Ozark Hiker

Little Missouri Falls to East Saline Creek
Day 2, April 26^th 2014
~16 miles

Around 3:00 or so that day, we were at the last crossing of the Little Missouri River.   It had been a few hours since we lost Charlie and the Angels on the trail. We caught up again with the merry bikers contemplating how they were going to get across the water. One of ‘em looked a bit nervous.   I was busy standing shin-deep in my boots and cursing the general slickness of that stepping rock I misjudged.   Ahead of us was the Viles Branch Horse trail.

Kat’s original plan was to camp on Eagle Rock Vista.   I was still a little nervous about the storms coming in on Sunday and was thinking of moving on a bit further down the trail before dark.   We’d already put in about eleven or so miles that day and it was heating up real good.   Both of us already had inadvertently soaked our boots and that water felt good.

Well, after you got over the scream of how frigid it was and your body went into shock a bit while your core temperature dropped to near alarming levels . . . then it felt pretty good.

We found a nice rock bar in the middle of the river and drained out our boots. Carefully squeezed the socks as dry as we could. Even pulled out the insoles and squeezed as much water out of them as we could. Spread everything out on the rocks to dry and then went wading into the water.

It did wonders for my knees.

I managed to convince Kat that, at the pace we were making, it wouldn’t take long at all to knock out the Viles Branch Horse Trail and we’d be at the vista by 5:00-5:30 easy.

At 3:30, we geared back up and put our somewhat dry but definitely sun-warmed socks and boots back on.

Then promptly walked through shin-deep freezing water to start walking a 3.5 mile horse trail that crossed water no fewer than eleven times.

Seriously.

I hate horse trails.   This one wasn’t so bad, mostly because it had a distinct lack of horse hikers.   Don’t get me wrong, I love horses.   Beautiful, graceful, soulful animals. Horse trail riders, though, just aren’t my favorite types. I have to amend my prejudices, though, after this trip. I have a new hypothesis regarding horse trail riders.

You ready for it?     Here goes:

 The amount of detail placed in cowboy cosplay is inversely proportional to how friendly the rider is to hikers.  

So far that holds true.  We came across a posse about mid-way down Viles Branch just after Kat and I had to scramble up a washed out portion of the trail. No sooner did he opine about how difficult it would be to get a horse past that when they arrived.   The ladies in the group were friendly enough (they weren’t in costume), but the guy in chaps and spurs seemed a bit grumpy.   Of course, that might have had something to do with how adamantly his horse was renegotiating the decision to continue along a washed-out trail.

Kat and I stood around a while to see how they’d handle that bit of a challenge, but it felt too much like unwelcome gawking and we trucked on down the trail.

Made it to Eagle Rock Vista around maybe 6:30-ish.

I’m not the tall one.

I convinced Kat that my meal plans were so epic that it required camping by a stream, so we decided to head down and make camp by East Saline Creek. It was a good call. Very beautiful campsite.   Dropped packs and made camp close to 7:00 p.m.

Little Missouri Falls to East Saline Creek
Day 2, April 26^th 2014
~16 miles

Kat had this salami.

It was a nice salami.   He’d been looking forward to eating that thing since, hell, since the day he bought it I guess.   Talked about it in the truck driving down. Mentioned it during the night hike.   I would say that he may have possibly gone to sleep that first night cuddling it like a teddy bear, but that would be slanderous conjecture and I’d never suggest such a thing since there’s no way I would actually know that for a fact.   What I do know, though, is that neither one of us ate much for breakfast. So, by the time we hoofed it through Albert Pike Campground, Kat was salivating about that salami for lunch.   Problem was, though, that between us and lunch at Winding Stairs was about two miles and a trio of college girls led incomprehensibly by . . . you know, I never did get the kid’s name.

We passed them by at first, content to let them cavort as young folk are wont to do.   But then we stopped, as older folk are wont to do, and used “looking at the scenery” as an excuse to rest my legs.   Then we were behind them again.

You can’t hear it, but behind us is the sound of youthful clambering.

Now, there’s worse things to be stuck behind on a narrow rock trail – don’t get me wrong. But Kat and I couldn’t help but puzzle over this woodlands anomaly. Didn’t take long for them to outpace us, though.   Took a wrong turn and headed up a side-trail with an unnecessary climb.   I was taking my sweet languid pace when I hear voices ahead. Kat was up there conversing with the kid and next thing I know, the whole crew of ‘em come dancing down the trail and off we all went again.

We’re not really sure if we saw Winding Stairs or not.

