I was helping to recruit correctional officers for a minimum security facility — “helping” may be stretching it. In fact, I was just making sure the laptops used to fill out applications remained charged; my colleagues with the Department of Adult Corrections were doing the actual hiring. We were two hours into a four-hour Saturday shift and traffic had slowed. It seemed like a good time to slip out.

It was 10:30 in the morning, not a cloud in the sky and a temperature in the upper 60s; certainly not a day to be cooped up in a prison. My intent was to simply splash some sun in my face and step back inside. Then I happened to notice that the road I’d driven in on shortly turned to gravel. I love a gravel road.

I’d walked maybe 100 yards when something to the right caught my eye, something I love even more than a gravel road: a narrow opening into the woods. What a find, a find that would shortly lead to a mystery. 

The short path led to a slightly wider one that was lined on both sides by Disc Golf tee boxes. I stopped at No. 14, with a sign reading: “Par 13 / 215 yards.” I looked around: the clearest path in any direction, in this jumbled hardwood forest, was maybe 15 yards — maybe. In the span of 20 yards I saw three more Par 3s, all in the 200-yard range, all surrounded by trees. 

Huh.

I kept walking, picking up my pace, not sure whether I’d stumbled onto a private course on private land. In a quarter mile the path led back to the gravel road, which had taken a sharp right turn. On the other side of the road was a sign with an arrow: “Senior Center.” I’m a senior, I thought. I forged ahead. 

The path widened to a good 20 feet and began to resemble more of a trail,  Sure enough, I soon came to another sign with another arrow, this one proclaiming: “Nature Trail.” I’d gone from a gravel road, to a narrow opening in the woods, to, baffling disc golf course to, somehow, an actual trail that may or may not lead to a Senior Center. All because I felt the need for some quick fresh air, all because I wasn’t afraid to, literally, go off the beaten path.

In part what made this adventure possible was that I didn’t deny my need for an adventure, no matter how small. A simple breath of fresh air, that was all I wanted. I also gave into some honest self-awareness: Did my coworkers need me? No. Would they even miss me or realize I’d been gone for a half hour? Probably not. 

I also didn’t ignore the fact that I was overdue for an adventure, even a 30-minute one. And because I love taking the path less traveled — or not traveled at all — I wasn’t bound by the need for an actual trailhead to jump in. Following a trail, especially a well-worn one, you inherit the energy of those who’ve come before you. Vibes that aren’t necessarily bad, but aren’t entirely yours, either. As soon as you step into a layer of leaves, into soft earth, you are creating your own way. It’s a way you’ll never tire of because you’ll probably never pass this way again. It’s a true form of adventure, available to the common person in the modern, discovered, world.

Best of all? There’s a good chance you can find it right out your own back door. Even the back door of your office. 

* * *

PostHikeScript

That “trail” I stumbled upon? It was indeed a trail, the 1.5-mile Orchard Lake Trail in Yanceyville. Turns out I’d hiked it a couple years ago, picking it up from behind Yoder’s Market on County Home Road. On that occasion it was mid-August and the trail was swathed in spider webs. I quickly turned back. But if you find yourself in Yanceyville, and it’s not summer, a nice trail to check out. Learn more here.

The post A surprise breath of adventure appeared first on GetGoing NC!.

Oh yeah — a hike!

Technically, I’d taken one earlier in the day, but it was more a traditional get-your-miles-in-and-heart-rate-up hike. What I hadn’t done was a true adventure hike, the kind I had vowed to do more of in 2026: An off-trail hike.

In year’s past, all my hiking resolutions had been blazed-trail centric. Hike a new (blazed) trail every month. Do at least one 10-mile (blazed) trail hike every quarter. Do a new stretch of the (very obviously blazed) Appalachian Trail. 2026 would be the year I eschew the blaze.

