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10 Tips for Backpacking Beginners

After stepping away from my blog for a year and a half, I’m back and excited to start writing again. I’ve missed it, but I needed time and space to think about changing directions. I’m still maintaining my monthly commitment to hike at least one trail I’ve never hiked before, and I’m proud to share that my current streak stands at 64 consecutive months. It’s an accomplishment that humbles me as much as it inspires me to keep this tradition going for as long as it continues to feel more like a passion than an obligation. I thoroughly loved documenting every new hike throughout the first few years of this journey. When I think about the support and empowerment I’ve received from loved ones and strangers who’ve read about my experiences, I feel deeply grateful. There’s so much power in community, and I feel constantly blessed by the time and attention others have invested in my journey.

With that in mind, I’ve decided to shift my focus away from writing about my isolated experiences when hiking a new trail for the first time. I’m sure I’ll still do some of that, but I feel like these snapshots have become part of a much larger picture. I spent a lot of time thinking about this while I took a break from writing. When I started this adventure, I’d barely hiked at all and just wanted to see a little more of the wild world around me. Now, I’ve completed about a dozen multi-day backpacking trips (including my first one alone) and regularly lead guided group hikes on a volunteer basis. I’ve learned so much along the way, and it’s time for me to start sharing that knowledge more categorically. Encouraging others to explore new trails will always be my primary goal for this blog, but I think my experience (or the lack of it, in many cases) has put me in a position to help other hikers enjoy their time on trails safely and responsibly.

The jump from day hiking to backpacking can be a daunting hurdle for any first-timer. When I wanted to take this leap, I summoned my friend, Megan, who shared my backpacking inexperience and blind ambition. We were a perfect storm. I learned more from my first backpacking trip than I have from the combined experience of every backpacking trip since then. That’s a testament to the mistakes we made, despite completing our intended journey and having a surprisingly good time while doing it. Making mistakes on your first backpacking trip is inevitable. Keep an open mind, and remember that comfort and preparedness can be as variable as the environment you’re hiking through. However, I faced the repercussions of many avoidable mishaps on my first backpacking trip, and hindsight has beckoned me to share the following advice with new backpackers.

This photo is from one of my favorite new-to-me hikes (and the longest at 41 miles) throughout this journey: Rae Lakes loop in Kings Canyon National Park

Having the Right Gear Matters

First and foremost, having the right gear doesn’t necessarily mean owning the right gear. The cost of buying backpacking gear accumulates quickly and mercilessly, and choosing gear that’s appropriate for your environment and personal preferences can feel really overwhelming. As a beginner, you may be tempted to make it work with the day-hiking or camping gear you already have, like Megan and I did. While there’s plenty of gear that will work for either purpose, you’ll feel a lot more comfortable (physically and otherwise) when carrying items from the following categories that are specifically designed for overnight treks: backpack, tent, and sleeping combo (bag and pad).

When considering backpacking essentials (REI has a great packing list), that trio might contribute more to your experience than the rest of your gear combined. Feel free to argue with me about that in the comments though. As fate would have it, those are also among the most expensive items a backpacker can buy. Before committing to expensive new gear, explore alternative options, like borrowing from a friend or buying used gear. Many outdoor retailers offer rental equipment, and keep in mind that your preferences may change as you gain more experience. Choosing your backpacking gear can feel like dating, in a lot of ways. You may find your perfect match on your first outing, but it’s usually smarter to cycle through some options before committing.

How You Pack Your Gear Matters

I have never felt as physically sore as I did after my first backpacking trip, and my non-hiking exercise of choice is boxing. In pursuit of the strength and stamina required to make long days and tough miles on my beloved trails enjoyable, I happily endure endless hours of throwing punches and flinging ponytail sweat across the room. I love the intensity of boxing, and the physical and mental strength I’ve gained from it. I could write an entire post about the impact that boxing has had on my hiking journey and general wellness. However, my very poorly packed backpack absolutely wrecked my strong and capable body on my first backpacking trip.

I did not learn the lesson of proper packing before my second backpacking trip either. I still cringe when I look at the shape of my pack in this photo and the horizontal distribution of the weight I carried. Ouch!

Don’t wait until the night before your trip to develop a packing strategy or make sure your pack fits your body comfortably when loaded up. If you have the opportunity to do a short day hike on a local trail (or even a walk through your neighborhood) with a loaded pack in advance of your backpacking trip, do it. People may look at you like you’re nuts, but the real ones will know what you’re doing and respect you for it. There are many online resources on properly distributing the weight in your pack when backpacking. I can’t offer any groundbreaking tips on this, just a strong recommendation to do some research and testing before you hit the trail.

