Me and two friends decided to take advantage of our proximity to the National Park on a recent, cloudy afternoon. We settled on a hike that was familiar to me but new to my friends. With its trailhead located on Tremont Institute of the Smokies’ campus, the convenience of Spruce Flats Falls coupled with its beauty is unbeatable. This trip would be my 4th time hiking to the waterfall, and I was excited to do it in fair conditions. The past two times I hiked it was with the Scots in the Smokies program through MC (read the story I wrote about my experience here), and weather was not on our side either time. The sunny afternoon spotted with clouds was far preferable to the thunderstorms I had made the trip in previously.
Less than .4 miles into the hike I had two realizations: the first was that my memory had not done the incline of the trail justice; I was out of breath from the jump but tried to remind myself that the climb in elevation was to thank for the views we would be rewarded with later on. The second was that I was being inundated with a sense of nostalgia, which was inexplicable because, upon reflection, I realized I had felt that way the first time I hike Spruce Flats as well. Why would I feel nostalgia for a place I had never been?
The trail kept climbing and at each vantage point my friends I would remark on how far we had gone and how much progress we were making, marveling at the quickness with which the scenery changed, taking in the fact that we live in a place that makes it possible for us to stand on the side of a mountain and see nothing but more mountains. The vastness would have been unsettling if I didn’t feel so at home.
Homesickness, nostalgia– these are things we will feel when our bodies have been separated from their life source by the loss of so much land and access to it. Whether you have ever spent much time outside or not, your being knows that the earth is its home. It is possibly the only thing that we all share in common. There is so much potential for community and strength grounded in the fact that we all share a home.
Finally reaching the descent to the swimming hole where the waterfall empties itself was an exhilarating moment, a moment of fulfillment and accomplishment but also relief at the idea of jumping into the crisp, cool water. Never has a shower been so refreshing as the one provided by the spray from the waterfall ricocheting off the rock wall!
The hike back always seems, for some reason, to feel so different than the initial ascent. For one thing it was much quicker because we had gravity on our side, but I swear I felt lighter walking back down the trail. The familiarity we gained with the landscape and peace granted by knowing we completed our goal carried us back to our car in the parking lot.
Damp, sweaty, tired, and smiling, my friends and I laughed at the fact that we had considered turning around before we reached the halfway point. We would have missed out on so much, and the satisfaction we got from the experience is irreplaceable. Keeping nature wild and pristine is key to future generation’s ability to have this feeling of “the sublime,” as John Muir puts it, and all humans are entitled to having that experience in their home. But that can only happen if we all help protect it.
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