I checked to see how much time I had: sunset was at 5:14 p.m.; it was a 10-minute drive to my local off-trail stomping grounds, the Dan River Game Lands, and if I left now I’d have just about an hour of sunlight to work with. On a regular trail, a blazed trail, that would translate to about 3 miles of hiking, and if I overshot sunset by 10 or 15 minutes, no big deal. Not so when you’re exploring off-trail. In fact, depending upon your location you could be hiking in the dark well before sunset. That gave me pause, reminding me that especially when heading off trail it’s wise to think before you leap. A few thoughts on thinking, based on my New Year’s Day hike:

Thought 1: Late in the day? Choose a west-facing location. This thought in mind, I entered from the Riverside Drive access, which sits on a plateau sloping west down to the Dan River..

Thought 1a: Late in the day? Choose a mature hardwood forest. Why? Because such a forest is likely to have minimal canopy in winter and thus, let more light in. That proved a bit of a challenge on this 1,700-acre game land, which was farmed as recently as 20 year ago and consists largely of young, pines and hardwoods elbowing branch-to-branch for precious sunlight. 

I set off down a dirt road closed to the public and used only occasionally by the Wildlife Resources Commission for maintenance. I hiked a third of a mile down a gentle slope, then the road dropped nearly 100 vertical feet in a third of a mile. The road fizzled into brush; it was time to head truly off trail. 

Thought 2: Be cognizant of the time. It was about 4:25 p.m.; sunlight wasn’t an immediate factor, but it time was important to factor it into my decision. To the north, the forest floor was relatively clear of growth. The slope was also catching the waning sunlight and it was in the direction I needed to head; I struck off not straight uphill, but making sure I didn’t lose elevation; in the next 15 minutes or so I needed to regain the ridge.

Thought 3: Have a plan. Probably should have started with this, but it was now that I needed to take the goal of my hike into account. Granted, my overall goal was to make it back to the car before dark. But what I really wanted was to catch the end-of-day light while hiking through an upland meadow nearby. I would be heading west, directly into the fading sunlight; with clear skies the sunset should be spectacular. My plan to regain the ridge would get me within 5 minutes of the meadow.

Thought 4: Brambles and briars slow a body down, especially in the dark. My chosen path had looked clear, but in fact was laced with barely visible waist-high brambles and briars. Much easier to see and deal with in the light.

Thought 5: Rootball holes and other obstacles. The winter woods are covered with fall’s leaf and pine straw harvest, which does a fine job of masking obstacles such as rootball holes, downed branches and rocks. Again, much easier to deal with in daylight.

Thought 6: Have intermediary goals. My goal was the meadow and it was almost due west. Because I couldn’t see it, though, and because I didn’t want to be constantly consulting my compass, I picked intermediary landmarks to the west that I could see. I’d reach the landmark, then find another on a westerly course. Slow, but steady and reliable.

Thought 7: The path of least resistance. I reached the ridge, which housed a power line cut-through, at about 5 p.m. A strip of woods maybe 50 yards wide separated my from the meadow. Having hiked here before I knew that if I hiked southwest another 5 minutes I would find an opening, a much better option in the fading light than bashing through dense woods. 

Thought 8: Don’t get cocky. I entered the meadow at 5:07 p.m., 7 minutes before sunset. The setting sun was indeed what I’d hoped; my inclination was to stop and savor. And while the last two-tenths of a mile back to the car was relatively easy, it was still off-trail through a meadow. I needed every ounce of sunlight I could get.

Thought 9: Don’t cut it too close. I got back to the car at 5:13 p.m. There was maybe another 5 minutes of useable light in the meadow; the useable light in even the most open forest had been exhausted a good 20 minutes earlier. Not bad timing, I thought.

Thought 10: Stay a moment and savor the waning light. Probably doesn’t need saying, but why not!

A great start for 2026, and hopefully an omen for a year of memorable off-trail adventure ahead.

The post 10 Thoughts for a late-day off-trail adventure appeared first on GetGoing NC!.

