Go Wild in Tennessee: Tennessee

Showing posts with label Tennessee. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Virgin Falls

Virgin Falls; Scott’s Gulf adjacent to the Bridgestone/Firestone Wilderness Management Area on the Cumberland Plateau dividing East- and Middle-Tennessee.
Virgin Falls has a knack for making you question your hiking skills before you even manage to get on the trail. The moment you leave the trailhead parking, you’re assaulted with signage everywhere with various warnings ranging from:

“Stay on the trail; hikers have gotten lost here and there is no cell phone coverage so help is not going to be here quickly!” to

“Backpackers, sign this log so we know you’re here and how many are in your party!” to, finally,

“This is a very strenuous 9-mile round trip hike with a water crossings and heavy, steady ascents on exit; this trail is not recommended for non-experienced hikers and make sure you allow yourself enough time to complete the trail!”.

When you start down the trail, you’re curious just how daunting it will become. After all, the immediate terrain is flat and unremarkable. Bandit McKaye and I struck out on the trail around 8 a.m. with the promise of mild temperatures and a cloudless sky. Simply stated, it was the perfect day for a hike. Because we have never been to this area, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but there were only a couple of cars at the trailhead and the above-mentioned signs made me think it would be a peaceful, quiet hike. We followed the flat terrain across the top of a ridge for about ½ a mile when the trail met up with, and followed, a slow, quiet mountain creek. We followed the creek for awhile as it slowly but steadily increased in size. Before long it grew from a creek to a stream to a babbling brook. At this point, the terrain went from straight and simple to a steady decent. The footing was still easy and, in the distance, we could hear the brook growing into rapids. It was here that we found something we have never really done before: a cabled creek crossing. The water wasn’t very high so I grabbed onto the cable only as a gesture and we trekked across the tops of the rocks. The trail continued downward at a steady pace and the babbling rapids soon gave way to the thunder of an upcoming waterfall. I knew it was far too soon to be the Virgin Falls the trail was named after, so I was quite pleased to think we were going to have multiple falls to view. With the sound of the falls calling to us, we came to a split in the trail, one sign pointing to “The Overlook 0.5” and the other to Virgin Falls… we had plenty of time and – because it was early – energy, so we decided to take the spur to the top of the ridge.

We broke to the trail on the right and veered onto a steep switchback that meandered up the side of the ridge. While the sign told us it was only a half-mile to the overlook, as with any steep trail, you start to question the validity of the distance marker about ¾ of the way up. Breathing heavy, we came to something else we’ve never encountered before: a ladder going up a ledge next to a muddy trickling slope. Well, McKaye, being a quadruped, isn’t exactly equipped to handle a ladder… so we opted to go off-trail for a moment and put it in 4-wheel-drive. We slipped and slopped our way through the trickle-fed mud slope and then carried on. It was the last major hurdle, it seems, and within just a few hundred yards we found ourselves at Martha’s Pretty Point where 2 separate camping sites were set up with overnight backpackers. It was relatively early and McKaye has a knack for making people feel intimidated, so I beckoned a hello and “gorgeous morning” to those who were awake and meandering around. McKaye and I strode over to the bluff and sat for a moment, taking in the view of the valley gorge and the ridgeline on the far side. Worried we were disturbing those who were asleep, we quickly departed and headed back down trail for a nearby, uninhabited rock that provided a scenic vantage. We again admired the view (well, I admired while McKaye laid on the cool rock bluff) for a moment before heading back down the spur, making a mental note that it would be a great place to have an overnight visit as long as you had plenty of water in tow.

At the bottom of the ridge (which felt true to it’s 0.5 mile distance on the way down) we continued on toward the first of the thundering waterfalls. It wasn’t much further, though the terrain became distinctly more steep and the footing more rocky. Within a mile, we spotted Big Laurel Falls, the first of the falls on our hike. I was immediately enamored by the falls, which had gathered quite a bit of volume by this point, but the cool factor surrounded that the gorge immediately after the falls was completely barren of water. Where was it going? I was lookin at the falls going over the edge yet the immediate view after the falls was as dry as the top of the ridge! We walked further down the trail and then crossed down to Big Laurel Campsite and Falls to marvel that the water came rushing over a ledge that carved itself deeply backward into the rock… the water that fell from the top ran backwards to the ledge and then disappeared under the ground. Needing a closer inspection, we traversed over rocks and boulders to the other side of the falls – the side that is actually nearer the trail – and the cold that was emanating from the area behind the falls was almost tangible. Even though the temperature was still very mild – maybe 55-degree – the temperature at the base of the falls’ cave was barely above freezing. Steam rolled off of my heated body in waves and McKaye’s breath steamed the air with each huff.

Knowing we still had quite a bit of hike to go (and already seeing how steep the trip out would be) we didn’t linger long. Back on the trail I continued to marvel for the next half mile on how the gorge, which was carved and lush, so perfectly hid the raging river under the surface. I wondered for quite some time as I marveled at this on if that was the water that fed Virgin Falls.
About a mile further ahead I heard the unmistakable sound of more water in the distance, the sound often feeling as if it just “appeared” because it’s akin to wind bustling through trees. I strained my ears and then my eyes and, off in the distance through the bare trees I saw the refraction of sunlight from the broken surface of the river. I wondered where it had emerged and if I was going to see that place. I thought the trail would lead me there but, a little further, I came to another sign that read Virgin Falls to the left (0.5 mi) or Virgin Falls via Sheep Cave to the right (0.8 mi). Well, how could I pass up two sights instead of one?! We veered to the right and before long we passed a tiny cave opening, perhaps large enough for one person and not something that I thought warranted my 0.3 mile side-trek. But just around the bend after the cave we came to a very cool waterfall and I wondered at first it if was Virgin Falls. While we didn’t trek to the top of the falls, it fell dozens of feet from the top of the ridge, through a crevasse, hidden for a moment where the rocks had not yet given up their grip holding the crevasse together, and then visible again for just a moment as it plunged deep into the ground. How amazing! Not one waterfall that disappeared immediately into the earth, but TWO! I followed the trail for a moment, enamored by the falls when we came into view of a sign: “Virgin Falls, Left”. Well… this wasn’t even Virgin Falls yet!

