Author’s note: This is one of the first “long” pieces that I ever wrote. I believe this is from 2002. It was shortly after 9/11 and a job lost due to a corporate merger. It was not the best of times to be looking for work in the IT field as literally every other programmer in America was doing the same thing.
I actually have it on another website of mine, but I wanted to bring it over to here to have my scribblings gathered together.
A 9 Day Walk-About in the Ozark Wilderness
Pseudo-philosophical babblings
Backpacking is occasionally just plain damn hard work, which sometimes makes it hard for me to explain my fascination with it.
In April when Jeff and I hiked the Grand Canyon we had gotten ourselves in reasonable shape by several training hikes in the Ozarks and Ouachitas. If one can really call trekking through such beauty a training exercise. Outside of the crowded coasts or someplace where it snows 13 months of the year, I cannot think of too many places in America more awe inspiring than the Ozarks. I did not want conditioning to be an issue when I hiked to one Nature’s masterpieces, the Grand Canyon.
I usually walk and work out regularly, but with the way the job search has gone I have allowed depression to get hold of me. Those activities have gone by the way side in favor of Gilligan’s Island reruns. Go ahead, give me the opening premise, and I will give you the plot line.
One afternoon as I lay on the couch fantasizing about Mary Ann, a wild hair floated down from the ceiling and landed inside my cerebrum. Why not through hike the Ozark Highland Trail (OHT). It runs 165 miles beginning at Lake Fort Smith and ends at the Woolum Access Area by the Buffalo National River south of Harrison, Arkansas. Backpacker Magazine rates the OHT as one of the top ten hiking trails in the country. I figured what better way to get back into shape and to break out of my depressive funk than by a stroll through the countryside.
Even though Tim Ernst who wrote the trail guide to the OHT guesstimates that a hiker in great shape can do the whole trail in two weeks, I was hoping to do it in 10 days! I had underestimated how far out of shape we had gotten, especially myself. I then underestimated the toughness of the trail. The trail, for the most part is well maintained and well marked. It does, however, go over several mountains. When it is not doing this it bounds up a ridge than down to a creek before heading up another ridge. There are very few areas where the walking is level. And with it being Arkansas most of the hillsides are rocky. You very seldom take a step without considering where your foot is landing.
I then compounded my underestimates by not wanting to bother anyone with resupplying us. This meant we started off the trip carrying 10 days worth of food. We were carrying about 15 to 20 pounds more on our backs than we had previously toted on our short trips. We did not make the whole 165 miles, but we did get to Mile 105 in 8 and half days of hiking. Sometimes backpacking is just plain damn hard work.
Then you have those “moments”.
A sunny November day, laying in a dry stream bed with the rocks warming you from below and the sun from above. A leaf slowly twirling, framed against the blue sky, each rotation a new memory.
Or laying in your down sleeping bag at midnight, coyote howling by the stream no more than 50 yards from your tent.
Or sitting by a stream early in the morning, autumnal sun warming the day, filling your water bottles, listening to the water gush over mini falls.
Or the joy of finding a flat portion of the trail, hitting a rhythmic gait, muscles tightened by the last descent stretching, the next mile flowing by.
Or the warm rain pelting off the brim of your rain suit, hiking into the twilight, next camping spot fast approaching.
Or finally reaching the top of a mountain, looking down and realizing that you had really made it all the way to the top, and just maybe the stars are a little bit closer.
Or just the knowledge that you can, with the help of white blazes and a trail guide, walk though miles of a wilderness area and feel assured that you will not get lost and will come out where you want to be.
Hiking for me is a lot like programming; a series of very small tasks that somehow ending up making something much larger.
It is an also an exercise in Zen. You must concentrate on the moment of setting your foot correctly if you are to ever make the mile. You must concentrate on making the mile if you are to ever complete the trail. It is being open to receiving an unexpected blissful moments. It is being open to realizing that in spite of cell phones, computers, TV, etc you are essentially an organism attached to the planet. You are really not that far removed from the bear foraging berries and seeking a warm place against the rain and wind.
Relationships
I took this walk-about with my brother Jeff. Jeff is 7 years younger than me, which meant we did not interact a lot growing up. We are both programmers. For him it is all he has every done. For me it is about my 47th stab at a career. But of all the things I have done, it is what I have done the longest, and enjoyed the most. The shared profession gives us some basis of connection besides blood.
