave for future generations of explorers.

Many of my photos turned out blurry as my phone struggled to focus in the dim light. However, some of these blurry photos, like this one of Megan, appropriately reflect the cave’s mysterious ambiance.

Ranger Steve, the NPS officer who led our journey, provided detailed historical and speleological anecdotes as we moved through the caverns. Speleology is the term that defines the study of caves, and I learned the name of this ancient science through a wise sage called Google. While most of the passages that we moved through didn’t feel cramped at all, this journey included a few spaces that would make a claustrophobe sweat, even in the cool subterranean climate. The rock formations changed as we moved through the cave, and Ranger Steve provided an excellent translation of the story that unfolded through the intricate patterns on those limestone walls. Mammoth Cave developed over the course of hundreds of millions of years, and it’s still a magnificent work in progress.

As my first underground hike, this one will always stand out in my memory as a completely unique experience, and one that I’m so grateful to have shared with my favorite Kentucky native, Megan. Not surprisingly, hiking through dark spaces beneath the earth’s surface produces sub-optimal lighting for photos, and NPS has a strict policy against flash photography in the cave, due to its harmful impact on bats, spiders, and the other species that call Mammoth Cave home. If you’re looking for a hike that will produce an array of likable photos to post on Instagram, this destination isn’t for you. I think that’s part of the appeal. Mammoth Cave presents a rare opportunity for the average tourist to explore one of the world’s most impressive natural phenomenons. There are no mountain vistas or breathtaking waterfalls inside this cave, but that doesn’t compromise the beauty of this enigmatic landscape.

As the downward pattern suggests, a waterfall formerly flowed over this rock face inside the cave. Darkness shrouds the bottom of the cavern below, making its depth impossible to define from the trail above.

Caves feel so personal to me, because of the closeness of the surrounding landscape, both comforting and intimidating at the same time. Despite the fact that I hiked through Mammoth Cave as a member of a large tour group, parts of this experience felt incredibly intimate. I salute NPS for this. While I still prefer adventures above ground, I foresee additional cave hikes in my future, and I’m lucky to live in an area that provides plenty of subterranean options.

This view shows the ceiling in what’s known as the Drapery Room, where stalactites and stalagmites create a curtain effect that dominates nearly every inch of this beautiful space.
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South Lake Tahoe: Eagle Lake Trail

Hiking and bachelorette party don’t often end up in the same sentence. If I drew a Venn diagram and asked the next hundred people I saw to tell me the first word that came to mind when they thought of each activity, I doubt there’d be any overlap in responses. Maybe “wild”, but that word would probably carry different implications depending on the event it’s associated with. I’ve been to about a dozen bachelorette parties, and I think the most crucial element to a successful one is creating an experience that celebrates each unique bride in a way that’s special to her, without compromising the rest of the group’s potential to have a good time. Easy, right? Just kidding, obviously. All ladies of a certain age know how much work (and time, money, coordination, etc.) goes into this, and as the time for my own bachelorette party approached, my friends prepared a more incredible weekend than I could have ever imagined. Because they know and love me so well, those plans included a hike. I’m not surprised that this amazing group of women created the perfect celebration for me, because they inspire me constantly just by being themselves, but that bachelorette party just gives me one more reason to love every one of them.

my friends and I at Vista Point off the main trail (from left to right, bottom row: Elizabeth, Morgan, me; top row: Megan, Katie, Lexi, Shellie)

Lake Tahoe is loaded with gorgeous trails and breathtaking scenery, but realistically, we knew we’d only have time for one hike. To maximize our hiking experience and still allow time for the other activities we had planned, we narrowed down our pool of options to those relatively close to South Lake Tahoe, where we were staying, and short-ish trails that we could complete in half a day or less. Naturally, we also wanted to find a trail with a reputation for expansive views of the lake and the mountains. Considering all of these criteria, we decided to hike Eagle Lake Trail, a popular two-mile out-and-back trail located in Desolation Wilderness, about a twenty-minute drive from South Lake Tahoe.

