I felt a pop in my hip as my right leg hit the ground with a lot of force. Clumsy me, I had tried to get out of my chair quickly and tripped over the mobile home sized box of Gold Fish I had left sitting on the floor. With my cat-like reflexes, I kept my balance and managed to avoid tripping. Unfortunately, I didn’t have cat-like joints, and I placed far more force on my hip joint than it was designed for according to the owner’s manual. I didn’t feel any pain, but I knew from the pop and knowing how hard I had landed that I might have an issue on my hands…er well..hip. But as I stated before, I’m clumsy, and I combine that superpower with what doctors have told me is a high pain tolerance. At any given time I generally have between 2-5 potential injuries, none of which ever really hurt that acutely, and I can usually only tell the bumps and bruises from the tears and fractures after 4-6 weeks of things kind of hurting for a bit. I logged that pop and new weakness in my hip in my mental inventory of potential injuries and moved on with my life, knowing that a genuine injury was bound to find a way to distinguish itself and make its mother proud.
That pop I felt would change my life, and certainly shape the rest of the year that followed. This is the beginning of that story which ultimately lead to some of the worst, but then some of the best moments of my life. A story of tragedy, trials, triumph, and a vengeful snack cracker box. A story involving canceled plans, shattered dreams, the European and GFS spaghetti models, and unexpected destinations. With heavy demand (one person) for more stories, the ones that I most want to tell are from this episode of my life. But to put it all in perspective, I have to tell the backstory, and the destination for this starting chapter is far from the most exciting, nor will it be the most extensive trail account. But this was the new beginning, and it will lead to more exciting things ahead.
After feeling that pop, I trudged on for several more weeks. I even took a few hikes with a hip that was a little weak but still fully functional (there weren’t other hips available for me to take hikes with). I managed to hide the potential malady from my lady, and only fessed up when she was trying to get me to dance and I had to explain why I couldn’t. And that, in hindsight, was pretty silly. I’ve never been able to dance regardless of the health of my hip. Everything was going swimmingly until I decided to go swimming.
Taking advantage of low water levels, I met up with a friend of mine at Blue Springs State Park for my first visit in about 18 months. I had been waiting for the right conditions to revisit this spring, one of my favorites in Florida, as during my wife and I’s previous visit we ran into much higher than expected water levels, which was quite disconcerting at this spring run which shortly links with the St. Johns River. We took a single float down the 1/3 mile spring run before deciding that we were creeped out and left the water. Just a week or two later a gentleman was attacked and killed by a gator, thus proving that paranoia is justified and that people really are out to get you. On this early May day, summer rains had yet to set in, and we were assured of low water that would keep the spring run narrow, clear, and relatively safe.
I had just gotten a selfie stick for my GoPro which I really wanted to use for underwater photography, as the stick would allow me to keep the image more stable and avoid motion blur (though with the GoPro not having a view screen, it would do nothing to help me compose under water, which I still haven’t gotten comfortable with). We were visiting on a week day, which meant that crowds would be low, especially early summer, so I would have pretty free roam of the long spring run to try to photograph. We spent hours swimming up and down the long spring run, sometimes downstream, but other times going against the stiff current, which is necessary to reach the headspring. The spring run to not have much underwater scenery for me to explore photographically, for it has long been devoid of underwater vegetation, but I found the massive fish population to be an interesting pursuit. I contorted and exerted myself chasing large schools, and at one point nearly caught two manatee who just happened to slip out of the designated swim area before I got in range. I scarcely got a shot all day that was worthwhile, but I enjoyed the pursuit, and I would soon have a bigger problem than shot quality.
“I probably shouldn’t go swimming until this hip problem clears up”, I texted my wife from work the next day as I was noticing increasing levels of pain radiating from my hip. Gradually my texts got more cryptic, as the way things felt, it seemed like there were going to be a lot of things I shouldn’t do for a bit. I wasn’t entirely stupid. I went to the doctor pretty quickly after that, having a real sense that something was very not right, but after unremarkable X-rays and a round of manual tests which weren’t very revealing, since a person with high pain tolerance doesn’t necessarily respond normally to moving this or that way, or feel the same type of pain as others when injured (when I broke my wrist in 2014 and had already been X-rayed clean once, I learned where I was supposed to hurt for a specific fracture it seemed like I had, so the doctor would run the particular type of X-ray needed to confirm it, which they did), I was diagnosed with the classic hip/groin strain. I knew that wasn’t right, and I was dismayed. For I had plans. Big ones. And I was going to need a hip to do it.
