“It’s worthy walking where ancestors walked before. If there’s anything ancient graffiti, complaint clay tablets, carved sex-toys and rock-scratchings can teach us, it’s that all who came before us were human too.” – Old Sean
Departure Trails
One final stateside hike.
As an early birthday gift to myself, I granted myself one final trip in the US. I spent the weeks prior to the journey, researching locations with gradually-increasing annoyance.
COVID, of course, played a huge factor in limited mobility. Regardless of where I traveled to, it was clear that I would need to rent a car to visit hiking grounds outside of Texas. As such, I was limited to options that I could drive to within a few days. I was also limited since I needed to select locations that had areas to drop off vehicles while I hiked.
I eventually settled on planning a trip to Natchez Trace in Mississippi.
Before I started my journey, I visited my friend Krone in Dallas and we spent the night catching up for the first time in years. Krone had recently gotten out of a relationship, which was still threaded to him. Sadly, a clean break didn’t seem to be in the immediate future, so I like to think I was a welcome distraction.
Following this catchup session, I made my way at the crack of dawn to a nearby Enterprise. Here, I rented a small Altima for my journey to the East. The drive itself was a dull slog with plenty of traffic and a concerning amount of construction. Staying on I20 made my directions easy, but far from enjoyable.
Edge of the Trace
Once I reached Natchez, I spent a few hours plodding around the town to check out some of the more famous features. Natchez is a unique setting, loaded with historical references. Indeed, most of the more notable towns found along Natchez Trace are akin to outdoor museums with people living within.
Natchez was no exception to this. Bluffs overlooked a blue ribbon of the Mississippi River. Great gouts of ivy swarmed up and over old trees. Stately manors and colonial-style mansions were preserved near the trailhead. Native American icons were scattered throughout the city, including the Grand Village of the Natchez Indians alongside smaller tributes to their culture.
Natchez National Historical Park was also a nice drive-through feature, with numerous buildings being restored for viewings. While normally tourist could walk inside the barns and cabins for a glance around, that wasn’t the case here. The buildings were completely shut down due to COVID, though a compelling audio tour was available.
With my curiosity regarding town sated, I booked a hotel or the night with plans to sally forth in the early morning. An exceptionally polite man checked me into a private room on the east side of town, where I would have an easier time reaching Natchez Trace. I spent the night laying out my gear one last time, trimming off what surplus weight I could before repacking.
Dawn of the Hike
The next day I set out, doing my best to beat the rising sun as I started north.
It was here I made my first mistake. Instead of walking directly towards Natchez Trace by following Highway 61, I took a time-consuming loop through safer, zero-traffic backroad, working my way towards a landmark known as the Emerald Mound. I had typed the directions in on Google Maps and this was the only route provided. This added about two hours to an already considerable hike time.
That being said, the start of the hike went fairly well.
The ground remained level, people in this part of the country were extremely willing to stop and help a person get to the next junction, allowing me to hitch for a considerable distance. Trees clustered close to the road providing shade and my gear was carefully arranged to prevent weight-lags.
At least at first.
I found out, nearly immediately, that I had wildly underestimated the tail end of a Mississippi summer.
The heat which bloomed near the middle of the day was harrowing. It pressed in from every side, slammed all angles and depleted my water bottles at a fantastic rate. Just to lower my body temperature, I was forced to slow my pace and take more frequent breaks wherever I could find shade and breeze intersecting.
As such, early in the hike I was forced to abandon some of my food to save weight while purchasing two extra water bottles in addition to my existing canteens. This helped immensely, but oppressive heat would remain a huge factor for the rest of this journey.
Heatbreaker
Finally, and with a sharp suddenness, the heat shattered and I found myself gazing down the muzzle of an intense storm.
I halted again, this time, donning my rain gear. I, however goofily, had a woolen cowboy hat that had been serving me while kayaking in Bonham, Texas. That hat was my saving grace in this weather, and when the storm blasted down atop me, I was spared trickling chills down my spine. The rain absolutely hammered, turning roads into shallow streams which deepened with each step.
Fortunately, my time in this weather was brief. True to Southern Hospitality, I was granted a lift by a man passing down the road, who drove me the rest of the way to the Emerald Mound and the actual Natchez Trace, canceling out my earlier navigation error.
Emerald Mound is an impressive feature, an enormous Native American structure created by moving baskets of earth into an enormous, steep hill. This mound is the second largest in the United States, and remains an active cultural icon.
True to its name, the mound is a vivid green, long grass arcing along the crest of the hill. The strands are softly divided by the wheels of lawn mowers, which I find amusing for reasons I’m unsure I can properly express.
It was after this point the storm broke and I was treated to a rare instance of acceptable weather on my hike. With my clothing and gear still intact and dry, I started along the walking portion of Natchez Trace.
Legacy of the Trace
A bit of history regarding the route: Natchez Trace evolved from Old Trace, a prehistoric hunting and migration route where Native Americans perused game, most commonly bison, across 440 miles from modern Nashville to the Mississippi river.
