Backpacking

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Into The Wild

It was July, so why was there snow on the ground? We'd been climbing a mountain on the first day of a 4 day backpacking trip. It was 1995, and I was exploring the vast and untamed Weminuchi Wilderness in Colorado with my college friend, Doug. As we hiked, our conversation engaged our attention. We didn’t notice that we’d lost the trail under the snow. 

It was my first time backpacking in the Rocky Mountains. I've always been drawn to the mountains. Ever since I was a toddler, my family would car camp during summer vacations, many times in the Appalachian Mountains, and we travelled to all of the states, except those on the west coast. I started backpacking with friends during my 20’s, with many trips to Shenandoah National Park and to the Blue Ridge Mountains of VA and NC. 

Backpacking now, in the Rockies, it was a novelty to experience elevations where trees no longer grew, leaving stunning views of snow capped peaks, clear blue glacial lakes, and broad green valleys.

We’d been hiking above the tree line for more than half an hour, trudging our packs as we talked with a few inches of snow underfoot. The summer air was warmed by a clear bright sunlit day, and the snow was melting fast. Every stream we’d crossed to this point was overflowing with powerful rushing currents. We’d heard that the winter had brought record snow to the region. Now those snows were melting in the summer sun. These were the days before the internet and Global Positioning Satellites (GPS). All we had was a trail map and a compass. Neither of us were experienced navigators, which became apparent when we started descending back into the tree line and finally noticed the trail we thought we were following had abruptly fizzled out. All that was left before us was deeper snow under densely packed conifers. We’d lost the trail for sure! We had no idea where or when it happened, so after looking at the map, we turned around and started walking back the way we’d come. After returning back to where we first hit snow, and seeing no sign of the trail along the way, we were in a conundrum. We still had 3 days left on our planned loop but how could we continue without knowing where the trail was? There were many snow covered passages that could have been a trail, but there was no way to tell which one to take. Eventually we decided on a snowy passage that looked the most promising, and that was headed in the direction of our planned trail. Then we set off again with a mix of thrill and worry in our hearts. This time we'd be paying closer attention to the trail than to our conversation.

We never did find the trail again that whole trip, and we felt somewhat lost most of the time. Neither of us were confident that we knew our position using the map and compass, but we must have done a pretty good job of it since we eventually made it back to the trailhead days later, on our planned day of departure. Much of our backpacking was above the trees, which treated us to crystal blue high altitude lakes, huge night skies filled with more stars than I’d ever seen, and glorious rolling valleys and streams. Our days were filled with rigorous ascents and descents while carrying heavy packs. It was the trip of a lifetime that I will never forget. I remember crossing a stream at around 13,000 feet (4,000 meters). Snow covered peaks surrounded me as far as the eye could see. When I looked at my feet they were covered with tiny gold flakes, which might have been pyrite, but it thrilled us nonetheless. 

The following year I returned to the west with my girlfriend and we backpacked Rocky Mountain National Park, and the Pecos Wilderness of New Mexico. Each place offered a special ruggedness and beauty. All of these trips sewed within me a deep and enduring love of backpacking.

Once I reached my 40's and started a family, and as career responsibilities grew, I no longer found time or energy for backpacking. I still longed to be in the mountain forests, and I greatly missed the peace and joy from those experiences. 

A decade later, in my 50's, and after almost 30 years in my engineering career, on one seemingly ordinary day I was called into a conference room and laid off. That was a milestone event for my life, and a catalyst for positive change. It made me question many things, especially how I was spending my time. Was I spending it on meaningful things?

As you read on, I'll share this space with you. Not only the beauty of the trail, but some personal revelations along the way. My goal is to encourage you to explore the nature that is around you and reflect, with gratitude, on the many blessings God bestows. I want to stay curious and adventurous. I want to give readers a sense of what I experience internally and externally on these trips. Maybe something here will connect and inspire you to explore meaningful activities, or spark positive change, like it does for me.  Comment

Why I Backpack

Backpacking is the art of simplification and necessity. It is about making the most out of the least through mindfulness and optimization. At the same time it is about experiencing abundance, growth, and balance as I interact within vast and complex ecosystems. I am constrained, but have never been more free. I am a man alone, but never feel lonely. My mind is racing, my heart is full, my soul is connected to things much larger. Not of my own doing, but simply by showing up and being present as I trek through the woods with the goal to explore all that is around me.

Some things can only be seen by backpacking, especially out west. There are still beautiful places where no road can get you close enough to see on a day hike. I remember laying on a huge boulder next to a lake above the tree line in the Weminuchi Wilderness of Colorado. We were many miles from civilization, so there was no light pollution.  The Milky Way could easily be seen in the sky. I was a small being experiencing a vast  landscape beneath and a massive starlit sky above. My soul felt so full. It was a beautiful sight that I will always cherish, and It fills me with gratitude and awe to think about it. The generations of today rarely see the night sky as it truly is, filled with countless stars! If we look up at all, most of the stars are obscured by millions of light sources on the ground.

