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CLOUDLAND JOURNAL, NOVEMBER 1998
11/1/98 I was exhausted from a long week and was looking forward to sleeping in, but I heard footsteps and conversation from down below early, so I gave in and got up and joined my guests. It was a little cool outside, but everyone was enjoying the view and the crisp air and didn't mind. Before long there was talk of a breakfast feast. Soon the smell of bacon filled the air, and we all moved inside and piled our plates with bacon, Luke's special French Toast, fresh fried taters, muffins, and other goodies. I knew that Hete and Roy and Norma were staying up at the Faddis Cabin over the weekend and doing a little hiking, but I never could get them on the phone to come down and help us take care of the food. I began to get a little worried when Mary walked up and found no one awake, but Roy's truck in the drive, just as it had been the day before.
Just as we all cried out that we had had enough and could hold no more, Roy was spotted walking past the window. Good, at least he would come in and help with the leftovers. When we opened the door, Roy looked a little funny, and was covered with sweat. He was smiling, and said that he had been out on a little hike. Yes, he sure had. In fact he had been out hiking all day on Saturday, got lost, spent the night curled up next to a log (wearing only shorts and a t-shirt, although he did have rain gear and a small space blanket, which probably saved his life), and only this morning was able to get his bearings and hike out. He really had been in a serious situation, and was glad to see the cabin, and our food. But none of us had heard anything from Hete or Norma. Had they stayed at the trailhead all night? Were they lost too? Were they out looking for him today? Why did they never contact us?
Just as I was about to drive Roy up to the Faddis cabin and mount a search party of our own for Hete and Norma, the phone rang. It was Norma. She and Hete had apparently gotten lost too, but did make it back to the trailhead before dark (they were hiking out of the Kapark Cemetery Trailhead several miles away). One of them did return to the Faddis Cabin to get their sleeping gear, but never bothered to inform anyone else that Roy was still lost. That could have been a fatal mistake. The next morning, they started looking for Roy at daylight, but gave up after three hours and returned to the Faddis cabin and called.
Roy made a mistake too that could have been fatal. Actually two of them. I retell his story here in hopes that someone reading this will not make the same mistakes. His first mistake was that once he got lost, he kept moving and did not remain in one place. He could hear Hete and Norma calling out to him, and they could hear him, but since both parties were moving to try to find the other, no one found anyone. Rule #1 - once you decide that you are lost, STAY PUT!!! Especially if you know there is someone nearby that will be looking for you. This single thing has probably killed more lost people than anything else. Except bears (just kidding).
OK, so he was lost, and was trying to find his own way out. His second big mistake was that he was relying on his compass to lead him back to the trailhead - WRONG, WRONG, WRONG!!! Simply knowing a direction will not always help. In fact, I have seen case after case where this very thing has killed people. I don't believe in using a compass. I don't carry one. I don't even own one of the stupid things. Having a compass is one thing, knowing how to use it is another. Now Roy certainly knows how to use a compass, but he lacked a map, and without a map, a compass is pretty much useless, or even worse, can lead you right over a cliff or into a worse situation. I instead rely on knowing the land that I am going into, by looking at a map, and then keeping myself aware of what that land is doing - i.e. hills and creeks and valleys. I think that too many times a compass gives one a false sense of security. If you forget about the compass and simply pay attention to what you are doing, you are almost always much better off.
By the way, the more modern GPS units are just as bad. I still maintain that you are a lot better off being aware of where you are than relying of some contraption that points north.
Roy was lucky. He had a space blanket in his pack, and rain gear. He didn't have any matches (another mistake). Once it got dark, he found a big log and laid up against it all night. At first light, he continued to find his way out by using the compass, which, of course, never did him any good, and only wore him out more and got him in deeper trouble. Roy finally realized that the compass was useless. Alright, he was already close to being saved! He sat down and thought for a minute. He could hear water down below - a stream. He knew that all streams in the area flowed downhill and into the Buffalo River. All he had to do was follow the stream to the river, then turn left and go downstream until he crossed Whitaker Creek, which was the first large stream that he would come to. He had been there many times before. From that point, all he had to do was follow the trail up the hill to the cabin. While it took him a couple of hours to do this, it was really just that simple. He found the river, then the trail, then the French Toast on my dining table. Good going Roy. Common sense will almost always prevail over a compass.
I still don't know why Hete and Norma never told us Roy was lost. Roy was in a very serious situation, and had the weather been worse, or he not finally come to his senses, we could have lost him for good. The happy couple was reunited at the cabin, and the three of them helped us dispose of the breakfast leftovers.
