A Snapshot and The Scoop: An Indulgence

Is it really a trip to the Buena Vista area in Colorado without a stop at the St. Elmo ghost town and a visit with a bunch of adorable furry friends? (The answer is no, btw.) Torrey and I had cut our mountain climbing short by a day and found ourselves with free time to indulge. We began with a visit to St. Elmo, a ghost town on the slopes of Mount Princeton where mining operations once created a booming industry. When the railroad moved away from the area and the mining dried up, the town was abandoned by all but a dedicated few, who have worked hard over the years to preserve their little corner of Colorado history. The town has few permanent residents, aside from the three species of squirrels that live near a pile of old railroad ties at the town center. I've written about these cuties before, and I'll continue to write about them every time we visit. #sorrynotsorry

A Snapshot and The Scoop: A Few of My Least Favorite Things

Let's talk about how much I dislike makeshift log "bridges" over rushing mountain streams. And let's also talk about how much I dislike crossing said bridges during the day when I can see, let alone having to cross them in the pre-dawn pitch black darkness of a mountain forest illuminated only by the beam of two headlamps while also being dive-bombed by bats who are attracted to the insects flitting around in the light of said headlamps. While I acknowledge that many of our summit bids in our goal to climb all 14'ers in Colorado will require us to continue beginning our hikes before dawn, that doesn't mean I have to like it. There is nothing creepier than a forest at night, and having to cross a bridge where one false move will send you plunging into icy water that promises to ruin your hike for the rest of the day while it is still dark, well, those are a few of my least favorite things. But we did it, despite my hesitation and grumpiness, and our summit bid was successful. I guess I'll just have to get over it, because I know there's more yet to come.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Pick Your Line

When you have no trail to follow, and it's really more about just taking the next step on your way up, you follow whatever route you can find in your bid for the summit of a mountain. Torrey and I were busy climbing 14,000 foot mountains again last summer, taking on Class 2 mountains that required some scrambling and boulder-hopping to get to the top. On this particular mountain, Yale, we reached the shoulder of the mountain and the end of the trail; we had to find our own way across a steep boulder field, haphazardly marked with carins from previous hikers, all of whom had their own skill levels and comforts with exposure (meaning how close they were willing to get to falling off the top of a mountain). Torrey and I each found our own way, with me sticking as close as possible to the middle of the boulder field, but not so center as to be quite at the top. I wanted to be able to hold on to boulders on both sides of my body, not just on the left or right. Boulder-hopping is a slow process (for me at least) due to the desire to make sure the rock I'm about to put my foot on won't roll away under my weight. Twisting an ankle on a remote mountain would be dangerous, and if the rock rolls off the side and takes me with it, the fall would be lethal. We carefully picked our way across the boulders, passing carins every now and then but mostly ignoring them as we found stable footing on our own. Reaching the summit has never felt so good.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Altitude Sickness

This right here is what altitude sickness looks like for us. When we're so close to being on top of the world, and have to all but curl up into ourselves to breathe through the nausea and headache. Altitude sickness can actually be very dangerous, even lethal, and though neither Torrey nor I have ever had it get to the point where we were in danger it has certainly been rather uncomfortable. It's also not something I'd want to go through alone - if I'd been hiking on my own I would have turned around and headed back to camp long before we got to this point, but we had each other and it kept me at least going forward, albeit with lots of breaks every 10 steps or so. It seems every year we climb mountains my altitude sickness gets worse; I never had a problem when I was younger, and only since moving to Texas have I noticed an issue with mountain climbing. I'm still looking for a treatment/cure that works for me, but until then I'll keep climbing mountains anyway!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Alluvial Fans

Turkey Flats, located in Joshua Tree National Park, is a prime example of the formation of alluvial fans that occur down slopes of mountains. Comprised of sediments such as gravel, sand, rock, alluvial fans form when those sediments are washed down mountainsides then spread out once they hit the base of the mountain, filling the basin with soil that once covered summits and slopes. Broad and fan shaped, alluvium is typically deposited at the mouth of canyons. The finer-grained particles spread out farther from the mountain and can hold water better than the coarser sediment, supporting plant life such as creosote bush and bunch grass, while cacti cling to the bare slopes above.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Wrong Side of the Barrier