Be Conservative about Your Comfort with Distance and Difficulty

Before my first multi-day hike, I had plenty of experience covering double-digit mileage over steep and strenuous terrain, but hiking with the weight and bulk of an overnight pack changes everything. When planning my first backpacking trip, I picked a remote and challenging 16-mile route that would have been difficult to enjoyably complete as a day hike. At the time, I thought stretching this hike into a 2-day adventure was a brilliant move. I was so excited about the possibilities that the world of backpacking offered, knowing that the finite number of hours in a single day had placed prohibitive bookends around all the hikes I’d ever done. In hindsight, my appetite for mileage overshadowed my capacity for reason.

As a new backpacker, it’s easy to fall into this trap and commit to that trail that’s been on your bucket list for a while but doesn’t seem appealing as a day hike. I learned the hard way that your first backpacking trip doesn’t have to be an ambitious quest to cover as many miles as possible. In fact, I recommend taking the maximum mileage and elevation gain you’re comfortable hiking in a day and cutting those numbers in half to create a reasonable daily range to aim for when planning your first multi-day trip. Additionally, if there’s a trail you’ve already hiked in a single day that has backcountry campsites along the way, consider splitting the distance over two days. You’ll feel more confident on a familiar trail, which can make a big difference when facing the many other unknowns of beginner backpacking.

It still counts as a backpacking trip even if your route doesn’t require you to carry all your gear the whole time. If you’re hiking an out-and-back trail with campsites on the way to your end point, set up camp on the way out, drop off your overnight gear, and spend the rest of the day hiking with a much lighter pack before returning to your campsite. Remember to properly store any food or smellables you leave unattended though, or carry them with you.

Talk to a Credible Source about Your Plans Before You Go

There’s no source more credible than a Park Ranger, period. Sure, talk to someone you know who’s hiked the same trail with a similar itinerary. Read reviews on blogs (like mine, wink wink) and apps like AllTrails. However, individual feedback, whether it’s from someone you know or a stranger on the internet, is inherently subjective. The heroes who manage our public lands accumulate collective backcountry information that’s current, reliable, and objective. They’d rather offer guidance in advance of your trip than receive an emergency call because you made an avoidable mistake. Trust me, I speak from experience.

When you call, start the conversation by providing specific information about your itinerary and primary concerns. For example, “Hi, this is (name), and I have permits/plans to hike (trail name) over (number of days) and camp at (site/sites, listed consecutively). I’m hiking in on (date) and hiking out on (date). Based on the information you have, are there any abnormal trail conditions I should be aware of?” Abnormal trail conditions could include (but are not limited to): partial closures or noteworthy trail obstructions, wildlife activity warnings, flooding, etc. You may also want to ask about conditions that could vary seasonally, like water availability or fire bans.

You Probably Need More Water Than You Think

You’ll almost certainly use water for at least one purpose that isn’t personal hydration, on your first backpacking trip and all the ones after that. Cooking hot food, extinguishing a campfire, rinsing minor wounds or blisters, and countless other common backpacking activities require water that you don’t want to subtract from your precious drinking supply. Natural water availability along the trail should absolutely influence how much water you carry, whether you’re hiking for a few hours or a few days. There’s no magic formula for how much water you should carry based on your hiking itinerary because every environment is unique and variable. On your first backpacking trip, I highly recommend choosing a trail with camping areas close to water. Let me say it louder for the people in the back. As a beginner backpacker, minimize the risk of underestimating how much water you’ll need by hiking a trail that has access to a reliable water source.

Another perk of camping near water is the opportunity to soak your sore muscles after a long day of hiking or go for a swim if it’s safe to do so.

You Probably Need Less Food Than You Think

Surprisingly enough, I’ve overpacked food on every backpacking trip except my first one. Finding the right balance can be tricky, and when in doubt, bring that extra snack. However, keep in mind that the weight of food adds up quickly, and starving to death because you didn’t pack a vending machine should be pretty low on your list of concerns about your first backpacking trip. You’ll need hearty snacks and meals to fuel your journey, but don’t expect your stomach to instantly double its capacity for food as soon as you leave the trailhead parking lot.

