Just read in the paper that Cabela’s is going to open up a location in Rogers. I mourned the loss of Sportsman’s Warehouse – wandering around watching the store get gutted there at the end. Even if I didn’t buy much there (because I’m cheap), it was the one place I could just wander around and stare at stuff.
My inner gear-snob (the same one every hiker indulges while hiking their own hike) is elated by this news.
Day 3
I’d like to say we woke up, but that would imply a certain amount of sleeping that I’m not sure actually happened. At least for the adults. Eventually, I think, in the wee ugly cow-milking hours of morning the invading army of racconic ketchup connoisseurs licked their last rock and trundled arrogantly into the undergrowth. Amazing how even a bad night’s sleep in a hammock out in the woods is still more refreshing than a rough night in bed.
The little 4×4 griddle in my cook kit is still relatively new and while I’ve seen how well it performs cooking 8-oz filets on the trail, I hadn’t put it to the real test of making pancakes. So while Kat was crisping up a rasher of bacon in the cast iron skillet over coals, I broke out the MSR Pocket Rocket and went at pancakes. Which, if you’ve read any of my entries on food, you’ll know that I’m the designated camp cook. With that comes a fair amount of ribbing to go along with happy sounds of satisfied trail gluttons. Early in my relationship with #1 trail buddy was a failed attempt to cook pancakes in the bottom of the lyingest, cheapest, stickiest no-stick pan. I happily announced we would be having pancakes and my trailmates cheered and marveled at how I managed to bring both butter and syrup out onto the trail. Of course, I hadn’t, so my reply was, “I said we’re having pancakes. I didn’t say nothing about butter & syrup.” Kat hasn’t let me live that one down – any more, I guess, than I’ll let him live down the ketchup incident. This time, though, the load-bearing capacity of a canoe has encouraged me to bring both syrup and butter for the pancakes. And, because I have a reputation to uphold, I didn’t make just any kind of pancakes. I made pumpkin pie spice pancakes.
And the boys refused to eat them. At least initially. How dare I try to titillate the palates of 6-yr-old boys!?
But we wrapped those pancakes around a few pieces of bacon, then dipped them in a mixture of butter and syrup. Man, oh, man.
Loaded up the canoes, sprayed the boys down with sunscreen, and off we went. The last day of a float is too much like the last day of a hike. Your mind is on the destination. Tomorrow’s work day is looming close enough to taint the feeling of vacating. The wind was against us the whole way, no matter how the river bent. We swam as often as we could, but the boys were getting a little irritable and impatient with each other. Maybe they were feeling the weight of the end? It didn’t take us long to get into canoe traffic, a few families out playing with their kids. Teenagers too cool to sit in the front of Dad’s canoe were flitting around the school of canoes in their solo kayaks while Dad pushed along a canoe filled with supplies. Made me realize that I’ve just got a few more years with Bear Bait before I’m lucky if he invites me to go with him on trips like this. He even asked me if he could get a kayak next time and I gave the noncommittal parental reply, “We’ll see” that really means, “No, but I don’t want to tell you no and disappoint you so soon because my reasons are selfish because I always want you sitting at the front of my canoe, so proud of how straight your back is and how fearlessly you navigate without a single glance back. No, because you’re still little enough for me to sweep up into my arms but already big enough that I know I won’t be able to so easily in a month or two.”
We loaded up the canoes at Gilbert and put the boys in dry clothes. Harley sat in the back seat with them and played movies on her I-phone while they mumbled the half-coherent phrases of exhausted children. Stopped in Harrison to gorge at a Wendy’s. We stank so bad that the manager, as discretely as he could, came out and sprayed air freshener around us. He was tactful enough to wander around into the unoccupied corners of the restaurant and spray there as well. Since invading a cheeseburger establishment is tradition after a long hike, we are accustomed to offending the delicate olfactory sensibilities of other patrons. You should see us trying to mix with the fresh-outta-church crowd when our hikes end on a Sunday around noon.
Bear Bait played more with his kid’s meal toy than he ate, but he paused and said, “Hey Dad?”
“Yeah, kid?”
“You’re the best.”
“Love you, too, son.”
I seem to have left my camera’s USB cord at Lake Chicot State Park. Lots of pictures to post, but I need to head out and buy a new one. Got one! Pics now added.
Since the only reason I write is to fill in the spaces for when I’m not actually able to head out, the recent activity here means I’m off of vacation. Bear Bait has spent the past month heading out into wild and wonderful places with me – and all of a sudden I’m putting in 10 hour days at work. You know how it is, just trying to pick up the slack from having been gone. He’s taking the transition kind of hard. Momma said that yesterday morning he climbed into bed with her and just rested on my pillow until she woke up. The first words out of his mouth weren’t, “good morning” or even “when’s breakfast?” They were, “Where’s dad? Is he going to have to work all day again today?”