We left our cabin around 9:30, ascending along a winding road that provided stunning views of the scenery around us. Acutely aware of the road’s sharp curves and its very close proximity to the high, jagged edge of a mountain, we drove with caution, slowing down enough to ensure our safety while taking in the magnificent views. As we approached the trailhead, we quickly realized that parking was going to be a challenge. None of us had been to this trail before, and although we expected a crowd, we didn’t expect to spend nearly half an hour searching for a place to park. Then again, it was mid-morning on a gorgeous Saturday. Relieved to have found a spot on the side of the road, we piled out of the car and headed toward the trailhead.

panoramic view of Emerald Bay, an alcove of Lake Tahoe, from a scenic overlook close to Eagle Lake trailhead

Across the road from the Eagle Lake trailhead, a short path leads to a scenic overlook at the top of a beautiful waterfall, Eagle Falls. Before we embarked on the trail, we decided to take a detour to explore this area, and we definitely didn’t regret it. The overlook is spacious and easily accessible for visitors of all ages and ability levels, with many ideal spots for taking photos. Looking east, we could see for miles and miles across Emerald Bay, on the southwest corner of Lake Tahoe. Beyond that, the mountains of the Sierra Nevada surrounding the lake towered above the horizon, their peaks still covered in snow in early May. While there’s no trail from this point that leads down to the bottom of Eagle Falls, the water was shallow and flowing lightly enough in places to allow us to walk across boulders for a close-up view of the cascades from above.

Megan and Elizabeth near the top of Eagle Falls, at the overlook across the street from Eagle Lake Trail

After we’d captured all the photos at the overlook that our hearts desired, we made our way across the road and uphill through the still-packed parking lot to the Eagle Lake trailhead. At an elevation of over 6,500 feet, the area surrounding us still displayed many patches of snow and ice. We expected to have to navigate through this while on the trail and were uncertain about whether or not we’d be able to hike all the way to Eagle Lake. Recent reviews on AllTrails indicated that the final section of the trail would be impassable without proper gear for hiking through ice and snow, but we proceeded with optimism since the pretty white patches on the ground were shrinking more and more with each passing day. Candidly, the views from the overlook were some of the best that we saw all weekend, and even if Eagle Lake trail had been entirely closed, those views would have been well worth the drive up the mountain.

Eagle Lake Trail offers many breathtaking views like this one, and while thinning patches of snow still cover the ground in early May, the temperatures are mild and pleasant

The first section of the trail includes a half-mile loop with several short spurs. As the trail moves over the mountainous landscape, scattered clusters of large evergreen trees dominate the area. Unlike the dense forests that I hike through at home in Tennessee, however, the trees are sparse enough to leave large sections of the trail exposed, which gave us plentiful views of the snow-capped peaks above us and Lake Tahoe below. Although we did cross a few unavoidable snowy patches on the trail, most of snow around the loop section had melted. Overall, the terrain was moderate and under good conditions, the trail would be suitable for hikers at any skill level, even kids. Although I believe that challenging hikes are generally more rewarding, there are certainly exceptions. Eagle Lake Trail offers beautiful views for minimal effort, and I love the opportunity that trails like this present to those who don’t have the time, desire, or ability to endure a more challenging hike. It’s nature’s manifestation of having your cake and eating it too.

We hiked all of the spur trails that we encountered (I think there were three of them), each leading to a magnificent vista overlooking our surroundings. None of the spurs presented a detour of more than a quarter of a mile round trip, so again, minimal effort to achieve high reward. Unfortunately, we were unable to hike out to Eagle Lake, due to impassable snow and ice on the ground beyond the bridge over Eagle Creek, just as the AllTrails reviews had suggested. On the bright side, this allowed plenty of time to stop often and enjoy the scenery at a leisurely pace. In total, I think we covered about a mile of distance, making this one of the shortest new hiking experiences I’ve had on this journey yet. What this one lacked in distance, however, was repaid a hundred times over in magnificent views and most importantly, the magnificent friends I shared them with.