The mystery is the way (or why) Jeff and I get along on the trail. Not to say that we don’t get along off the trail, but we have had our moments. There is still a fellow talking about one of those moments we had between the 11th and 13th holes at Woodbine Golf Course in Tulsa.
I suppose in many ways part of the problem may be that we have similar personality traits, but approach life from two very different philosophical paradigms. His worldview and mine are often in conflict. On the trail we put that aside, and we do share a desire to admire and maintain the nature we are hiking through.
We did discover on this trip that I am a walker and Jeff is a camper. I enjoy the physicality of walking. He enjoys the ritual of piddling around camp. Camping is something I have to do because it is getting dark or I have arrived at our spot. Walking is something he has to do to get to a spot not polluted by a boom box and SUV. I am sure that next trip we will find a combination of walking and camping that we can keep both of us happy. You don’t run out to the local Muni and hook up with a threesome to go backpacking.
Our Walk-About
Day 1
They are redoing the dam at Lake Smith to make the two lakes into one large lake. This throws the current beginning to Dockery’s Gap north of Alma, Mile 10 of the OHT. Our Father dropped us off with the encouraging words, “You guys are crazy, do you really expect to find your way through these woods?” That is all Jeff heard. I did catch a muttered comment about, “Having fun.” To complete the bookends when he first saw us after our walk-about his comment with mock surprise was, “I see that you are still in one piece.”
he first day’s hike involved hiking up White Rock Mountain and down. We were hoping to get to Spirit Creek located around Mile 24 to camp. About Mile 22 on Potato Knob Mountain it was getting dark and Jeff refused to march another step. We found a flat, soft spot off the trail and spent the night. This is when we first begin to get an inkling that we might not make our goal of 15 miles a day. In all fairness to Jeff, two days later, I thought he was going to have to tie a rope around my neck and drag me up Hare Mountain. The last mile or so up that mountain was about all I could take.
Day 2
The second day’s hiking was uneventful as we hiked off Potato Knob Mountain then up Black Mountain. We were hiking in mid November and most of the trees had lost their leaves. This removes the beauty of green or colorful foliage, but opens up vistas that you would not otherwise see. The only large wildlife we saw on this trip was a single deer. If you can imagine a couple heavily shod flat-landers plowing through ankle deep leaves, it is not hard to guess why. There had not been enough weather to decay the fallen leaves so they were still whole and very full of rustle
The second night we stopped early at Fane Creek. Partly because it was a source of water, and after we crossed the creek we were facing a 1500 hundred-foot climb up Whiting Mountain. It was a well-used, pretty spot to camp. A fire ring had been built. Slab rock had been hauled from the creek bed and several rock benches created. I could imagine a Wiccan ceremony taking place as local coon hunters sat on the benches, scratching their heads, and fingering their rifles.
I did have a protector in Jeff that night. I was awoken about 2:30 a.m. by some voices. Next I heard Jeff unzip his tent and get out. He later told me it was four guys walking down the creek bed who decided to take a break across from where we were camped. I am sure they did not realize we were there. After a while they moved off and Jeff got back in his tent. I figured they may have been coon hunting as I did hear some coon hounds later in the night, but who knows
Day 3
The other factor that limited the mileage of our trip was water. It was drought conditions in the Ozarks. All the small creeks we passed were dry, and most of the big streams were pools connected by dry areas. We had to be careful and plan our water. We were currently at Mile 32. The trail guide listed the next year round water supply to be at Mile 47.5. There were two other possible year round supplies at Mile 40 and 42, but the book said not to count on them.
So we loaded up all our water bottles, increasing our weight, and started up Whiting Mountain. We quickly discovered it was the beginning of gun deer season in Arkansas. If all the shots we heard resulted in a dead deer then the state of Arkansas is being well fed until 2005. I really thought for a brief while I was on the set of Lethal Weapon XIII.
We meet a troop of Boy Scouts from Bentonville who were kind enough give us a spare orange vest. Jeff and I cut this down the middle and arranged the halves atop our backpacks in such a manner as it could be seen from all sides. This made us feel a little safer. I don’t even own a gun, and I will admit to being a little scared of them. But then again table saws bother me too.
