Tag: hiking
Pack for What You Want

Pack for What You Want

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We had a weather system that brought snow a few days ago. Upper elevations in the national park received several inches. This meant the main road through the park was closed until the road could be plowed. They don’t use chemicals to melt the ice, so sometimes it takes a few days for the road to re-open after a snowfall.

I hadn’t hiked my favorite hike the entire month and the snowfall made me really want to make the trek; however, the road was still closed. 

I woke up Sunday morning and throughout the morning, checked the park’s website. The road remained closed. I started filling my pack for another hike in the park, but then stopped. What if I prepared for the longer hike up Alum Cave and head to that entrance to the park. If the road was open, I could do the trail. If not, I could do a shorter one in a campground.

I left my home at 11am and when I got to the park, they had just opened the gate. Even though parking at Alum Cave is challenging, nobody else thought the road was open so I figured I had a good shot at a parking space. And I did. I’d never seen the parking lot so empty.

It was noon when I started hiking and I knew I had only 5 ½ hours of daylight to complete the 10+ mile hike. It is a hike with an elevation gain of 2671 feet and lots and lots of steps. By 3pm, I’d need to be heading down and gave myself that cut-off. If I had not reached the lodge by 3, I needed to turn back. A headlamp is fine and I’ve done early morning hikes with a headlamp, but temperatures would drop again and I wanted to be done by 5.30. 

Little patches of snow were beautiful along the trail. It was very muddy from snow melt, but no snow or ice was on the trail until I got to a log bridge above Arch Rock, over two miles up. I started noticing more little slushy patches of snow, but didn’t have any long stretches of snow to navigate until I was above Alum Cave. 

There was a definite temperature change as I gained elevation and the famous ledges began to have a bit of snow. I used microspikes as needed and found them really helpful, although the few other people I met were not using them.

About a mile and a half before the lodge, there were long stretches of snow and the wind began to pick up. It felt good actually, because I was working hard to make the lodge by 3pm. 

When I reached Hallelujah Curve, the last half mile of relatively flat trail lay ahead. It was covered in packed snow that was slippery. The spikes helped me continue at a good pace and I arrived at the lodge precisely at 3pm. Considering I’d stopped to put on and take off the spikes several times, I was happy with my time; however, I didn’t have time to sit and rest and eat. I had to boogie back down the 5+ miles. I took a few photos, used the vault toilet, and started down the trail.

It was a wonderland of high-elevation fir and spruce forest. The balsam fir smell, which always intoxicates me, was strong. I felt a bit rushed to not be able to spend time wandering and connecting with the trees.

The hike down took 2 ½ hours. Alum Cave, in the late afternoon sun, was exquisite. The warm glow of light on the rock face was lovely. I’ve only seen in in the gray light of dawn and mid-day light.

I made it to the parking lot just as it was getting dark. 

The day was a good reminder to prepare for what I really want in life, not just what appears to be possible. Had I packed for the shorter hike I assumed I’d have to do, I couldn’t have done the hike I really wanted to do. 

Always be prepared for what you truly want in life. Expect that it is possible.
One Step at a Time

One Step at a Time

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Often, when we experience trauma and high stress, we go into a self-created cocoon. We withdraw from distractions, interactions, conversations because it’s just too much. It’s our way of assisting our nervous system in processing the event/s. 

After the late September flood to our area, I found myself withdrawing energetically. I checked on friends, volunteered to help, but energetically I was weaving around myself a safe space. The first hike I did to Kuwohi was so weird. There were many people there and I felt raw, too raw, to even make eye contact. When I entered the spruce and fir forest, I felt myself begin to open. In that gentle, yet powerful, energy of the upper-elevation forest, I could expand and breathe easier.

Only weeks after the flood did such devastating damage, the election here in the US re-traumatized so many of us. We were shocked that the state voted blue except for the office of president. How could that be? How could anyone vote for a convicted felon with an open agenda of hate and deconstruction of the government for the benefit of the super-wealthy? 

I felt myself withdrawing again, creating a safe space energetically to regain balance and grounding. Most of the time, I work remotely so I could focus on quarterly reports that I compile and work without having to go into the university, although I’m guessing many of my co-workers were also struggling with shock and grief. Even in this extreme emotional upheaval, I felt Nature calling me. 

My dogs are my best friends and I felt a push to walk with them on the half-mile gravel driveway where we live. I decided to make a promise to them and myself that I would commit to the walk every day. So, my two friends and I started walking together again.  

I say again because I stopped walking them due to the steepness of the road. That doesn’t bother me as I hike steep trails; however, with a bulldozer of 75 pounds pulling and another squirrel-reactive 45-pound strong boy, it can get dicey on the steep, gravel road.