When I was backpacking near Hawksbill Mountain in the Linville Wilderness of North Carolina I stopped to eat lunch on the trail. I said aloud, "it is so quiet and peaceful here"! Then I realized that it wasn't quiet at all! There was a symphony of sound all around me from insects, bird calls, field mice, rabbits, squirrels, and other animals, all moving about in search of food or a mate. Leaves were rustling high above, twigs and leaves were landing on the ground, a small stream was bubbling near my feet. The more I listened, the more things I heard. It seemed that everything in the forest had claimed its own frequency, and the combination of sounds made a beautiful music. It instilled an incredible peace within me. Just then, I heard a loud noise overhead as a large hawk flapped its wings to lift off a branch. It turned out that there was always another forest sound to add to the chorus. I can only truly experience this by being in a forest for an extended period of time, spending a few nights among the trees. I need the woods to settle me and get me back in sync before it can work its deeper magic on me. 

Backpacking is firmly rooted in the physical realm of human existence but extends well beyond it. The constant physical demands of carrying 45-50 pounds on my back are hard to ignore as the steady thrum of my heart works to pump blood and oxygen to my legs while climbing a steep mountain. The physical experience is ever present and available to my mind, as it is at any other time, but the physical demands of backpacking bring a renewed awareness. Despite this, backpacking spans far beyond my physical existence. It is a calibration for my soul because it resets every premise of modern life and reconnects me to millions of years of evolutionary history. There is no plumbing, no electricity, no internet or cell service, and there is little to no light after dark, especially deep in the woods. Some nights, when there is no moon or starlight, I can’t even see my hand in front of my face, but I can hear a symphony of sounds all around me as an abundance of life goes about its work, and the streams rush along, and the wind jostles leaves and branches to the ground. 

Even as I am surrounded by the abundance of nature, material needs seem scarce. There is only what is on my back, unless there is knowledge to extract more from circumstances and surroundings. Conservation is ever present in my mind (getting water, finding a place to shelter, staying dry and warm). All this, even as I find myself filled with gratitude at the glory and abundance surrounding me.

Backpacking also touches the spiritual realm. I find myself in constant communion with God: praying, meditating, contemplating, singing, receiving His providence and blessings, while enjoying and releasing them back through worship. This spiritual cycle flows through me as God’s Spirit restores and heals the things I’ve lost from the world. 

Backpacking unlocks and expands my creative potential. I love to write lyrics and poems on my trips into the wilderness. I constantly have music running through my head. I imagine my brain subconsciously making connections between my spiritual, physical, intellectual, creative, and emotional realms of existence as new insights and revelations come. This is how I experience God, and the peace and joy that follow. If it sounds too good to be true then perhaps you need to give backpacking a try.

I used to backpack for leisure, because I enjoyed it. Now I realize it is also from necessity. I’ve come to learn that this reset is critical to the pursuit of meaning.  Comment

Carrying The Weight

I carry a heavy backpack. It weighs 46 pounds (21 kg) on trail, and my full water canteen adds another 2.5 pounds. My pack is consciously heavy for several reasons: 

1. Safety: Since I'm by myself and out of communication range, I choose to carry items I might otherwise leave at home, such as additional clothing, a larger first aid kit, battery charger, and multiple ways to spark and build a fire. I also cannot share the weight of my tent and cooking gear with others.

2. Comfort: I gladly sacrifice extra weight for a good night's sleep. I bring a small memory foam pillow (very heavy!). I also bring a 2 person tent, which is heavy and is 30 years old, but still works great and provides me a lot of space when I shelter for the night or from bad weather. I leave 2 of its 4 tent poles at home to lighten the weight. I also bring a 30 year old steel backpacking stove because it is very reliable to make the fresh hot coffee I love in the morning. I also haven't found anything new that is better after exploring many alternatives. Once you factor in the weight of the fuel and canister, my stove isn't that much heavier. I also bring a pair of water shoes and extra clothing because I've been cold and wet on the trail enough times to never want that again. I also bring a backpacking chair that is high backed so I can rest my head. This chair weighs 1 pound and folds into a compact form that stows easily in my pack. I like to meditate for hours in the evening, and there is nothing quite so special as having a comfortable chair after a long day of hiking. For me, it is well worth the weight.

3. Fitness: Rucking 50 pounds for days, while ascending and descending mountains and scrambling over rocks and streams, keeps me fit, strong, balanced, flexible, and injury free in life. I've been doing a 30 minute HIIT routine (high intensity interval training) every day since 2020. It is optimized for time, because I don't like deliberate exercise, but it keeps me ready for the demands of backpacking. I've found that I can always carve out 30 minutes to reap its massive rewards.