You’ll likely only be on the trail for a night or two as a first-timer, and you can minimize your pack’s weight by carrying foods with a high calorie per ounce ratio. As a general rule, I try to maintain a minimum average of 100 calories per ounce when packing food for an overnight trip. For longer trips, I may aim for a higher calorie per ounce average. The number of calories you’ll need depends on your size and the intensity of your hiking itinerary. Planning your trail meals and snacks in advance can help you put some tangible parameters around how much food you’ll realistically need. It’s important to pack a variety of foods that you actually enjoy as well. Give yourself the triumphant bliss of satisfying a craving for your favorite snack after a long day on the trail.

My favorite backpacking meal is instant mashed potatoes topped with chili cheese Fritos. Both foods are common staples in a backpacker’s diet, and the textural combination of these starchy carbs really hits the spot. Pro tip: Mix in a packet of hot sauce (compliments of your local Taco Bell) to give this dish an extra dose of flavor.

Hiking’s Only Part of the Work

When Megan and I hiked into our campsite with two or three hours of daylight remaining on the first day of our first backpacking trip, we thought we were destined for a leisurely evening of Ramen noodles and beef jerky beside an effortless campfire. Fast forward to us vigorously gathering firewood by the light of our headlamps as we shivered in the freshly fallen darkness, ravenous for the dinner that was supposed to be in our bellies already. Needless to say, we vastly underestimated the amount of time and energy it can take to do the many backpacking things that aren’t hiking.

We’ll talk more in the next section about the fine and tedious art of building a fire in the backcountry, but this was just one task that took much longer than we’d expected. When you’re working with new (or new to you) backpacking gear, like a tent or cooking tools, you probably won’t have the same level of dexterity as the social media influencer or outdoor retail employee who inspired your gear choices. As a newbie, you’ll have a learning curve that experienced backpackers may unintentionally overlook when recommending gear and practices that have become familiar to them over time. I’m not trying to discredit reliable sources of knowledge. Just don’t hold anyone else accountable for interpreting your experience and backpacking environment. Budget for extra time when you think about how long it’ll take to erect your tent, gather firewood, retrieve and boil water for cooking, securely store your smellable items, etc. This logic also applies to repacking the next morning.

Most importantly, practice with your gear in a low-risk environment (like your house) before you have to use it in a high-risk environment (like nature). Assemble and dissemble your tent in your living room. Unroll your new sleeping bag to practice rolling it tight enough to fit back into its little sack. Test your cooking setup and its connection to the fuel canister you’ll be using on the trail. Megan and I were forced to precariously balance our cooking pot over the campfire to boil water, because I brought a fuel canister that wasn’t compatible with our portable stove. We successfully boiled water eventually, but we struggled to keep the pot still over an open flame, which prolonged the process. Little oversights like that, which are common when you’re new to backpacking, can add some unexpected time and effort to your trip.

We learned so many tough lessons throughout the first day of our first backpacking trip, leaving us feeling thoroughly drained. Although, after questioning our decision to carry the extra weight of the wine we packed in, I have to admit we were grateful for the liquid morale boost before bedtime.

Fire Is a Gift, Not a Given

While brush and small sticks provide necessary tinder and kindling when starting a fire, you’ll need to add larger pieces of wood to your fire to keep it going. If you’re backpacking in my neck of the woods (eastern Tennessee) or another area that receives frequent rain, finding dry firewood in the backcountry is usually challenging if at all possible. In accordance with Leave No Trace Principles, only gather down wood for your fire. Never cut from a living or standing tree. The complication there is that the wood that’s appropriate to burn dries slowly after rain, especially in humid environments. In drier environments, like deserts or areas at high elevations, fire bans are common because the lack of rain increases the risk of wildfires.

Wherever you’re backpacking, research local fire management policies before you go, and always practice Smokey Bear’s tips for backcountry fire safety. Areas that allow campfires likely receive enough precipitation to place some significant limitations on the availability of dry wood. Due to wet conditions, I’ve been unable to start a fire on about half of my backpacking trips on this side of the country, and out west, I’ve usually been unable to start a fire due to local restrictions. If circumstances allow you to have a campfire on your first backpacking trip, count your blessings and enjoy the experience responsibly. However, avoid putting yourself in a situation where you’re dependent on fire for warmth or food and water preparation, just in case it doesn’t work out.