The trail was especially useful for being fairly level and allowing herds to transit across North America easily. The history quickly compiled in the modern era, and Natchez Trace was formalized as a military and trading route by President Thomas Jefferson to prevent French dominance in the area.
The Trace became the road of varied lore, from Native American settlements, to successful bandit groups to the mysterious, untimely death of the famous explorer Lewis Meriwether to Civil War conflicts and supply depots.
More recently, President Franklin D. Roosevelt established the paved Natchez Trace Parkway, creating the basis for the scenic route used today.
Natchez Trace isn’t really a walking or trekking trail, though that was how I personally used it. It’s more of a scenic drive without advertisements, convenience stops and plenty of soft curves on level ground. The road is splendidly maintained, with motorcyclists, bicycles and cars cruising gently down the pavement.
There are walking trails that run parallel to the Natchez Trace, but they’re somewhat difficult to follow and notoriously confusing due to intersecting footpaths or smalls towns and cities planted along the route.
As such, I spent a goodly amount of time in the woods, but where speed was needed, I hugged the side of the Natchez Trace Parkway and worked my way up the road. This put me much closer to the majority of landmarks and attractions that make the Trace such a treat.
Back to Foot-Tales
However, hiking took some getting used to.
Firstly, the heat did not banish itself often, except in the deep of night. The inherit humidity of this portion of the world results in a sub-tropic, with steam sifting along the ground around midday when temperatures rose in the forest.
Furthermore, the ground and occasional streams were nearly bone-dry. The water-table around Natchez has been painfully low for years, meaning potable water was a rare commodity, despite the occasional storms that rolled in.
Uncertain weather patterns aside, people generally do not hike the Trace, so unlike other treks in my life, this one was surprisingly lonely. This meant I was on my own for the majority of my jaunts and many of the trails had been untouched for a while. Mosquitos and other pesky insects were somewhat lacking, which was unexpected but welcome.
While the peaceful nature was nice and birds chirped with musical resonance, it also meant I was forced to wave a “Spider Torch” in front of me. A spider torch is just a fancy name for a stick that’s waved in front to batter down spider webs, which hang-lined me every other step.
When I ran low on water, which happened nearly every day, I usually had to sit down with my maps and compass to spend some time hashing out which direction to go.
If I was close to the parkway, I would hitch from there to a water source or follow along the road until I came across a house to ask for a refill. If a town was the more convenient option, I would batter through woods. Needless to say, the former option was far more preferable.
Beauty of the Trace
Those were the hindrances regarding the hike along the Trace. However, there were some excellent features as well.
Great walls of beautiful ivy absolutely blanketed enormous swaths of land, the creepers rising and consuming entire trees and valleys in overlooks I’ve rarely ever seen.
Wildlife was extremely abundant, forcing me to tie up my food in trees every night. I lost count of the number of deer springing away from me, and other critters gave me sheepish glances before scurrying back into the underbrush.
Icons and landmarks on the trail were identified in curved yellow letters that seemed rustic alongside informative plaques. The ground was uncommonly stable and mud patches were rare. Grand old trees were tucked away in all corners of the woods, and great pillars of Spanish moss looped off of branches, creating regular curtains to brush through.
Occasionally, farms would spring out of the forest line, great green meadows with huge rolls of hay glowing in the morning sun. The bones of creeks, dry riverbeds, were light colored and crafted from hard-packed sand and stone snaking in confusing directions.
The woods above were consistently dense, making sunlight filter down in oddly sharp spears every few steps.
Overall, Natchez is a magical bit of forestry.
Honest Walker
For the actual route, I only covered the portion from Natchez to Jackson. This is partially due to time constraints, partially due to the fact that I was moving much slower than initially estimated. But mostly, this was because I opted out of the hike early to get some rest. (I’ve been traveling pretty hard for the past couple of months, and I think my United States wanderlust just pattered out).
Regardless, I started out by visiting Loess Bluff, which is a loose cliff of yellowish soil braced by a field, creek and dead tree. The bluff, of course, is named for the soil that makes it. I mention Loess Bluff specifically, because a fair number of gullies, valleys and creek-edges on my hike were made of this shifty sediment.
Picking my way further north, I also spent some time around Bullen Creek, which has numerous informative nature-plaques scattered in an otherwise extremely dense patch of woods. Further north was the interesting pocket Mud Island Creek, where many cyclists lounged and I was able to refill my water bottle.
At this point, I veered away from the main trail and angled on the time-consuming loop which accesses Windsor Ruins.
The Ruins are the remains of a burned mansion. The remainder is a series of weather-worn Corinthian columns with iron decorations tentatively holding them together. The ruins are off-limits, with a chain-link fence and warnings about their instability. Ferns and other small-seed plants are growing out of the top of the pillar in a heartening display of life growing in balance. Naturally, there’s a huge gap in the back of the fence, so if one were so inclined, they could walk into the field where the ruins stand.