We stayed with them long enough to feel good about keeping pace with young’ns, but decided to lag back at a wet crossing and give them some space on the trail.   That was the last time we saw any sign of them. Pretty soon, I heard what I swear sounded like a little squeaky bicycle horn and along came those guys with the bikes. (Upon reflection, I seriously doubt he had a little squeaky horn. May have just been his brakes.   Still, makes me smile a bit more in the retelling if it was a horn.)

It was around noon, I think, maybe closer to one that we ended up at a beautiful bouldery area below Winding Stairs.   Seemed to be quite a few folk out and about either on day hikes or catching some sun while trying to catch some trout.   Even saw some kids out getting a day hike on.

We copped a squat and I probably was the first one to drop pack and dig around for something snacky.   Kat had that salami out and was staring at it with deep, almost zen-like contemplation.   I have to admit, it was a fine looking salami.

So there I was, munching on an Oreo when something profound occurred to me.   “Kat,” I said, “Everybody we see on this trail brought girls with them.   How come we’re the only ones out here on the trail didn’t bring girls with us?”

Kat, ever the wise and soft-spoken sage, answered, “’cause we have kids.”

I let that truth resonate a bit.   He continued making eyes at the salami.

“Hey, Kat. . . “     I heard the sound of his knife opening up.

“Yeah?”

“How come we had kids?”

“Cause we had girls.”

Oh yeah.

That really was a tasty salami.   His wife picked it out for him.

Friday, April 25, 2014.

No such thing as a slow day when you work in an elementary school.   I didn’t even get a chance to check out the weather report. Barely remembered to grab my stocking cap off the file cabinet.   Promised Kat that I would meet him at a mid-way grocery store right at the interstate. Bell rang and I headed out around three.   The weather was beautiful with promise.

Went home, left my suit and tie crumpled on the floor as I pulled on my hiking gear. Felt good to lace up my boots again.

I wasn’t in the parking lot five minutes before Kat pulled up. He let out a maniacal giggle and started transferring gear to the Yota.

The next three hours, really, are just a chase scene.

Turned into a Mena Sonic around 7:00 p.m. and pulled out the topo maps while Kat changed out of his work clothes in the bathroom. A few cheeseburgers later, he outlines the plan while we squint at contour lines.

Bet they put that sign there for a reason.

8:30 p.m., we pull up to the Little Missouri/Athens-Big Fork Junction Trailhead.   Couldn’t really help but notice the flood zone sign right where I parked.  It was just getting dusky as we stepped across the water and into the green.   Headlamps came on as soon as dark fell. It was tortuously beautiful to hear the Little Missouri burbling just out of sight to our left as we eased along.

Kat explained that he had worked out a few exit strategies should the fan experience rapid fecal contact.   Well, I think he said he had a few.  The one that stuck to mind involved tying the packs to a tree and running like hell if it started raining hard enough to raise the river.   Can’t say that plan inspired the greatest of confidence, but we’ve been in stranger situations together and came out alright.   I didn’t point out that the exit strategy didn’t take much into account the drive out . . . but we were committed.

Came across one campsite pretty early on that, I swear, had a string of what looked like Christmas lights hanging on a tent or a hammock or something.   They were huddled around a fire, enjoying an early night.   I puzzled over how they got those lights strung up for a good mile or so.

We were making great time, I mean crazy great time.   So fast that Kat started to get worried we’d pass Little Missouri Falls in the dark. That man is crazy about waterfalls.   Me, I stick to the rivers and the lakes that I’m used to.   Hard to miss the Little Mo. Falls, though, since you walk through a parking lot and a paved trail to get to them. Checked the watch . . . first 4.1 miles in about an hour and a half.

The downside of making camp in the dark is that you miss the beautiful flat firepit area just a few feet away. The upside of being hammock hangers is that it doesn’t matter what rocky hillside you find, so long as the trees are far enough apart and not too thick around the middle.   We were so stinking tired that where we camped didn’t matter.   Didn’t really take any pictures that first stretch of the hike because, well, darkness.   Kat did show me a new hammock hack that now pretty much guarantees a perfect hang every time.   Center your hammock, then tie off one end at the height you want it. Don’t worry about cinching it tight, just throw on a tie that won’t slip.   On the other end, loop your tree straps.   Make a trucker’s hitch out of your remaining rope and cinch it guitar-string tight.   A few half-hitches to secure it and perfect hang.

Friday night was to be the coldest night and for the first time ever I was going bag-less in my hammock.   I’ve been brainstorming a new way for 3-season hanging without freezing. Now, I already sleep in a Clark North American.   Lightweight foam sleeping pad on the bottom and a zippered fleece blanket.   That’s it. Sleep with my fleece layer on.   I did get a little cool, so I opened up one of those air-activated hand warmers and tossed it into the fleece bag.   Slept like a baby.

Slept so deep I didn’t even hear Kat’s snoring.