The first of which was a planned hiking and camping trip over Memorial Day weekend to Torreya State Park, a place that I got as excited about hiking at as kids used to going to Disney World. With more than 15 miles of trail featuring drastic elevation changes (not just for Florida), stunning clear creek beds, waterfalls, and magical floodplain forest, I practically got giddy every time I made plans for the park. We had already paid for the cabin, and since I was raised by Republicans, I hated the thought of wasting money more than I did the thought of hip pain, so on we went with the trip. And I lugged my bum hip over 12-15 miles of undulating terrain over two days, by the end of it barely being able to lift my right leg as my right groin felt like there was paper wedged in it. It might seem foolish to some that I would trudge through with legitimately rigorous hiking on an injured hip, and for good reason; it was. But my hip was going to be in pain regardless, and it’s a good thing I took that hike and explored a trail at my favorite park which I had never done before. That was the last time I visited the park before it’s beautiful forests were entirely flattened by Hurricane Michael in 2018, and a hole in my heart exists knowing that a very special place is gone, at least for this generation. I can only imagine how I’d feel had I canceled this trip and never gotten to experience roughly half of the park.
I had something much bigger on my mind than Torreya State Park. Something that had been two years in the works, and which I had looked forward to every sweltering Florida day in the meantime.
Jess and I had just fallen in love with the Smokies when we had basically passed through for a few days during a whirlwind tour of amusement parks and hiking locations across the Southeast we took in 2015. I had always liked the mountains, but what I experienced in the Smokies far and away exceeded what I had seen before. Nothing prepared me for the depth and fullness of the forests, the drama of the mist shrouded peaks, and the fact that you start a half mile hike in perfect sunshine and end up in the middle of a cloud mere moments later.
That 2015 trip taught me that there was nothing I enjoyed more in the world than finding great hikes, and hiking Alum Cave in the Smokies was the top moment of that trip. It was more than just he natural wonder of the Smokies that drew us in; there is a sense community around the Smokies that makes you want to hike there just so you can be a part of that community and share your own experiences. Ever since our short visit, where we basically had 2 1/2 days, with half of that time being lost due to circumstances, we knew we would have to do a more extensive exploration of the park. We didn’t make much money then, so we would have to bide our time to save enough money to take a long trip. In the meantime, I researched trails and waterfalls, saving notes every time someone shared a picture or hike that looked worth doing, and creating my own google map of all the places I wanted to visit. We trained on stairwells at the local college campus to do all we could to prepare for elevation gain in flat Florida. All that was left was to figure out which hotels we would stay at, but then I hurt my hip.
I eyed the upcoming trip with trepidation, knowing that with the pain and dysfunction I was feeling, it was going to be a stretch to do a big hiking trip in less than eight weeks. Having dreamed and prepared for two years for the hikes I would take, I wasn’t willing to endure the expense without being able to hike. At first the trip was postponed. And then, it was canceled. And I was crushed.
There were doctors visits, physical therapy sessions, upset phone calls, stretches, consolation trips to Savannah (which was actually quite fun, but it wasn’t the mountains). I was in pain constantly as the doctors still struggled to give me an adequate explanation for my injury. As the hip hurt when doing anything but lying down, I struggled to find amusement in any bit of life at all. Injuries are always a bummer, but most of them run in linear fashion with some expectation of timeline. Broken wrist? Should be fine in three months. Incorrectly diagnosed hip problem? Who knows? Not only could I not hike that summer, but with the difficulty surrounding hip injuries, I wasn’t sure I would ever hike at all. And hiking and exploring was my life. There was a time I tried to get a view of a creek just 100 yards from the car. And with a bit of mud on the ground, I just couldn’t make it. I had reached a new low.
There was gradually some marginal improvement. The paper wedged in my groin feeling went away. The most acute pain, which was in my buttocks, was alleviated by an injection that I implored the doctor to give me (I’m not sure how much longer I could have endured that pain while working 45 hours a week). But I still felt like there was concrete in my hip, and I knew that whatever it was causing that feeling would cause all the others to come back if I pushed things too far. After physical therapy didn’t result in recovery, I finally got an MRI and it showed what I had anticipated ever since first hurting months before; a torn labrum. My doctor recommended a procedure (one which would have to be paid for with that saved up vacation money) and I was referred to a surgeon, nervous about the upcoming process but absolutely ready to take the drastic step that would finally start my road to recovery.