Not being a hunter I don’t pay attention to hunting seasons. I did live in Arkansas for fifteen years, and I knew that the four big holidays there are Thanksgiving, Christmas, The Fourth, and Deer Season. It is something you need to pay attention to if you are going to hike in the Ozarks. Tim Ernst does have a point though; it is some sort of hunting season in Arkansas from September to February. If you avoided hunting seasons totally that would eliminate prime hiking time. Opening day of deer season might have been a time to avoid, though.
About Mile 40 we were crossing a forest service road, and we were looking for the trail on the other side. There were a couple deer hunters camped not too far from the trail, and I begin to visit with one of them as we looked for the trail. Eventually, he said, “You look familiar to me.” So I walked a little closer to discover it was Dennis Harmon, my old boss from when I worked with the Arkansas Department of Health. Small world! We visited a little more. He was kind enough to give us a little more water, and we took our leave of him to begin our assault of Hare Mountain.
We did manage to get to the top without Jeff dragging me. We did find the spring that Ernst talked about below the top of the mountain, and we filled our water bottles. We never did find the well on top.
Hare Mountain was one of Jeff’s favorite spots that we camped. It was also where he tried to kill me. As part of our routine we would string some parachute cord over a tree branch. We would then eat, clean our cookware, and lift the food and other bear attractants into the air. Jeff liked to pick the tree before dark, but it was usually dark-thirty by the time we did this duty. I would lift the sack to get it started, and then he would begin pulling on the cord. That night there was a large crack. Jeff yelled, “Watch out.” Not knowing which way to go, and being in a pile of dead limbs all I could really do was cover my head. He had strung the parachute cord over a dead branch some 12 inches in circumference. The Universe does sometimes looks out for fools.
Hare Mountain is the site of the first recorded bear attack in Arkansas! It is also the highest point on the OHT at 2380, and the views are magnificent.
Day 4
Day 4 begins with a minor crisis. Jeff had gone to the bushes in his camp shoes to do his “business”. He stepped in it. Some previous hiker had not bothered to bury their “business”. Not a substance you want to put into your backpack, or hang off the back. It is not hard to dig a small cat hole and make sure it gets out of sight. But then again, you are picking up other’s people trash most days of the hike.
We hiked down the mountain, crossed several dry creeks, but we did find water at Herrod’s Creek like Mr. Ernst said.We took a long break there.
We camped in a holler that evening next to Briar Branch. It was Jeff’s favorite camping spot on the trip. Picture the trail winding its way between two ridges with a stream off to the right. Down in the holler the leaves have retained their autumnal colors. The rocks in the stream are green with moss. The trail starts up, and will shortly cross the stream. Had it been a little wetter there would have been a small waterfall here. As it was the rise served to enclose the holler. Just below the rise was a semi-flat spot where others had camped. It was just barely off the trail, but then it was the only flat spot for quite some distance in either direction. There was enough water in the stream that it almost qualified as a babbling brook. The word postcard comes to mind.
This was the night I hallucinated that I saw the mother bear and cub on the trail. It had to be a hallucination as Jeff heard me yelling at them, something you cannot do in REM sleep. Somewhere in my hallucination I realized I was at the wrong end of my tent. The foot does not have an opening. I had reversed my position in the middle of the night to get me feet uphill. I guess all that oxygen rushing to my head was more than I could stand! And no, we did not carry any mind-altering substances on this trip or any other trip.
Day 5
After hiking out of Briar Branch we entered one of the most beautiful areas of our hike, the Marinoni Scenic Area. It was wonderful in a dry fall. In a wet spring I believe that it would be sensory overload. It has all the beauty of the Briar Branch Holler with the addition of several large waterfalls and fields of ferns. Tim Ernst talks about the wild azaleas and magnolia trees that bloom in the spring. It was dry when we went through. I very much would like to day hike or overnight into this area with my camera and tripod. I can see me burning several rolls of film here. Coming in from Lick Branch Trailhead it is less than a three-mile hike into the Marinoni Scenic Area.
After this area we crossed the Little Mulberry Creek, and entered the worst maintained section of the trail we encountered. This poorly maintained area went on for the next several miles. The blazes were faded and seemed misplaced. There were a multitude of tress fallen across the trail that had not been sawed, required a climb over, or a walk around. The trail guide did say it was the least used portion of the trail. Probably because the scenery for the next 20 or so miles did not match what we had come through or would later enter. Portions of the trail actually jumped out on a dirt road for a bit. Easy walking but not the expected experience.