Prepare for Extreme Variations in Temperature

With a respectful acknowledgment that we can’t control the weather, let’s talk about warming and cooling tactics that we can control. Mostly, they’re physical and currently occupy space in your closet. When preparing for a backpacking trip, adopt a layering strategy with the clothes you pack. This ensures flexibility when hiking through an unpredictable and highly variable climate. In almost every environment, temperatures drop at night and rise with the sun. In environments without the insulation of buildings, electricity, and population density, these variations are usually more extreme. That sounds obvious, right? Before my first backpacking trip, I wasn’t quite prepared for the wide range of temperatures. I thoroughly learned that the forecast in the nearest town isn’t a reliable indicator of the weather conditions you’ll encounter in the backcountry.

Also, consider that movement elevates body temperature and rest has the opposite effect. When backpacking, we’re usually active while the sun is up and stationary at night when temperatures typically bottom out. Other environmental factors, like altitude and precipitation, contribute to your body’s ability to adapt to its surrounding conditions. Weather patterns at higher altitudes tend to be more volatile, so plan accordingly. Regardless of the forecast, always include rain protection for yourself and your backpack when preparing for an overnight trek.

Here’s a photo from my coldest backpacking trip, a very strenuous 34-mile trek in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I’ve experienced a range of temperatures from zero to one hundred fifteen degrees on my assorted backpacking trips. You’re not likely to encounter that much variance on a non-thru hike (if you do, please tell me so I can never hike that trail), but it’s reasonable to expect sudden and extreme weather changes in the backcountry.

Give Yourself Grace

Finally and perhaps most importantly, understand that there’s a frustratingly beautiful learning curve with backpacking. It’s just not supposed to be easy. You will make mistakes and feel discomfort on your first backpacking trip and most of the ones after that. You’ll also experience a sense of blissful self-reliance unlike anything else. There’s something so invigorating and humbling about venturing into the wilderness, with nothing but survival essentials on your back. You will feel vulnerable and capable at the same time, and it’s important to embrace the challenges and accept the risks, controllable and uncontrollable. Prepare as much as you can in advance, practice safe and responsible behaviors while on the trail, and don’t feel discouraged when something inevitably doesn’t play out how you thought it would. Adapt and keep going.

For anyone reading this who has additional backpacking advice or words of encouragement for newbies, please share your insight in the comments. As always, thanks for reading, and happy trails!

My final piece of advice: Backpack with people who will lift you up when things get hard and celebrate small victories at every opportunity. Also, make sure they’re people who love you enough to tolerate your body odor, snoring, and most annoying personality quirks. They say you don’t really know someone until you live with them. I think that’s especially true when you’re living in a tent.
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Mount LeConte: Hiking the Most Iconic Trail in the Smokies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the creek beside the lower section of the trail

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

Alum Cave Bluff

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

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

LeConte Lodge

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

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

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

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

breathtaking views from Cliff Tops
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Cheaha State Park: McDill Point via the Pinhoti Trail

Alabama’s got a reputation for exceptionalism in many areas (college football, barbecue, mega churches, reality dating show contestants, etc.), but hiking trails isn’t one of them. This isn’t because the state lacks incredible trails. They’re just more sparse and off the beaten path than their more popular Southeastern neighbors in Tennessee, Georgia, and North Carolina. Alabama hosts a handful of spectacular trails that will make you ask yourself the question that’s every hiker’s greatest joy or most horrifying nightmare when hiking a new trail: “Where am I?” Context is everything, of course, and I’m constantly amazed by the immense beauty I encounter on trails in seemingly ordinary locations.

If you’ve ever wondered why the state’s unofficial motto is “Alabama the beautiful”, hike the Pinhoti Trail to McDill Point.

While visiting my brother and his wife in Birmingham, I decided to make the 90-min. drive to Cheaha State Park and hike to McDill Point via the Pinhoti Trail. The Pinhoti Trail traverses 335 miles across northern parts of Alabama and Georgia. This includes a section that runs through Cheaha State Park, home to Alabama’s highest peak, Cheaha Mountain (2,411 ft). Before embarking on my hike, I drove to the summit of Cheaha Mountain, because that’s possible and only a couple of miles from my intended trailhead. Candidly, I have nothing positive to say about visiting Alabama’s highest point. There’s no overlook at the top of Cheaha Mountain, only a musty lookout tower and equally decrepit information center. The tower isn’t even taller than the surrounding trees, so there’s nothing you can see from this obsolete structure that you can’t see from the parking lot. I visited on a Tuesday in November, and I’m not sure whether facilities were closed for the winter season or due to COVID, but I think there’s a fee for accessing the highest point in Alabama when facilities are open. Unless you just feel compelled to visit the highest point in the state, save your time and money and skip this underwhelming destination. However, there are bathrooms (permanent ones, not the portable kind) near the summit, and these were open when I visited, so maybe the side trip wasn’t a complete waste of time.