You know that sinking feeling in your stomach when you realize things are just not going your way? Yeah, that's how I felt when I realized I was on the wrong side of this road block when trying to leave Chiricahua National Monument as I fled a brewing blizzard in the higher elevations of the park. Fleeing snow storms seemed to be the theme of this year's winter trip, despite the fact that I was in the desert for crying out loud, and aren't deserts supposed to get little to no precipitation??? I had been exploring the scenic monument road which took me to elevations above 9000 feet within the park, but I didn't even get out of my car at the top - I took one look at the inches of snow already on the ground and one glance up to the tops of the towering pine trees that I couldn't even see, and hightailed it (safely) back down. I passed a ranger going up while I was all but crawling down the slick mountain roads, and although I didn't know it at the time they were checking for guests and presumably kicking us out due to the storm. I was the only one stupid enough to be up there in the snow, though I was on my way down, so they followed some ways behind me. I thought for sure they'd locked this gate and I would have to wait for them before I could leave, but closer inspection showed me it wasn't chained and I could push it open to get through. I closed it behind me, of course, though I doubt anyone else would try to go up the mountain in a blizzard. Ah well, you live and you learn.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: A Spot of Light, An East Coast Epic Story

Imagine going into a cave with a small, flickering source of light that may or may not burn out and leave you to scramble in the dark, hoping to find the way out . . . or else. Prehistoric Indians did just that as they explored Mammoth Cave, located in central Kentucky in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. They used the cave for shelter and as a source for minerals, gathering reeds from the nearby river, bundling them together, and hoping to have light for an hour or so. Of course, they brought multiple torches with them, but still! I love visiting caves, but I can't imagine going through one without a guaranteed source of light. Props to them!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Blown Away

Before this winter I had never experienced the sensation of almost being blown off my feet, but I certainly experienced it during my visit to Joshua Tree National Park. I really honestly thought I might be blown off the mountain top with the force of the winds whipped up by the winter storm lashing the park, to the point where I was bent almost double trying to make myself as small as possible and brace against the wind. I had driven to the park's highest elevation reachable by vehicle out of curiosity and the desire to at least see where the park roads took me, even though I wouldn't be hiking. The winds were blocked by a pile of boulders in the parking lot, but once I'd cleared the boulders I had to stop to regain my footing as I almost got blown over. Needless to say, I only stayed on the mountain top long enough to note that I really couldn't see shit due to the snow storm, snapped a few pictures anyway, then hurried back down to my car as I was pushed along by the gale howling at my back. I couldn't get back to the warmth and stillness of my car fast enough.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Contact Zone

In the photo above we have the evidence of volcanic activity, earth upheaval, stream action, and erosion all in one place. The lighter rock was once magma buried deep within the earth. It pushed its way into the surrounding rock - the darker gneiss (pronounced nice) - where it solidified and crystallized into the granite we see today. Upheavals deep within the earth's crust forced the gneiss and granite to the surface, where a far wetter climate than what's present today cut the rock into a valley with a stream that carried sediment away. All of this occurring over millions of years, today showing us the contact zone where molten rock once met solid stone.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Disconnect

There are very few things while travelling that make me as happy as I get when I see a Wilderness sign. Signs like this mean I'm leaving the real world behind, leaving cell service and internet and roads and cars and, for the most part, people, behind. I get to disconnect, get away, ignore reality for a little while and instead focus on myself, my hiking partner, and the world immediately around us. Because really, this IS reality, being in the moment and aware and self-reliant. If something happens out there, its up to you to figure it out, with no guarantee someone can come to help you. For some people, I dare say even most people, that can be a scary realization: that you're completely alone. But not to me. I thrive in Wilderness, I find my center, my mind calms and I don't have worries or anxieties over anything other than setting up camp before a storm pops up, and making sure I place the bear canister far enough away from the tent. Out there, I can get up with the sun and go to bed with it too, I can eat enough to fuel me through my day, I can sit and watch the world turn around me. I really can't wait to be out there again.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: My Spot