I almost never cook, so I don't need pots or a stove, except to boil water for coffee. I've eaten a low insulin diet since 2012 (i.e. high in healthy fats, low in carbohydrates, and moderate in protein). Because of this, I eat mostly jerky and an assortment of nuts when I backpack. I'm sure that sounds boring, but I'm very happy eating for nutrition and satiation instead of pleasure and fullness. Satiation is very pleasurable and sustaining in itself, and anyone can eat like this for a few days and nights while backpacking. Jerky and nuts are nutritionally dense, take up little space, and keep me going for hours without hunger. When I come off the trail I like to get a fresh salad, which I find both pleasurable and healthy.  Comment

I don't need many of these heavy things that I carry. I'm also not out to prove anything or to set any records. I want to follow the pace of my body as it syncronizes with the pace of the forest. I stop whenever I want to take in something interesting, or simply to rest, but I find that I don't stop for rest very much. Once I get into a hiking rhythm, it is very easy and comfortable to simply keep walking. Carrying excess weight is also a good reminder of my need to practice faith, and to trust in providence. It keeps me pondering why I need all this stuff. I like to ask myself why I carry all these things on my back? What am I trying to prove? What do I fear and why? Why do I endure any needless burdens? The weight I bear is also a prescient reminder of the burdens I blindly carry in life. Why do I continue this vain effort to protect myself from emotional and physical vulnerabilities? Why do I do this, even as these burdens constrain me and restrict my ability to explore my physical, spiritual, and emotional worlds? Why aren't I more openhearted? What is gained from so much protection, or are these simply old habits that are entrenched and hard to break? Why do I limit my vulnerability to pain, and in doing so, limit my joy in kind? The RetroFusion song "Wanderer" is about this, with allegorical lyrics that were inspired from backpacking. The song "Wichita" also explores these ideas.

So, because of all of these things, I've decided to carry the weight. I think it makes me better with its passive teaching. Perhaps one day my load will be lighter as I learn and grow.  Comment

Encountering The Bear

Citico Creek Wilderness, TN, November, 2023

The Citico Wilderness is 7 hours drive from my home in Raleigh, NC, so it was 3pm by the time I arrived at the trailhead. Like many trailheads, this one had a place to park and a National Forest Service ranger’s bulletin board with a map, warnings of bear sightings, along with what to do if you encounter a bear. These are common to most bulletin boards, but I took renewed interest on this trip because Citico is deep inside of bear country. It’s in the Cherokee National Forest, not far from Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I’ve backpacked Great Smoky Mountains NP several times and have encountered bears at the designated campsites in the backcountry. National Parks are stunningly beautiful and offer features seen nowhere else. That’s why they get the “National Park” designation and are protected from logging and other development. National “Forests” and “Wilderness Area” designations are less protected but can offer much of the same beauty as national parks. They have far fewer visitors and usually don’t require permits. They also don’t have designated campsites along trails that must be reserved by backpackers in advance. Instead, backpackers are instructed to “leave no trace” as they explore these areas (this is always the case). Part of “leave no trace” involves camping out of sight of the trail and at a distance from streams and water sources. It's about minimizing the burden you place on the forest's ecosystems, and on other visitors. The trailhead bulletin board will also tell you if there are any fire restrictions or other important notices. For example, when I was backpacking Little Dry Run Wilderness in Virginia, the bulletin board warned of spotted lanternflies, which are an aggressive insect species invading the area and damaging trees and fragile forest ecosystems. Hikers were instructed to kill any they saw and to check gear before departing to make sure none were able to hitch a ride and migrate further afield. The board showed detailed photos of the lanternflies and the damage they were doing as their populations flourished, being free from their natural predators.

After checking the board, I hoisted my heavy pack and started hiking into the woods with the usual expectation that I could encounter a bear but that I probably wouldn’t. Bear populations in the Appalachian mountains have been growing since the 1980’s, but encounters are still relatively rare. I usually make a bit of noise when I hike. Since I’m an apex predator, wild animals are terrified of me and want to avoid me at all cost. Even though I usually enjoy seeing wildlife, I also find it best if we avoid one another altogether, except at a distance. So I let animals know I’m around by thinking and praying aloud, or by singing or whistling. Most of the time I’m silent, but backpacking is noisy enough in itself for animals to hear, with my aerobic breathing and rustling of the pack as I hike along. The noise allows them to scamper off before I arrive. If you think about it, it makes sense that animals are naturally afraid of humans. Animals want food, water, safety, shelter, and a mate. Humans provide none of these things, unless we are careless with food or trash, so animals really aren’t interested in being near us. However, the designated shelters on the Appalachian Trail (AT) and the designated campsites in National and State Parks are known to be consistent food sources for animals. I’ve slept in AT shelters and had mice crawling over me and in and out of my sleeping bag during the night. It’s unavoidable. You can hear field mice leap from trees overhead and land on the tin roof of the shelter just after dark. Fortunately backpacking is exhausting, so you usually sleep through their foraging. Similarly, established (designated) campsites attract bears, raccoons, skunks, and other nocturnal animals. It may seem counterintuitive, but I rarely see animals in the wilderness. In fact, I see more wildlife in my backyard at home. It makes sense when you think about it. Life is hard in the wilderness, but food is plentiful wherever humans establish themselves. I offer little to nothing for them out there, alone in the deep woods, with my food and trash hung high in a tree in a watertight bear bag. This is another reason I prefer wilderness areas and national forests over state and national parks. The downside is, sometimes it’s hard to find even a small flat space to pitch a tent, especially a space that is near enough to water.