We’ve been walking and other than one day, when they almost pulled me off the side of the mountain due to an enticing smell, it’s been good for us. I’ve done a couple of late afternoon walks at the national park, and that’s helped me expand my energy again as I wander among the trees and creeks. Tomorrow I’m volunteering as a fly fishing guide for teenage girls from the Cherokee Schools. 

Slowly, I’m finding my way back into interactions and conversations and larger places in which to connect with Nature. I’m excited to spend time with other women and girls tomorrow who love Nature. And maybe Sunday, I will find my way to one of my favorite trails to do a bigger hike. I’m making my way back, one step at a time.

Remember to practice good self-care when going through challenging times. Listen to your body, listen to your emotions. Take the time and create the space you need to heal. See if Nature might be a powerful ally for you in your process of coming back to balance.
Through the Storm

Through the Storm

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We might have made light of the small ‘bald’

We just finished lunch in Silers Bald, a bald on the Appalachian Trail so small two of us couldn’t sit there as we rested from our 5 ½ mile hike from Clingmans Dome parking area. We were donning our packs to head back and heard thunder rumbling in the distance. As we got to an opening in the trees, we could see the storm in all of its purple-black cloud intensity. Nothing to do but keeping walking back toward Clingmans and the vehicle.

There is a backstory to my respect of lightning. As a kid, I had a phobia of it and remember freaking out as a three or four year old because it was lightning. My dad told me I was safe because we were inside, but I reasoned there was a metal zipper on my pants and that made me a target. I was no dummy. Hello! Metal-Lightning! He talked me through it and helped me calm down. 

Later in life, I had several very unpleasant encounters with lightning. Once I ignored my grandfather’s advice to wait to launch the boat because of an approaching storm and got caught in a thunderstorm from hell with pink zig-zags popping everywhere and the shelter I had, when I pulled off the river and ran for shore, was as dangerous as the boat since the long leaf pine tree was towering high in the sky. I ended up running across a swampy area to a home under construction to shelter there. I tried to out-scream the storm. It didn’t work. My grandfather knew I’d stop at his sister’s locked-up cabin and came to rescue me.

I was driving to my grandparent’s home as a teenager and lightning hit a tree beside the road that exploded. I was angry that day, but cannot remember why. What teenager isn’t angry about something? That tree exploding helped calm my anger.

Once I was on a phone call (it was a land line) with a realtor at my grandparent’s home. I knew the home wasn’t for me but kept trying to push the deal through. Lightning hit and tingled my hand and knocked the receiver out of my hand. It melted my grandparent’s neighbor’s phone to her bedside table. 

There was the time on a dive boat when the captain decided to head to the dive site through a storm. Another pink lighting experience in an open air, pontoon boat this time. My two dive students were terrified. I looked back and told them, “If it hits us, we’ll never even know it.”  I was trying to be funny, to ease their tension. It didn’t comfort them. And it did clear up and we had an amazing dive.

So, lightning and I have a past. 

Whenever I’m caught in a storm, I reflect on my intense yet close relationship with lightning. I’m not overly fond of calling lightning a close friend, but it seems to want to be an ally. I’m a little stand-offish though.

Yesterday, as we were hiking back up the trail, the storm grew closer. You cannot hurry up a trail like this with an elevation gain of over 2000 feet, most of it on the way out. We were hiking up the ridge. As the storm intensified and rain began pouring, we came to several open areas where the highest objects were turk’s cap lilies and briars….and then us. Not ideal.

We reviewed safety protocol: if we started to feel the static or electric tingle, throw our hiking poles away and crouch into a ball; we spaced ourselves out while crossing the open areas to create smaller objects; and yes, I admit I crouched down, lowering myself below the overgrowth on the trail. What else can you do?

Heavy rain made small rivers of the trail

There was thunder directly overhead. Thunder means lightning…I get that. All too well. We’d stop under cover of forest which we figured was a bit safer than the open areas. Before we put on the rain gear, we were completely soaked…which cooled us down and kept us from overheating, but we were soggy with water filling our boots as it cascaded down our legs.

At one point, we were catching our breath on a steep slope. I stopped and turned to my friend and said, “Let me tell you my story related to lightning.” I shared my phobia of lightning as a child and said I wanted to honor my inner child’s strength for over-coming her fear and healing from it. It was a powerful moment to share my truth and have a friend witness it. And hear me. 

I was anxious hiking out in the storm, but I also felt a deep sense of calm. We had to work hard, slogging through rivers of water flowing down the trail. But both of us are deeply reverent of Nature and the power of it. We openly acknowledged our smallness as we hiked through the storm and the Oneness of all life. 