Excitement renewed, we didn’t bother to trek to the top of Sheep Cave Falls, deciding instead to see the trails’ namesake. We trekked just a bit further and were almost immediately rewarded with a glimpse of the falls. Honestly, my first thought was “well, these aren’t as cool as the others we passed to get here!” but, thankfully, the closer and closer we got, the more impressive the falls became. While at first you can only see the top 1/3 of the falls (thereby wondering how big they are and coming up short) they steadily revealed themselves as larger than Sheep Cave Falls (the ones we had just passed) and more voluminous than Big Laurel Falls (the first one that had enamored us). Finally we had arrived and settled onto a moss-covered rock to simply stare in wonder. The falls were about 25-feet wide with a steady volume of water cascading over the edge of the bluff and falling over 100 feet to the rock below. The most amazing part was the lack of water at the bottom of the falls. There wasn’t a river raging onward. There wasn’t a pool. There wasn’t even a puddle. The water immediately disappeared (likely, again, going immediately into an underground cave river system). The surrealism of seeing that water – that much water - and it not being in evidence at the bottom of the falls was… well, just odd. After a few minutes of marveling I simply had to see what was at the top of the falls, so we headed up the spur. The top was almost as amazing as the bottom… at the top of the ridge we could easily spy the water coming from the mouth of a cave and, after about 10 feet of exposure, crossing under a natural bridge for 10 feet before traveling another 25 feet to immediately cascade over the bluff. I found myself looking from the cave on my immediately right to the earthen bridge I was standing atop to where the falls occurred on my immediate left. It was enthralling and mystifying at the amazing features of the area. McKaye, on the other hand, was not caring nearly as much about the view and more about the water he wanted a sip of. We carefully walked over some large rocks (he took coercion) to where the water was emerging from the cave. He lapped up some of the coldest and clearest water I have ever seen (I admit I took a few handfuls myself to splash on my sweat-sticky face).

Our destination being reached, it was time to trek back. I checked my watch and it was 10:30. It had taken us about 2.5 hours to trek to the falls. I knew the trip out would be more cumbersome and it was time to get moving. We opted, on the trip out, to take the route that was previously advertised as the shorter leg of the loop, bypassing a second view of Sheep Cave Falls. Shorter, in this case, merely meant steeper. We huffed and puffed as we trudged up the exceedingly steep ridge, part of it being more akin to rock climbing/scrambling than hiking. Within a quarter of a mile, we were both winded and Bandit McKaye, being the more out-of-shape of the two of us, made it to the top of the ridge and immediately threw up most of the water he had just drank. I decided he (and I) needed a break and we were in a great snacking spot. I set him out a small bit of water and I snacked on some trail mix. The wind rustled from every angle and the cry of a red-tailed hawk sang to us on the breeze. Before long a sound drew my attention (not McKaye’s… he was busy napping) and I watched three very healthy-sized white-tailed deer perusing the mountainside. I finished my snack and watched the deer until they were near the bottom of the ridge and out of sight before coercing McKaye to get up and get going. The trek back was, as originally advertised, a very steady incline after that which seemed to go on for eons. The trail out brought far more people who, like us, decided it was a perfect day for a hike. My guess is that most of the people I saw weren’t going to make it to the falls… well, not the namesake falls. They were coming in well after noon and many of them were toting small children and, in one case, a man had a baby strapped into a backpack and was literally carrying a small dog crate… which admittedly gave me pause. We also encountered a woman after my own heart on the way out; she had a huge backpack strapped on and was leashed to two boxers (each carrying a pack as well). We didn’t want to pass them (Bandit has a tendency to be a little overprotective around other dogs) so we crossed the creek at a spot I knew prior to the cable crossing (where I knew she would be slow at best trying to get two dogs and that huge pack across). The last mile of the hike was the most tiresome, not from the terrain but from McKaye wanting to lie down in the creek and relax every couple hundred feet. Finally, at 1:30, we made it back to the trailhead where we both piled up in the Rover and, gleefully, headed for some fast food.

In all I would recommend Virgin Falls to anyone who has the time and physical endurance for the trip. If you’re afraid of making the 9 mile trek round trip in a single visit, take provisions to overnight. All of the campsites – Virgin Falls, Big Laurel Falls, or Martha’s Pretty Overlook – are amazing. The trip itself is strenuous, so be prepared for that and hit the trail at a good time. The fact that you see multiple unique waterfalls makes the trip (which is worthwhile for any one of the falls, much less all 3!) worth every bit of soreness you’ll earn from it.

Sunday, February 9, 2014

The Flavor of Seasons

Seasons flavor hikes.

Something wonderful happens when you go to an oft-visited spot and the scenery morphs - completely changing in every facet - based on the time of year you visit. Let's take my Snow Pocket. In spring and fall its raging waters beckon to kayaks (and hikes). In summer, the cool, deep pools call to casual swimmers, whisper of picnics, and sooth hike-weary feet. In the winter, the shades of water capture blues meant for far-off seas and the landscape transforms again into a stark and crisp reflection of itself.

It was fitting that the sky was spitting snow as we traversed the Snow Pocket. This hike - my longtime favorite - never fails to enchant me with childlike wonder. Its hard to not feel small and inconsequential when walking among the fallen titans of rock that still stand like great monolithic scars of bygone eras. This area is magical... an outdoor cathedral of

contrast. The scars of man-made walls, black coal-dusted soil, concrete foundations for long rotted bridges and open arches of mine shafts forcibly nudge reminders of an industrial area not long ago. But nature perseveres. She has taken back the land and slowly... methodically... she unmakes our "progress" and deconstructs our obsession for dominance.

The freezing temperatures provide new sights. The innocuous, normally unnoticed seeping trickles transform into spires that catch and hold the imagination as efficiently as they do the water. The far-flung spiked seeds of a sweetgum beg to tempt agony from less-protected feet. How can the same place - a place I know better than any single stretch of wilderness - have so many facets? How can her personality shift so eloquently?