It was 3pm when I started to hike, and it was November, so sunset was fast approaching. I hiked quickly so that I could get several miles into the woods before dark. I crossed a fast moving stream and, in my haste, lost the trail for a bit on the other side of the stream, but eventually found it and started climbing up a mountain. After a few hours of hiking, it was 6:30pm and the light was waning. The only place I could find that was flat at all was on the trail itself. No one was on the trail. I was ⅔ the way up another mountain slope and there was a small flowing stream nearby. There was no more time to look for a camp, so I decided to pitch my tent right there, on the trail. If you think about it, it’s the best place from a “leave no trace” standpoint. It doesn’t disturb plantlife since nothing much grows on the trail itself. It’s flat and relatively smooth. Still, it’s not desirable since another hiker could come along, even though I was certain no one would, especially this late in the day. Plus, I hadn’t seen anyone on the trail, which is typical for me. By 6:45pm, I’d just pitched my tent and had all of my food out, eating dinner, when I saw a black bear loping down the mountain, heading straight for my camp! It was the worst time, since all of my food was out in the open. I grabbed a cooking pot and lid and started yelling at the bear and banging the pans together. The bear actually jumped! Bears hate strange loud noises. It hadn’t seen me before I yelled, and I was downwind of him. He was about 50 yards (~45m) away. I think he was coming to the stream for some water when I scared him. He ran away from me, up the other side of the ravine. We scared the hell out of each other, that’s for sure! I’d say he was almost an adult bear, coming about up to my chest when he was on all fours. He was on his own, but I quickly finished my dinner and hung my food on a tree branch high off the ground. By then it was dark. I sat in the darkness and kept an eye out while I tried to calm myself for sleep. 

I almost never use a flashlight. Flashlights give me tunnel vision and hurt my eyes. They obscure my peripheral vision, which severely limits my visual range and the ability to spot movement. So I find that I can see better without them for most tasks at night once my pupils are fully dilated. Humans lived without light at night for millions of years, so it didn’t surprise me to discover I could see fine in the dark. But if it's cloudy with no moon or stars, it'll be pitch black and you won't even see your hand in front of your face after dark. I remember one night in the Joyce Kilmer Wilderness I stepped outside in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and when I turned around to return to my tent, the tent was gone! I couldn't find it in the pitch black, which gave me a brief panic. Thankfully, I hadn't wandered far from my tent and was able to feel my way back to it. 

On this night in Citico Wilderness, however, the leaves were off the trees and the sky was glorious! So I sat there in the dark in a chair outside my tent, listening and watching. Bears are curious creatures, so I was sure he’d be back after dark to search for food around my camp. Bears have a sense of smell that is ten times better than a dog! If there’s food, they will find it. After 45 minutes or so I got tired and cold, so I went to bed. 

Sometime during the night I was awoken from a deep sleep by grunts outside my tent. I was sure the bear had returned, so I banged the pots and yelled at him again from inside my tent.  Then, somehow, I immediately fell back to sleep. Later, I woke again briefly (around 3am) and went outside. The sky was bright and full with stars and the moon was out. It was a clear, beautiful night. I didn’t see or hear the bear, and my food bag was still hanging securely from its high branch. I thought I’d be nervous going outside of my tent, but somehow I knew all was well, so now I wasn’t afraid at all. What happens is that my heart fills with gratitude. I feel awe, and feel the presence of God. I feel joy at being within His creation and surrounded by so much beauty.

"I know all the birds in the mountains, and every wild creature is in my care...The sacrifice that honors me is a thankful heart..." -- Psalm 50:10 and 23, CEV)

I couldn’t believe I was so exhausted when the bear returned that I fell back to sleep after scaring him off outside of my tent. I wasn’t scared when he came back though. Somehow, God let me know that all was safe and well. That the bear was only curious about food and meant me no harm. I looked around a bit, and then I went back inside my tent and slept until daybreak.

It was cold in the morning. There was no sign of the bear. He was long gone now and I didn’t think of him much anymore, but I sure was more alert for bears in general. It’s funny because I thought most of them would have hibernated by November, but obviously I don’t know much about that. 

When I set up my tent the night before I noticed a lot of rather large orange backed spiders nesting in the leaves. They were really cool looking with interesting markings on their backs. It looked like they used the autumn leaf litter for shelter, so I scuffed away most of the fallen leaves on the trail before pitching my tent. I was worried I’d squash some of them under my tent. When I packed up my tent to leave, I was relieved to see that I hadn’t hurt any of them. I filtered water from the rolling stream nearby. It was cold and fresh, and tasted great. I enjoyed several hot cups of coffee, read my small backpacking Bible, said my prayers, then I set off for another day of hiking. 