Last year's mountain climbing adventures actually left us with quite a bit of time on our hands, and we spent one afternoon just driving around, exploring Colorado by car. It was getting towards evening and we were on our way back to camp when I realized where we were - near the town of Salida, and not too far away from a favorite childhood haunt. I began looking for the turn off, going completely by landmark memory from I don't even know how many years ago. We drove past the road and I knew it immediately; I flipped a u-turn and, with mounting excitement, took the turn. Not far up the road, just inside the national forest, I found it: one of my family's favorite places to camp in Colorado, revisited year after year, affectionately named "Natasha's Spot." I'd had My Spot marked on nearly every map of Colorado I owned up until we all grew up and stopped being able to go together on week+ family trips and lost track of it after that. I hadn't even realized Torrey and I were driving close by until something about the drive jogged my memory, and at that point I knew I'd have to find it just for memory's sake. It was almost exactly how I remembered it, with the little creek rushing by and a wide empty space that perfectly fit a large tent, or a small camper. There was an additional fire ring now, two instead of just one, but the little gravel beach with the boulder overhanging the creek was still there, and I could all but see my younger self along with my sister sitting there for hours pretending we were surviving in the wilderness all on our own. I could smell the smoke from an early evening pine-wood campfire and taste the grilled potatoes my mom was so fond of making on every camping trip. I could hear my dad shuffling outside of the camper at night on us kids' side, pretending to be Big Foot and scaring my sister so bad she made me sleep against the outer wall (because what else are big sisters for but to protect you - and be eaten first?). It was way past berry season in late August, but I wondered if the strawberry patch was still there, a short (sketchy) walk across the swift stream. I don't know exactly how long I stood there among the trees reminiscing, but Torrey left me to dwell in my memories for a little while with a content smile on my face as I walked around and around, touching everything and taking way too many pictures of a few compact yards. If we hadn't had plans the next day with an already established base camp I probably would have asked if we could set up there that night, but there's always next year.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Something A Little Different

Things were a little different for last year's Pikes Peak Ascent and Marathon due to construction on the mountain road, so while we were able to get to the summit on Ascent day to greet Torrey's dad at the top, I wasn't able to get to the top on Marathon day to play spectator. Instead I spent my day in Manitou Springs along with every other race spectator, watching the top via big screen TVs set up along the town roadways. I spent a lot of my time people-watching the crowd and cheering on the runners as they began to trickle in to their finish, which is what I supposed I'd have done at the summit anyway. Manitou is a cute little town, and I didn't at all mind being there for the day.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Pikes Peak Year Six

Once again, last August found Torrey and I at Pikes Peak, participating in and cheering on from the sidelines the runners of the Pikes Peak Ascent and Marathon. Torrey and I spent Ascent day at the top of the mountain, cheering her dad as he made it to the top. It was colder and windier on Pikes than it had been on any of the other 14'ers we'd climbed that week, and I was a little bit glad we had a warm giftshop/cafe to get into and warm up. Torrey keeps trying to talk me into running the ascent and up until now I've been adamantly against doing so . . . Now though, I might consider it. Just not this year; I'd like a little more running experience before I go for something like the elevation gain I'll have to suffer through in order to complete that particular race. We'll see though!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Relief from Mountain Climbing

Even before Torrey and I decided to cut our mountain climbing short by one day last summer, we'd been planning on pampering ourselves at one of the many hot springs resorts in the Buena Vista area. Choosing to not climb Mount Princeton ended up being absolutely the right call to make, as we watched thunderstorms roll over the summit from mid-morning on, knowing there was no way we'd have reached the top safely that day. Instead, we were busy relaxing in one of the modernized hot springs pools at the Mount Princeton Resort at the base of the mountain, soothing our muscles sore from climbing and backpacking during the few days previous. We spent hours there, alternating between lounging in a pool chair and soaking in the steaming waters, until the staff eventually kicked guests out due to the incoming storms. We fully utilized the free showers at the pool (thank you for the free shampoo and soap!) and, feeling relaxed and clean, went on our way.

A Bit of a Letdown: Joshua Tree National Park

Disillusioned. Perhaps it was because it was cloudy, or maybe because it was snowing (in southern California!), or maybe because I was sleep-deprived, but regardless, my first impression of Joshua Tree National Park was lackluster. Maybe I had over hyped the park I've heard so much about as a premier place for rock climbing and camping and backcountry hiking, but when I actually got there I really didn't see what all the fuss was about. I mean sure, the miles and miles of paved and dirt roads were great to drive, the Joshua Trees were otherworldly, and you can never go wrong with dropping me into the middle of a desert, and while I can absolutely see why it deserves national park designation I just wasn't all that impressed. Is it possible to get travel burnout? Have I really been to so many places that one of the most visited national parks rates as just an "eh" on my list of natural wonders in the country?