Not that anyone should do that. It’s forbidden and what-have-you.
Further along, though not well-labeled, there is an area claiming to have access to another Indian Mound, but instead leads to a bog-like graveyard, beautiful for being overgrown.
Communities on the Trace
After this winding hike was complete, I arrived in Port Gibson. This town is divided up into historic districts, a main access road and extremely run-down and impoverished sections.
Like many of the communities found along Natchez Trace, Port Gibson is basically an interactive outdoor museum. Church steeples are sown throughout the town, and outnumber any other kind of structure by a fair margin.
The town was spared during the Civil War as Grant considered the community “Too pretty to burn.” While I find a certain amount of beauty and idyllic flora around Fort Charles, the town has clearly fallen on some hard times. That being said, the people were remarkably friendly and resupplying in town was easy and comforting.
Breezing past Port Gibson, I next arrived at my favorite portion of the journey, the Sunken Trace. Sunken Trace is a portion of the trail that has quite literately sunken into the ground, pressed by countless feet walking this scenic little loop. The eroded portion of the trail is the oldest piece of the route that’s still completely intact, a true glimpse at the Old Trace.
My last true stop while hiking the trail was Owen’s Waterfall, which was more of a disappointing trickle.
I next made it to the Rocky Springs Campground. Though the campsites were closed and the bathrooms shuttered, I found the park extremely nice and comfortable. Most importantly, it was a safe place to pitch my hammock for my last night under the stars.
Burnout
The next morning, I was rendered ridiculously cranky for some reason. I riled at the idea of hiking and kept my poor disposition while packing up and embarking on the road again.
My sour mood didn’t abate as the heat continued to mount and my annoyance was exasperated by a swift diminishment of water supply. Unable to find a place to refill on my map, I bushwhacked my way back to the Parkway, where I was able to find a person willing to give me a ride. When offered to go all the way to Jackson, I accepted and arrived in Jackson in the late afternoon.
It was at this point I let myself briefly recover in a hotel. I had planned to head out the next day to continue my hike (provided my gear was dry by then), but a night in a soft hotel just made me sleepy and lazy.
I think I pushed myself too hard during the earlier portion of the hike. So after a few showers, I decided this was a good place to turn around and head back to Dallas.
My decision wasn’t entirely mood-based. I had been moving at a much slower pace than expected, partially due to all the extra water-weight I was carrying daily.
At my current rate, I would have only made it to the town of Kosciusko, which was too small for the rental services I would have needed to return home. But hitching from that far would have been uncertain and all public transportation is shaky due to COVID. Additionally the next portion of the trip was a very long hike along a lakeside with limited shade and a notorious mosquito problem due to various swamps on the route.
Lazy Looper
The next day, I obtained a vehicle and took a slight joyride north. Though I was done hiking Natchez Trace, there were still a few other things I wanted to see. The reservoir was very nice to watch and I parked several times to follow small horse and hiking trails for a couple hours at a time. Offshoots from the reservoir boasted enormous lily pads caressing the water, often clustering together in a deceptively unstable platform.
The thing I really wanted to see, however, was the dreamlike Cypress Swamp. This attraction was technically closed to vehicles when I visited, so I had to park a goodly distance away and hike towards it. But soon enough, I managed to walk inside.
Great, placid bodies of water create shallow, leaf-strewn surfaces where hardy, long-limbed trees rise from the marsh to filer sunlight and create an amphibious forest. Boardwalks allow for access to the interior of the swamp. The channel will eventually fill with vegetation that allows for more traditional trees to grown in the marshy ground, but not for another several-hundred years.
It was here I decided I was sated. My journey was complete and I was as far north as I was willing to go. I gathered my gear one last time and began trundling back towards Dallas. Once again, I found myself on Interstate 20 for a nearly straight-shot home.
Recollections of the Trace
There are a few closing notes regarding Natchez Trace. First and foremost, the best time to visit this trail is likely in the full turn of autumn. The trees were just beginning to tinge a different color while I visited, and I have no doubt the land is a riot of stunning hues just before winter.
Secondly, Natchez Trace should be considered a better biking and cycling adventure than anything else. I would not strongly recommend a thru-hike compared to better locations scattered throughout the US.
And so ends my last journey in the US this year. If all goes according to plan, I’ll be moving to Merida, Mexico for the foreseeable future to earn my online degree, pay cheaper rent while doing so and ride out this COVID storm. And if it doesn’t go to plan, well hey. Par for the mortal course.
So until then,
Best regards and excellent trails,
Old Sean
Written September 17th, 2020
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I bought this Horizon Hound Trek Blanket for a late-autumn trek in the United States. Since then, it’s gone everywhere with me. The blanket is lightweight, stuff-able, warm and durable. But my favorite features are the buttons. The blanket can be buttoned up the sides, turning it into a long thermal poncho when I don’t want to leave the warmth of my bed.