Elizabeth, Shellie, and me on the bridge over Eagle Creek

In the wake of a perfect weekend with my favorite ladies, I’ve spent a significant amount of time reflecting on my relationships with others, past and present. I’ve come to realize that there’s a long list of people who’ve significantly impacted my life, for better or for worse. Conversely, my actions have impacted the lives of others too. I’d like to think I’ve made some better, and I’m certain I’ve made some worse. Relationships are complicated like that. I can only hope that the positive influences in my life, like these women, continue to inspire me to be better, stronger, braver, and more loyal in all of my relationships, with people and with the wild places I’ve grown to love so much. An unquenchable thirst for adventure motivates me to explore as often as I can, but I wouldn’t really be able to appreciate these experiences if I didn’t have the love and support of family and friends who teach me how to live with maximum intent and minimal limits.

This one’s not from our hike, but it’s too cute to not share. After our hike, we went to a lakefront resort for lunch, cocktails, and relaxation with a view. (Lexi, me, Katie)

I usually try to avoid using the words of others to tell my stories, but in this case, it feels appropriate to close this post with a quote from my favorite nature-loving transcendentalist, Walt Whitman: “I no doubt deserved my enemies, but I don’t believe I deserved my friends”.

Amen, Walt. Amen.

Elizabeth, me, Megan, Shellie, and Morgan; enjoying the views along the trail
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Walls of Jericho Trail in Alabama

Events beyond my control interrupted my hiking plans many times in 2018, either by forcing me to choose a different date for the new trail I wanted to hike that month or forcing me to choose another trail all together. I learned so much about exploring the great outdoors last year, but one of my most significant learnings was to always have a back up plan. And that back-up plan should include two critical elements: a date and a location. You may not need both, but I needed at least one on about half of my new hikes in 2018.

In 2019, the back-up plan trend continues. In January, a government shutdown and roads closed due to snow prevented my friends and I from accessing any trail at Mount Rainier National Park beyond the first trail that we encountered after entering the park, Paul Peak Trail. Throughout February, Tennessee endured record-breaking rainfall and flooding that resulted in trail closures across the state. Also, I had to wait three weeks into the already short month before experiencing a weekend day without heavy rain. This brings me to March, and one of the most bittersweet instances of ruined plans since this journey began fifteen months ago.

Walls of Jericho: the most beautiful hike that I almost didn’t take

At the beginning of March, the company that I work for sent me to a brand marketing conference in San Diego. Sounds terrible, right? After a long winter filled with business trips to places like New York, Chicago, and Detroit, I pounced on this all-expenses-paid opportunity for networking and professional development in sunny, beautiful southern California. Additionally, I decided to extend my trip through the weekend following the conference and convinced my fiancé, Andy, to fly out and join me (he barely blinked before accepting that offer). I’d researched potential hiking destinations around San Diego and had my heart set on a network of stunning cliffside trails overlooking the Pacific Ocean at Torrey Pines State Park. Despite my anticipation and planning, however, a rare thing happened in San Diego in the days leading up to this adventure: rain. Enough rain to cause erosion and close all of the trails in the park.

Because of the rain, we’d waited until our final day in San Diego to attempt this hike, so when it didn’t work out, I knew I wouldn’t have another opportunity to hike there before going home. I shouldn’t have been disappointed by this, because regardless of the botched hiking plans, I enjoyed every single minute of my time in San Diego. When I returned to Nashville, I knew I’d need to start over and find a new hike close to home. At the time, I had little faith that I could possibly find a trail that would live up to the expectations I had for the hike I missed out on in San Diego. I’m happy to admit that I was wrong.

Black’s Beach in San Diego, this stunning beach lies below the cliffs of Torrey Pines State Park (it’s also a nude beach, as Andy and I discovered soon after our arrival)

Walls of Jericho, an impressive natural amphitheater, lies barely north of the state line between Tennessee and Alabama and can be accessed by two different trailheads, one in each state. According to local folklore, Davy Crockett explored the area in the 1700s, and a minister who performed baptisms there in the 1800s gave the canyon its biblical name. I’ve had this trail on my radar for a long time, but it was never really high enough on my list to become a priority over other trails that I thought would be more scenic or challenging. Now that I’ve seen the breathtakingly beautiful Walls of Jericho in person, and endured a grueling seven-mile hike in the process, I regret that I didn’t explore this place as soon as I learned it existed. I’ve hiked so many gorgeous trails within a day trip of Nashville, and while there’s not a single one I wouldn’t revisit, I think I’ve found a new favorite Walls of Jericho.