By the time we reached the summit of Clingmans, the storm had passed and masses of people were walking up the paved trail to the starship dome. They were dry and looked fresh while we were completely soaked, perhaps reflecting a bit of the journey we experienced through the storm.
Feeling It

Feeling It

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I’m sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch. Clouds hug the mountains. The air is still. Sweet bird song, along with the occasional caw caw caw from the crow friend, is the soundtrack to the early Smoky Mountain morning. (The photo is from yesterday’s Smoky Mountain adventure).

When I awoke, I looked at the time…I’d been on the trail 45 minutes yesterday the same time. Heading up to Mt LeConte in the muggy warmth, already having walked through the pre-dawn shadows of the night before and welcoming the light. 

Reflecting on the experience, rocking amid clouds, appreciating the extra sleep, I consider this well-loved trail. It’s a demanding trail due to elevation gain and technical challenges, but it’s a most beautiful trail with a clear mountain creek escorting hikers for the first mile or so before it enters a rock arch. It then begins to climb toward the beauty of Alum Cave, the destination of most hikers. After the ‘cave,’ the elevation gain begins to get serious, and it only stops just before arriving at LeConte Lodge…but begins again as the summit and Cliff Tops is visited. It’s a 12+ mile hike up and down Alum Cave trail if you visit the summit and Cliff Tops. And it is hard. 

So, I sit rocking, appreciating the singing birds and the clouds drifting through the trees. Reflecting. Remembering. Feeling it. Not in the physical body so much. Sure my feet are a little tired but they are after any longer hike. Not that kind of feeling it. But…feeling it.

I took my GoPro camera and videoed parts of the hike with the intention of putting a little video together for those curious about the trail or those who will never be able to hike it but want a glimpse of it. As I processed the video, I smiled as I heard myself, in the video, comment about the views or laugh at a steep drop-off beside the trail. I realized how open my heart was with the mountains, clouds, trees…the pack llamas, the deer mouse. My true self shines as I open to the beauty. Not just with this trail, but with Nature all the time. I just inadvertently documented it yesterday with the videos. 

For many, many years I’ve been hearing to deepen with Nature, and I’ve done that with diving, off-road cycling, fly fishing, hiking, photographing Nature…many outdoor experiences over several decades. The deepening continues as I recognize the opening of my heart to feel, to connect with a tiny deer mouse in the trail, or a pack llama, or a tree, a passing cloud, or my dogs as they push against me, the hound resting his big head on my keyboard and gazing into my eyes with longing, with love. 

When I spent a year documenting the BP Oil Spill, something closed within me. It was nearly unbearable to witness the carelessness of humans, disguised as crude oil, spread across beaches, floating in water, dispersed to hide it, which made it even more deadly…yes, my heart was challenged to feel much of anything then. Those scars are still there, but immersing myself in beauty creates openings that allow my heart to soar again, to embrace Nature with such deep love. 

I feel the Oneness with Nature. Always have. That’s why witnessing the darkness of human behaviors with the crude oil disaster was overwhelming and I had to shut down a bit to survive mentally, emotionally, spiritually. But now….14 years later…I understand more about what it means to connect deeply with Nature and because we are part of Nature, how we are harmed when Nature is harmed. When Nature flourishes, we flourish.

More crows call now. A hummingbird just flitted by. Clouds still tickle treetops. My thoughts briefly turn to breakfast…blueberries from my garden…as I sit in communion with the forest around me, grateful to be feeling it. 

Here’s the video:
In Clouds

In Clouds

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High elevation hiking to beat the heat gave the perfect Smoky Mountain experience early this morning. Thick clouds blanketed the mountains. White mist blew across the road as I drove to the trailhead. 

It felt strange to start a hike going downhill, but to get to Andrews Bald, that’s how it goes. It stands at 5860 feet and the trail head is at 6350 feet.  The cloud base was far below that elevation. And it was magnificent.

Wet rocks, lush ferns, water hugging my face as the clouds blew across the trail…perfect. Bird song so sweet my smile never faded. The forest feels close, so close, at these higher altitudes. Trails are carved from rocks and meander between fraser fir and red spruce trees. The smell of the firs intoxicates me every time I’m with them. It’s as if that fragrance calms me, steadies me.

When the trail isn’t cluttered with hyper, human energy and chatter, I’m able to connect deeper with my friends–rocks, ferns, trees, birds, flowers–and hear their voice so much clearer. The same can be said when I am able to stop my internal chatter. 

Clouds act as my guide to inner stillness, inner quiet. They open me to experience the forest from their perspective: moist blankets that wrap everything in their beauty.

The flame azaleas were a sharp contrast to the grays and whites of the clouds.

After enjoying the colorful, fiery beauty of the azaleas, I hiked the Bypass Trail up to the top of Clingman’s Dome and enjoyed being above the forest in the clouds.

I feel at peace, joyful, and grateful to connect deeply with the spirits of the forest. Go outside…find your inner quiet and listen to the wonders of Nature.