Red River Valley

I woke in the Koomer Ridge Campground in the Daniel Boone National Forest. Only a few campers were out braving the rainy fall weather. I was surprised to see a couple of tent campers—it was dropping into the low forties overnight. I took a double site to give Starlink more open canopy and settled in.

I’d planned several short hikes, hoping the rain would hold off. About seven miles away, I found the state-run Red River Valley Visitor Center. A truck camper was parked out front, otherwise the lot was empty. As I walked in, the couple from the camper was ahead of me. The woman turned and said, “Do you want to go first? I have a really long question.” I told her to go ahead—whatever she was about to ask was probably something I wanted to know too. They were planning to drive through the “tunnel” on the scenic route and wanted to be sure their rig would fit. The ranger said the tunnel was twelve feet high and thirteen feet wide. Their camper was eleven and a half feet tall, which started a friendly debate. She didn’t want to risk it; he thought it would be fine. I just hoped their measurements were accurate. I grabbed a map and made note of the height restrictions for myself.

Natural Bridge

The Natural Bridge was just up the mountain. I pulled into a large lot with only three cars parked, though I later realized there were several parking areas for the trail.

The hike started out flat until I reached a sign reading “Original Trail – Natural Bridge .75 mile.” That’s when things got interesting. The trail climbed steeply, winding through switchbacks that grew tighter and steeper as I went. Steps—both natural and manmade—appeared along the way. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. Someone coming down said, “You’ve got a ways to go. You’ll know you’re close when you reach the stone steps.”

This is said to be the largest natural bridge in Kentucky. I stopped beneath the arch to catch my breath and take it in. A couple coming toward me laughed as the woman said, “That was a fun slot canyon—I almost didn’t make it through.” I followed the narrow passage myself. It wasn’t much of a canyon, but tight enough that some wooden steps had been added to make it easier to pass through. More steps at the far side led up to the top of the arch.

At the summit, I met a British couple and talked with them for a while. He told me they’d been to forty states so far. They fly in every year and spend a few weeks visiting a handful at a time, often catching sporting events—football, hockey, basketball, baseball. He said they preferred American football games to those at Wembley Stadium. The energy here feels different, he said—more local camaraderie, less spectacle. They were on their way to Nashville next to see the Titans and had somehow scored tickets for twenty-five dollars.

The view from the top was spectacular despite the misty rain that came and went. I took a moment to acclimate to the height. There were no chains or rails to keep people from going over the edge, which seems to be common across Kentucky. I wished I’d brought my larger tripod but hadn’t wanted to carry it up the mountain. After taking a few shots, a few hikers asked me to take their group photos. As the wind picked up and rain returned, I started the climb back down.

Gorge Underground

After lunch, I tried to follow the scenic drive around Red River Gorge but didn’t get far before spotting the sign for the Gorge Underground. I’d read about it earlier in a brochure and decided to check it out.

The Gorge Underground is set in a historic limestone mine that began as a surface operation in the 1800s. In the mid-twentieth century, mining shifted underground, but when workers accidentally struck an aquifer, much of the mine flooded and was eventually abandoned. Decades later, the flooded tunnels were reborn as a guided tour—kayaks, clear-bottom boats, and even paddleboards glide through the still water, surrounded by towering rock walls and subtle lighting that reveals the textures of the mine. It’s not a natural cave, but it tells a layered story of both geology and human industry. The fish that now swim there were introduced to help trace whether there was a natural outlet for the water.

I stumbled across the place somewhat by chance. I booked the next available kayak tour at three, which gave me a couple of hours to kill. I drove into the hills and explored a bit, knowing a full loop around the gorge would make me late, so I turned back in time for check-in.

There were thirteen of us on the tour, plus a guide and a sweep. The trip lasted about an hour—just long enough to take in the novelty of paddling through an underground world. Colored lights and lasers reflected off the walls, LED strips outlined the main passages, and underwater lights illuminated the fish. The guide mentioned that bats occasionally roost in the mine; we saw only one, clinging to the ceiling near the end.

Gorge Loop

After leaving the mine, I continued the scenic loop in the direction of Morehead. That route led me to the same tunnel the couple at the visitor center had asked about earlier. There was a warning sign miles back, but none near the entrance. As I approached, I saw the glow of taillights at the far end. The Nada tunnel was clearly one lane only.

The road beyond was newly paved but barely wide enough for two vehicles. To my right, a steep drop with no guardrails; just a bright white line marking the edge. There wasn’t much room for error. Most drivers slowed to pass, but a few trucks seemed to treat the narrow stretch like a raceway. Locals, I assumed. The posted limit was thirty-five, though few seemed to care.

Traffic thinned the farther I went, until I came to a barricade and a stop sign. A small notice read: “Road closed ahead due to rockslide.” It would have been nice to know that an hour earlier. I turned off into a picnic area to regroup, checked Google Maps, and found a longer detour to Morehead—about forty-five minutes away. I thought about staying there for the night; it was still within the national forest. But in the end, I decided to push on.

I pulled into a Cracker Barrel near Morehead and parked for the night. It would make for an easy start in the morning. I went in and had a salad before turning in for the night.