After the disappointment of visiting the Cheaha Mountain summit, I honestly didn’t have high hopes for the Pinhoti Trail to McDill Point. However, those reservations quickly faded after I began this gorgeous trek. The hike was more challenging than I expected, but this one packs in some incredible scenery over a short distance, making the effort entirely worthwhile. The section I hiked covers about 2.5 miles (one way), and although there’s only about 1,000 feet of elevation gain, exposed roots and loose rock dominate the terrain of this rugged trail, so allow more time than you think you’ll need based on the distance and elevation gain alone. Also, the trail can be difficult to follow in certain spots, so I’d highly recommend bringing a map that doesn’t rely on a cell signal. The AllTrails route (linked here) is accurate, but keep in mind that you’ll need the Pro subscription to download the map for use without cell service, and I had none from start to finish on this hike.

I love a rugged trail, so I had no complaints about this one’s rocky and rooty terrain, but it’s not for everyone. I recommend shoes with good grip and ankle support for this trail.

I expected an impressive overlook at McDill Point, but I didn’t expect so many smaller ones with incredible views along the way. The trail traverses a ridge up and over the summit of Hernandez Peak (Alabama’s 4th highest point at 2,307 ft) and then dips slightly before the final ascent to McDill Point, accessible via a short spur off the Pinhoti Trail. Several of the magnificent viewpoints along the ridge have primitive campsites as well. Because views from these campsites extend for miles and miles to the west over a luscious sea of green forests below, I’m sure the sunset views are spectacular.

I haven’t seen many campsites with views like this, and this spot’s only a mile or so from the trailhead.

Just before the split to McDill Point, I encountered a very narrow and brushy section that was covered in down trees and limbs. Navigating through this wasn’t difficult, but it slowed me down. In warmer months, I’d have been extra cautious about snakes, but I saw none on this breezy day in early November. After emerging from the brush, the trail flattens and widens, and the remaining stretch to McDill Point (less than half a mile) is the easiest section of the hike. At the split, I saw something unusual that I’ve never seen on any hike: airplane wreckage. I’d read about debris from a fatal flight that lay scattered throughout Cheaha State Park, but I didn’t expect to see so much of it so close to the trail. The wreckage can be found in two areas along the trail. The first includes several large pieces of debris off the trail to the left of the split between the Pinhoti Trail and the spur to McDill Point. There’s even more debris, including the decaying metal frame of the body of the plane, easily noticeable from the spur to McDill Point, just before a small collection of primitive campsites adjacent to the overlook. After some research, I’ve since learned that the wreckage includes the remains of a small single-engine plane that crashed on the day after Christmas in 1972. The only victim was the pilot, a man flying alone from Texas to Atlanta before the journey abruptly ended in Cheaha State Park due to low visibility and bad weather.

wreckage as viewed from a short stint of off-trail hiking from the split between the Pinhoti Trail and the spur to McDill Point
the body of the plane that crashed into Cheaha State Park, visible from the spur trail to McDill Point

The many unique sights along the trail to McDill Point make this hike worthwhile, but the overlook at the end completely shattered my expectations. The expansive views from McDill Point rival those from my beloved overlooks in South Cumberland State Park in Tennessee. If you’ve been following my journey and know how enamored I am by the beauty of South Cumberland State Park, I hope that puts McDill Point into perspective. This overlook (which is actually two overlooks separated by about 100 yards of trail) drops the mic hard. I was lucky enough to experience this place with only a few other people present since I was hiking in the middle of the week, but I’m sure it’s packed on weekends. Photos really don’t capture the magnitude of the views, which extend so far that they eventually just fade into the horizon.

big views over Alabama from McDill Point

I enjoyed a leisurely lunch of tuna and almonds at McDill Point and basked in the warm sunshine, immensely happy to have had the opportunity to experience this place on an uncommon day off work in the middle of the week. I remember thinking, “This is what they call a mental health day”, and pledging to take more of these in the future. I’d traveled to Birmingham to visit my brother and his wife, and I’d been working remotely from their house throughout my visit. I spent quality time with them the previous weekend and in the evenings after work, and I’m so grateful for our time together. I always welcome a change of scenery and time with family, but nothing makes me feel as refreshed and invigorated as time alone on a beautiful trail, and the Pinhoti Trail to McDill Point provided a stunning addition to my time well spent in Alabama.