After lunch l spotted something unnatural in a tree a long way up the trail. It was bright pink and gleamed in the sun. When I got close enough I discovered it was a helium birthday balloon caught in a tree. I found a large enough stick to get it down and I stowed it with my trash. It’s amazing how far those things fly when people let go of them. They travel many miles. It made me sad thinking about it. It’s sad that people can pollute a wilderness many miles away and not even know it! It was so out of place in that natural setting. The nearest town is almost an hour's drive away! I can’t ever buy one of those balloons after seeing what that one did.

Death and Persistence

Cedar Rock, Shining Rock Wilderness, NC, May 2021

Once during a job interview someone asked me “what single word describes you best”? The first word that jumped into my mind was persistence. It’s true that I am very persistent, only I didn’t realize how persistent I was until I was backpacking in the Shining Rock Wilderness. That's when persistence almost cost me my life. 

Persistence brings about positive change. It animates my daily habits and goals. It drives self discipline, especially when I really don’t want to do something I know I should do. I cherish its energy and am grateful for its strength. Like many people, something I view as a strength, also becomes a weakness when I trust too much in it and let it run wild.

It was a beautiful day on the trail. My backpack was bearing down as I climbed a mountain, but I was feeling good. There was a sign at a trail junction noting paths that were closed due to the nesting season of peregrine falcons. Fortunately, the trail I’d planned wasn’t affected, so I travelled on. The further I hiked, the steeper the trail got, until I found myself backpacking on hands and knees in sections, while grabbing small trees and roots for handholds. This was brutal! I felt like Sisyphus. After about 30 minutes of this, which is an eternity with a 50 pound pack, I eventually reached the base of a large rock face. My trail map showed the trail continuing at the top of the rock face, about 50 feet (15m) above me. I stopped to rest and figure out how to proceed. I’m not a rock climber and I have no gear to ascend rock faces of any size. I only have the long nylon rope I use to hang my food at night. I tried to climb the rock in front of me without my pack on, but I couldn’t find any good foot or hand holds. I saw a tree at the top and got the idea to toss my rope around it using a small rock tied to the end of the rope. Then I could use the rope to ascend the cliff. It seemed so simple. It was only 50 feet and then I could be on my way forward again. So I pulled out my rope and was able to secure it with the tree at the top of the rock face. You get pretty good at tossing ropes around high branches after backpacking for so many years. I started climbing again and got about 20 feet up when I happened to look down. All of a sudden terror struck me and I sucked in a deep breath. What was I thinking?? Am I crazy? I’m all alone out here with no one to help me and no way to call if I got hurt. I’m a husband and father of a young daughter. My wife would kill me if she saw me doing this! My rational mind finally took control of me, but was it too late? How was I going to get down? Anyone who’s climbed anything knows that it’s far easier to climb up, then down. Ask any cat! I was paralyzed as I thought of how terrible it would be to fall from this height. I’d probably keep falling for quite a while because I’d just climbed that steep section of loose rocks on hands and knees and there wasn’t much to stop me from tumbling back the way I’d come. Now I was scared to death and cursing my stupidity. I desperately started looking for a way back down off the rock face. 

After several attempts I finally found a way back down to the base of the rock face. My heart was racing. Even so, my persistence was fighting me. The trail was right up there! The only alternative was to turn around and go back down that steep trail I’d worked so hard to ascend. I was loath to do it, even after my scare. What was wrong with me? I don’t remember ever facing a struggle like this with my persistence. Finally, I packed up the rope, hoisted my pack, and headed back the way I’d come. The trip down took about 10 minutes, vs. the 30 minutes it took to ascend. After a mile or so I found a ridge trail that took me around the mountain instead of over the mountain. Part of me felt like I’d failed. Mostly I was relieved and felt affirmed that I’d made the right decision. Still, my curiosity longed to know what the trail was like at the top of that rock face. As I hiked along my new path, I quickly learned what a huge rocky mountain it was! Viewing it from the ridge, I hiked past sheer cliffs several hundred feet high. It was a beautiful hike. As I reflected on my mistakes I thought of the impossible situation I could have been in if I’d reached the trail at the top, only to find another rock face further on. This was very likely, as a close study of my map showed. I would have been stuck there between two cliffs with no way back down, other than trying to descend that rock face from the top. The thought made me shiver. I spent the rest of that day contemplating persistence. Was this “strength” of mine really a strength at all? This energy that had always served me so well in the past had nearly killed me, or stranded me. It’s a lesson I’m glad to carry with me. Sometimes the best way forward is to keep pushing forward, as I’ve always done. Sometimes it’s to go backwards. Learning which is best in each circumstance is something I’d need to figure out. I live in this strange dichotomy. I’m health conscious, and I structure my daily habits with the goal to live a long life in good health (within what is under my control). Death avoidance is part of that. That seems obvious, but it’s not. We risk our lives all the time, many times unconsciously, especially while driving. For example, I gave up road cycling years ago. It’s a sport I love, but I can no longer justify its risks in today’s highly distracted driver environment. On the other hand, I’m comfortable taking risks, and consider them essential to achieving anything meaningful, and to living a good life. I gladly take risks in investing, in leadership, in relationships, in solo backpacking, in music, and in practicing my Christian faith. I still haven’t figured out how my persistence could fail me so completely. I still hold that part of me that is disappointed that I didn’t climb that rock face. I like to look at the photo of that rock from time to time. I like thinking about how strengths can become weaknesses. Mostly, it all reinforces my belief in providence and fills me with gratitude.  Comment