This photo was taken above the waterfall at the entrance to Walls of Jericho, as we made our way toward an upper corner of the canyon.

The trailhead in Tennessee and the trailhead in Alabama are connected by a strenuous seven-mile trail, and Walls of Jericho lies around this trail’s half-way point. The Alabama side of trail is more popular due to its reputation as the more beautiful and dynamic section, although I’ve also read positive reviews about the Tennessee side too. When my friend, Anne, and I arrived at the small parking lot for the Alabama trailhead, shortly before 9:00 AM on a warm and sunny Saturday, we pulled into one of the last remaining spots available. Throughout our journey along the trail, we passed many other hikers, but the traffic was spread out pretty evenly and wasn’t significant enough to lessen the experience or slow us down.

From the trailhead, we descended into the canyon as the trail weaved through a heavily wooded area with scattered large rock formations. The forest was showing early signs of spring, as green leaf buds dotted the trees around us and countless wildflowers poked their tiny blossoms through the fading layer of dead, fallen leaves on the ground. The wildflowers displayed an array of colors from red to purple to bright blue and yellow, changing as we hiked through the canyon’s layers. At the bottom of the canyon, we passed a small, primitive campground before crossing a narrow wooden bridge over Turkey Creek, the same creek that flows between the Walls of Jericho and slowly carved them out of the earth over time.

the trail to Walls of Jericho, with Turkey Creek flowing along one side and tiny blue wildflowers dotting the landscape on the other

After a stretch of flat and mild terrain, plus one more creek crossing, we passed two more camping areas along Turkey Creek before the trail narrowed and began climbing towards its namesake feature. As the canyon walls grew higher and the space between them narrowed, Anne and I slowed our pace enough to allow us to take in the beauty of our changing surroundings. To the left of us, a high canyon wall sloped upward about a hundred feet above us, and on our right, beyond the trail’s narrow ledge, Turkey Creek rushed over the rocky riverbed far below us. On the other side of the creek, the opposite canyon wall towered above the floor of the canyon. We knew that we must be getting close to Walls of Jericho, and when the trees opened up to reveal the trail’s main attraction, we had no idea that the incredible view before us was only the beginning of a unique and impressive space unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

the magnificent entrance to Walls of Jericho, and the first of three waterfalls flowing through the canyon

Our initial view included a stunning bowl-shaped depression in the canyon, occupied by a wide, shallow pool at the bottom of a small waterfall cascading over the edge of a rock face that blocked our view of the upper sections of the Walls of Jericho. The trail descends into the bowl and ends at the edge of Turkey Creek, which at this point covers what’s left of the gap between the canyon walls. We crossed a string of barely submerged rocks to reach a raised, dry section of the creek bed. From there, we had a closer view of the waterfall and a better vantage point from which to determine the best route up and over the edge of the rock wall. Admittedly, we just followed a couple of other hikers who seemed familiar with the area, but even without anyone else present, we would have been able to find it eventually (I’d like to think we would have, anyways).

We continued this strategy as we climbed up and over the series of rock walls that led further up and back into the recesses of the canyon, which extended across a lot more space than either of us expected. After heavy rainfall, I’m sure this part of the canyon can become inaccessible, but part of the creek that carved out Walls of Jericho actually flows through tunnels in the walls. This creates a collection of seemingly random holes in the walls with water flowing out of them, downward toward the bottom of the canyon. The visual effect is whimsical and stunning, but the practical implications benefit hikers because this creates plenty of dry space to explore above ground.