views for miles and miles from McDill Point

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Zion National Park: Hiking to the Top of Angel’s Landing

This is a story about a hike that almost didn’t happen. My friend, Megan, and I travelled to southern Utah on our way to the north rim of the Grand Canyon, and we passed through Zion National Park. We planned to spend a day or two at Zion, but due to so many factors (mostly COVID, but also toxic bacteria in Virgin River and trail closures due to rock slides), we didn’t expect to do much more than pass through on our way to hike the most remote and difficult trail in the Grand Canyon (more to come on that in my next post). I can’t even remember which trail we’d planned to hike at Zion after our options became so involuntarily limited in the days leading up to our trip, but we were excited nonetheless. Zion National Park is iconic and gorgeous, and even when the must-do trails for first time visitors aren’t an option, I’m sure every hike in this park promises breathtaking views.

Angel’s Landing (center) as viewed from the trailhead

After entering the park, we boarded the shuttle to the now forgotten trail that we intended to hike. If you’re planning to visit Zion, put some advance research into how the shuttle system works, because tickets are limited by design, to protect the park’s fragile ecosystem (always) and to maintain COVID safety protocol (currently). While we were on the shuttle, we overheard someone seated behind us talking about their hike to the top of Angel’s Landing the previous day. This caught our attention, because we thought that the upper portion of this trail was closed due to COVID, based on the park’s website and AllTrails. Angel’s Landing is the most famous trail among countless incredible hiking options at Zion National Park and considered by many to be one of the very best hikes in America. However, climbing the upper section of this trail requires holding onto chains for support while traversing treacherously exposed sections of rocky terrain, hundreds of feet above the bottom of the canyon. Needless to say, social distancing isn’t an option and there’s simply no way to climb to the top without touching the same chains that hundreds of other hands have also recently touched.

After admitting to eavesdropping, Megan and I learned from the other bus passenger that the trail had just reopened a few days earlier and that the park intentionally avoided publicizing the news in hopes that foot traffic on this popular trail would remain light. Angel’s Landing should be on every thrill-seeking hiker’s bucket list, and 2020 has provided resounding evidence that life doesn’t guarantee or owe us anything. After a brief discussion and very little hesitation, Megan and I decided that we could not turn down the opportunity to hike this iconic trail, despite the risks. I’ve been careful and deferential about COVID protocols throughout this pandemic, but honestly, I followed my heart to the top of Angel’s Landing, with hand sanitizer and a mask in tow, and I have absolutely no regrets.

As a native of the Deep South, I’m highly superstitious, not just a little stitious (shoutout to my fellow fans of The Office), and I believe that my lucky cactus shirt played a crucial role in making this hike possible.

Bottom to top, this hike packs in magnificent views. There isn’t a single section of this trail that won’t make your Instagram followers drool with envy, but this hike (and pretty much every other hike) delivers significantly more value than attention on social media. It’s an experience, and one so unique that photos and videos can’t adequately document the journey to the top of this monolith. The impact of this hike goes so far beyond visual appeal, and as vivid as the views will remain in my memory, the emotions and the adrenaline rush are what I’ll always value most from this epic adventure.

The five-mile (roundtrip) hike to the top of Angel’s Landing begins at the Grotto trailhead, located across the road from shuttle stop 6. Before embarking on this journey, hikers can and should take advantage of the bathroom facilities and water station near the shuttle stop. From the trailhead, this hike follows a paved trail with a steady but moderate incline for about a mile on the approach to the first set of switchbacks. This is where the trail really begins to climb at a steeper grade, offering sweeping views of the valley below. After the first set of switchbacks, the trail flattens for about half a mile and moves in a straight line along a creek that flows through a narrow gap between towering red rock walls. After about a mile and a half of hiking, we reached the bottom of a brutally steep set of 21 switchbacks known as Walter’s Wiggles. The Wiggles are affectionately named after Zion National Park’s first superintendent, Walter Ruesch, who built these switchbacks into the side of the mountain in 1926.

Megan and I didn’t take any photos on the Wiggles because we were so focused on the climb, but here’s a photo from the first set of switchbacks. The trail was steep, but the views were spectacular.