My point - yes, I do have one! - is that you can't (or shouldn't) simply check places off of some proverbial "to do" list. Nature abounds with surprises... a good rain on a summer day can alter an entire landscape. Yes: Seasons add distinct flavors. Life isn't always about a "been there, done that" mentality. If you limit your experiences in nature to a single visit, you limit your scope of understanding and appreciation. Nature is like a dear friend... one that must be seen in different light, under varied circumstances, and having different temperaments to truly know her, to see her, and to allow her to share the depths of her splendor.

See more imagery from this trip:

Stephanne Dennis is an outdoor enthusiast extraordinaire. A highly skilled backpacker and apex predator specialist, she shares her love of the outdoors with her unrivaled writing skills and her faithful companion, Bandit McKaye, her Anatolian Shepherd. She is currently studying Wildlife Biology at Oregon State University and dedicates her time and skills to the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency and the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Foundation.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

The Patriarch

There are few things as splendid as following a lonely mountain road that twists and curves as it follows a meandering stream across the valley floor. That is, until you reach a trail head and begin a journey into a place where the loudest voice is the whispering wind chasing secrets through the seasoned bare branches of the trees.

A quick 1.3 mile jaunt brings me to a waterfall... the stubbornly relentless thrum of white cascades carving the timeless stone face of the falls. I lose myself in the sounds, focusing on nothing. Then a patch of too-green moss clinging to a dampened alcove in the rock draws my attention. To the side, an off-cast trickle seeps, dwarfed by the boisterous falls. Regardless of the differences, all of this works in a symphony to forge a basin that beckons to tired feet and sweaty brows. This is where most travelers stop, take their rest, and then return to their cars. But there is always more beauty bestowed on the less-traveled trail.

Where the asphalt ends and the trail continues, the anticipatory element of surprise calls like a long lost friend, drawing me onward. I am lost... not literally, but figuratively in the surroundings that bring me the most peace.

The forest.

The crisp smells of winter air.

The constant breeze that cools my skin and calms my heart.

I gaze around and the moss covered bones of once towering beacons of timber cause my pause. One more corner... just see what's there, around one more corner.

The bend in the trail is the one I was looking for, the one that enticed me to continue; I gaze in wonder at the stoic last virgin strand standing elegantly defiant against the odds. And there he was: The Patriarch among the elders. He was no longer a tree, he was a symbol of antiquity. His roots no longer staking a claim on the ridge but defining a mountainside. His bark a corrugated, fathomless shell giving testament of his age.

This wasn't a tree... this was a stark yet delicate poem that draws you in and moves you.

Savage Gulf - A Look Back at a Spring Trek

The South Cumberland and Savage Gulf offer a lot of options for the day trekker or for the serious hiker. With over 90 miles of trails and perfectly nestled between Nashville and Chattanooga, it's impossible to not consider Savage Gulf when looking for somewhere to go hike. The trails range from easy to very rugged and the lengths vary from 0.8 miles to 12.5 (one way).

Today we did a minor trek to Laurel Falls and Stone door. Laura Falls is so close to the ranger station that it's near impossible to not take the tiny .4 jaunt to see the falls. While they may be impressive during or after a rain, I was more impressed by the apparent sinkhole/mini-gorge that formed the falls than the falls themselves. Laurel Falls is a mildly challenging hike at worst, primarily because of the uphill slope on the way back to the ranger's station. However, the very short duration of the hike easily make's up for the small uphill.

From the ranger station the hike to Stone Door Bluff is about 0.8 miles one way. The trail is paved for the first quarter mile (to Laurel Overlook) and the remaining trail to the top of the bluff is quite maintained and very easily traversed. The bluff atop Stone Door offers a stunning view of the surrounding mountains. Keep in mind that there is no railing around the bluff, so one should keep a very close eye on kids, clumsy people like myself, etc. Also be sure that no one kicks/throws stones or anything from the top of the bluff as there are often climbers or hikers directly below. By my opinion, the hike to the Stone Door overlook is considered "easy".

The Stone Door is a really nifty structure with an absolute gem of a past (actually - there's amazing geological history to the region). The "Door" itself is a 10-foot wide crack in the sandstone rim that surrounds the entire valley and is, pretty much, the only easy way to get to the bottom. Tennessee State tells us that the 'door' was used by Native Americans as a means to get to hunting grounds. Walking through the seemingly tight expanse of rocks, one can feel the cool breeze and imagine the sounds of eons past. There are (wild guess) 75 stone steps that lead to the bottom of the door. The stones felt well placed and poles were not needed. At the bottom of the door, one can traverse down slightly further and then branch out to where the climbers would go. This section was rugged but very short (I believe there are steps created to go to this area, but a fallen tree made that a non-option). From the bottom of the bluff, one can feel a new appreciation for the 'do not throw/kick stones' sign above. The cool air blowing from the pitted areas of the bluff were a welcome feeling mid-day (the day we chose to go - May 30th - was unseasonably warm and hovering around 93-degrees).

As always, what goes downhill eventually has to go back uphill. We made the trek back up the steps and took another brief glimpse of the expanse of forests. It's worthy to note that while the area has never been logged, the trees don't grow to the grandeur that one may find in, say, Joyce Kilmer park in NC.

Overall the entire trek, including the unplanned trek around the base of the Stone Door Bluff, took no more than 2 hours (and, had we not stopped to bask in the sunlight on the bluff, likely 1-1.5 hours total). I would rate the Stone Door trail - including the steps to the base - to be 90% easy and 10% moderate. If you can't handle steps, then skip the aforementioned 10% and just enjoy the beauty of the bluff from atop.