Not so fast.
Much to my sheer dismay, the surgeon I had finally defeated several bosses to get get to implored me NOT to have surgery. And I was a little pissed. Here I had wrapped my head around there being a solution to end my months of agony and failed conservative care, and here this asshole surgeon just couldn’t understand what I had been through and that all that other SHIT just hadn’t worked. He said surgery wasn’t guaranteed to fix my problems, and could actually make them worse, and he wanted to try another injection before considering surgery. I had no choice, so I reluctantly let him do it, and much to my surprise, after a day I began to feel real improvement. Whatever had caused that concrete in my hip was dissipating. The doctor’s argument about potential harm was starting to have affect, especially after I talked to my sister, whose fire fighting career ended after having to undergo multiple shoulder labrum surgeries. Suddenly, for the first time in several months, I was envisioning not having to have expensive and time-consuming surgery. As swimming had been the spark that set off the bomb in my hip, and was an important part of my life living in miserably hot Florida, I decided to test out my improved hip at Wekiwa Springs. If I relapsed, there would be no doubt that I would need the surgery. But I need not have worried; while I refused to put my hip through excessive strain (and still have yet to swim with abandon since the initial incident), I had reasonably good functionality. It seems I would have been free and clear except….
Hurricane Irma. That disgusting, vile thing, which was on our minds as we swam at Wekiwa despite the fact that it was still well out to sea and only a fractuion of its eventual peak. Somehow, even well over a week away, we just knew it was coming. I can’t dwell on this subject for too long, for I could write many dedicated posts about what it was like having one of the strongest storms ever known to man barreling through the Atlantic like a bowling ball straight towards you. We Floridians called it Irmageddon, and the stress of this one coming was flat out one of the worst episodes I’ve had to endure. In a worst case scenario, we had the money for our insurance deductible, but that was my vacation money. And after the hell I wasn’t sure I was done enduring with my hip, I so, so desperately needed that. It was only seemingly sheer luck that a storm which had been an unstoppable category 5 with bath water in front of it inexplicably plunged into Cuba, then began ingesting dry air once it got back out to sea. It felt like watching the computer virus take down the aliens in Independence Day, saving your civilization from the bring of destruction. But even Irma in reduced form was still an unfathomably wide storm which made landfall on mainland Florida at category 3 intensity, and went directly over our house at category 2 strength. When all of Irma’s storm bands had passed, and it became apparent that our house had not suffered damage worth an insurance claim, I could have cried. That cruel horror thrown in after my hip had finally turned a corner ended up a footnote compared to the all time disaster it could have been here in Florida. Just to be safe though, we actually had to leave our storm shutters up until Irma’s boytoy Hurricane Jose finally deviated from following the exact same path, and we certainly felt none too safe when Hurricanes Maria and Nate lurked off our shores.
At last, having survived Irmageddon, I was finally ready to plan a return to the mountains, which was the only real way to test whether not I could live without having surgery. But this wasn’t going to be to the Smokies. Not anymore. That Smokies trip had been geared towards summer, and I still wanted to eventually take that trip that I had planned before all drama surrounding my hip. I didn’t want to take a trip planned for summer in the fall when I could instead take a trip planned for fall in the fall. Besides, I wanted some fallback option in the event I found I couldn’t hike on my hip, which was a very real possibility. A trip centered around the Blue Ridge Parkway, which offered so much scenic opportunity even in the event I couldn’t walk, just made too much sense, and soon I was furiously researching the best hikes one could do within range of spectacular scenic roadway. My disappointment at missing the Smokies was replaced by excitement at visiting an absolutely mindblowing slate of attractions I had found, and the thought of experiencing my first fall ever out of Florida galvanized my mind. Hotels were booked for mid-October, and hiking notes and itineraries were prepared. All was go for launch except for one final hurdle.