Sorry, buddy. We’ll head out again real soon.
Night 2
Earlier, while we were making dinner, Kat had something of a catsup malfunction. I think he shook it a little too hard with the lid open, but it splattered on the rocks and such smack in the center of our little crescent of hammocks. We didn’t think much of it until later that night. I had just drifted off to sleep when the first raccoon boldly brushed underneath my hammock and opened the book resting on the ground beside me. Don’t know why he opened the book. I doubt he could read and it sure didn’t have any food in it. At the time, I couldn’t figure out why we had coons at all. I mean, we didn’t have much food left – and it didn’t seem to matter much to them what was in the coolers. The entire night, though, at least three (maybe more) large coons launched a dedicated raid on our camp. None of the over-30 crowd ended up getting more than an hour or two of consecutive snoozing. Kat and I would toss rocks at them and they’d just stare at us. I tried to spook ‘em away by spotlighting them with my headlamp and I do believe the biggest one flipped me the bird. Harley woke up once and loudly shook a pill-bottle to try and scare them off. Nothing worked. As my hammock sagged toward the ground that night, I got close enough for one to come over and pat me down. All night long they tried to open containers and dig through bags. They scattered rocks and skittered the gravel away. Even if one of us did manage to ignore the coons long enough to get to sleep, one of the other two would get a knucklehead idea to try and run ’em off and wake the rest of us up. Can’t hardly be mad at ‘em, though, for wanting a taste of catsup.
I guess.
The boys, though, slept like stones. Bear Bait didn’t wake up until after all the pancakes were cooked and most of the camp was packed away.
Day 2
** I’ve been so busy heading out onto the trails, lakes, and rivers this summer that I haven’t taken time to write about them. As the summer heats up and I’m keeping my little guys indoors more, I can finally sit down and tell some tales.**
Fresh from the river
I started this in the last blog, but our 20-mile float began with just a little overnight drop camping. Momma and Bogie wanted to sleep in their own beds, so Saturday found us just playing and swimming in the river right there at the Woolum access. I brought my big cast-iron skillet and we cooked brats on a campfire, soaked in just enough water to keep ‘em from burning. Then we cooked turkey burgers in what can only be described as “brat gravy.” Afterwards, the boys toasted marshmallows while we dug out the graham crackers. I’d already left the chocolate bars out in the sun so that each little package now is full of melted Hershey bar. Use the scissors on your Leatherman to snip the corner off and you have a backpacker’s piping bag of gooey chocolate. I ain’t no girl scout, but that’s how we do smores in my wilderness bistro. (When I’m feeling fancy, I’ll flip the cast-iron skillet over and toast the graham crackers on the bottom while the fire cleans out the inside.)
Bear Bait looking like he does this for a living.
Sunday morning, we woke up and waved good-bye to Kat’s wife and youngest. Hauled the canoes down to the river and set off. This was Bear Bait’s first serious float. A couple of years back he sat in the middle of a canoe while Momma and I took him down a gentle creek. Now, though, he sat in the front – paddle in hand – all swole up with the pride and importance leading the canoe. His buddy, Kit, was sharing a canoe with his daddy, Kat, and his grandmother . . . oh, let’s calls her Harley. Her story isn’t mine to tell, but that is one amazing woman. Was her first time joining us on an excursion, but I hope not the last. From Bear Bait’s perspective, see, only grown-ups sat at the front and back of the canoe. To his credit, he didn’t hold that over his little buddy. (Nor did it seem that Kit particularly wanted to swap roles with Bear Bait.)
The first day was nice and easy. The river was very low, the temperature very hot. I saw more snakes than I expected, but the boys were real careful and on the look-out. Good Daddy protocol dictated that we stop at every swimming hole and jumping rock we could find. You’d think that would slow us down, but Kat and I paddle like we hike so it wasn’t so much a float trip as it was a paddle furiously & swim trip. Somewhere about a mile or two shy of Baker’s Ford we broke away from any other canoes and felt like we had the whole river just to ourselves. The boys were getting hungry for second-lunch when I glimpsed what looked like a clearing behind some thick brush choking a rock bar. We pulled the canoes up and let Harley watch the boys swim while we explored a bit. Sure enough, just past a concealing tangle of summer growth was a wide-open area. Enough big trees in a semi-circle to accommodate all the hammocks! It was an area that looked to spend a good part of the year underwater – so the floor was nothing but smooth stones clear of undergrowth. We were maybe 20-30 yards from the river. The day was still early, but we were concerned about going too far that first day and running out of river before we ran out of vacation. It was a pretty easy decision to call it a day at 2:00.