Feral Glory

Harper Creek Wilderness, NC, June 2021

Can you say you’re lost when you can see your exact position on a trail map? After backpacking in Harper Creek Wilderness, I say yes, you can! This was one of the first places I explored after returning to backpacking, and it remains my favorite to date. Harper Creek is a rugged place with three enormous waterfalls spaced miles apart along a circuitous loop. It’s hard to call it a loop, since the loop I’d laid out ultimately required me to bushwhack off trail multiple times. But it was all worth it for the incredible views and the feral glory of this region.

If you believe in God, you can see through a lens where everything at its essence, or its soul, in human terms, does nothing all day but glorify God its creator. I like to think about this when I hike along the trail and see everything around me striving, reaching out, and using all of its energy to become more than itself alone. It captivates my attention. If you think about it, all of life wants to grow and expand beyond its boundaries and current potential. It's part of what compels me to explore these wildernesses. I think life will keep reaching out and expanding until it one day meets its creator. I see that spirit within all life and wrote a song about it with my great friend, Rich Spangenberg, called “Spaceman”. When I see unconscious life (like a flower or a snail) reaching out, I think of it as a kind of feral glory because it is wild and free and guided by impulse, towards God. It doesn’t think about why it’s reaching out to God, it just does it instinctively. I believe the beauty of a flower, or a snail is there for more than wanting to attract a bee or shoot love darts at a mate. That’s beautiful in itself. But in the end, what are we here for if not to strive to know something very far beyond ourselves?

This feral glory was on full display as I backpacked Harper Creek. I crossed at least 15 mountain streams and walked amid goliath boulders and rock channels filled with rushing mountain waters. To visit all three waterfalls I had to search for trails that would connect them. This proved difficult on the map, and much harder on the trail itself.

I like to think about something I read a few years ago: that the water from streams erodes mountains at an alarming rate each year until, after a million years, there is not much left of the mountain. The Rocky Mountains are rugged and fierce. At a glance, they seem powerful and more substantial than the Appalachian mountains. But I love the Appalachian mountains because they are so old. They’ve taken on the forces of wind and water for many centuries, even though their once ancient forests are now quite young.

The forests of the Eastern US have been logged extensively, and most of them were completely deforested during the late 1800s to early 1900s. Because of this, most forests within the Appalachian mountains are only about 100 years old, which is to say, they’re teenagers in the life cycle of trees. Like a teenager, they are filled with restless energy, confusion, and a bit of angst. Their parents are gone and the house has gone wild, with very few established ecosystems to guide them to a healthy maturity. Various native and invasive species of flora and fauna vie for a foothold in a long devastated old growth landscape. Ecosystems that once supported those old growth forests are now rebuilding and evolving in a complex dance. In the excellent book “The Hidden Life Of Trees” by Peter Wohlleben, he describes the regrowth of deforested areas and the multiple, 500 year generations needed to restore them. I like to think about all this as I backpack. If you look closely with this history in mind, things come to light. I think about how humans are part of these ecosystems and about the enormous influence we have on them. The establishment of national parks and designated wilderness areas came out of a deepening understanding as we watched all of our old growth forests completely disappear. Logging is an important industry and it has provided good jobs and important building materials for people for many generations. I’m ignorant to know where the balance lies, but I’m sure it doesn’t lie all on one side.

Some of the old logging roads now serve as forest service roads. These are winding narrow gravel roads that are outside of cell phone service and built along mountain ridges and waterways. I drive these roads for miles in order to reach wilderness area trailheads. There are also much older logging roads throughout the landscape that are abandoned, and are now overgrown and impassable. Sometimes, as I hike the trail, I come across one of these old roads. I also find old steel rails, pipes, and rail ties from time to time that were abandoned by loggers. I try to imagine the ancient old growth forests that were thousands of years old, and the myriad life they hosted. Then imagine the barren, deforested landscapes of 100 years ago. It makes me marvel all the more at the feral glory that surrounds me.

Harper Creek Wilderness is my favorite of the 13 wilderness areas I’ve explored to date. It’s also one of the wildest and most difficult to explore, especially as a loop.

