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.  

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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.

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)

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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.

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. 

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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.

Lost in a World of Hidden Enchantment - by Stephanne

Most girls would consider a weekend "good" if they got to do their nails, or their hair, or went shopping and found a perfect outfit, or maybe hung out with friends.

Me?... well, I don't know that I fall into the realm of 'normal girl'.  

Most girls probably wouldn't enjoy the smell of week old, very ripe sardines or multiple chigger bites on each ankle or the tendency to say, "Uck, another tick" as they pull the parasitic little buggers off and char them with a flame.

Again... I don't know if I remotely qualify for the realm of 'normal girl'.  





Most girls wouldn't considering hiking up relatively steep hills with a backpack, hiking back on the same steep hills after dark, or the constant humming of mosquitos and flies as fun.  I'd venture that the vast majority wouldn't want to be out in the middle of nowhere-ville potential bear country toting a can of bear spray and a .22 on a good day; much less on a dreary, rain-prone weekend where the cloud-shrouded mountains hide even the most conspicuous landmarks.  Yes,... most girls don't want to be in the woods... much less baiting bears to check for density and distribution.

Thank god I don't fall anywhere near, much less into, the realm of normal.  





For the last two weekends I have been working with my bud(s) at the TWRA learning how to hang and distribute bear bait stations to see if we can't get a gauge on the bear density and distribution in the mid- to northern Cumberland Plateau region.  The first weekend that we were out I was learning how to hang stations and it was educational.  I admit that the biologists for TWRA are some amazing people and I learn so much every time I'm exposed to them (especially Daryl - THANK YOU!).  The second weekend was primarily checking the bait stations and removing all traces that we had hung them.  Let me tell you... this was the smelly part of the job.  I pride myself on being someone who can handle quite an array of organic smells (generally it's the non-organics, like heavy perfume, that bother me) but I will admit that the smells we were hauling could singe the nose hair off a far more jaded person than I!

The one thing that was amazing about this past weekend was a discovery of an area that I can't say I had ever paid any attention to when I saw it on the maps.  Usually parks 'annoy' me.  They are too highly accessible and too perfectly manicured.  But sometimes you're thrown a gem and this weekend was the most beautiful emerald I had seen in our state.  We had only one bait station to hang this weekend and we crossed a 'river' in the big truck (quad on back) and, at first, I didn't see anything remotely special about the place.  Trees going up a ridge, us parked in a chigger-filled field at the bottom.  No biggie.  We unloaded the ATV and packed up the gear and started through the field and up the trail.  It wasn't even 30 seconds before the world transformed in front of me.  I was transported from Tennessee to the wet, decaying, and uber-luscious greenery that defines the Pacific Northwest.  Everything was alive from the amazingly high canopy to the moss-coated, decaying fallen trees.  The most picturesque stream gurgled lazily through the middle of the enchanted area and it felt almost surreal.  Perfect waterfalls cascaded down a 12-inch drop only to meander for a dozen feet to cascade again.  The forest floor didn't crunch as you traversed it... it squished every so audibly as the water oozed from between the leaves underfoot.  Ferns and mosses coated everything and, just when you thought it couldn't get any more enchanted, the sunlight would break through a cloud and burst through the canopy to highlight the stream or turn a fern from envy-inducing green to a blazing emerald.  It was heart-breakingly beautiful and my recurrent quote was "Just leave me here".  "For the week?" my guide would ask.  "No... forever would be fine," was my reply.  The serenity of that quiet mountain stream... until you experience something like that, you really don't know the splendor that nature hides from the mere mortal world.

Sadly, I couldn't be left there to fend for myself for the remainder of my years because there were GPS coordinates to mark and bait stations to hang.  Near the top of our journey up the mountain I discovered something else that was new to me:  a Legacy tree.  I asked my TWRA bud what a Legacy tree is and he gave a round-about idea but we agreed it needed to be looked into more.  Essentially, I wiki'd that a legacy tree is one very stout veteran tree that may be several hundreds of years old.  Usually their size defines them, like a girth of over 9 ft 10 in (sometimes varies based on species) and have a very high conservation value.  Sometimes the conservation value is dead limbs, hollows, rot holes, splits, etc.  These are things that the normal human may see as bad or undesirable, but the value of those features to the immediate ecological area is astounding (because they turn into habitats for so many things).  You can liken it to the tree of life in Fern Gully or Home Tree from Avatar, if you choose.  If you had asked me to tell you where trees like this exist, I would have pointed you towards Joyce Kilmer - home of the Eastern epics - but it was so refreshing to find one in Tennessee.  I leaned against it, staring up at the  never-ending trunk as it reached regally towards the sky.  In the Apps it is so easy to visualize the low, dense fog as it gently brushed the leaves at the top.

This was the top of the journey, the last of the stations to hang (albeit there were more to collect).  Next weekend I am so pleased to know that I get to revisit my surreal forest and the Legacy tree (a chestnut oak, in case you were wondering!) and - although I have mixed feelings about the journey because it will be on foot - I will apparently be retrieving the data myself and get to daydream of being forever "lost" in enchantment...

...maybe I'll haul my camera next time and snap some shots for you?  Hard to say... when I find places like this, it's VERY hard to get me to share!

Just in case I haven't mentioned it, I love that I'm not a normal girl!

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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.

Sanctuary - by Stephanne

Sanctuary... Google defines "sanctuary" as: 

1. a place of refuge or safety
2. a nature reserve, such as "bird sanctuary"
3. a holy place, temple or church

How close can they come, yet miss it?  How snugly can they skirt the point? Let's do the word some justice, shall we? Let's truly define "Sanctuary".  

Sanctuary: A place (...no... not quite...)  

Sanctuary: A holy place or refuge in nature. 

A friend asked, "what is nature to you?" and the immediate thought and feeling that surfaced: Sanctuary.  There is no place like the wild for me.  It recharges me and resets my internal batteries... it melts my stress.... it transforms my life to a simple yet deeply rewarding time.  Nature is my Sanctuary. 

Who can argue the awe-inspiring sense of wonder and humility when viewing sunrise across an expanse of rugged, snow-capped peaks?  Nature is my Sanctuary. 

Who can negate the sense of peace and internal harmony as a babbling brook playfully dances with the rocks of a mountain stream?  Nature is my Sanctuary.  

Who can dispute the calm serenity of ocean waves rhythmically thrumming the ever-steady heartbeat of the earth, chorused by calling gulls?  Nature is my Sanctuary.  

Even the side of nature that scares us, yet is an integral part of this world, gives us a sense of awe with her raw power, beauty, and grace?  Lightening messily scratching its light across the skies... volcanoes with their powerful bellows and blood of magma... twisting delicate ropes of destruction in tornadoes... the immense splendor of a hurricane viewed from space... the 'reclaimable energy' of floods or avalanches.  Yes, even these capture us in wonder.  

Nature, you see, is in our genes... etched into the very atoms that create us.  We are part of nature and nature is a part of us.  The benefits of being ensconced in that nature are numerous and immeasurable.  Perhaps that oneness is why nature resets and recharges, inspires and enamors, instills peace and serenity?  Regardless if your version of being in nature is a vista view from a car or the most hidden secret lakes and meadows shrouded in mountains and mist... nature is a sanctuary.  It heals what wounds we cannot see... may not feel... and sometimes have not yet begun to fathom.  

How? Why?  It's simple...

...Nature is a Sanctuary. 

...maybe you should find your sanctuary in nature...
 just remember to take care of it.

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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.