Exploration Made Easy: The Blog

A Narrow Escape

2011-06-07T10:18:00.000-07:00

The Rockcastle owes me one. I’ll just put it that way. Certain trails and hikes make up a mental blacklist in my mind, a reminder of woods gone bad. Mammoth Cave has a trail on that list, as does woodland near Cumberland Falls. Places where I’ve either gotten lost in a bad way or suddenly had to give up the adventure due to disappearing trail blazes. The Rockcastle Narrows is on that list. A list full of aggravation waiting for an encore if I were to return. But I will someday, including the Narrows.

It was late July 2009 and I sat out of Bowling Green on an unusually cool Saturday morning towards Somerset. I had read about the Rockcastle Narrows after seeing it highlighted on KET. It promised views of whitewater where the river meets several rocks funneling the channel for a period of time. It was a chance to return to the Daniel Boone National Forest as well and see the always welcoming landscape there. Twenty minutes east of Somerset on KY 192 and I was parked in a remote lot near Mt. Victory. It took me a moment to decide which way was right, but I did and took off towards the woods.

Let me tell you a little about my hiking regimen. It’s easy, meant to be easy, and will always be easy. Though safe, I don’t carry loads of gear into the woods. I’m what some would call a day hiker or slack packer. So as you’re reading, take that large pack you’re imagining off my back, ok? Replace it with a fanny pack. And please, stop giggling. I go in with a flashlight, fire starter, knife, compass, whistle, phone, camera, water, and crunchy peanut butter bars. Where’s my map? I had a handwritten one I scribbled from the internet. I was asking for trouble. Keep reading.

I had on a t-shirt and cargo pants with my Red Wing boots. Serious hikers can already fill in the blanks on what I’m missing and where I’ve already gone wrong, and advise me on staying indoors next weekend. But it has worked for well over 150 hikes, and tried to work on this day.

The national forest never disappoints. It has a landscape all its own unique to any other part of Kentucky. Hemlocks abound. Mountain Laurel. Wildflowers and waterfalls. My favorite forest in the state, even if it is several hundred miles.

The plan was to spend about seven miles round trip on a lollypop trail in the woods to see that wild and scenic river, one of just a handful in the state. I was off to a good start anyway. A couple miles in and I see a family. A couple of kids, two women and a couple of men, one in the lead with a big stick. Looked like a simple lunchtime outing, with all of them wearing shorts, tennis shoes and faded polo shirts. No packs or gear save a couple water bottles. The kids were giving play-by-play of things they were seeing in the woods, a common occurrence. I knew what was coming up on the trail a half-mile before I got there. Just lucky I never heard the word “snake.” I paused to chat with the stick-bearer for a moment and asked if I was in fact on course to see the Narrows. He said he had been there once as a kid, but it had been several years. I unfolded a sweaty hand scribbled map from my back pocket and neither of us could determine what my lines and dots meant. I continued walking.

Further in and a stop and look point. Van Hook Falls has its own sign, as well as Cane Creek nearby with a nice walking bridge over rapids. I crossed the bridge, which hosted several onlookers. After edging along a cliff line for several feet I came to a trail junction. It was a simple sign with two arrows. One pointing up, and one pointing left. I didn’t even bother to consult my prized map at this point. I looked one way then the other. No mention of the Narrows, plus you have to be careful anytime you’re using the Sheltowee Trace as your highway. It could take you all the way to Morehead without apology. I continued with a guess on the Sheltowee when I should have made a left turn. It would be a few hours before I realized. Deeper into the woods I went, leaving all the other hikers at the falls. I was now the lone man in the forest. It got quiet. Dead quiet, the only sound was the brush of my feet against the trail. I would stop and listen for noise. Not even a bird chirping. No airplane overhead. No play-by-play from children. No squirrel rustling in the leaves. It was spooky.

I had to constantly keep an eye on my legs as well, which were now host to several deer and dog tics. The deer tics being the most troublesome, as they’re tiny and can be overlooked if not careful. Every half mile or so I’d look down to see no more than seven or eight on my socks, legs, and pants. Not good.

After a few miles and another hour in the woods I finally come to a forest service road with signage, but with no mention of the Narrows. I go on further in foolishness thinking I’ll find the right sign and come to another junction. This time, the next destinations are listed as 10 to 20 miles away. I cringe. I’m lost. Good news is, I know where I’ve come from and can get back to the truck. Bad news is I’m now several miles out of whack and my peanut butter bars are gone as well as most of my drinkable water. I was ten miles or so from my truck.

I pulled my phone out and tried to get a signal strong enough to consult the internet for a map or number to the forest service should something go awry. Not much luck finding a map, and really needed to start back anyway. A couple hours back through the silent woods and I found that sign with two arrows again. My sweaty map did show a turnoff at one point, and that had been the only one I saw, so on a hunch I took it. Risky, since I was now without water and the woods can always wait for another day. It was the right path though. Two miles on the trail and I come to a sign, this time mentioning the Narrows. Another two miles and I hear the water as I make my way down the winding staircase of a trail, one of two routes to the river. I should have been excited at this point, but by now was too disgruntled to care.

The Rockcastle was down a bit from its class III reputation, thanks to what had been a drought filled summer. I stayed long enough to snap a couple of pictures beside the river, including Bee Rock across the way, high up on a cliff. Local lore has it an active beehive once produced so much honey there that it flowed down the rock and into the river. But the locals, legend has it, got pissed at the bees and dynamited the rock, blasting the hive into wild and scenic history. I didn’t know for sure, but I did know that I was thirsty! Four miles back to the original trail junction, then three more to get back to my truck, limping from joint pain the last two miles due to dehydration. I had gone 17.5 miles, about 10 more then planned. Back to my truck and into Somerset, where I guzzled two water bottles outside a K-Mart in seconds. I was down, but not out. I’ll be back to the Narrows, and this time with a map and plenty of common sense. The Rockcastle owes me one.