We camped that night at Mile 63. The spot was chosen as it had some water. It was the only point in the trip that I really worried about our water. We had ceramic/activated charcoal filter that we were using to make water. As long as we were getting it from running water I was comfortable with the arrangement. The water we found here was in a standing pool. After filtering a liter we had to stop and clean the filter before doing the next.
Day 6
We had a good day of walking, making 12.4 miles. We passed through the Lynn Hollow Creek area. It is another Arkansas postcard waiting to happen. The fall colors had disappeared from all by the lower areas. I remember them being especially vivid in this holler.
We meet what Jeff called “The 3 Bubbas” on the trail that day. They were out on their ATVs just having a good time when they saw us coming down the trail. I am sure two city boys walking with heavy backpacks in the woods was a strange sight to them. They were totally unaware of the OHT. The OHT is called one the best-kept secrets in the backpacking world. Apparently, it is also one of the best-kept secrets in Arkansas. We talked about the OHT a while with “The Three Bubbas”. I had Tim Ernst’s trail guide in my thigh pocket and shared it with them. I could never figure out if they were impressed with our walk, or thought us crazy for walking the 60 miles we had already hiked through the Ozark forest. I am leaning toward crazy myself.
We camped that night next to Lewis Prong Creek. This was the coldest night of the trip. We shook ice crystals off our tent the next morning. I had left a wash cloth on a branch to dry the previous night. It had frozen so hard that I unfolded it, and we played Frisbee with it.
Day 7
The creek crossing the next morning across Lewis Prong was not difficult, but I could imagine it being a booger in the spring. It looked like it could be several feet deep through here. In the middle of the previous night a coyote had been howling in this stream bed no more than 50 yards from our camp. Lewis Prong Creek had the most water that we had seen so far on our walk-about.
Day 7 is when we picked up Otis. We had stopped on a forest service road on a ridge because we had cell phone reception. Jeff was calling his girlfriend to make new arrangements for our exit from our hike. A small pickup came by. The occupants asked if we had lost a member of our party. After we finished the call, we were picking up our packs to re-enter the woods when another pickup came by with Otis in the back. He had the truck stop and yelled at us, “Going east?”
Otis is a Hot Shot Fire Fighter, one of those fellows who go around the country fighting forest fires. Somehow in the back of my mind I have always thought of these folks as being woodsmen first, and fire fighters second. We found Otis because he had lost the trail the night before. He had picked a point and started hiking to it hoping to find a road or the trail again.
Otis lives in Russellville off Highway 7. With it not being fire-fighting season he was sitting around the house, collecting unemployment, and bored out of his mind. He had that same wild hair float down on him to walk from Highway 23 to Highway 7 on the OHT, a distance of around 90 miles. I don’t know what black magic Mary Ann is shooting from the boob tube, but it can be dangerous.
The reader with some basic knowledge of backpacking will have noticed several mistakes that Jeff and I have made in our first long-distance hike. Otis, however, was textbook on what not to do on a long hike. He started the trip in a brand new pair of boots. The boots certainly were not hiking books. They were 10 inch high leather boots. I am sure much needed when fighting forest fires, but not easy boots to hike long distances. He said he started off with a gallon and half of water, a lot of weight to be carrying. We were trying to keep our water weight to around 2 or 3 liters apiece. To add to this Otis had no way of treating water. He was resupplying himself out of the streams with raw water. I am not that brave.
They real kicker for me is that Otis did not have a map or trail guide for the OHT. He did have a pamphlet that gave him a high level view, but not the boulder by boulder detail found in Tim Ernst’s trail guide. The OHT trail is a well blazed, and for the most part a well maintained trail. There are white rectangular blazes fairly often. Change of directions are marked by double blazes, or canted blazes. Every mile has a marker telling which mile of the OHT you have just passed. Parts of the trail do follow old logging roads or jeep trails, and it is easy to get going on these and miss the double blaze where the trail jumps back into the woods. This is what Otis had done. Rather than back track, he had elected to bushwhack his way to a road.