I got sick. The day before we were supposed to leave I got an ear/throar infection, as one with an immune deficiency tends to do. I’ve rarely ever been able to take a vacation without being sick either just before or during the trip, and this seemed to be no exception. This had a hidden advantage though, for instead of leaving after work that Saturday I was going to have to take a legitimate sick day to visit the doctor that morning to get antibiotics. My second in charge insisted it would be no issue for me to have to miss work, and I knew she was telling the truth, for she was ambitious and relished every opportunity to run the show in my stead, hoping to prove she could replace me. If I had left after work as planned, we would have gotten into north Georgia late that night, with just enough time to catch a couple hours sleep before embarking on our first planned hike. With the doctors visit and gargling near boiling salt water behind me, we set our earlier than planned, and I had something in mind;
Bonus stop!
High Falls State Park sits seductively close to Interstate 75 just past Macon in Georgia, and having taken 75 north past this place for almost every vacation I’ve ever taken in my life, I certainly wanted to visit this one at some point. It was just hard to make it when it didn’t seem to be worth a dedicated stop compared to spots in north Georgia, and including it on an itinerary when it was so far away from anything else I wanted to do was impractical. But in this instance, with unexpected bonus time on our hands, it would make sense stop by and see what it was about. That is, if we could get there before dark, which was far from certain given that we were leaving mid-day and would have to cross large half the length of both Florida and Georgia to get there.
Onward we plunged, and our excitement at taking our first fall trip grew with every mile northward we traveled, noting the gradual change in foliage color during our journey (fall doesn’t really happen in all but select pockets in Central Florida, and what little happens occurs far later than mid-October). The miles went by, and my mind was constantly calculating our possible ETA and trying to decide at what point the cutoff time would be as far as when it would become unfeasible to visit due to the impending time. We tried not to get too distracted by actually getting to see southern Georgia in the day for once, though that wasn’t too difficult owing to the fact that, as it turns out, southern Georgia just isn’t that interesting. Partially thanks to interstate 75, which in the absence of congestion features an average speed of around 90 MPH (in the slow lane), we pulled into the parking lot at a time I could not remember, but one which was obviously before my cutoff time (I know because we wouldn’t have visited otherwise).
We had made it somewhere, and even though it was a stop I was visiting more for curiosity than genuine anticipation of it being nice (the falls had always appeared somewhat like a dam in photos I had seen, which in hindsight I realize may have just been photos of the actual dam just upstream of the falls), we were here. Something had finally gone right.
Out of the car we went, though we weren’t particularly sure where to go as I had done absolutely no research on the park beforehand since I hadn’t been anticipating a stop. There seemed to be trails going different directions, where some of them went I still cannot tell you. We figured heading in the general direction of the giant ass waterfall, whose roar was audible from the parking lot (even over the sound of unmuffled trucks driving by) would be a pretty good idea. Before leaving the parking area, I was just so excited to be where I was that I snapped a few pictures of the dam, just for good measure. It was partway through our visit that I realized in our hasty exit from the vehicle I had forgotten to change out of my slick bottomed dress shoes into something outdoor appropriate (I’d like to imagine I was going to save the formal wear for the bigger signature hikes planned later on).
As we edged closer to the falls, I was overcome with the moment. I had fallen in love with the mountains and their world of scenic beauty and photographic, yet I hadn’t been able to visit them in well over two years (and yes, I’m aware that High Falls might not technically be in the mountains, but being a waterfall located along the fall line, its certainly close enough for someone from flat Florida). It was a deliciously cloudy day, giving the woods (mostly still green, for we weren’t all that far north all things considered) a chance to shine. And whereas Florida was still pushing high 90s, the air had a refreshing coolness that I can still feel to this day. It wasn’t just air temperature; it was the feeling of being someplace else. I practically danced as we worked our way downhill over a combination of slopes and boardwalks, though I had to be careful for two reasons. For one, we’ve established I can’t dance, and two, I had no Earthly idea how my hip was going to react to moving on real slopes. Since we weren’t going a huge distance or elevation, our short foray at High Falls wasn’t going to be enough to give me a green light on my hip even if I suffered no issues, but I sure as hell would have known things wouldn’t work if my hip really acted up from that first excursion.