Classy Clifty In Madison, Indiana

2011-05-28T07:56:00.000-07:00

I debated in my mind whether to lift my pinky finger as I drank coffee from the fine china cup in my hand. Gazing out the window of the dining room, I could see down the hill the ribbon form of the Ohio River wrapping Indiana’s outskirts in a nice little picturesque package. Trees covered the landscape, but peering through now and then in the distance were the occasional church steeple or courthouse dome from Madison down by the shoreline. Nostalgia ran in my heart about as thick as the river itself. I had been transported to a simpler time, and hoped the future wouldn’t catch up with me.

Clifty Falls State Park had been on the docket for a couple years ever since I heard local lore boasting 22 waterfalls. I had to see if it even came close. An opportunity arose when I was scheduled for a trade show in Louisville, which gave me reason to sneak up to Madison and spend the rest of my weekend there.

As soon as I found the park, I knew I had made the right decision. A thick tree-lined road led to the historical Clifty Inn, which was totally renovated within the last decade. Cast iron bed stands! Quilts on the bed! Wooden blinds on the windows! Cast iron…in the bathroom! Luxury at the lodge. And…the view! I hadn’t even ventured to the falls before I had my money’s worth. A steak dinner while I texted friends of Indiana’s grandeur, watching a barge run its course northward.

After dinner and several sugar biscuits with apple butter, I finished my coffee, (put my pinky finger back into place) and took off to scout the falls. I had a young lady friend coming up from Louisville the next day and wanted to scope out the most scenic view for the best first impression. Four falls, all over 50 feet high, parking and boardwalks to all four. One of the easiest set of falls I’ve ever been to. Hoffman and Tunnel were as tranquil as mid May could promise, though with the rain constant that day I had hoped for a stronger showing. Big Clifty, no less proved to give the same modest performance. Out of the four, the underdog “Little Clifty” stole the show and gave the best promise for a “wow” from my anticipated date. Darkness descended as I watched a couple of whitetail deer jump up on two legs in the distance to fetch acorns from a tree. I drove back to the room and settled into bed to watch The Bucket List while checking off my own.

Morning and more rain in Madison. After two plates worth of breakfast, I asked the waitress if Madison was worth driving down to. She had been born and raised there. Her eyes got as big as my pancakes. “Yes, oh yes!” she gasped. I drove from the park to the riverfront and spent the next two hours walking in a time warp. Madison, Indiana is 1850’s all over again. It is Gatlinburg without the Gatlinburg. Coffee shops and souvenir shops and quaint restaurants with tables under sidewalk shade tree. Multiple American flags waving hello. A lesson in architecture. A true river town renovated, restored, and ready for a visit. Even without the park, a stop overnight in Madison would be worth the drive from anywhere. The only other towns I’ve seen that compare are towns westward. Boulder, Cody, Keystone…Madison is truly an eastern US anomaly with exception of course to the eastern seaboard.

My rainy walk complete, I drove back to the park and awaited my date. She came, and I took her straight to Little Clifty, still putting on a big show. Three more waterfalls later and we were back in Madison enjoying the culture amid postcard view.

Leaving via the Ohio River bridge the next morning, I knew as soon as I’d crossed that part of my need for a getaway would be forever satisfied with a return trip to the Clifty Falls and Madison, Indiana.

BBQ and Bison Chips at Yellowstone

2011-05-19T07:17:00.000-07:00

Early Independence Day, 2007. It’s 1:30am Mountain Time under a full moon, and I’m about to be freed from my life by way of a bison now standing in front of the car. I was sleeping, somewhat, before I heard the snort. Now, I’m dead still with legs propped upon car dash, not moving for fear of being crushed.

The trip started simply enough. 2300 miles originating from Kentucky with Yellowstone in the middle like a diamond in a road trip necklace. Stops in Saint Louis, Iowa, South Dakota, and now Wyoming, with Colorado and Kansas pending if I make it out alive.

Another grunt from the bison. What do you do? Scream? Run? Snap your fingers and disappear? None of those options proved the best. So I just sat still and waited. The giant creature turned broadside then galloped (do they gallop?) off to the darkness to holler some more.

Yellowstone should be it’s own country. Or at least state. It stands as one of the world’s greatest scenic treasures. Mountains, hot springs, geysers, wildlife, and waterfalls. Later that morning visited the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone and partook the upper and lower falls, regarded as two of the best in the country. A whole river plunges southward. A sight unlike any waterfall on the east coast with exception perhaps to Niagara. Then a view of water traveling skyward. On time, as usual, Old Faithful blew fireworks of its own for a Fourth of July crowd. Just wish I had bagged a certain furry friend for the BBQ…

September 1, 2006. My First Hike at Shanty Hollow

2011-05-17T07:12:00.000-07:00

Thoughts entered in a journal following my first hike at Shanty Hollow Lake five years ago...

Went trail hiking. Absolutely wonderful. A chance to regroup, recharge, regather, and regain my heart. In the wild. Away from the hustle and bustle and schedule and hassle and pain and struggle. Away from cell phone signals...and one with nature. Quiet, peaceful, deliberate, slow, constant. It was a very good trip.

A smoked ham sandwich and RC Cola at Riverside Store. Very nostalgic. Now to get on with life and what it has to offer. Am I myself, or what someone else wants me to be? Am I doing what I was designed for, or am I heading in someone else's dream? God help me to be Cory--a man by making, by experience. God help me to live the abundant life. To have an adventure. To Be Somebody.