A hike for the ages that’s worth the effort
October 2024
by Amanda S. Creasey, Outdoors Writer
Everyone told us how hard hiking to The Channels would be.
“The hike there is a slog.” “It’s uphill all the way there.” “It’s really, really hard.” These are just a few warnings we received before our adventure in The Channels Natural Area Preserve.
However, despite these warnings, no one who issued them said it wasn’t worth the work involved. “The Channels are awesome.” “It’s totally worth the climb.” “You’ll love it,” they also told us. Having now joined the ranks of those who have visited The Channels, I can personally vouch for the challenge the 6.7-mile, out-and-back hike poses. With an elevation gain of roughly 1,400 feet and some grades as steep as 30%, the trek to The Channels is indeed a challenge. But, I can also personally vouch for the reward.
Here’s how I remember the experience: My husband, our two dogs and I pull into the small, 10-space gravel parking lot a little after 9 a.m. on a Monday. I took the day off from work and I’m determined to enjoy the journey, regardless of its legendary arduousness.
The first mile-and-a-half prove relatively easy, especially compared to our expectations. We are walking uphill, but the trail is wide, and its incline is gradual and gentle. At a switchback, we stop for snacks, sitting in the grass alongside the trail. I peel an orange and a hard-boiled egg, drink some water and fortify our dogs with some mini Milkbones. My husband crunches some almonds and chews a handful of dried cherries.
Then we start again.
FULL STEAM AHEAD
At the next switchback, things quickly get tougher. “Now I understand what everyone was talking about,” I tell my husband, tightening the belly strap of my brand-new hiking backpack around my waist.
We trudge on for perhaps another mile, our conversation waning as our breath grows more labored. After a few more switchbacks, we pause to view the mountains through the trees, startling two pileated woodpeckers whose red heads and black and white wings flash amongst the branches as they flee our presence.
When we start moving again, I have to stifle the temptation to check my work email on my phone. Surprisingly, I have service. It is Monday, after all. Best to stay informed about what awaits me at work when I return tomorrow.
But I let the urge pass like the cloud shadows I watch drifting over the mountains. I tell myself that all the work will still be there, whether I know about it now or later. I keep my attention on the cloud shadows, the rocky trail, the rhythmic sound of my own breathing, and the satisfying sensation of exertion in my lungs, legs and shoulders.
REACHING THE SUMMIT
We navigate a small rock scramble and arrive at the top of the trail, where stands a massive fire tower, stretching toward the sun, its lower landings chopped off in an attempt to prevent would-be climbers. From this vantage point, we’re treated to a spectacular panoramic view of the mountains surrounding us, and the valley below. We are in The Channels.
We had shed most of our layers during our trek uphill. Here, in the shade of the rocks and rhododendrons, we don them all again. We wander amongst the great stones, leaving bright pink dog waste bags in various places to help us find our way back out again. The temperature difference from one place in the labyrinth to another is striking.
In search of a warm place to enjoy a snack, we clamber up the face of a monolith and emerge into the treetops and sunlight. Two black vultures circle overhead. We are on the 4,208-foot summit of Middle Knob on Clinch Mountain, but I feel like we’re on top of the whole world. Nothing but silence and sunshine. We stay like this for a while; my husband, our dogs and I splayed out on a rock in the sun at the top of the world. I close my eyes and feel the warm sun on my face, the solid stone beneath my back. The insides of my eyelids darken as a vulture’s shadow passes over my face.
“Should we set a timer?” My husband’s suggestion interrupts my reverie, the human world of time constraints encroaching upon the timelessness of this mountaintop.
“A timer?”
“If we’re going home today, I don’t want it to get too late.”
Neither do I. But I can’t bring myself to set a timer. “Just a little longer,” I say. “We don’t need a timer.”
BACK TO REALITY
A few more minutes and we climb back down, passing our dogs between us and setting them safely on the ground amongst the towering rocks. We wander around just a bit longer before following our carefully placed pink bags back to the trail.
As we descend, the way back feels a bit less laborious, gravity on our side. After a while, though, our hips, thighs and calves begin to complain at the constant bracing, and my shoulders grow tired of my backpack’s weight. Still, I’m delighted by the fresh breeze, the quality time with my husband and dogs, the achievement we’ve all experienced together.
Four hours after we began, my husband announces: “I can see the parking lot! I didn’t think I was going to make it.”
“But you did,” I say. “We all did.”
By the time we reach the car, we have encountered perhaps a dozen fellow hikers and one other dog. Including ours, six cars now wait in the parking lot.
As he buckles his seatbelt my husband says, “It wasn’t that bad.”
“No,” I say. “It was totally worth it.” I lean my head back against the headrest, the open window letting the sun kiss my face, and the breeze muss my hair. I take a deep breath.
The car ride takes me back to the human world — the realm of work and time and responsibilities. But the rocks are still there — the realm of rest, wonder and timelessness.
I carry their serenity with me. Their tenacity, fortitude and steadfastness are resources I can always draw on when the man-made world becomes too much for me.