I'm probably not being completely fair. I really was sleep-deprived, coming off of two days of manning aid stations at this year's Grandmasters Ultra race, both nights of which were spent shivering in blisteringly cold, windy conditions despite our best efforts to provide warmth for the runners and ourselves. I was also (still sort of am) struggling with my depression, and dealing with the letdown of my expectations for my February desert trip not being met. I had been so looking forward to the desert sun, for brilliant red rock canyons and towering mountains bathed in light and shadow. While I did get that (during the day) for the two days I was on the Arizona/Nevada/Utah border (a post for another time) both the drive to the area and the rest of the week afterward before I got home were plagued with winter storms, traffic-snarling blizzards, and overcast skies. I went out there for the sun, damn it!

It snowed the entire time I explored the upper elevations of Joshua Tree. Sometimes the snow was light and I took short walks through the desert plants, sometimes the snow was heavy and I sat in my car on the side of the road, pouting. I did make sure to drive the scenic dirt roads marked on the park map, and those ended up being my favorite parts of the visit. You all know how much I love to drive, and if I couldn't hike among the cracked granite boulders famous for their rock-climbing routes then at least I could see them from the warmth and comfort of my car. I mean, technically I could have hiked, but why would I purposely subject myself to being cold and wet and miserable when I was already grumpy with how my visit was going? If I'd done that I probably would have wound up with hypothermia and absolutely no desire to return to the park someday in the future when there's better weather.

As it was, I spent nearly the whole day in the park determined to see everything I could from my car because I had driven all the way out there and I am way more stubborn than what's probably good for me. The clouds cleared off a bit once I descended into the lower elevations, from the Mojave Desert into the Colorado Desert, though by the time I got there it was later in the afternoon and not much left to drive of the main park road. Don't get me wrong, the scenery was exactly what I'd been hoping for when planning my visit; rugged mountains lined with Joshua Tree forests, wide valleys filled with all sorts of my favorite cacti, sand-colored granite blocks as tall as skyscrapers, and a general lack of other people in the area because I purposely visited in the middle of the week (and also apparently during a winter snowstorm). Joshua Tree was beautiful and packed with the activities that would normally make me giddy and itching to get my hiking shoes on to explore, but I just wasn't feeling it this time around.

Someday, whenever I make my way into southern California again, I'll revisit Joshua Tree and give it a second chance. Someday I'll go back and there won't be a cloud in the sky and I'll soak up as much of that desert sun as I can handle (spoiler: it's a lot). Someday I'll hike as many miles of cacti-choked trails as I want, and maybe even do a bit of climbing while I'm at it. I'll keep dreaming until that someday comes.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: The Vanishing Creek

There is a place, deep in the heart of Colorado where towering sand dunes are surrounded by rugged mountain ranges, where water flows above ground only during certain times of the year. Medano Creek borders the dune field at Great Sand Dunes National Park, flowing only when the snow is melting from the slopes of the mountains upstream. Once the snow is gone the creek stops flowing above ground, instead sinking the moisture into the sand while still travelling downstream, surfacing beyond the park in lush wetlands that play host to migrating birds, elk, deer, moose, and bears. Sometimes, during spring and early summer, the creek is cold and deep and fast-moving, stretching all the way from the dunes parking lot to the dunes themselves. During our visit last year Torrey and I followed all that was left of the stream, a little trickle of water, all they way to its end, when it gives up on the surface and soaks into the sand below. In all my visits to the park I've never actually seen the end of the creek - I've only ever seen it full and flowing or completely dry - so this was a fun little sight to see, there at the end of summer.

Chiricahua

Curiosity and ambition are the two main motivating factors that drive my travels. I have a huge goal to visit every unit of the national park system, and that combined with a general lack of tight schedules while traveling leave me with ample opportunity to stop at roadside attractions on a whim. These same factors compel me to drive every scenic byway marked on a map (because I still use paper maps, especially due to my tendency to visit places with little to no cell service), which is why I found myself heading to Chiricahua National Monument in southeastern Arizona on my way home from a week in the desert.

