Two Peaks, One Day: Lessons from Table Rock and the Road Less Traveled
- Thomas Riddle
- Jul 15
- 5 min read
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Lately, I’ve been feeling stretched.
Not in a bad way exactly—just… full. Work has been nonstop. Life has been moving fast. And wrapping up my book (as exciting as that’s been) has taken more out of me than I expected. Late nights, long edits, the pressure to “get it right”—it all adds up. Somewhere along the way, my inner compass started to spin a little.
When I get like this—mentally crowded, emotionally worn—I don’t need more coffee or a few minutes of mindless scrolling. I need space. Stillness. Trees. Dirt under my boots and a wide open sky.
I need the woods.
So recently, I grabbed my pack, laced up my boots, and took to the mountains. What I thought would be a typical hike turned into something more—an unexpected reminder of what matters most, and a few lessons I didn’t even know I needed.
Here’s what I discovered that day on the trail...
Sunday, July 13th
Table Rock has always been one of my favorite places to hike in South Carolina. Towering at 3,100 feet, it’s a challenging 7-mile out-and-back trail that rewards the brave with some of the most stunning views in the state. The mountain itself is steeped in history. Its name, “Table Rock,” comes from the Cherokee people who believed this massive granite dome was a place where a giant chieftain would sit to dine, using the smaller nearby peak—aptly named The Stool—as his seat.
On a recent visit, I arrived expecting to hike my usual route up Table Rock. But when I checked in, the park ranger told me that a new trail—leading to The Stool—had just opened a few months prior. At only five miles round trip, it was a shorter hike, but one I’d never experienced before. When I reached the fork in the trail—left to Table Rock, right to The Stool—I couldn’t help but think of Robert Frost’s famous poem: Two roads diverged in a yellow wood… The Stool Trail was definitely the road less traveled, and I was excited to see where it would lead.
I enjoy hiking with others—there’s something powerful about shared struggle and shared scenery. But there are times when I prefer to go solo. When I hike alone, I get quiet. I listen. I reflect. I talk to God. Sometimes I don’t say much, and sometimes I do—but either way, I always end up learning something.
The view from The Stool didn’t disappoint. With its broad outcroppings, I could see Table Rock towering across the valley, the Table Rock Reservoir shimmering below, and in the distance, Slicking Falls cascading down the mountain. After taking in the view and catching my breath, I still had plenty of daylight left. So, I did what seemed logical at the time—I hiked Table Rock too.
That decision didn’t fully hit me until I was a few miles into my second summit, muscles burning as I scrambled up a steep granite slope. It was only then I realized I was essentially hiking a half marathon—over 13 miles total. I took a break for lunch on the way up, moving at a more "thoughtful "pace than usual, finally reaching the summit just as the sky darkened. Big, fat raindrops started to fall—scattered at first, then heavy. The bottom dropped out. Thunder cracked. Lightning flashed. I was standing on top of a mountain with no shelter in sight. Just exposed granite and a whole lot of sky.
Welcome to summer in the Carolinas.
There was no time to panic—just time to move and be smart. I began my descent, trusting my boots, watching my footing, hoping the trail wouldn’t turn to a slip-and-slide.
As quickly as it came, the storm passed. Classic mountain weather—it only rained on one side of the peak, and I happened to be on it. But I was grateful that the descent side was dry. With my legs already taxed, I wasn’t looking forward to slippery rock and muddy soil.
I made my way down slowly, pausing at Governor’s Rock—an exposed granite face with a stunning view all its own—to rest one final time. I pulled out my journal and scribbled down some thoughts, the lessons that came to me on this long, beautiful, grueling, grace-filled hike. Here's what I learned that day.
1. Live an Adventurous Life
Take the road less traveled. Say yes to the detour. Choose action over hesitation. The path ahead may not always be clear—but it’s yours, and no one else’s. Walk it boldly. The Stool Trail wasn’t the plan, but it was the better story. And sometimes, that’s what matters most.
2. Look to the Future, Not the Past
As a history teacher, I believe in learning from the past. But if you always look backward, you’ll never move forward. Table Rock’s rugged trail reminded me to keep my eyes on what lies ahead. Glance back for perspective—but walk forward with purpose.
3. You’re Going to Need Fuel
I always pack bananas, protein, carbs, and lots of water—especially on hot days like this one. Life is the same way. You’ve got to identify the things that sustain you—faith, family, creativity, community—and make them part of your regular routine. You won’t summit anything running on empty.
4. Rest Along the Way
I usually stop every mile or two on a tough hike. Not because I’m weak, but because I want to finish strong. Life works the same way. Build in moments to catch your breath, reset, and check in with yourself. I understand this on the trail, but I’ll be honest—applying it to everyday life is something I still struggle with.
5. Look to Those Who’ve Gone Before
Trail markers—painted stripes on rocks or trees—are lifesavers. They keep you on the right path. Someone blazed that trail before you, and left signs to guide your way. That’s what mentors do. I used to believe in the myth of the “rugged individual”—the lone wolf, the self-made man. But the truth is, even the legendary mountain men learned from others. Don’t be afraid to follow a guide.
6. Stay Calm in the Storm
When thunder crashes and the sky opens up, panic is easy. But peace—real peace—is found in choosing calm over chaos. The storms of life may be outside your control, but how you respond isn't. I’ve lived much of my life in “fight or flight.” I’m still learning that choosing calm is a skill—and one worth mastering.
7. Be Resilient; Life Rises from the Ashes
Earlier this year, a fire swept through over 13,000 acres of Table Rock and the surrounding land. And yet, life is returning—wildflowers, new trees, vibrant greens rising from blackened soil. Nature is resilient. We can be too. Sometimes a dream must die for a new one to take root. And that’s okay. New beauty often begins in places we thought were burned out for good.
8. There is Beauty Everywhere
On rocky trails, we often walk with our heads down. But if you never look up, you’ll miss the beauty around you. Lizards darting by the creek. Sunlight filtering through leaves. A hawk soaring overhead. In life, how often do we miss wonder because we’re staring at our screens or lost in distraction? Look up. Look around. Beauty is waiting.
I sat with those thoughts for a while, letting the lessons of the day speak one last time. Then I packed up my journal, slung my bag over my shoulder, and made the final trek back down. I returned to the trailhead tired, sore, soaked, and smiling. The woods had given me what I didn’t know I needed.
And, as tradition demands, I stopped by Aunt Sue’s Country Corner on the way out for a waffle cone of pralines and cream.
Sometimes, it’s the simple things that bring the greatest joy.
Sometimes, a hike is more than just a hike.
And sometimes, the road less traveled really does make all the difference.
Love the article, Thomas! Makes me want to get over to Table Rock.