There was several other things that Otis was doing that I found amusing. The most telling was the day it started to rain. Jeff and I pulled off the trail, put on our rain suits, and covered our backpacks with their rain covers. Otis commented, “Boy, you guys are prepared!” Otis was standing there in his damping windbreaker with his pack getting soaked. Backpacks for the most part are water repellent, not waterproof and a cover is needed when it rains. Additionally, we had our backpack contents in waterproof stuff sacks. I do not like wet clothes or supplies in the middle of the Ozark wilderness.
In Otis’ defense, he was an extremely agreeable companion. We learned a lot about fighting forest fires, and the life that Hot Shots live during fire season. His original intentions were to hike with us that day, camp with us that night, then leave out early the next morning to hike the remaining 40 miles in the next two days. If he had not developed foot problems in his new boots he could probably have made the miles. He was not that much faster than us on the level or down hill, but the climbs did not slow him down a bit. Otis was definitely in prime shape. I would pause 47 times going up a steep climb to gather my breath. Otis would already be at top waiting for us.
I did decide that Jeff and I were Otis’ Guardian Angels for this trip. Since Otis walked so much faster than us he was frequently in the lead, which was okay. It was not uncommon, however, for one of us to be yelling at Otis that he had missed a turn or change in direction in the trail. I am sure that Otis would have found his way, but it might have required some more bushwhacking. Otis stayed with us the last 3 days of our walk-about, and when we reached Highway 123, 20 miles short of his goal, he wisely called it quits. We parted company there, and he hitchhiked up the mountain to get cell phone reception to call his father to come pick him up.
The night of day 7 we camped at the Ozone Campground. It did not have water there, but we knew that, and we had filled our water bottles at the Mulberry River a mile earlier. It seemed like the Ritz with its picnic tables, tent sites, and pit privies! What a pleasure it was to sit down. Otis made a fire that night, and we were in Razorback heaven!
Day 8
This was one of our best mileage days we made nearly 13 miles. A big part of the reason was the initial part of the hike was on fairly level ground running with an old road trace following the Little Piney River. Plus I am sure we trying to keep up with Otis a little. We did inform him that we could only walk as fast as we could walk, and if he felt we were holding him back he was welcome to take off. We were not really trying to get rid of him, but we did want to give him that permission. I think Otis liked someone else looking out for the blazes. As he said, “Six eyes are better than two.” It is really just a case of slowing down a bit, and looking up occasionally, but I did not say that.
We were trying to get to Cedar Creek Pool to camp that night. There is already a primitive campground established in that area, and it read like a pretty place to camp. And it was. I would not mind an overnight into this site. The hike in from Haw Creek Falls Campground would be tough, however. Once there, you are rewarded with the primitive campground next to a turquoise pool of water. I am sure that in the spring with the water running into this pool it is quite wonderful. The pool was there, but the water was just not running hard. I have a fantasy of hiking into here with a member of the fairer sex during a full moon. A midnight, moonlight skinny-dip… romantic.
This was the day it rained on us, and Otis commented on our preparedness. We really could not have had more ideal weather for our walk-about. The days were very pleasant with us often hiking in shorts and t-shirts. Several of the nights were too warm for our bags, and we just used them like sheets, sleeping directly on our Thermo-Rest pads. It had only threatened to rain one other day. We had gotten our rain gear out in preparedness, but it just sputtered briefly.
If we were, indeed, Guardian Angels for Otis, I was repaid this day. After it had begun to rain harder, we were rushing to our desired campsite in the darkening day. We were crossing a dry stream bed with the rocks freshly wet by the rain. I stepped, lost my footing, and placed a walking pole down to gather balance to only have it skitter off the wet rocks. I found myself falling face first towards the bottom of the creek bed. Whether I was twisting, or just lucky I will never know but I managed to get around where I landed on my backpack. This cushioned my fall, and all I got out of the deal was a little stinger on my right arm. It could have been much worse, and we were several miles from any forest service road with nighttime falling. Jeff helped me up, and we pressed on.
We reached the campsite at Cedar Creek Pool, and set up our tents in the rain. As soon as the tents were up we threw our gear in there. We ate a cold dinner that night, and did not worry too much about stringing up the food away from bears. We figured Otis and his flares would take care of the problem if a bear showed up in the rain. We were in our sleeping bags by 5:30.