Almost all of the trail articles and gear recommendations you see are for, and about, thru hikers. That’s probably because the Appalachian Trail (AT), the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), and the Mountains To Sea Trail (MTS) are very popular. Many people set goals to hike them, and they buy ultralight gear and hiking poles to make many fast miles each day. Thru hiking has a long and storied history. It has its own trail culture and conventions. It’s wonderful, and I applaud it all. I like to read books and articles about it, but it's completely different from what I do and from why I backpack. That’s partly what compelled me to make this blog. I wanted to give voice to a different way of backpacking.

I always want to travel in a loop if I can, because even though the trail can look very different out vs. back, I like moving forward and seeing as much of the landscape as possible. Thru hikers move forward, but require logistics at endpoints. They typically set their pace from mileage goals, and often encounter other hikers. I want to go where and when I’m least likely to see anyone. It’s not that I’m unsocial, but the more I’m able to be insular with the forest, the easier it is to synchronize with its rhythm and pace. That way, it can work its special magic without delay. Something happens when I align my being with the nature around me. I become part of it in a unique way that only happens when you’re alone. Crossing paths with people doesn’t interfere with this too much, and I enjoy chatting with others I meet on the trail, but I am intentional about where and when I solo backpack in order to make the most of that meditative experience.

The first waterfall in my trail loop was Harper Creek Waterfall. It’s only a mile or two from the trailhead, so it gets quite a bit of day hiker traffic, especially on weekends. These are grand, beautiful falls, with a large swimming hole beneath them. That makes it a popular destination for day hikers. On my second trip to this wilderness someone had installed a huge zip line spanning the falls and a large adjacent boulder, but beyond these falls, especially after the first crossing of Harper Creek, I never see anyone, and you can feel the solitude of the place take hold of you. The MTS trail runs through the center of Harper Creek, and you are likely to see some thru hikers on that trail, but on the loop I hiked during my first visit, I wasn’t on the MTS, so I saw no one.

I hiked until early evening and found a good place to camp the first night. The trail followed and criss-crossed multiple streams, so there was plenty of water. I went barefoot and tried to dry my shoes. I filled my water filtering bag, and hung it on a tree branch as I set up my tent and prepared the rope to hang my food and trash for the night. After dinner, I meditated and listened in my chair for a couple of hours. After dark the tree frogs go crazy and their mating calls fill the air with loud pulsing rhythms. This goes on until about midnight. After listening for a while in the dark, I went to bed.

By Noon the next day I arrived at South Harper Creek Falls. The waterway called Harper Creek makes a huge deep canyon here with shear rock faces jutting a hundred feet high. The falls exiting the canyon are spectacular! I had lunch on a boulder at the top of the falls while water rushed violently past me. The thunderous sound of the water echoing off the canyon walls was intoxicating. The trail I followed after lunch climbed a mountain and circled back towards the falls, providing an incredible, long range, elevated view of the entire falls and canyon from afar. What a sight it was in all its feral glory! Photos can never capture this place, especially not my amateur photography. 

I hiked for several more miles, and in the late afternoon I found an excellent camp, so I stopped for the day. You never know what’s ahead on the trail, or whether you’ll find a good place to camp, so I’ve learned to follow my instincts when I spot a good camp. Even if I’ve planned to hike further, sometimes I’ll decide to stop for the day and enjoy a restful evening in a good camp. That’s what I decided to do here. 

The next morning, I was soaking wet within an hour of waking up. It had rained in the evening and all through the night, but now the sun was out and I was shaking the water off of my tent and tarp so they could dry a bit in the morning sun. The air was hot and very humid, and it didn’t take much exertion to start sweating. Everything was soaked from the rain, so my pack was going to be even heavier than usual. I’d hung wet clothes on a line to dry in the afternoon, but now they were wetter than before I hung them. Things never dry out on the trail, unless they are in direct sunlight for hours. The Appalachian Mountains are far too humid in summer for anything to dry. I was already wet, so I soaked my t-shirt in the stream to cool off for the hike ahead and packed up my damp gear.

I could see the trail I’d planned to take on the map, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. This would turn out to be the theme of the day. Finally I spotted a small, faded and torn pink ribbon tied to a branch across the stream near my camp. Was there a trail there? It was hard to tell with the abundant ground cover, and it looked like the intended path went straight up the mountain next to me. I hoisted my very heavy pack, with its damp tent and clothing, and headed across the stream to the trail. This was clearly an obscure trail that no one had hiked in years. The ground was covered with dense, knee high vegetation and thorns, and I thought of that Tennyson poem: 

“I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, and sparkle out among the fern, to bicker down the valley” 

Just then, I saw what looked like a very narrow path beneath the fern, and bickered up the mountain.