Didn’t take long to unload the canoes and string up the hammocks. The boys immediately found thousands of tiny shells butterflied open and scattered amidst the rocks. By the time we called them over to reapply sunscreen, each one of them had stuffed their swimsuit pockets with shells so that they bulged out and crunched when they walked. Because they were afraid to lose their treasures, I ended up giving each one a zip-lock bag to hold the shells while they swam.
The next five hours were spent swimming, splashing, and hurling laughing boys into the deeper parts of the water. Our swimming area was a wide, nearly still section that was maybe 2-3’ deep for the first half and a sudden drop-off to at least 6’ deep on the far end. We played like we were trying to fit all summer in a day. When we tired of swimming, we taught the boys how to skip rocks and had contests that ended in raucous celebrations and my daddy can beat your daddy challenges of manliness. When we tired of skipping rocks, we waded out to try and find the perfect skippers now resting on the bottom of the river. How can anything in life be better than that?
Kneeling in the middle of the river
When we finally pulled ourselves away to eat, the boys scarfed down hot dogs and fist-sized marshmallows (sometimes even pausing long enough to cook them first). We then took one last swim before drying them off and getting them into pajamas. To get those boys to settle down and go to sleep, Kat told stories from his days in the military and I offered a few sanitized escapades from my own youth. We talked about some of our first experiences out in the wilderness – which for both of us was in early adulthood. The boys were so intent on hearing us tell stories that we had the opposite of our intended effect. It took them about an hour, but eventually they eased into that groggy half-sleep of children caught between the reluctance to let go of the day and excitement for what tomorrow will bring. With all of us swaying in the hammocks and the sun reluctantly easing down for the night, little did I know that the real fun was only getting started.
Momma decided a few days prior that she wasn’t ready to rough it overnight, but agreed to come along with our littlest one and accompany me ‘n Bear Bait most of the first day. Initial grand plans were to camp at Tyler Bend, but it was packed full by the time we got there. One glance at the Gilbert rock bar and she had me driving them all into Harrison to find a hotel Friday night. Stayed at this dive of a place right on the southern edge of the city. Paper peeling off the walls, brown water from the sink, dead spiders on the bedspread . . . just a real righteous place. The fact she was happy to be there is either a comment on how badly she viewed Gilbert or how grateful she was I didn’t try to talk her into sleeping on the rockbar. Looked like fun to me, but you know how it goes. When momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy and all that.
Saturday morning, woke up and drove down to Woolum. It was as empty as Gilbert was packed. Just a beautiful place. We had one tent and five hammocks, so decided to set up camp at an area set aside for horse campers. They had about six large posts spaced perfectly for a row of hammocks. You just couldn’t ask for better. Had four boys with us, aged 6, 6, 2, and 1. Lathered them all up with sunscreen and played in the river all day long. It was just a whole day of playing in the sun. Momma hit the road with our littlest one before dark. We spent the night listening to drunks get stuck in the rock bar coming off the river after dark. Kat crawled out of his hammock and went down to watch the show. Hearing him retell it made me wish he had brought me along. I woke up only once around midnight. The moon was just a few days past full and the whole wide-open area was lit up bright enough that you didn’t need a flashlight to see. Sat up and just swayed a little in the hammock, listening to the cicadas sing like waves on the shore. There was just enough of a breeze to keep the flies and mosquitoes away. We were planning on a ten mile day on Sunday, or I would have stayed up longer just soaking it all in.
I soft-stepped over to check on Bear Bait and make sure he was comfortable. I guess I’m still a little worried that he’ll wake up scared. He still goes to sleep at home with either a flashlight or a night light on, but he’s fearless when it comes to sleeping in the woods. Go figure. I seriously doubt I was that brave at six years old, but then again I was almost out of my teens before anyone ever took me anyplace like this. He’s been at it half his life.
Best Father’s Day I’ve ever had. Me ‘n Bear Bait joined Kat, his boy Kit, and the most bad-ass biker grandmother I’ve ever met or heard of on a 3-night, 2-day float on the Buffalo.
Full trip report with pictures soon to come, but I’m red-eyed and radiating a mild sunburn. All I really want to do right now is visit with my wife some and collapse. Tomorrow, I’ll launch back into the routine of work and responsibilities. Tonight, though, I can still feel the sun on my back.
Had to fit Bear Bait into a new life jacket. He’s grown so much just in two years that he can’t fit into his old one. Surprised both of us. Doesn’t seem that long ago, but 4 is a whole lot smaller than 6 (and a half, he’d remind me). Ain’t that how it always goes?
Last night, Momma asked me what I wanted for Father’s Day and it took me a little by surprise. I haven’t really thought on it much. Truth is, I have everything I want. There’s no gizmo, gadget, or gee-gaw that I’ve had my eye on. All I want is to take my two boys out somewhere green and alive. Watch them laugh and run and throw as they see God’s most beautiful places for the first time. I want to watch them fight over burning marshmallows while sparks float up to disappear amidst stars they’d never see from their back yard. Have them wake up smelling of woodsmoke and wild-eyed to do it all again.