From an endurance standpoint, the Wiggles are arguably the most challenging part of this hike, but overall, the most difficult part of the journey doesn’t begin until you reach the chains. At the top of the Wiggles, there’s a beautiful overlook (and “emergency-only” toilets, whatever that means), and the route along the chains to the summit of Angel’s Landing finally comes into view. Many hikers choose not to continue beyond the overlook, as this final section certainly isn’t for everyone. It’s an intimidating sight, and in practice, this climb is every bit as steep and perilous as it looks. The trail is usually too narrow to accommodate two-way traffic, which can be problematic due to the volume of hikers you’re sure to encounter here, even during a global pandemic. One slip or misstep could send you, and potentially others around you, tumbling to a certain death at the bottom of the canyon. We hiked this trail at 9 AM on a Tuesday in late September, when the park allegedly wasn’t advertising that the upper section of the trail had reopened, and the place was still dangerously crowded. Stopping to let someone approaching from the opposite direction pass just isn’t an option along many of the climb’s narrow stretches, so it’s crucial to stay aware of your surroundings and be considerate of other hikers. When the trail is busy, expect to spend most of your time on this part of the hike waiting on others.

After reaching the top, it’s easy to see what all the fuss is about. The stunning 360 degree views from the summit of Angel’s Landing certainly justify the heart-pounding anxiety of getting there. Many words come to mind that could describe how I felt when we finally reached the top, but the one that resonates the most is triumphant. Also, the summit is shockingly flat and spacious compared to the trail, so there’s plenty of room to socially distance yourself from the swarms of other hikers. We lingered for a while, taking photos from every angle despite knowing that we’d never really be able to capture this place accurately and comprehensively enough to demonstrate its immense beauty.

The views from the top of Angel’s Landing are truly (forgive the pun, I’m completely shameless) heavenly.

On the descent, we passed even more hikers than we’d seen on the journey to the top. This made me feel uneasy, not necessarily because of COVID, but because some of the hikers we passed were behaving recklessly and with little concern for the potential impact of their actions on others. While I’d recommend this hike to anyone (anyone without a fear of heights, that is) visiting Zion National Park, I’d advise starting earlier than we did or going later in the afternoon. Hopefully, the park will eventually implement a permit system to limit the risk of accidents due to overcrowding on this trail. Reportedly, at least 15 people have fallen to their deaths while hiking at Angel’s Landing, but there’s no way to know if any of those accidents could have been prevented by limiting the number of hikers allowed on the trail per day. Additionally, this unique and fragile landscape would surely benefit from lighter and more precisely managed foot traffic. Regardless, I’m grateful for chatty strangers on buses and spontaneous friends who share my appetite for adventure.

The upper section of the trail includes about half a mile of this, and it’s absolutely worth the anxiety.
best seat in the house

BONUS: If y’all have been following along, you know I love a short, easy sunset hike. On the evening before our epic ascent to the top of Angel’s Landing, Megan and I squeezed in a stunning hike along the Zion Canyon Overlook Trail. It’s only a mile (roundtrip) and absolutely manageable for hikers of all ages and skill levels. The views from the overlook are magnificent, and there’s no shuttle pass required for this hike. Parking at the trailhead is very limited, so you’ll likely have to park on the side of the road and walk a quarter of a mile or so to the trailhead. However, the views are unbelievable, especially considering the minimal amount of effort required to reach the overlook.

Megan, enjoying the final moments of a glorious sunset from the Zion Canyon Overlook
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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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Atlanta Hiking Trails: Arabia Mountain

Like so many other words, travel has adopted a different meaning in 2020. When the year began, I had so many big plans for the places I’d go and the hikes I’d take throughout the year. My husband and I were going to New Zealand for our honeymoon. My friends and I were going to Yosemite to hike to the top of Half Dome. I felt certain that I’d be able to squeeze in another fourteener in Colorado somewhere in between. It all felt so realistic, until it just didn’t any more. The losses and disappointments that I’ve faced due to COVID-19 are so small and insignificant compared to what many others have experienced and will continue to endure. I repeat that sentence to myself daily, over and over. It drives my decision making process now, in this “new normal”. I’ve re-evaluated how I define travel. I’m seeking normalcy and closeness to the ones I love over the desire to escape my routine and flee to somewhere unfamiliar and exotic. I’m embracing this as an opportunity to focus on my roots instead of my branches, for the first time in years, and it feels really refreshing.

