The one thing I told myself not to forget for our hike in Red River Gorge was bug spray. After reading the reviews online, in which everyone mentioned the malicious nature of the bugs on the trail, I knew it would be a miserable hike without it. In the morning, I filled our waters, packed myself an extra snack, and even remembered to charge my Garmin watch so I could put my phone away and only need to quickly glance at my wrist to check the time. But I forgot the bug spray.
We were only a short distance into the trail when I realized my critical error. Joseph offered for us to turn back, but we were already running a little behind schedule, and I thought, how bad could it really be?
Bad. Incredibly uncomfortable. Every step involved swatting another bug away while I felt another bite me somewhere else. We were only a mile in, and I already wanted to be finished with the hike.
Thankfully, the bugs drifted away a little as the trees became thicker. We were greeted by new creatures instead — a long, black snake; a cute turtle that remained paralyzed with fear on the trail until we were out of sight; and little snails curled up in their shells. It was not until we were quite a few miles into the hike that we reached our first overlook at one of the arches.
The arches were amazing. The rock formations had naturally created archways on the edges of cliffs that overlooked the valley below. We sat in the shade of the rock balanced above our heads and gazed out at the lush green valley. It would have been a gorgeous view, had we not been dripping with sweat from the muggy air and being attacked by bugs now that we were out of the trees once again.
We continued our hike, which took us all the way back down into and across the valley to climb up Courthouse Rock, another large rock formation that rose overtop the trees like a gigantic monolith. From our vantage point, we could see the arches we had hiked to before. When we finally arrived back at our car, our clothes were soaked and skin was wet with sweat. I was beginning to wonder why I had ever decided it would be a good idea to visit Kentucky in June.
Showers, unfortunately, were a luxury we could not yet have, but coffee was thankfully within the realm of possibilities. We stopped for drinks and lunch and then began the long drive back into West Virginia to go to New River Gorge.
We crossed over the bridge that overlooked the peaceful river below. This was one part of the trip I had been nervously awaiting since planning. Within the hour, we would be strapped into harnesses and walking the catwalk beneath the bridge we were currently driving across.
We had arrived earlier than expected, so we walked around the gift shop and read about the history of the park while we waited for our tour. New River is one of the earliest rivers in North America. It was named a National River in 1978, and designated as a National Park and Preserve in 2021. It is wild to me to think that even after Joseph and I began our journey of crossing off all fifty states, new National Parks have been added to the list to visit.
When the time for our tour arrived, we joined the small crowd of people to learn how to strap on our harnesses and listen to the required safety rules and regulations. Then, we piled into a bus and enjoyed a quick, minute-long ride back to the gift shop we had come from to walk to the bridge.
Gazing out at the gorge and the white water rushing below, I felt my stomach sink. Heights are not normally a fear of mine, as long as my feet feel stable on solid ground. However, as soon as I feel my feet cannot safely carry me, I can send myself into a panic as I think through all of the worst scenarios. In this moment, I had an image of me crawling my way across the catwalk, and I wondered what I had gotten myself into.
Our group followed a dirt path down to the start of the bridge. Above us, the metal rattled and shook beneath the weight of the trucks and cars zooming across. The bridge sat 876 feet above the water. Before us, a half-mile long stretch of metal — the catwalk — loomed between metal beams that held the bridge in place.
Joseph went first, and I followed close behind. At my first step on the metal, everything inside of me seemed to go quiet. The tight unease in my stomach loosened. I felt light and inexplicably safe. Standing so high, at a place not many people go, to appreciate a view so many drive past without even noticing, it felt I had been awarded an amazing gift.
The view was stunning. The blue water rushed below us and wound away in the distance through rolling hills and mountains covered with thick green trees. The evening summer sun bathed the valley in golden light. The catwalk left just enough room for our feet — at any moment, we could step our boots sideways and feel the drop in our stomachs as they hung over the edge. Anytime a smidge of fear drifted in, however, it was quickly abated by our tour guide, who kept us in stitches as we walked with stories from his many years living in West Virginia. Overall, it was one of the most beautiful views I have seen, on one of the easiest hikes I have ever done. It is well worth the experience for anyone at any age.
We finished sooner than I had hoped. Despite my unease about this part of the trip, I had wished it would not end. We drove into the nearby town to eat a quick dinner at Wood Iron Eatery, a small cafe with delicious, grilled sandwiches. Feeling satisfied, we drove into the setting sun for another night of camping.
We visited two gorges on day seven of our trip, and they were both incredibly different experiences. As I fell asleep, I found myself thinking back to our sweaty morning hike, which I had thought I would love and instead I could not wait to end, and then to our walk across the catwalk, which I had dreaded but then wished could go on forever. Both brought different levels of discomfort, but I realized I never really knew what an experience would bring, whether it frightened me or not, until I tried it for myself. You cannot know what life has to offer until you are willing to step outside of your comfort zone and truly experience it.
Sometimes, discomfort really is just uncomfortable. And sometimes, discomfort can be truly breathtaking.