High Falls wasn’t large enough to constitute a real test for my hip, but with that said, it was far larger than I anticipated. Less one big, wide fall that I had imagined would be from seeing the pictures (which, again, were probably actually the dam), it was a series of continual cascades stretching for hundreds of yards. The trail, whichever one we were on (I never found out), offered an overlook at the bottom of every single cascade. I got out the big guns (my neutral density filters) and setup the tripod for what would be my first “real” waterfall long exposures ever (I had photographed some of our select Florida waterfalls, and of course water features along creeks and rivers before, but never a genuine cascade like appears further north). Owing to time constraints on previous mountain trips, I had intentionally not brought gear for long exposures, allowing me to live in the moment and just enjoy and immerse myself in the scene. I promised to never let that enjoyment happen again, and so excited to end that misery I began rolling off long exposures even though I hadn’t the faintest idea of what kind of composure to aim for. Jess, in the meantime, amused herself with the comics that locals had drawn on the red railings, thankfully providing entertainment opportunities for those who can’t be bothered to look at giant ass waterfalls.
It was great just to be using my camera for what I imagined was high caliber work, even if I found out later my pictures were pretty crappy. I had scarcely taken a “real” picture all summer, which was a double bummer as I had gotten a super wide angle lens (Sigma 10-20mm), my first non-stock lens which was suitable for landscape, and I had been anticipating I could take my photography up a level. Six months later I hadn’t even gotten to use it enough to really learn its quirks, so this trip would be a true breaking in for it. I was reminded of a little kid we once saw riding his bike past us while we were taking a stroll in the park. In his excitement, he said “I’m riding my bike! I’m riding my bike!” Jess and I have never forgotten this moment, and I made homage to that by exclaiming “I’m using my camera, I’m using my camera!”
We worked our way further down the fall, through a forest of pine that seemed exceptionally beautiful for that type, with their striking stems coming out of a carpet of leaves and rock covered brown, orange, and red (fortunately not too slick to walk on in my dress shoes). It was a sight we don’t have in Florida (both the woods and people wearing dress shoes for much of any activity). The next overlook was really impressive, surrounded by giant boulders and featuring an unobstructed view of the definitive cascade. By waterfall standards, it was far from the prettiest thing, but when you haven’t visited the mountains in over two years you have the same standards for waterfalls as someone just getting out of prison has for companionship. Inexperienced as I was photographing waterfalls, even I couldn’t screw up this obvious composition.
We worked our way down the trail even further, hoping than an even more spectacular view would be waiting. We were somewhat disappointed to find that the next views merely offered a scattering of rocks and small cascades (apparently we had quickly become waterfall prudes). We found more amusement in looking the opposite way towards rocks and boulders along the edge of the woods. Those things don’t just happen in Florida. If there’s a large rock somewhere, we would build a state park around it. This things are commonplace in the mountains or almost anywhere with normal geology, but Florida just doesn’t live by those rules.
We celebrated being at the base of our first waterfall by taking pictures of each other, gladly wearing our cheesy Savannah tourist t-shirts we had bought on our consolation trip a few months ago.
We had shown up with not too much daylight left, and we didn’t want to get into our hotel all that late if we could help it, so began to retrace our steps uphill and back to the parking area. Much to my surprise, I found the most satisfying shots I took at this location weren’t of the full fall, but instead some shots I caught just peeking through gaps in the foliage.
Before leaving the park, we wandered over to the road bridge over the falls to get a glimpse from the top of the waterfall. It was neat getting a pretty far reaching view of the full river as it works its way downhill and into a valley. I don’t usually seek out the top of falls anymore, but I enjoyed this more than the usual top down view since it was the only place in the park you could really get an elevated view that showed the changing terrain in the area.
A short visit to High Falls it was, but the enjoyment I got at finally seeing a natural location out of the realm of what I could get in Florida, after so many trials and tribulations, far exceeded the natural wonder at High Falls. With that said, I was surprised that a place which hadn’t seemed to offer much in pictures was actually filled with beautiful woods, interesting geology, and a waterfall that was more worthwhile a spectacle in person than its limited photogenic appeal would imply.
Walking back to the car though, I was a little worried. Not only had I been wearing inappropriate shoes, but the pants I was wearing were work khakis, more suitable for Jake from State Farm than hiking. They only provided limited flexibility, and constraining the movements made my hip a little agitated. I didn’t think it was agitated enough to “go nuclear”, but I certainly wasn’t encouraged about my prospects of it enduring a longer hike. I was willing to try it out, however, the next morning at what may be Georgia’s finest natural wonder. Stay tuned!
J. Parker Nature Stories 