Sometimes the soul just needs to get out into the woods. That especially rings true for mine.
Up to this point, I’ve tried sharing what I’ve called our “adventures” on my other sites, but to be blunt, they’ve always felt forced. Not because I wasn’t feeling the post, or was extremely academic about what I wrote, but the fact that a random post about a hike to a waterfall just never felt like it belonged.
Now, of course, there are exceptions to the rule, but more times than not, posting about a hike to a waterfall and getting out into the woods falls onto an Instagram post and that’s it.
So, I say all that to preface my point of I’m now going to try to see how these posts fit here. At my cavalcade of nonsense.
One thing to know about me, which is something that not many people realize, and something I rarely share, is that I love the outdoors. Throw me near flowing water or into the woods. I’m in heaven. Give me a situation where I have both, and I’m a kid again, feeling more and more rejuvenated with every passing minute.
It’s funny because this is a trait that neither of my younger siblings shares with me. Sure, if you asked, they’d likely disagree in some capacity, but the fact remains, that being outside, being in nature, just registers with me more.
If you wanted to break down the psychological aspects of this, it likely goes back to when I was younger. We’re talking 10 and younger. A time when we (my parents, siblings, and I) lived in a house nestled against a wooded hillside, before moving into a house, which also had woods around it, but not nearly as close.
I remember playing in those woods constantly. Imagining I was some type of adventurer, discovering something new for the first time. I would also become one with the area, following trails, looking at different rocks or rock features hoping to find a fossil, and wondering to myself, if any historical figures, say, Daniel Boone, had ever walked in the same area I was walking.
Being in the woods at a young age wasn’t unusual for me, even though we lived rather close to a major highway. (As a cartoon dog once said, “It was the 80s”)
The woods were my getaway, my place of imagination and adventure, and I was always within hearing distance if my mom yelled. That is, except for one particular time. (That I will admit to.)
As I’ve said, being out in the woods wasn’t unusual for me. So considering that I was a rather well-behaved child, and my mom was having to deal with both my younger siblings, having me be out of sight for an extended period wasn’t much to bat an eye at.
One particular summer’s day, I was going about my normal routine. Walking between trees. Finding a path, likely worn from a particular animal, and following it. Stopping along the way to look at interesting rocks, or picking up my newest walking stick.
I felt extra adventurous and continued down my path. I wanted to know how far the woods went. How deep could I go? I can’t tell you how long I was in the woods that day, but I can tell you where I eventually came out before turning around and heading back home. A clearing and camping ground, a few miles away from our house via the highway. I had found the end of the woods, and at that time, I was content with that knowledge.
Eventually, before we moved, I would map out the edges of my wooded playground. Including the rock ledge that hung over the highway that ran in front of our house, and a clearing, that I believe looking back, may or may not have been someone’s pot patch.
So I share all that with you, to give you the background, the understanding as to why I find getting out into the woods so cathartic. Even at 43, with a bad back and bad ankles, I turn into a kid once I get in there within the trees.
This was our annual birthday hike, which my wife and I have taken every year around her birthday. The only year we haven’t up to this point was the year she was 8 months pregnant. Seemed like a good reason to skip that year.
Having a hiking adventure every year somewhere between late January and the middle of February in the middle of Kentucky means that you never know what the weather may be.
One year, we had to wear coats. Another, the waterfalls had just started thawing out and it was in the middle 30s. This year, it was the middle to upper 50s, after hard rains overnight, and the area essentially being surrounded by rain.
It could have been wet and in the 30s again, or dry and in the 70s, it doesn’t matter. I can promise you we were getting this hike in.
Fortunately for us, the heavy rain overnight gave us an opportunity to go visit Anglin Falls, a wet-weather waterfall that is rather close. (We’re talking 5 minutes from my in-laws). We’ve visited these falls and made this hike several times, however with the heavier water flow, it gave the entire area an updated feel in a sense. It was familiar, but also it had additional elements we hadn’t experienced before.
It was a much-needed return to nature, where there is no cellphone service, and all you have is each other and the sound of running water surrounding you.
The trail itself isn’t that long, just around a mile in if you follow it, and the falls themselves are pretty spectacular, being 75 feet tall.
The trail itself was wet and muddy, with small streams of water running over it in different spots from the overnight rain. It all just made me happy. It ignited that childlike flame at my core, and my shoulders were already feeling lighter well before we were even halfway to the falls. This was something we both needed and is something we need to make a point of doing more often.
Hiking the trail is pretty straightforward, and it never stops being a rush when you start realizing you can hear the falls and your destination up ahead.
Again, between the two of us separately and together, we have probably hiked this trail a combined dozen or more times. However, this time, hiking just after a heavy rain, it was just different. There were more things to look at as you saw water running off rock cliffs to either side of us. Being able to see where the forest’s floor of leaves had been pushed and piled up from a rush of water from what would typically be a hidden spring. The sound of the creek that the trail follows with it flowing higher and faster than it typically does. It was everything we needed. A quick little getaway from the world to refresh and recharge, all fueled by nature and running water.
Once we reached the falls, we were not disappointed as the water was rushing over the rock cliff onto the boulders below.
Have I mentioned I become a kid in the woods and around water? Well, my wife isn’t any better. If you had gone to look for us those first few minutes after reaching the falls, you would have found us with the boulders, at the base, where the force of the water falling was throwing up mist and wind that got our clothes damn and blew my wife’s hair.
At this point, it’s almost criminal to not hike around and climb the rocks to the top of the falls, where we again found plenty of flowing water and a few smaller waterfalls.
Eventually, we had to start heading back and return to the real world before it started getting dark.
But not without taking a detour off the beaten path and instead following the stream of water as it flowed away from the falls and back in the direction we were headed.
By the time we made it back to the car, I was tired; I was wet, and I was muddy. I was also the calmest and most relaxed I’ve been in a bit. While I’ve said it a few times already, but it bears repeating, it was needed. It was needed self-care in the form of trees and flowing water.