I usually look like a zombie when I come off the trail. I’m muddy and have bloody scars on my arms and legs from all of the briers that reach out to me as I hike along. This trail was going to turn me into a zombie for sure. Today I’d definitely need a swizzle stick. I was a bartender a long time ago and I always liked that name ‘swizzle stick’, so I call the small branches I use to catch cobwebs before they hit my face swizzle sticks, because it’s more interesting than calling it a spider web branch. I looked around to find the perfect swizzle: something lightweight to hold before my face with lots of little branches on it to catch all of the webs along the trail. If I don’t use a swizzle stick I am quickly covered with cobwebs and constantly pulling them off my face and arms. This is especially true near water, and in the morning, and after it’s rained. With my swizzle stick in hand, I followed the overgrown trail straight up the mountain. 

The trail followed a small creek. It was very steep, hard hiking, but everything was so beautiful! Lush and alive, with bright greens, blooming wildflowers, and dark moist branches and rocks. The creek trickled with a steady stream of spring water. I was sure that the area was full of snakes, because it’s where I’d live if I were a snake! So I talked aloud and whistled as I huffed up the hill. It’s hard to find the breath to talk or sing on such a climb, but I made the effort in the hope of scaring off what might lay ahead on the trail. I’d seen a snake skin on a boulder on the first day but had not seen any snake signs since. I don’t have a huge fear of snakes but I respect their abilities, and their importance in the forest, and stay clear when I see them. Like all wild creatures, they are scared of humans and will slither away. They only strike if they are surprised or toyed with. I didn’t want to surprise any snakes on this trek! 

After an hour or so, I reached the top of the mountain. The trail finally flattened out and started following a ridge. A couple of hours later I came to what looked like the aftermath of a tornado! A hundred or more trees were laying in every direction on the ground across the trail. There was no way to pass, and now I was only a few miles from the third and final waterfall. The only way through was around, so I started bushwhacking off trail. The trees that had fallen were huge, so the arc around them needed to be very wide and far off trail. If the overgrown trail before was hard up that mountain, this was far worse! The woods were dense and full of downed branches, thick bushes, and thorns of all types. Whenever there is an open area in the woods to let in sunlight, the fast growing thorns and weeds spring up. With all these downed trees, the thorns were everywhere. The terrain off trail was uneven, with treacherous slopes and impassable ridges. I zigged and zagged in a wide arc through the brush, trying to stay as close to the trail as possible. After 45 minutes or so, I was exhausted, but I was finally past the downed trees, so I started vigilantly looking for the trail again. Everywhere I trekked there was no trail. I could see a trail on my map but it wasn’t here, or I was missing it somehow. That’s when I started to worry and feel lost, despite being able to see my exact position on the map! What if I never found the trail? What was I supposed to do then? I couldn’t keep bushwhacking through all this thick underbrush. It was exhausting. After anxiously trudging back and forth for what felt like forever, I finally found the trail and was relieved to be out of the weeds and moving forward again. 

A mile or so later I could hear the sound of water and knew I was approaching Phillips Branch Falls. These began as stair step falls which later ended in a large plunge, 100 feet or more off a high cliff. They were beautiful falls, and the trail offered several entry points to view each stage. Even so, it’s always hard to get a full, unimpeded view of anything in the Appalachian Mountains, especially for photographs. There is always a tree branch or rhododendron bush reaching for a parcel of sunlight and water. 

At the top of the cliff falls, there was a calm wading pool just before the final plunge. After cooling off in the pool for a while, I ate lunch on a boulder nearby and then started on the trail that I thought headed back to the trailhead. Waterfalls often have many small trails that branch off in all directions because people like to explore the falls from many angles. Phillips Branch Falls had a lot of trails around it and, in my confusion, I took the wrong trail. It didn’t take long to figure that out but, for the life of me, I couldn’t find the trail that led back home. The landscape had many of what looked like promising trails in the right direction, but these all fizzled out and led to more bushwhacking. After just getting free of the bushwhacking from earlier in the day, only to be bushwacking again, my confidence waned and my anxiety quickly returned. After struggling to find my way, I finally went back to where I’d had lunch. I was feeling frustrated and very tired. Once I calmed down, I saw my true trail heading off on the other side of the falls. The trail crossed the water on the cliff’s edge at the top of the falls and was hidden from view. If I’d paid closer attention to my map I would have seen that the trail was on the other side of the falls, but the mapping software was new to me and I was a rusty explorer. What a relief it was to finally be on a real, well maintained trail heading back towards home! My spirits quickly lifted and my grateful heart returned. As I hiked back to the trailhead I thought of all the beauty I'd seen, and the things I'd learned: 1) You never know what the trail ahead will bring, maybe it will bring a tornado of fallen trees. 2) Anxiety is a signal but never a solution. 3) When the woods are quiet and I am very still, a leaf landing on the ground is surprisingly loud! 4) It turns out you can get lost even when you can see your exact position on the map.  Comment

To Be Continued...

I am developing this page so please check back from time to time. I plan to blog about backpacking trips and share personal experiences and insights here. I've added a comments section below. I'd love for you to share your thoughts and experiences.  Comment

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