Wildlife: We saw a very small black snake, typical squirrel, and a very gorgeous copperhead. We first came across the copperhead after a man coming out of the trail warned us of an "eastern diamondback that was across the trail up ahead". I snagged my cell phone (camera) and we trekked on. Not far ahead we discovered the "eastern diamondback" but rather than across the trail, he was nestled just at the corner of a wooden overlook 'pier'. The other embellishment was that he wasn't an eastern diamondback but, rather, a southern copperhead. Copperheads have a reputation as an 'aggressive' snake, but most of the time they are really quite docile. This little guy was maybe 1.5 feet long, so he was a young snake and hadn't found out the hard way that snakes laying on human structures don't usually have happy endings. So, I gently encouraged him to at least move to the grass next to the structure (he did with zero issue). On the journey back, I felt an urge to see if he had moved much and found the little guy peacefully wrapped up in a shaft of sunlight that was breaking through the trees. He was off the path (by a foot, maybe) so hopefully he remained safe. As for the hiker who said he was a diamondback?... I hope he learns to ID venomous snakes of regions he's hiking more throughly in the future. Never bodes well when, if it happened, someone tells the doctors you were bitten by the wrong poisonous snake. (And how someone mistakes a copperhead for an EASTERN DIAMONDBACK is beyond me... they [copperheads] get more often mistaken for corn snakes and vice versa, but at least those two resemble!)

My point of going to Savage Gulf today was actually to peruse the terrain casually as my next planned hike is the 25 mile (round trip), rugged Fiery Gizzard. I can't wait to review THAT one!

...Bring On the Fiery Gizzard! (wow... for some reason that makes me hungry)

Monday, December 9, 2013

Old Man Appalachian

Have you ever heard someone say the Appalachian Mountains aren't real mountains because they aren't really that big?

There's a radiant and rugged yet peaceful, old, and tired charm to the Appalachian Mountains. I've often been quoted as telling people it is my favorite little old man... Once a towering series of peaks that defined a supercontinent, standing proud and so resilient that nothing – not weather, not an eternity of time – could ever diminish these most formidable peaks. Yet now… epochs later… now those majestic peaks are relegated to a mere shadow of what they were. How small am I? How inconsequential do I feel when I walk with that little old man and see his life so clearly brandished around me? Let your mind wander and take a walk with me down one of my favorite trails… let me tell you about the old man I see contrasted by the colossal and invincible man that I know he was.

Walking down the trail, I come to a brook that dances with boulders as it rushes to meet the river in the gorge below. The boulders, some seem small compared to the neighboring house-sized ones, draw my gaze. They are remnants of something larger than my comprehension… goliaths that have fallen, coming to rest in the gulch hollowed out by the same brook they now cavort with. How high were they before? I can’t even fathom the size this ridge must have been.

I walk further, trekking to a section where the river – and now the trail – have exposed a wall of rock that likely contributed to some of the boulders in the river nearby. I stop and gaze to the top, marveling first at the trees and vines that grow ostensibly from the rock itself. I marvel at how life takes hold and grows so stubbornly from the very smallest embrace with a crevice. As the aura of wonder fades surrounding the flora growing so precariously above, I see the bluff as more… once connecting the two sides of the valley where the river runs through. It is here… here where I am compelled to close my eyes and see what the mind can even if the eyes don’t.

It was almost 500 million years ago… in a time we now call the Paleozoic Era. There was nothing but a hint of what would become North America… and that hint was the tip of my Aps. The Aps were bound to be epic… they were the very first Paleozoic mountain building event and, when plates collided and the North American plate won… the subduction of the oceanic plate helped heave the Aps upward. The Aps continued to strive upward over the next 250 million years. Continent after oceanic continent collided and joined with the North American plate as a behemoth continent called Pangea took shape. The collision pushed the Aps further (and also formed the Ozarks and other westward-lying ranges). Over the next few hundred million years, the Aps were worn down by the untold power of water… eroding the once World Heavy-Weight Champion down to a 90-pound, fragile, broken old man. The story is ancient – more ancient than we can feasibly grasp… yet his story is all around us.

The next time you’re walking – on any trail in the Aps – listen to the weathered, aged, and beaten old man’s story, look at his past… it’s an amazing past, indeed. Then, the next time you marvel at Everest or gaze in wonder at the Alps... remember what the little old man taught you: There is nothing that time cannot age and we - the specs of humanity - will never understand the true passage of time of our planet.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Being the Conundrum: Animal lover hunter?! - by Stephanne

There are a lot of people who may tell you that an "animal loving hunter" is an oxymoron. I'm not one of those people. There is a way for the two "extremes" to live harmoniously because, quite simply, its only in the extreme cases that it becomes an oxymoron - the norm is quite a different story. Before you get your eyebrows in a furrow at me, let me explain.

There's a sentiment often expressed by a lot of very vocal people that hunters are simply blood-thirsty. I won't say that hunting - like any facet of person or activity - doesn't have its own share of extremism. But, for the most part, it's actually quite different. I don't know a hunter that hunts simply to shoot things. I've heard of one once... but of the hundreds of hunters I know... I don't personally know one that is blood-thirsty. If you can give me the tiniest moment of your time, let me tell you about why *I* hunt, ok? I'll be brief:

I woke up at 4 a.m. and drove to the woods. The moon was a slim sliver of pewter arced in the night sky, providing only the idea of illumination. Its ok, I don't need the light. I know where I'm headed. I walk down a path my feet now know well, the soft crunching of damp fallen leaves under my feet and the mist hovering like an unearthly, glowing blanket. It never fails to amaze me how the mist swirls and dances when I exhale. I wish I could see the "wake" of it after I pass through it. I get to my destination, a wooden ladder climbing up a tree with a semi-comfortable seat at the top. I climb up, rope in, and settle into place, waiting for the horizon to erupt in an array of hues. Slowly the sky melts from the blackest blue to the shimmer of blue gray and, finally, the explosion of purples and pinks and oranges and reds that proclaims daylight has found me. It's during this time, when the sky is waking and the woods are still sleeping that is a magical time - the silhouettes of the trees standing stoically in the mist never ever fails to make me think of eras gone by... people who have shed sweat or tears or blood on these lands, natives creeping through the cover of that mist to provide for their tribe, even ancient predators using the cover of the mist to find prey. This scene is brilliantly new every time I see it yet older than I can fathom. Yes, it is magic indeed.