I hadn't been quite ready to return home, though I wasn't actively looking for ways to stall, and once the little green square on the map caught my attention I knew I'd be checking it out. I'd never heard of Chiricauhua, though I suppose that's not too difficult to believe considering it's a ways away from basically every major transportation corridor in the area. I didn't mind the distraction, and turned off at the appropriate exit to make my way across rolling plains deep in a valley between rugged desert mountain ranges. This little national monument lies nestled at the foot of one of these mountain ranges, and my approach was overshadowed by a looming storm. At lower elevations the precipitation was rain, though as I climbed up into the mountains by way of the two-lane monument drive the rain turned to sleet. It was a mixture of sleet and snow by the time I reached the visitors center, and full on snowing when I left the building a few minutes later.

Chiricahua is a place where five of the seven "life zones" in the northern hemisphere are stacked on top of each other in the space of a few miles, defined by differences in elevation, moisture, soil, and sun exposure. Starting at the lowest elevations we see the Lower Sonoran Zone characterized by bare patches of earth sprinkled with thorny desert plants, followed by the Upper Sonoran, Transition, Canadian, and finally the Hudsonian Zone above 9000 feet, where spruce, fir, and aspens thrive. Microhabitats are everywhere, catering to a multitude of species that otherwise would never converge here. Mountain-dwelling bears share the area with desert tortoises, deer are everywhere, and there are more birds in this location than nearly anywhere else in the Sonoran Desert.

One species I didn't see as I made my way up the scenic drive was humans. I didn't see a single other person as I drove, winding through canyons and along mountainside cliffs to the road's end at the summit, though hindsight shows that was probably due to the storm that was intensifying in the higher elevations of the park. The snow was heavier at the top, several inches already laying in dripping sheets over the parking lot and picnic tables that supposedly showcased unrivaled views of the valley below. During my visit I could barely see the tops of the ponderosas next to me, let alone the valley bottom, and I didn't linger at the top for long. I had no desire to take a tumble down the mountainside on my way back down along the increasingly slick road, and threw my car into the lowest gear possible in order to keep it under control. I left none too soon - they closed the park road just after I left.

2019 Wrap Up: It Was A Quiet Year

Muted. As far as travelling is concerned, it's been a quite year for me. I've been just exhausted this year, which has led me to choosing to stay home more often than not, spending my weekends, long weekends, and even longer breaks around holidays lounging around my house and yard. I have been able to get out and run, though, so I'm still spending plenty of time outdoors - on both streets and trails- so I'm not lacking in the sunshine department at least. I did manage to get a few trips in this year, so read on below for a recap:

I kicked off 2019 by taking a week-long vacation to the deserts of Arizona with my cat. Hoodoo and I volunteered at an ultra race along the borders of Arizona, Nevada, and Utah, then we took off on our own to explore the deserts for a few days before heading home. We saw quite a bit of Arizona on our trip, and are already looking forward to going back again in the new year.

We adopted a new dog, and I "had" to travel to pick him up from my friend/his foster mom in Oklahoma. Bullet is a gentle, incredibly affectionate shepherd and fits in with our family like he's always belonged. And yeah, seeing Julia and her family while picking him up was the icing on the cake.

Callie, Hoodoo, and I took a weekend in late March to run away and look for alligators, and to spend a night on the gulf coast. We found plenty of gators, and while Hoodoo didn't appreciate the wind off the gulf we still got in a gorgeous sunrise stroll along the coast.

Hoodoo's and my trip to White Sands National Monument (now National Park!!) was . . . not great. It began with a hot day and a spectacular sunset followed by a lovely and quiet sunrise, then devolved into chaos and whipping sand and a flying tent with its occupants (us) still in it. One terrified cat, shredded tent, and broken wrist later, I don't think I'll be visiting White Sands again for a while. It took me six weeks to physically heal, and probably way longer than that to get over the disappointment of that disaster of a trip.

Despite still being in a wrist brace I took off by myself for ten days of driving and travelling around the east coast on what might be my most epic driving adventure to date. I visited 24 states plus Washington D.C. in that amount of time, saw the borders of Canada and the Atlantic Ocean, hit a ton of state and national parks, and tent camped most of those nights. It was a much needed retreat from normal life, and one of my top adventures of the year.

For the second year in a row LeakyCon was hosted in Dallas, and for the second year in a row I got tickets! Eleven year old me would never have forgiven myself if I had the chance to see Tom Felton (who played Draco Malfoy in the Harry Potter films) in person, and I am thrilled that I went.