You love your trails. You can’t imagine life without them. But let’s try.
For starters, life might be a little more adventurous.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my trails. The Sycamore Trail at Umstead (especially during a rain, when its namesake creek is roiling). The trail network at Horton Grove Nature Preserve, which seems perpetually bathed in ethereal light. The 14-mile stretch of the Appalachian Trail north of Carvers Gap, which is one stunning 360-degree view after another.
But sometimes, the terrain beyond the confines of the well-maintained, blazed path beckons. The hollow where the distant sound of crashing water suggests a cataract. The remote rocky summit promising great views. The deep woods that call for no apparent reason other than you’ve never paid a visit.
The lure of the unknown.
Trails exist for good reason. To keep you from getting lost tops the list. They also help minimize our impact as visitors, keeping us from trampling sensitive ecosystems and basically letting the land, for the most part, be. Yet every once in a while … .
Ten years ago, we lead a wilderness wander at one of our favorite haunts. We feel comfortable making an occasional trail departure, in large part because we follow a few simple rules that all but assure we will make our way back to civilization. The best testament to these rules: we’re here to talk about them (rather than still in the woods, wandering, looking for the way out).
Before we share those rules, exploring off trail is something you should ease into. It’s best to head out your first few times with someone experienced, someone who knows the terrain and is comfortable without the manmade cues — cleared trail, blazes, directional markers — that guide many of us through the woods. Now, some tips for off-trail exploring on your own.

Before heading out

• Take a map. This is mandatory every time you strap on a pack, even if you’re hiking a trail you know well. (What if there’s a blowdown or a landslide and you need to take evasive action?) A good topo map is preferred; a park-issued map, which often lacks topo lines and isn’t to scale is better than nothing.
• Take a compass. A map is of minimal help if you don’t know which way is up. Or north. Together, a map and compass are invaluable hiking companions.
• Check sunset. Venturing off trail isn’t something you want to do if you’re running out of daylight. An especially important step this time of year.

On the trail

Know your blazes. Likely, you’ll start out on an established trail. Familiarize yourself with the blaze for that trail and for adjoining trails. Odds are you’ll eventually want to return to the trail you departed from.
Landmarks. When you reach the point where you plan to head off trail take careful note of what’s around you: an especially identifiable tree, a creek, a rock outcrop, whatever. Sighting a familiar object could be key for your return.

Leaving the trail

• Take a bearing on where you’re headed. Get out your map, get out your compass. Get your orientation (where’s north?) set. Pick an object in the distance, in the direction you want to explore. Take a compass reading, follow that compass reading.
• Confirm your bearing. Stop periodically, every 30 yards or so, to confirm your bearing. Are you still headed in the direction you set off in? If not, correct and continue.
• Landmarks. Again, keep an eye out for familiar landmarks that can help you navigate upon your return.

Objective reached! Now what?

• Reverse course. Once you reach what it was you wanted to check out, return to the point where you left the trail by simply following your compass in the opposite direction. For instance, if you reached your objective by heading due north, return by heading due south.
• Shinny thing. Or maybe you see something else in the distance you want to investigate. Take specific note of where you are, get out your map, get your compass and set a new bearing to your new objective. Continue in the manner described above, stopping every 30 yards or so to make sure you remain on course.
• Reverse course (again). To return after reaching your second objective, simply head in the opposite compass direction you followed to your second objective until you get back to your first objective. From there, continue in the direction opposite you used when you left the trail.

Oops! Get off course?

A few tips for finding your way back to civilization:

• First, don’t panic. If you’re in a state park, for instance, you’re dealing with a limited amount of space. The largest state park in North Carolina (South Mountains) is just 18,400 acres; by comparison, Umstead in Raleigh is about 5,600 acres, Crowders Mountain east of Charlotte is 5,100 acres and Hanging Rock is less than 7,900 acres. You won’t be lost for long.
• Scout for an irregularity in the terrain. Most trails are distinguishable as a consistent disruption in the distance, appearing as a flowing, though sometimes barely discernible, line.
  * Look for running water. Find a stream? Follow it downhill; that’s generally where you’re more likely to encounter civilization.
• Look for an old roadbed. Much of our public land — state parks, national forests, etc. — was once farmed or forested. Old roadbeds weave throughout much of this land. Some of these old roadbeds appear on maps. If you can find an old roadbed — typically marked by parallel dashed lines — it may give you a sense of how to regain the trail (it may actually be, or become at some point, a trail).
• Still flummoxed? If you feel you are hopelessly lost and perhaps in danger, call the land manager for where you are hiking: the map you have should have a contact number. I’ve heard more than one tale of confused paddlers lost amid the bald cypress and water tupelo on Merchants Millpond who called the park office and were guided in over the phone.
• Last resort. If you can’t raise anyone in the park office, as a last resort, call 911. They can get ahold of park/forest officials after hours and, best case, guide you in over the phone, worst case send a team out after you.