After the sky is alive and the fogs begin to burn away, I have already been sitting here - motionless - for an hour. I'm 20-feet above the ground and still I am the statue. The air is alive with sound: A cacophony of birds enliven the air, the scuttle of squirrels digging for the last of the acorns to store. Then I hear it. The determined trudge of 4 feet. They're distant. How many can I hear? I close my eyes... focus my hearing... three. I open my eyes, searching for the source of the sound. Then, slowly, I see them making their way through the woods. Its three... what... doe? I use a call to lure them closer. It works and they alter their course to head my way. As they near, I see it's a doe and two yearlings. Technically all 3 are legal and, right now, all 3 are entering into the one thing that makes bow hunting harder than any other type (in my opinion) - entering into the range where I feel comfortable taking a shot. But I don't raise my bow. I know that soon her yearlings will leave her side and start a life on their own, but right now I get more enjoyment from watching them nibble on leaves, completely oblivious that I'm even there. Later I do the same thing with a 4-point buck. That evening, as the light is waning, I see a large doe. She doesn't have any yearlings or fawns with her and she's only 35 yards away. I raise my bow, I aim...

I don't want to shoot because I am blood-thirsty or barely a step above a Neanderthal. I want to shoot because I have been outside all day (all day on numerous occasions, really), not looking for a trophy, but looking for food for my family that is organic, lean, and that I worked for myself. Could I have driven to the store and bought some steaks? Sure. But it's far less green (to use a term we all know). That deer is very green... no fossil fuel use to transport it, no agriculture to sustain its growth, no electricity to process it... Yes... this is as green as it gets.

People promote eating organic foods - growing their own gardens, composting, organic beef, etc... where is the difference in harvesting my own meat rather than that organic beef or pork or whatever? Only... mine is even more natural. And it bothers me when self-proclaimed animal lovers condemn me for being a "Bambi killer" yet they have leather seats and leather boots and a leather coat and eat things like veal. It makes my blood boil. I'm not saying this is all animal activists by any means... but sometimes people get a little too emotional about things on both sides of the fence.

The only thing that I'd ask everyone to do is maybe calm down a little and stop being so emotionally invested in name-calling and side-taking. There's lot of fights out there to engage in... there's many things worth while to involve in.... but animal activists (of which I am a member of many groups) and hunters (of which I am one) can be one-in-the-same.

So... when you have some free time, whether you're a hunter or an animal activist (or both)... do me a favor take a walk in the woods with just you and your trail supplies and consider how powerful of allies we could be if we wouldn't chastise or taunt each other with names... because a lot of us really are on the same side.

Why Hiking? - by Stephanne

Photo on the Apps near Tellico Plains, TN by Stephanne

For anyone who loves the outdoors and physical activity, hiking is a sure thing to win your heart. Hiking is one of the great activities that is done in the wonders of the ‘wild’ that can be done solo, with a partner, or with a group. Hiking is a very easy way to get some serious steps, increase your energy, better your physical health, and really impact your life all together. A deep respect for nature develops quickly. Moreover, hiking really can improve your mental well-being as much as your physical well being.

Regardless if you’re new to hiking or a hiking aficionado, Tennessee (and the southeast) is a great place to be. If you’re new at hiking you can start on nature walks. (See “where to go” below.) Build experience on various trails and work your way to the big hikes that our region is known for. Hiking is a very easy hobby to start, the only bare-bones basics that you need are right shoes and a means to carry hydration – as simple as a bottle of water. As your experience and endurance levels increase, you can add gear slowly to grow with you. When you get to the multi-day, heavy terrain levels you’ll need a full pack. Here’s the average contents of my hiking pack:

The pack itself – my multiday pack is about 70L and my day pack is about 30L. The “L” stands for liters, which just tells you the overall capacity of your pack. Only my big pack is an internal-frame pack; however, both have full straps (don’t stress your shoulders – carrying a pack that has a waist strap is a MUST. Your hips are the best weight-bearing part of your body and you’ll feel a LOT better hiking with even distribution of weight.)
Med Pack – I keep my med pack in a thing called a “stuff stack” (various sized sack that you get to literally “stuff stuff” in). The contents of my med pack vary slightly based on the length and terrain I’m going to. It always has OTC pain killer, benedryl, ace bandage, band-aids, etc.
Water Bladder- 3L
Water filtration system – never drink stream/natural water unless it’s “that or nothing”. Natural water often has microscopic bacteria that can cause severe abdominal upset.
Trail food – light weight and packed with proteins and carbs. Hiking with a pack on heavy terrain burns a TON of calories, make sure your body has fuel!
Water flavor packs. This is one of my treats. I carry these to mix with water if I have to filter it from a stream. While filtered stream water often tastes just fine, the flavor packs help to mask any mineral flavor that may be present.
Rain gear – functional and lightweight. This includes a rain cover for my pack.
GPS, compass AND maps. I never take just one. I use the GPS because it offers a lot of really nifty features but I never trust battery-powered things 100%. Better safe than lost.
Flashlight and headlamp. I carry both all the time because, again, I don’t trust battery-powered things 100%.
If I’m staying overnight, I always have my hammock. It’s more lightweight than a tent and far more comfortable. But, a small tent is just fine for my daughter!
If I’m hiking in bear country I carry bear spray. Also, if I’m staying overnight in bear country I’ll take my bear canister (it’s a bear-proof canister for foods and anything that has an aroma of any kind)
Trekking poles – not a necessity but when you’re clumsy like me, it’s better to be safe.
Always take a very strong respect for nature and remember that what you pack in you also pack out. I also always try to pack-out any trash that I see while I’m on a hike.