Anne on one of the canyon’s upper levels, above the first two waterfalls

At the far end of the canyon, a small but mighty waterfall flows from the rim down into a pocket in the walls. The only way to access the bottom of this pocket is by descending about thirty vertical feet of precariously steep rock wall. While there’s a rope available to assist with a descent for those who are bold enough to try it, I chose an alternative route that wasn’t as steep, finding hand and foot holds in the rock to lower myself down into the pit. (Side note for all my fellow Parks and Rec fans out there: I had Mouse Rat’s smash hit “The Pit” playing on repeat in my mind throughout my journey into this pit, but I’m proud to say that I did not actually fall in.)

the third and final waterfall, at the upper end of the canyon

Anne and I lingered at Walls of Jericho for as long as we could before returning to the trail, and I’d advise anyone who endures the hike in and out of this place to plan on spending at least an hour here, although it’d be easy to find reasons to stay longer. Also worth noting, the camp sites along the trail offer magnificent views of Turkey Creek and the canyon walls. As we passed these again on our way out of the canyon, I was still riding the high of the exhilarating views at Walls of Jericho. So much so that I forgot about the trail’s steep descent into the canyon, which translates into a steep (and much more difficult) ascent on the way out. As is usually the case, the trail didn’t seem nearly as precipitous on the way down as it did on the way up.

Before Anne and I resurfaced at the trailhead, we’d already started making plans to return to this area for an overnight camping trip along the trail. As beautiful as this place looked in early spring, with the wildflowers and the high volume of water rushing through the creek, I can only imagine how gorgeous the hike would be in the fall, when rusty orange and yellow leaves replace the bright green of spring. Regardless, I hope I don’t have to wait until fall before returning to this trail.

the view from one of the camping areas at the bottom of the canyon

One thing that didn’t cross my mind during this hike: the disappointment I’d felt over the missed opportunity to hike along the high cliffs over the Pacific Ocean in San Diego. Discovering a gorgeous trail that’s close to home is always a humbling experience, and a reminder of how easy it can be to overlook an amazing opportunity simply because it’s the one that’s right in front of you. This definitely translates into my life outside of my outdoor adventures. The allure of exploring wild places far away from home is so attractive to me, and I know that my greatest adventures still lie in front of me. It’s a powerful feeling, and one of my greatest sources of motivation (that and Nick Saban, roll tide). Despite all of my big dreams and bucket list hikes, branching out into the world wouldn’t bring me much joy if I neglected opportunities to deepen my roots close to home. I think each makes the other more meaningful, and I have no plans to slow down on either front any time soon.

one more photo from the bottom of the pit, the precarious journey to the bottom was well worth the effort
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Short Springs State Natural Area

Although I knew long before the end of 2018 that I wanted to keep my resolution to explore more going into 2019, one hesitation lingered in the back of my mind: Will I run out of new trails that I can access and hike as a day trip from Nashville? I travel frequently, both for work and for fun, so about half of my new hikes have occurred away from Tennessee. Aside from the obvious joys of discovering new places far away from home, regular travel makes this resolution more practical. I hate to say it like that, because Tennessee is home to many outstanding trails, and I’ve revisited most of the new ones I’ve discovered over the past year simply because I loved them and wanted to go back, regardless of my New Year’s resolution. However, time and geography absolutely impose limitations on how long I can reasonably continue this resolution, considering my other obligations (like paid employment and a dog, for example).

Machine Falls, the main attraction at Short Springs Natural Area

Finding new trails within relative proximity to Nashville hasn’t been much of a challenge yet, and I can say with relative confidence that if anything stops me from completing this resolution in 2019, it’s not going to be a lack of convenient trails. Sure, I’ll continue to have opportunities to hike while traveling, but even if those don’t work out (I try not to think about the remote possibility that I encounter a torrential downpour on every day of every vacation I take for the rest of the year… Yikes!), I still feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface on trails close to home. And that’s an amazing feeling.

At the beginning of February, I decided I’d take advantage of the first weekend day without rain in the forecast as my opportunity to explore a new trail. I had to wait three weeks into the month for this, and despite record-breaking rainfall and flooding across middle Tennessee that closed many of our state parks and trails, I discovered Short Springs Natural Area and Machine Falls Loop Trail. Located about seventy miles southeast of Nashville, the interconnected trails at Short Springs traverse sections of easy to moderate terrain. A couple of signature waterfalls are easily accessible from the main trailhead, but multiple spur trails off the main loop provide options to extend the journey for those who want to see more.