I must tell you that the only time that I was really lost and in trouble in the woods was way up north in Canada. I won't go into all of the details here, but I will say that I had relied on a compass and a map drawn by a native Indian. The map was wrong, and so the compass was of no use. But I trusted it with my life, and it wasn't until a stroke of luck happened that I abandoned the compass and found my way out. I was within a few feet of dying in that flat wilderness, all because of a stupid compass. I've not carried one ever since. That was in 1979.
It was going to be a very long week ahead for me, and so after the excitement of the self rescue died down and everyone left, I packed a few things up and bid my log cabin farewell.
11/3/98 I returned to the cabin very late, after giving two programs in Little Rock to packed houses. It was cloudy, and misting a little. I was too tired to build a fire, and was asleep before I hit the sheets.
11/4/98 Dawn came early, although it was very cloudy out, and in fact I couldn't see a thing outside my windows. There was a TV crew coming up from Channel 7 in Little Rock to do some filming of Billy and I about the new book, so I did all I could to shoo away the clouds. By 9am the fog had lifted some, and the glorious wilderness stretched out in front of me for many miles. And a new friend had begun to appear - just across the way, over on Beagle Point, several trees had lost their leaves, and I could see part of the sandstone bluff there. The bluff is nearly 80 feet tall, but is completely hidden when the leaves are on the trees. It is the same bluff that Hawksbill Crag is made of, and runs throughout the entire wilderness, causing streams to leap into the air as beautiful waterfalls. It was good to see the bluff, and the view.
The TV people were here for a couple of hours, and got some good footage that would be shown on their "Route Seven" series. I wouldn't get to see it aired, but would hopefully see a copy of the tape someday.
As soon as they left, I had to pack up once again and head back to town, a much too short visit to Cloudland - they all are too short. I had another program in Russellville the next day, then another up in Springfield. Both of these shows were to packed houses too. People were turned away from the one at the Nature Center in Springfield - they took 200 reservations and then cut everyone else off. That is one gorgeous Nature Center that they have there, and the people of Missouri should be proud of it. And the people were nice, and rather quiet, but they didn't buy very many books (the Director of the Center was very nice and most helpful, and I would like to convince her to move to Cloudland!). On the other hand, the crowd in Russellville was loud and chatty and bought a record number of books for one of my shows - 34. I enjoyed both shows, all four shows during the week in fact.
11/7/98 It seemed like it had been ages since I had been to the cabin when I rolled up at noon today. The road was once again covered with leaves, and it was raining lightly, and rather chilly out. The cabin was a welcome sight, and while it was cool inside too, it was much warmer than it was outside. In what would become a daily ritual for me this winter, and one that I dearly love, I filled the fireplace with wood and got a crackling fire going in no time. It would take several hours and even a day before the heat warmed the logs, but the sight of the flames in my very own fireplace warmed my heart instantly. The wind was howling outside, but I was all snug and warm and safe and secure in my log castle.
While the logs blazed away, I jumped into my chore of un-boxing more of the Buffalo River Wilderness books to sign. And listened on the radio to our beloved Razorback Hogs putting it to some poor football team. There was still lots of fall color left, but I could tell it was past peak, and many trees had already dropped their leave. The bluff over yonder on Beagle Point was showing itself even more now.
It was nasty outside - temp about 40, winds gusting into the 20mph's, and blowing rain. Cold! And the wind chill factor was down in the low 20's. This is a new factor that I will be reporting on - I just can't wait to see what the weather station registers when it is in the 20's outside with a 40mph wind!
Hum, nasty weather, lots of fall color, and me not been outside for a long time - I decided to forgo my book shores for a while and go on a hike! This new book has been pretty much taking over my life, which is fine, since that is what I do. But I need time in the wilderness. So I put on my boots and some rain gear and drifted out into the forest. The ground was covered with bright yellow maple leaves, freshly blown from their branches. Quite by accident, I had built my cabin right in the middle of that band of maple trees that streaks across the area, which means that I can take off hiking in any direction and walk through maple trees! And they were really nice today, with all of that yellow.
I hiked on up to the East Meadow - gosh, I hadn't been there in two weeks? As I strode across the meadow I found three big doe deer bedded down right out in the middle of the meadow. They saw me immediately, of course, but didn't bother to get up and run. They did keep their eyes glued on me, and I froze in place at first. It was a stand off. But my light coat was not nearly as warm as theirs, and I had to get moving again or really become frozen. I took a step, expecting them to bolt. Nothing. They just kept staring. Then another step. Still nothing. What the heck, I'll just walk on and enjoy the day. I did. They followed my every movement, but never budged an inch.
There seems to be a pattern developing here. Deer stay in their beds while I pass. Bears keep on munching nuts right alongside me without distress. What is going on here? Have these wild animals seen me enough to become comfortable with me and not afraid? Do they know it is me, or would they do this for other humans? I hope that is not the case - some humans carry guns, and arrows and other stuff, and have visions of meat on the table. Me, I just want to see these wild critters in their own living rooms and watch them at play. I continue to be amazed at my acceptance by these wild creatures, and revel in their beauty.