PHOTO: Near Cherokee National Forest by Stephanne

If you’re wondering where to go, around this part of the country you have so many options it’s hard to settle on one. If you’re brand new to hiking try a nature walk like the 4.5 mile loop at Harrison Bay State Park. It has very easy terrain that is only occasionally broken by roots or rocks and the elevation variance is virtually nil. If you’re looking for a bit more of a challenge, try The Walls of Jericho (around 8 miles, I think) near Winchester, TN/Stephenson, AL. This hike offers good scenery and a relatively challenging elevation variance. If you live north of the city, try Laurel Snow Pocket Wilderness in Dayton, TN. It offers 2 different hikes, both found from the same trailhead (one is 9 miles r/t and the other about 5 r/t with different terrain for each). Want more wilderness in your hike? There are so many WMAs (Wildlife Management Areas)! (Check out regulations for WMAs before going!) Or try anything near the Cohutta/Cherokee parks that cross the GA/TN/NC lines (easy access near Springer Mtn, GA or Ocoee/Reliance, TN; heavy concentrations of bear). There are hundreds of trails in that area with varied lengths and terrains. The Benton MacCaye (pronounced mack-eye) goes through here; it’s a 300-mile trail). Are you ready to summit a
mountain? I recommend Rainbow Trail in the GSM Park, take the Rainbow Falls trailhead all the way to the summit of Mount Leconte from Gatlinburg stoplight #8 (apx 13 miles r/t, very difficult and I do NOT recommend this as a 1-day trip; there is a free group camp area/shelter at the top that you can use with reservations through GSM). Like I said, around here it’s not a matter of where to go, it’s a matter of picking one trail out of the variety available. (Of note, you can't take your 4-legged bud with you on Federal Park trails.)

What to expect out of hike really varies depending on where you go and the length of time you’re out. Always research where you’re going and what wildlife you may encounter (and how to react to said wildlife!). I’ve encountered rattlesnakes and bears (even been charged by a bear!) and knowing what to do when you encounter wildlife is a MUST. If you’re looking to start hiking and are new to it, join me someday for one of my group-led hikes at Harrison Bay. It’s an easy walk and four-legged, well-behaved leashed friends are welcome. If you’re looking for more, check out some local hiking clubs. I’m out at least twice a month hiking and always willing to share my passion for hiking with anyone!

NOW: go outside and play (responsibly!)

Thursday, November 21, 2013

They Call it a "Tripod" because... - by Stephanne

Picture a tripod in your head. I don’t care what you want your tripod to support… just make sure that you have a clear picture of what it looks like – the structure – in your mind.

Got it?

Great, hold that.

SO… looking at your tripod, what makes it work? Most likely, it’s a connector or connection of the three legs near the top of the tripod. Doesn’t matter if your connection is made by a platform, from rope tying the three legs together, or superglue… it’s generally going to be a functional tripod because it has a connection where the connection is most needed – the top. If you think about why a tripod works, it’s that all three of the legs are equal (or close) in length and all provide the same amount of support where the connection exists at the top. If one leg is drastically shorter, or if one leg is weaker, or if you lack a means of connection for the 3 legs… will the tripod function correctly? I doubt it.

Curious on why I bring this up? Well, probably not, but lend a girl your ears (eyes) and I’ll try to make it worth your time.

I see a vast disconnect between the three legs that hold up the platform of “Wildlife Conservation and Management.” So, what do we look at first… the platform, or the legs? OK, we’ll go for platform because it’s quick and dirty.

In the tripod I’m currently thinking of, the realm of Wildlife Conservation is the platform. We need to define that there is a very distinct difference between the words “conservation” and ”preservation”. Conservation equates to wise and sustainable use. Preservation means “hands off – let it be.” I’d love to be a hardcore preservationist, but I’d be a very hypocritical hardcore preservationist as I’d be all “everyone get the hell out… except me.” <grin> So, seeing my own shortcoming here… I shall stick with Conservation.

Now, let’s look at the three legs that, if they were working together like they should, should provide ample support for my wildlife platform:

Resource Management

The Resource Management aspect encompasses those who are responsible for setting limits (many kinds of limits) and they use science to help them define those limits.

One of the issues that this leg faces is that they are pretty much responsible to a demographic that pays their bills. We like to call this the “hook and bullet” demographic. First, you may need to know:

A lot of people are under the misconception that public lands (wildlife management areas, refuges, etc) and the agency that manages all of the aspects of those are paid for and by the taxpayers. The only thing that makes that statement true is that the people who fund the agency pay and endeavors also happen to be taxpayers. Outside of that, the general public needs to understand that taxpayer dollars from a “general fund” don’t go for these people, land, or animals. The money they receive are additional taxes on hunting gear (i.e. ammo, etc) and from licensing fees (in addition to other small contributing factors).

So now that we have that definition in place, the hurdle here is that when you’re performing a lot of your science and marketing your product, you’re marketing to the people who are tried-and-true buyers of your product. You market to keep your current clientele and – maybe – work a bit to expand that client base. So, the agencies are seen as ‘catering to’ “nothing but hook-and-bullet people” because that is who their usual audience (and their primary customer) is.

Another thing is the lack of standards when it comes to their governing body. The agency doesn’t usually have free reign to do whatever they feel is best for the resource. They have a ‘board’ of sorts that they answer to and who has the power to overrule them. That board, in many cases, is comprised of people who are not required to have degrees or any advanced education in wildlife biology, ecology, or conservation. So the agency may opt to recommend – for example – not hunting a resource due to whatever factors and they can simply be overruled by the governing body.

Academia, Philanthropic

The academic and philanthropic arena is slightly harder to quantify. These are, generally, people that really do mean well. They help to get the word out about things that may need some attention to further their cause. The problem here is a few things.

First, the information they provide to the general public is often one-sided. I remember awhile back sending a letter to my state representative surrounding the export of horses for medical research and/or slaughter. American’s have an affinity toward horses and I feel that same affinity. So, I read what the organization put out, was enraged and emboldened by their comments, and fired off a letter to someone who had a voice. The legislation was passed and I felt vindicated… until I found out that, as a consequence, tons of horses were starving because the people who were ‘farming’ them no longer had an avenue to sell their product. SO, I helped to save many horses from a humane and expedient death only to have them slowly starving on farms. Why? Because I trusted someone else’s information instead of doing some research on my own… I let them make up my mind instead of making it up for myself based on a fuller picture of reality.