Bobo Creek, as viewed from a bridge a few dozen feet upstream from Busby Falls

I learned about this trail through AllTrails, and what the site define as Machine Falls Loop actually includes Bobo Creek Trail as well. Bobo Creek Trail leads past Busby Falls and forms a horseshoe shape that connects with Machine Falls Loop on both ends. Roundtrip, this is about a 2.3 mile hike. Off of Bobo Creek Trail, just past Busby Falls, there’s another loop trail called Laurel Bluff that extends the hike by about a mile and a half. I took this detour, and although most of the trail winds through a dense forest, the section that runs close to the edge of the bluff exposes idyllic views of the creek and several small waterfalls from above. While Machine Falls is certainly the main attraction and can be accessed by a quick 1.6 mile roundtrip trek, Bobo Creek and Laurel Bluff trails are certainly worth exploring too.

views of Bobo Creek from above on Laurel Bluff Trail

I hiked these trails on a Monday, President’s Day (I’m not sure how this qualifies as a holiday at the marketing technology company where I work, but some questions are better left not asked. I’ll take a work holiday however I can get one.). I ran into very few other hikers, and only on Machine Falls Loop. I ended up hiking most of this trail with a mother/daughter pair of hikers who live in the area. The daughter had visited all of the trails at Short Springs before and provided some insightful tips that helped confirm my decision to hike Bobo Creek and Laurel Bluff after Machine Falls Loop, instead of hiking a nearby trail at Old Stone Fort State Park. I’ll save that one for another month.

Although relatively short, Machine Falls Loop contains a couple of moderately challenging sections. I hiked this loop clockwise, because I intended to hike to Busby Falls via Bobo Creek Trail on the way to Machine Falls, saving the bigger waterfall for the last part of my journey. The trails at Short Springs are well marked, but because the trail map in AllTrails is inaccurate, I ended up hiking straight to Machine Falls, bypassing Bobo Creek Trail. Because of this, I hiked a short section at the beginning of Machine Falls Loop twice in order to circle back around to Bobo Creek Trail. In hindsight, this also allowed me to knock out the toughest pieces of my hike earlier on, as Bobo Creek and Laurel Bluff are both relatively mild trails.

beautiful view of the creek from Machine Falls Loop

About a quarter of a mile from Machine Falls, the trail sharply descends down a steep bluff, with stairs and even handrails in some places in order to provide extra support. The sun was out in full force on the day of my hike, but I proceeded with caution through this section because the trail was still slick and muddy from previous days of rain. After reaching the bottom of the gulf, the trail leads across a wooden bridge over Bobo Creek, downstream of Machine Falls. At this point, Machine Falls isn’t visible around a bend in the creek, and reaching the falls requires a short journey over slippery rocks along the edge of the creek. There’s not a trail, but the path forward is pretty apparent, and a close-up view of this magnificent waterfall is totally worth the extra effort.

As is always the case with loop trails, what goes down must come back up, and vice versa. When hiking the loop clockwise, the journey out of the gulf isn’t as steep as the way down, but there’s still several hundred feet of elevation gain over about a third of a mile. This section of trail runs along the edge of a bluff, overlooking a wider section of Bobo Creek that flows into the Machine Falls Branch of Normandy Lake. After curving away from the edge of the bluff, the trail loops back around the other side of Machine Falls, past an overlook that offers a beautiful view of the waterfall from above.

Machine Falls, as viewed from above

Although my hike at Short Springs wasn’t as long or as challenging as most of the new hikes I’ve taken since I started this journey, I never set out on a mission to complete the most strenuous new trail I could find every month. Difficult hikes generally lead to more rewarding scenery, because significant elevation change often means big views from high points overlooking expansive spaces. Longer hikes allow deeper access into wild and pristine spaces, which often results in lower foot traffic and the opportunity to enjoy some peaceful time alone on the trail. However, the trails I hiked at Short Springs are a perfect example of why it’s unfair to overlook easy hikes. There are so many things worth seeing in the wild that really don’t require much effort.

all smiles for this close up view of the Machine Falls
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Window Cliffs and Burgess Falls

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

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

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

Window Cliffs 

Window Cliffs State Natural Area, Tennessee

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the gorgeous waterfall below Window Cliffs

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

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

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

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

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

Burgess Falls

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Megan and I, at the top of Burgess Falls

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

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