For the sixth year in a row Torrey and I headed to Colorado in August, where we spent a week hiking 14,000 foot mountains, camping, sight-seeing, soaking in hot springs, and attempting but failing to backpack in sand dunes (no more sand dunes for me for a while, dammit!) We also went to Pikes Peak for the Ascent and Marathon for the sixth time, with me once again acting as cheerleader. We've got 49 more 14'ers to hike, and I can't wait for the years and adventures to come.

In September Jared and I actually travelled together and spent a weekend on the Texas Gulf Coast celebrating a friend's beautiful wedding. Not only did I get Jared to travel, but I even got him to go swimming in the Gulf with me! Talk about miracles!

Another wedding, this time for my cousin, led me back to Nebraska in October, where I hung out with family and celebrated a couple's love by partying the night away. It was a super short trip for me, with really only a single day and night with my family before turning around and heading home, but it was all the sweeter for it.

A day trip in November when Torrey came down to my neck of the woods for a visit found us in gator country along the Texas coast, where we saw quite a few of these reptiles and also made a trip to see the gulf before heading home at sunset. A long day with many hours in the car, but good company makes the miles and hours fly by.

On a random Saturday in mid-November I was heading north to meet my dad somewhere in Oklahoma to exchange a precious package: the little kitten pictured above, now named Nova, had been hit by a car the week prior while on my way in to work. I found her, began her recovery, and proceeded to bombard my family with pictures and videos of the little kitten with a bobbed tail who just wouldn't give up. My sister decided she wanted her, so my dad and I met up halfway between our homes for lunch and to get Nova to her new family. It might be the craziest adventure I've ever had: driving 12 hours for a one-hour lunch and to exchange a cat, but who cares. Nova is happy and healthy and now I get to see her any time I visit! It's a win for everyone.

Again, it's actually been a pretty quiet year this year. I travelled the least amount this year since I started tracking back in 2014, and while it seemed like it was okay while it was happening I now wish I'd made a little more effort throughout the year. Of course, some things that prevented my travels were beyond my control, but there's always next year to be more enthusiastic. Anyway, the usual stats are below:

Adventures: 11
Hours: 986.86
Miles Driven: 18,298
Total Cost: $3,078.92
States Visited: 29 plus Washington D.C.
Hiked: 59.6 miles
State Parks Visited: 6
National Parks Visited: 9
National Monument Visited: 3
National Forests Visited: 3
Wilderness Areas Visited: 1
National Seashore: 1
Navajo Tribal Park: 1
Number of Nights Tent Camping: 12
Number of Nights Sleeping IN the Car: 8
Number of Nights Backpacking: 2
Number of Nights in a Hotel: 4
Number of Nights in a House: 10
Number of Nights in an RV: 2
Animal Companions: 31
Human Companions: 33 plus various wedding guests

2020 is a new year, a fresh start, and I may or may not already have all of my vacation time planned out for the whole year. I've got several week-long trips booked already, with the first one beginning in February in the deserts. I just know this year is going to be a good one, so goodbye to the adventures of 2019 and hello to the new ones of 2020!

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Kaleidoscope, An East Coast Epic Story

Other than monarchs, I have never seen butterflies congregate in groups like the one pictured above until I visited Great Smoky Mountains National Park this last summer. Some kind of swallowtail, the beautiful black and blue wings of this butterfly caught my eye as they fluttered slowly while resting in the grass near several pull-outs in the park. I can hardly be blamed for thinking of fairy circles and little dances, though this photo was taken mid-morning instead of at midnight. I took far too many pictures of these groups of butterflies (called a kaleidoscope!) during the short time I spent at the park, but I am definitely not sorry.

A Snapshot and The Scoop: Fire Scars, An East Coast Epic Story

Just over three years ago now Great Smoky Mountains National Park made national headlines as the country watched it burn. A fire started by a couple of idiot kids high on a mountain top burned thousands of acres, hundreds of buildings, leveled part of the park's eastern gateway town, and killed 14 people. My visit this past summer revealed a forest in the midst of healing. Some of the trails affected by the fire are still closed, and some of the charred skeletons of trees still stand, but the forest is regrowing, the burned areas fully green with smaller shrubs and grasses flourishing in the fire scars. I didn't have the time to get out and hike the area, but from afar the forest looked like it was making a comeback in the way only a forest can. Next time I'll get out among the trees and see how far the earth has healed.