Further, the academic and philanthropic organizations will usually work with the local agencies; the agency staff promote the communications and everyone is happy and singing Kum By Ya… until the agency doesn’t do exactly what the organization wants. Then the organization is in the media crying foul.

Lastly, the organizations often have an unrealistic ideal of what should and should not be. I’m a prime example of this… I have an affinity toward apex predators and I have a very staunch belief that they shouldn’t be hunted. Period. Ever. Others will disagree and say that they are entitled to hunt a “surplus” or that they aren’t responsible for the emigration of a species to other areas. Get me fired up on that topic and I promise you that the only “reason” I see is the one that I feel. In this case, I’m likely considered an extremist,… which is where many of the people in this category fall in.

Media and the General Public

The media and the General Public (“GP” from here on) are the scariest group. They both feed on the information above but there seems to be a focus on the extremists. The media likes the extremist because they are far more dramatic and sensational and provide a ‘better, more exciting story’ and the agency science is downplayed as an “excuse”. This mindset means that the GP hears that extremist point of view. So we hear that the evil agency is going to shoot the little birdies or critters because they are a bunch of gun-toting wackos who live only to “shoot sh*t”. Is that true? The vast majority of the time, no. But it’s what the GP hears and, we all know, if it’s on the news it must be true.

Now, remember, this is the same GP that gets to click a button to autopopulate a letter with verbiage and then flood the email boxes of legislators and agency staff… all while only knowing a portion of the truth that we were fed. How scary is that? Think about all the things you complain about in a day that you heard on the news… all the possibilities for the partial information that we use to make a decision on where we stand. It’s really pretty scary how much we rely on a rating-driven company who is out to make a profit to give us a full and unbiased story.

Worse, how much of our decision-making on what we believe is based on what I call “Ignorance-fueled hysteria”? Here’s examples I see of that hysteria in my world:

· “Cougars, bear, and wolves are dangerous predators who will sneak into a subdivision at night and steal a sleeping child from their room.”

I realize this is insane, but this is the attitude that I hear about. It’s a ignorance-fueled hysteria from people who have better odds of winning back-to-back mega lottery drawings than ever even seeing one of these creatures in the wild. Why? Because they don’t go into the wild. Their version of “outdoors” equates to their manicured lawn or that stretch of “outside” between their car and the store. So the question I ask myself often is, “Do these people have as much right to have input on wildlife issues as I – a backpacker – do?” You tell me.

· “We shouldn’t hunt animals because that’s why we have grocery stores.”

That’s fine to know that I can go to a grocery and pick up a slab of ribs that may or may not have antibiotics and hormones and whatever else lingering in them. It is my right to go to that store and choose what meat to buy and when to buy it. But we have other options. Deer, as a good example, have no natural predators (except us) in my region and they are in abundance. I say it is my right to hunt and consume a deer just as it’s my right to “hunt” for a package of meat at the store. Honestly, it’s not really a right… it’s a privilege. Just like it’s a privilege that there are stores and meat I could purchase. I realize the deer is pretty. I realize the deer need a ‘voice’. And that is why I rely on my agency to provide me – a voice for the deer (and, sometimes, a voice for me).

· “We shouldn’t hunt those because we almost drove them to extinction already!”

Well… I’m sorry to say that humans driving something to the brink of extinction is poor management. But – when we can and are lucky and successful – the agency and the academics and the philanthropic organizations and the general public work together to restore a population to sustainable numbers. Letting those numbers then simply continue to increase is great in a preservationist world (which I am fond of in some regard) but it is almost just as irresponsible in the terms of management. Why? Because we are a fickle species who loves to vocalize how wretched we are when we negatively impact a species…. And also equally vocal when a species rebounds to population numbers that we then consider the species a nuisance. Need examples? I’m glad you asked because I have tons! Deer. Geese. Turkey. Black Bear. Cougar (west of me, sadly!). Should I keep going? In the eyes of the GP the wildlife is great as long as it’s not so high in concentration that it’s in their back yard. Hello, hypocrites, welcome to the world

So what’s the lesson that we have learned? Pffft, as if I could begin to pull a lesson out of this? I guess if I had to, the lesson I have learned in the past year is:

My local wildlife agency isn’t evil… they do what they hear and see as what the public wants usually… so the onus is on the public to be logically vocal about things. If you’re “tired” of them ‘catering’ to the usual suspects, then give them a valid and rational reason to listen to you, too. I don’t mean to start blasting them with “don’t hunt EVER EVER again you bad, bad humans!”… I mean “hey… I realize you manage public lands and I’d like to visit them if you gave me a reason to go without a rifle or rod.” Or “tell me who all you talked to, what the science says, and why you’d want to implement a season for blahblah animal?”

It’s simply amazing what we can do with educated dialogue.

And that’s the lesson. Educated, clear, and honest dialogue rather than finger-pointing, whining in the media, blatant assumptions, and more. We need all of the categories of our tripod above to be on a level playing field and being open, clear, honest, and unbiased in what they are telling people.

If you can’t be all of those things, then (in the great words of teenaged texters everywhere): Shut It.

Melancholy and the Art of Distraction - by Stephanne

Today was supposed to be fun. Sort of... fulfilling. I woke at 6 a.m. with the intent of having a good day, one full of hiking in a splendid area and being all "official intern" collecting and analyzing bear bait stations by myself. I was ok at first; my daughter and my pup were going with me so it was a casual, fun day. I had my maps, I had the GPS, I had the ziplock baggies to seal in the "stanky" that I was off to collect. It was supposed to be fun. We were on the road by 7 and the weather was perfect (with a threat of uck that held off). However, about an hour up the road, in a little city called Rockwood... it dawned me:

This was the last day of the bear study for me and I was going it "alone"... and that would be the end of it for me... the last official tie... complete.

I tried to shake off the feeling of melancholy that was looming but... maybe because it has just been a really rough week, it wasn't budging. It actually got worse as I went. We hit the trail around 9 and huffed it up the mountain, agreeing that I'd gather the last bait station first to try and fend off the odors. On the way up, just before getting to the top bait station, there were hog tracks - fresh - all in the trail. I pointed out an older deer track to Jess and explained to her how to tell the difference. An hour later the station gathered, we were already headed back down.

