David Kennard, far left, stands with a team of Student Conservation Association volunteers in 1981 in Great Smoky Mountain National Park.

EDITOR'S NOTES: Greetings from the Appalachians 

By strict definition, I am a tree-hugger, that is to say I have in the past hugged a tree … just before cutting it down.

I should qualify that.

If you are reading this column in today’s Robesonian, there is a good chance I’m somewhere in the backwoods of the Appalachian mountains — yes, by choice.

Years ago, the summer of 1981 to be precise, I had a high school counselor convince me to volunteer with the Student Conservation Association, a nationwide group of young people involved in conservation work throughout America’s public lands.

Each summer, small teams of young people, led by an adult “trail boss” head into the wilds to cut trails, improve damage from overuse, and generally create and maintain places for the public to enjoy.

If you’ve ever hiked along a nice section of backcountry trail, there’s a good chance a group of young people was there before you. If you’ve ever leapt over a muddy bog only to slip and fall, covering yourself in muck, there’s a good chance that a volunteer with the Student Conservation Association will at some point come along and put some riprap (Definition: A permanent layer of large, angular stone, cobbles or boulders) down to keep the next person from suffering your fate.

In 1981, as a recent high school graduate, I packed my waffle stompers and raincoat, boarded a plane and landed in Knoxville, Tennessee ready to meet my team of volunteers who had made similar trips from high schools across the country.

Together, we shared laughs, scratched mosquito bites, dodged timber rattlesnakes (Yes, the Great Smoky Mountains has rattlesnakes) and chased away raccoons and black bears.

We also managed to improve about five miles of the Deep Creek Trail in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park.

Part of those improvements included cutting down trees — hugging them first to thank them for their sacrifice — peeling off their bark and cutting them into eight-foot sections for use as water bars along the heavily rutted trail. The idea was to replace what rainstorms had turned into slippery, muddy streams, with usable foot paths for hikers heading into the backcountry.

It’s been 41 years since I’ve set foot on that section of the Appellations, and I’m anxious to see if any of the work I did as a 17-year-old kid still remains. I’m especially anxious to see if the crude bridge we constructed over a small creek still exists.

My hope is to see a much bigger bridge built by SCA-volunteers where a log bridge built by Seth, Ellie, Regina, Julie and I once stood.