In late June, my friend moved into a new home with her new fiancé in Atlanta, and I eagerly volunteered to help them move. As much as I love Nashville, I was desperate for a change of scenery, but more importantly, I missed my friend. In-person time with loved ones can’t be taken for granted these days, and a few hours of free labor seemed like a small price to pay in exchange for an overdue weekend with my bestie.

sweaty selfie from the top of Arabia Mountain in Georgia

I’d planned to hike on Sunday on my way out of Atlanta. My friend wasn’t able to join, because she needed to be present in her new home to unpack and patiently wait on the cable guy to show up at an unspecified time during an eight hour window. We’ve all been there. I’d originally pointed my hiking boots in the direction of Blood Mountain, a difficult trail in the northeast corner of Georgia. However, after a Saturday night filled with celebratory margaritas after the move, I wasn’t feeling quite as ambitious when I woke up on Sunday morning. We’ve all been there, too. Instead, I changed course and headed towards Arabia Mountain State Park, located about an hour southeast of Atlanta.

I hiked a mild four-mile loop that included a combination of the Arabia Mountain, Klondike, and Forest trails. Despite its imposing name, Arabia Mountain isn’t much of a mountain at all. With a summit of 955 feet, this mountain resembles a concrete hill with sporadic cactus patches. The scenery along this loop is unusual, to say the least. The smooth texture and swirling color of the immense and unusual rock area around this trail create a dizzying effect, especially in the sweltering heat of Georgia in late June.

one of the rock outcroppings along the loop trail, covered with a marble-like pattern on a smooth rock surface

I traveled counterclockwise, and I reluctantly admit that I had trouble following the loop that AllTrails recommended. Initially, I tried to hike the loop clockwise, but I could not find the turn-off at 0.25 miles that leads up to the summit of Arabia Mountain. At the time. I turned around and decided to hike in the other direction, hoping that the route would be more straightforward from the other direction. It was, but due to many overlapping trails in the park, I still relied heavily on AllTrails to ensure I stayed on my intended course. The loop includes some paved sections and a short boardwalk that runs parallel to a two-lane road on one side and Arabia Mountain on the other, covering a swampy drainage area that was unfortunately strewn with discarded trash. However, most of the trail covered dusty and rocky terrain, including a couple of massive and smooth rock outcroppings that resembled an undulating pattern of color on an unwavering surface.

views of the unique terrain below the top of Arabia Mountain

The area’s kaleidoscope-like terrain isn’t the only feature that makes this trail feel more like a stroll down a carnival boulevard than a hike in central Georgia. The remains of forgotten buildings and bridges, graffitied and rotting beneath a relentless summer sun, give the landscape an eerie, post-apocalyptic vibe. Many of these structures are easily accessible from the trail, tempting curious hikers to explore the overgrown walls and speculate about the history that’s been diminished by the elements over time.

Although cairns steer hikers in the general direction of Arabia Mountain’s summit, there’s no trail on the approach to the top. There’s no shade either. Admittedly, the views from the summit felt underwhelming. In my humble opinion, the mysterious sights along the rest of the trail offered more intrigue and whimsy. But if you’re visiting Arabia Mountain State Park, hiking to the summit feels like an obligatory part of the experience.

The rock outcroppings contained hundreds of sporadic patches of purple cactus flowers.

After descending from the summit and returning to the merciful shade of the Georgia pines along the trail, I approached an iron gate that separated the trail from an intersecting two-lane road. I then realized why I’d missed the turn off in my initial attempt to hike the trail clockwise. The section of trail I’d just traversed ends at the gate, and hikers must cross the road on foot (looking both ways before doing so, obviously), in order to access the trail again on the other side. It’s much easier to spot from this perspective, and because of this, I recommend hiking the loop counterclockwise.

Ultimately, this hike surprised me. I didn’t expect the uniqueness of the landscape, but I also didn’t expect the litter that’s often characteristic of sections of trail that run alongside highways. I’d still like to hike to the summit of Blood Mountain, just not in the wake of margaritas. However, this provided a surprising and alluring alternative that I’d have overlooked otherwise. This is the beauty of my journey to hike a new trail every month. Preparation and research are only as good as the circumstances that allow them to be realistic parameters. When plans fail, give the unexpected a chance to be worthwhile and memorable.

ruins of an unknown concrete structure along the trail
the remains of a bridge that once extended across Arabia Lake
what’s left of a dam that formed the southern border of Arabia Lake

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Day Hikes Near Nashville: Barfield Crescent Park

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

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

views of Stones River from the trail

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

my secluded corner of the swimming hole

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

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

one of many sinkholes alongside the trail at Barfield Crescent Park

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

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

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

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

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

scenic views along the trail at Barfield Crescent Park
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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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Waterfall Hikes of South Cumberland State Park: Foster Falls and Denny Cove

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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