When we were about halfway back Jess and Bandit took off, opting to follow the creekline which was far more scenic. I don't know why, but I didn't have the urge to follow. I stayed on the trail, ensuring I didn't get too far ahead of them every now and again (keen ears sure help) and collected station 3. I waited there... looking around at the lush and moss-covered surroundings with more sadness than awe... for Jess and Bandit to catch up. We again parted ways, me going back to the trail while they stuck to the creekline.

At station 2 they were waiting on me, the creek was the more direct route this time and I *may* have been distracted by three butterflies that created their kaleidoscope around me as I walked. I analyzed the

area and removed the bait and Jess asked if we could stop there to eat. Sure. Why not. Why was I in such a hurry to get off the mountain? We ate in virtual silence as Bandit played in the water. I cleaned up our mess and told Jess to head back to the trail with me since we were only a half-mile from the trailhead. We continued down the hill in silence.

Before I knew it I was at the end... or the beginning I suppose?... I collected the last bait station and we crossed the creek in our shoes. We all piled into the car and headed back. They slept on the way home and that was ok with me because I felt the urge to hide within myself... marvel at the joy that I recently felt as I gallivanted from mountain to mountain for days on end.
...the end of things... things, even while appreciative, you still find tht you didn't appreciate as much as you should have.

After we got home the skies finally caught my mood and the clouds let slip their hold on the rain. It was ok... rain masks so much.

Giving Back to Our Defenders of Freedom - by Stephanne

There are many things that I've never done and, ironically, millions that I didn't realize I really wanted to do. This weekend was one such occassion. This past year I've become more and more involved in things that surround the workings of the TWRA (Tennessee Wildlife Resource Agency) and the TWRF (Tennessee Wildlife Resource Foundation). This has afforded me exciting opportunities to both broaden my horizons as well as provide new experiences. Most of these experiences have to do with wildlife or outdoor-related activities, but this weekend brought something really great to the plate: The Wounded Warriors Hunt.

You know, I've read this blog post over and over and I just can't seem to 'nail it'. "It" being that emotion that filled me yesterday where I wanted to stay all night long and spend time with the boys who had already given far too much in service of our country. One of those guys, Wade, would have told me "That's not true... you gave us your son who serves as well." Maybe... but they all have Moms as well so I'm not exactly super special for that. Wounded Warriors. The title is befitting but the boys themselves were still upbeat, fun, and I would give my all to protect each and every one of them from anything.

What the event means... for them and for me

When I arrived at the event on Sunday early afternoon, I wasn't sure what to expect. It was being hosted by a friend of mine and I had silently questioned why an individual would put so much time, effort, and money into something that he wasn't necessarily impacted by. Wow, how wrong could I be when I thought 'wasn't necessarily impacted by'? Everyone there was impacted by what we were doing in one way or another. The TWRA and SCI helped the local host with some resources and a lot of man power for activities, which ranged from a skeet shooting competition (I was impressed... and I'm hard to impress!) to bow targets to rifle targets. There was a live band (who were pretty darn good - Overland Express, I think?) and a catered lunch and grilled Cajun hotdog dinner. The bonfire was nothing short of epic and - thankfully - warm as the temp dropped with the waning sunlight. The participants were relatively local guys (the ones I spent the most time with were stationed at Fort Campbell, KY) and had all been wounded serving our country. I'm well known for being a staunch supporter of our defenders of freedom (which has gone into hyperdrive since my son left for the Navy) and always expressed great pride in my hockey team (Nashville Predators) for honoring a soldier at each and every game... but the standing applause I provide at games is still somewhat distant (even if tear jerking).

This weekend was far more up close and personal. I ended up hanging out with a group of young men from Fort Campbell and spending the majority of my day listening to them talk about the random things occurring in their lives. They asked me about my son (I was sporting my pink cammo "Proud Navy Mom" shirt!) and they reassured me countless times that with his profession he likely wouldn't ever end up at one of their Wounded Warrior events.

How does one respond to something like that? "Thank you"? or "I'm glad to hear that"? Or what?! What doesn't sound selfish or self-serving in light of what they've done?

I appreciated their concern for my emotions but I can't tell you it didn't really strike home that the majority of the boys were just that: boys. Of the group I befriended, all were younger than I and the majority were merely a few years older than my son and here they were: Wounded Warriors. They had been deployed across the world, traversed mountains and caves in the middle east and bore scars telling of their travels. Stephen, only 24 (4 years older than my own son) had leg injuries. Chase, 24, knee and hip and both ankles. I wanted to hug them... to tell them I was sorry for what happened. But I didn't think that was appropriate necessarily... so I opted, instead, to treat them with utmost respect and express verbally that I was so very proud of them and would forever be indebted to their service in honor of my freedom. And the boys? Can you believe they were touched by the what we were doing for them? It was nothing compared to what they have done… yet their appreciation was obvious and outspoken and knowing that we provided a comfort and fun for them was heartwarming. So… of course I had to drag ALL of my gang into the field to “dance” for the last song of the night (of note, we officially tapped right feet in tune, held a few lighters in the air, and even managed a sway or two! HAHAHA).

Why the TWRA

Another thing that was shocking to me was the involvement and service by and from the TWRA in support of this event. The things that are occurring today and tomorrow - the actual hunts - are greatly assisted by the TWRA and I don't know how many people know that they do events like this. They provide opportunities for these wounded service men and women to participate in a guided hunt in some locally well known 'honey holes' for game. To say I am proud to be an intern/volunteer with the TWRA/TWRF is a drastic understatement. The staff from the Agency showed in force - from retired law enforcement officers to the Chief of Wildlife - all to lend a helping hand and express personal gratitude for our heroes.

My pride runneth over both for our Warriors and for the Agencies with which I am affiliated. My personal thanks for being a part of this event - and hopefully those to come - has no limits.