Bookending the Northeastern border of the Smoky Mountains, Cosby is a unique community in Cocke County situated about an hour and a half from Maryville. Defined as a census-designated place and unincorporated community, Cosby’s sprawling landscape draws outdoor enthusiasts from near and far.
My most recent day trip to the Northeastern side of the national park started with what I would consider a good omen for anyone venturing into the wilderness in hopes of seeing feats of nature: a black bear sighting. The juvenile was standing on his hind legs as my car rounded a bend in the road, eyeing me through my windshield for a split second before the animal lumbered over the guardrail and down the hillside. Unfortunately the bear moved too quickly for me to snap a photo, but I was excited to have spotted one at all.
The increase in tourism and traffic in the Great Smoky Mountains puts bears in a particularly vulnerable position as their habitat is not only becoming more developed and inhabited, but the bears themselves are becoming more comfortable around humans which can result in them posing a greater threat to both themselves and others. They are more likely to wander into campsites, roadways, and even cities looking for food as their natural resources are being depleted. I was happy to know that this particular bear was still spooked enough by me to retreat and was inhabiting a fairly remote area of the national park.
My destination was the Cosby Nature Trail, which can be accessed via Cosby Campground. The parking lot, complete with bathrooms and kiosks for purchasing parking tags, is only about a quarter-mile from the trailhead. Luckily I had my dad (who is much more directionally adept than me) with me since there was no signage for the trail until we reached an outdoor amphitheater littered with wild turkey feathers. We opted for the shorter and easier nature trail as opposed to the more challenging Mt. Cammerer and Hen Wallow Falls hikes that diverge in close proximity to nature trail because the weather conditions on this particular day reminded me that the Smokies are indeed a temperate rainforest; the light showers didn’t deter me from getting outside, but the trails are rocky and muddy in places, making them potentially hazardous in wet conditions– something potential visitors should be aware of.
My dad and I ventured along the 1 mile loop, noticing the thick vegetation and vibrant plant life on every side. The nature trail winds beside Cosby Creek, although the recent heavy rainfall ensured that the creek more closely resembled a rushing river. The rhythmic splashing of the current against the bank enveloped the forest in a blanket of organic white noise, a gentle reminder that the destressing abilities of nature are inevitable and effective, so much so that humanity now synthetically reproduce the sounds of a rushing river or a thunderstorm with machines in hopes that an essence of nature will help us disconnect from the mechanics of daily life. It is no surprise to me that I find myself thinking with more clarity and optimism while outside, and on this particular hike the history of the land we were traversing kept coming to mind. I wondered how much the landscape had changed over the years as I noticed trees and rocks that were probably there long before any people, their steadfastness and interconnectedness to the landscape a representation of the longevity and tenacity of the natural world. Even though human beings are more and more identifying themselves with the industrial world, we are all part of this interconnected natural world, first and foremost. If we can shift our perspective to view nature not as something separate from and inferior to us, but instead as a part of our very beings, then protecting it will naturally follow. If we can allow our self-preservation instincts that ensure we protect ourselves, often subconsciously, to extend to nature as an extension of ourselves, then suddenly environmentalism doesn’t feel as complicated or lofty. Making a difference for the earth can be as simple as treating nature with the same respect and care you would want someone to treat you with. As Judith D. Schwartz puts it in her essay Water is a Verb, “It is extremely painful to acknowledge the damage that has been done to the environment. At this difficult moment, it is essential to embrace our humility, our place in the cosmos, and to accept what we cannot control. But it is also important to acknowledge where we do have leverage…Nature wants to heal herself and will do so if given a chance or– better– a nudge.”
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