Most nights sitting home I am up until at least after Letterman. On our walk-about we were usually in our bags by 6:30 or 7 and asleep shortly thereafter. Jeff usually was awake at the “crack of dawn” which he claimed was 5:45. After breakfast and breaking camp, we were usually walking by 8 or 8:30. The one morning we got a late start, 9:30, is when we ran into Otis…Guardian Angels?!?!?
Otis had brought along some flares. For “stuffing up a bear’s rear if need be”, or starting fires. He tried to start a fire that night in the rain, unsuccessfully. The flares did make for pretty colors for a while, and the logs did burn briefly. He was doing this because he was sleeping in a bivy sack with a thin sleeping bag inside. He placed this arrangement on a space blanket, donned thick socks, mittens and watch cap and crawled inside. A fire helped keep him warm at night.
As it turned out, it was a warm night even with the rain. One of the nights I used my bag as a sheet. He did talk about water puddling under his space blanket and squishing when he turned over.
We all made it through the night reasonably warm and dry. I did offer to Otis that if it got too bad out there he could get inside my tent. They sell my tent as a two-person tent, but it is more like a person and a half. If you are not already friendly before you share this tent, you are afterwards. Fortunately, Otis did not have to come in out of the rain.
Day 9
The good news, bad news about hiking 13 miles the previous day was that it only left us 6 miles to the exit point of our walk-about. After 8 days a short hike was welcomed, but our ride was not coming until 4 o’clock. This left us three and half hours to kill after we got to Haws Creek Falls Campground. The day turned out as cloudy, cold, damp, and windy. The waiting was not comfortable, but that is just part of the deal.
After a tough climb out of the Cedar Creek drainage area the last few miles were generally down hill. The last mile into Haw Creek Falls Campground was certainly one of the toughest. It was across a slope that as all rock and wet leaves. Every step had to be well placed, and was tough on the feet.
We reached Highway 123, took our leave of Otis, and hiked on into the campground. I was hoping against hope the campground had showers. I was fantasizing about a snack bar where I could get a burger and cold brewski. It did have pit privies.
Jeff had told Jane to meet us there at 1600 hours on Friday. She showed up at 1601. How does she do that? Most importantly she had a cooler of beer, a sack of snacks, and a bottle of Fabreze. Outside of the no shower, life was good. I would like to take a minute to applaud Jane’s bravery. She drove Jeff’s pick-m-up truck to our exit point. Can you imagine being cooped up in a truck cab with 2 gentlemen who had labored hard and showered not for 9 days. She showed a lot of restraint in not coating us with Fabreze.
Coda
We both came through our little walk-about with only minor injuries. We both had a couple blisters on our feet. Jeff had cut his hand doing some trail maintenance. Muscles were a little sore, but no more than expected. All told, not bad for two city boys who spent 9 days in the Ozark Wilderness!
Before I left, I had half hoped, half expected that if I got away from the distractions of modern life, engaged in some hard work that I might have a moment of clarity. That I might have an epiphany about the direction my life should take for the next 10 or 15 years. This did not happen. Maybe I should go back to the old fashion way, peyote!
Like many backpackers Jeff had fantasized and talked a little about doing the Appalachian Trail. He has decided to leave that to others. I still might consider it, if I could figure a way to get a good body cleaning every few days. Not being able to wash my hair for 9 days was the toughest part for me. The early part of the trip was warm enough to do this, but the water was not present. The later part of the trip we were running across enough water, but the temperatures were not agreeable.
There are a few things I would have done a little differently. Certainly, being in better shape would have made the first part of the trip more enjoyable. By the end of the trip conditioning was becoming less of an issue. I did not lose the weight I expected, but I did drop a “bra size”.
I would have worked harder on someone resupplying us mid-way through the trip. Carrying ten days worth of food over those first few mountains when you are out of shape was not the smartest thing I have ever done.
As a totality, I thought it a good trip. We plan on going back at a later point and finishing off the last 60 miles of the OHT. I think we will shoot for the spring. We did get several laughs towards the end of the trip. We would pass through a pretty area, read the trail guide, which would always begin with the comment “during the wet season…” I am sure that is much prettier in the spring. I just enjoy hiking more when the weather is cooler and drier.
Now if I can just stay away from that Mary Ann!
Amazing journey … amazing task of finding your way through the Ozarks and contemplating so many thoughts of beauty, strength and richness. I love that part of you. Always .