I want to spend the kind of days with them that etch so deeply in their soul that the memories seep out through crayons and remember-when stories. That’s the Father’s day I want. . .
. . . and so far I’ve packed, unpacked, and repacked three times already. Just so I don’t leave anything behind. Just so it’ll be perfect for them.
Bringing Momma along with me and Bear Bait poses a unique set of concerns. She’s a self-described city girl and has certain minimal expectations on any outdoor excursion. Tent camping, early in the marriage when I was much more well-trained than I am these days, usually involved an astonishing array of portable conveniences. Wasn’t as much camping as it was temporary relocation of home. To go from the sparse extreme of minimalist backpacking to the cramming of creature comforts that is car camping is something of a shift.
But I have a plan.
I’m buying Bear Bait a new hammock, one with a mosquito netting. I’ll put Momma in the Clark jungle hammock and I’ll take the open-air hammock that Bear Bait usually sleeps in. That will keep both of them clean, dry, bug-free, and comfortable. No tents, no extension cords, no air mattresses, no fitted sheets. (She’s never slept in a hammock before, so that’ll be fun.) The last requirement for happy Momma camping is a flush toilet. That’s where I love the planning genius of my trail-brother, Kat.
We’re going to set up camp at an established (with toilets!) site mid-way through the float and leave a few folks who are uninterested in floating to just hang out there and play in the water. First morning we’ll drive down in two vehicles and set up camp. Wave goodbye to the folks holding down camp for us, then all load into one truck with the canoes on top and head upriver a ways. Spend the night. Drop the truck off the next morning. Float all day. Drive back to camp and spend the night. Stay most of the last day at camp, watching the boys fish, swim, and chunk rocks.
Don’t have to pack all the food and camp gear into the canoes, just lunch, some water, and us.
It is a toss-up who is more excited, me or Bear Bait. Just a couple of weeks to go. Oh, I hope the weather holds.
I got no problem with snakes. No phobias, no irrational fears, just a healthy respect. There are so many other reasons not to want to backpack in an Arkansas summer. You’ve got the heat and humidity, of course. The trails choke up quickly with vegetation that, while beautiful and sometimes tasty, still stands in the way of beautiful views. Skeeters, ticks, and other blood-sucking types tend to rise in nastiness with the rising of the mercury. And, well, snakes. I actually love seeing a snake or two when I’m out on the trail because, well, I see ‘em. It isn’t the ones I see that concern me. Now that Bear Bait is old enough to really go on some serious hikes with me, I have the additional parental concern of what he doesn’t see. Surely having a bit of anxiety is normal for a parent, especially for a kid that has to be told seven or eight times to pick up his socks. I have to give him credit, though. He listens very well when we’re out in the green. Of course, he also has a blissfully low level of fear when it comes to nature. Had him out fishing the other day and we must’ve been close to a nest because we counted at least six different cottonmouths trying to swim across the pond to us. They’d get about one or two yards away, see us, and disappear underwater. All I’d have to do is tell him to back up whenever one got closer than five feet to the shore. He’d set his pole down and head over to me and we’d watch. We’d talk about how to identify them, why they’re acting the way they were. I was proud that he didn’t suggest killing them at all. Proud that he realized we were the intruders in the snakes’ home. How we’d react much the same way if they came uninvited to our bedroom. He has good eyes, too, because by the end of the day he was spotting them in the water before I could point them out. So he’s learning, but just one more reason not to be all that excited about summer hikes. (But, just wait until the berries get ripe and you’ll get to read how much I love hiking in summer.)
I have a deep belief that the Buffalo River is God’s way of apologizing for how unpleasant summer can be in Arkansas. Or maybe He made summer so nasty as a way to make sure we appreciate how beautiful the Buffalo River is? Whatever the reason, June and July are meant for floating. Bear Bait went on his first float trip last year, a day-trip with our Sunday School class that was just a gradual little creek-float. He’s had one other canoe experience going across Lake Leatherwood a few years back. He was amazing both times. He learned how to swim two years ago in the Buffalo down at Steel Creek, so he’s never been afraid of the water. When given the choice of either backpacking or floating for our next trip, he leapt at the chance to float. So the next big outing will be a 2-night float. Details forthcoming. I’ve got him working out a new gear list, so we’ll review that soon. Going to bring Momma with us this time, too. We haven’t convinced her to go backpacking yet, but she makes a beautiful figurehead with her feet kicked up on the bow of the canoe.
He’s already asked if he can bring his fishing pole and I do believe we can make that happen.
Ozark Hiker 