Last tip? Avoid the “worst case” scenario.

The post A tip or two before you venture off (trail) appeared first on GetGoing NC!.

Recently, though, I discovered that a certain amount of routine can settle into a seemingly unscripted off-trail adventure. The path you took the first time on terra incognito quickly ingrains itself into your subconscious and, dang!, you find yourself taking the same route over and over. 

For the last three years or so I’ve done most of my off-trail exploring in the Dan River Game Lands along its namesake river in the North Carolina’s northern Piedmont. At 1,700 acres, it may seem small by adventure standards: Umstead State Park in Raleigh, by comparison, has about 5,600 acres. But when you consider that the Dan has no marked trails, only a handful of restricted-access gravel roads and dozens more old farm roads gradually fading into history, it’s easy to make a day’s adventure out of just a fraction of those forested acres. Provided you go with the wild rather than try to tame it.

Which is what I found I’d been doing of late.

I’ve got an hour, I’ll tell myself. I’ll do the Woodpecker Ridge loop. Or, I’d like to see the river. Reckon I’ll head down from the Riverside Loop entrance — that’s the fastest route. Or, I need to get in 3 miles, I know just the route … .

Every visit, I discovered, was programmed. So I came up with different strategies to inject a sense of adventure back into my off-trail adventures, such as: 

• Explore by points of the compass. Years ago I used to take lunchtime walks by following a point on the compass: Head due north for 30 minutes, return heading due south. In this off-trail iteration I follow the compass as closely as possible (veering to avoid bodies of water, cliffs, etc.) for a set amount of time, then retrace my tracks — my literal tracks — not using my compass. This approach works two skills: navigation and tracking.
• Hike for a set amount of time. The goal here is to keep track of your route well enough to make sure you return to your starting point in a set amount of time. To avoid doing a simple out-and-back, you need to make a minimum of two right-angle turns, essentially hiking in a triangle. The trick is to keep track of the time and the amount of ground you’ve covered to make it back in time. 
• Hike to a known landmark and back. Using a good topographic map, pick an obvious landmark — a peak, a pond, a stream — set your bearing from your start point, and head out. Because you’re rarely able to walk a straight line — that is, a straight bearing line — in the woods, you’ll need to pick intermittent landmarks along that straight line whenever you’re forced to veer from your bearing. 
• Hike for a half day, with no set agenda. This is my favorite, when I have the time. This approach accommodates true wandering — to a degree. I like to spend the first hour or so simply following my whim. Then, I’ll stop, consult my map, figure out where I am. Because I do need to get back at a specific time, I’ll see if I have time to go further, or whether I need to head back, though not necessarily by the same route. Maybe I’ll start heading in the general direction of where I started, but explore adjoining terrain, again, keeping track of the time and where I am on the map. I’ll likely stop and reassess after a half hour or so. A nice mix of mindless wandering with occasional reality checks.
• Hike for 20 minutes, then stay put for 10. One thing you’ll notice about off-trail hiking is that you won’t notice as much wildlife. It’s a mystery until you realize you’re tromping over broken branches, through piles of loose leaves, and under dead tree trunks: you’re making so much noise that they’re skittering away from you — and you wouldn’t be able to hear them anyway. But the wildlife is out there, so: Hike for 20 minutes, find a somewhat open spot, get comfortable, then stand and listen and watch for at least 10 minutes. It starts out quiet, but once you settle in you’ll be surprised by the overall sensory experience. 

Obviously, these tactics require some comfort working with a map and compass. If you’ve yet to acquire those skills, you’re off-trail exploits are best kept to following old roadbeds that are easy to distinguish and will be easy to retrace. Just make a note of any deviations you make from the main path.

And if you’re interested in exploring off trail, stay with us. We’ll be writing more about why to explore off trail and how to do it in the year ahead.

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