The next stretch of forest didn't have any maple trees in it, and the leaves on the ground were mostly brown, although many of the trees above were yellow - lots of hickories. Hum, I wonder if my friend the bear is about? I worked my way on down the hillside near the top of the bluffline, then just wandered around a little. The wind wasn't blowing nearly as much on this side of the hill, but the rain did pick up a little.
I noticed some fresh diggings up ahead. There have been several holes or dens in the dirt on this hillside, and I have been trying to figure out if they were fox dens or something else. One in particular I had walked past many times in the last two months, and it always looked like fresh traffic at the door. Today I could tell that someone else had been there. The hole had been enlarged, and a lot of dirt had been dug out. The den was now about three feet in diameter, and it went back in about that far too. I got down on my knees and looked into the hole. Ha ha!!! I figured out who's den it was, and what had happened. Apparently a bear had done the enlarging, and laying in the back of the hole was what was left of the shell of an Armadillo! The bear had scooped out the den, and the armadillo too - opossum on the half shell! I don't like Armadillos. I had never seen any of them up in the Ozarks until about 15 years ago. They have been migrating up from Texas, and I wish they would go back. They can do quite a bit of damage to a forest, and I have seen them destroy sections of hiking trails with all of their digging (I wish we could control their diggings, then maybe we could get them to build a few trails). I guess they do look pretty good sunning themselves beside the highway though.
The rain came down harder, and it was getting cold, but I was really enjoying being out and gliding around through the woods - kind of set free after a week of being cooped up inside auditoriums with crowds of people. I went on down to Hawksbill Crag and found a splendid view. Man, it was gorgeous! There was still lots and lots of brilliant color in the trees down below. A lot of bright orange that I hadn't seen before. I could see many trees with no leaves too. The wind whistled and the rain hitting the trees produced a delightful lullaby.
Then a couple of hikers appeared along the rim trail. It was Hete, and he had a client with him (Hete leads hikes into the wilderness and other places). They had been down the ladder trail to the river, then bushwhacked up Whitaker Creek to the trail. We parted company and I headed back to the cabin, where I knew a crackling fireplace awaited me.
But first I had more "maple hiking" to do. Instead of following the trail back to the cabin, I went uphill to the first bench. That band of maples lives on this bench, and I wanted to spend more time walking through those wonderful trees. The ground was covered with the same yellow leaves at first, then a few red ones were mixed in, and eventually they were all red leaves. There were a few places where the underbrush was thick, and I got pretty wet, but most of the hike was through open maple forest. And this band of maples led me right to my cabin.
The cabin was warm and inviting and a joy to return to. I checked the weather station, and the wind chill had been down to 15 degrees during my hike. I stripped off my wet clothes and hung them on my new wooden clothes dryer. I had bought it at the end of last winter, and never got a chance to use it. It is one of those cheap things that you can buy at Wal Mart, but it seemed to be just perfect, and my clothes were all dried out in no time. Of course, I did stoke the fire a bit and spent some time right in front of it drying myself out too. I also have one of those boot dryers out here. I've used one for many years, and they work just great, but have never known anyone else who had one. I can't figure that one out. You put your boots on it and plug it in, and slightly warm air goes up into the boots - it takes 12-15 hours to dry out a leather boot, but it does so without any damage to the leather.
Oh yea, I forgot to tell ya that before I left on my hike, I put some mix in my bread machine, and so the cabin was filled with the aroma of fresh baking sourdough bread when I got back. Life if tough up in the mountains you know.
Hum, after I devoured half of the warm bread, plus a bowl of my special veggie soup and rice (with Louisiana Hot Sauce of course), and a glass or two of homemade wild blackberry wine, I laid back on the couch and took a well deserved nap. When I woke up, it was dark outside. It was a fine nap. And no one needed one more than me!
Then I got down to some real work, and spent an hour dealing with the books, then spent the rest of the evening writing on the journal - the first time that I had been able to write in it extensively for nearly two weeks. I got up from the computer once to go outside and get more wood, and realized that the cabin was engulfed in heavy fog. And it was REALLY DARK outside!
One thing that I noticed was that while I was signing the books before my hike, my signature was its usual messy self. But after the hike, every signature flowed smoothly and you could actually read the letters. My little hike did me a lot of good!
As the evening drew on, my supply of firewood ran out. I had built a firewood stash next to the cabin so that I could go out in the middle of a rainy night and get dry wood, and me stay dry, and this was the first time that I put the system to the test - it worked great! I have a spot light right above the firewood area, tools in the shed right there, and the entire area under cover of the cabin roof overhang high above. I can even split wood and stay dry during a driving rainstorm. Well, maybe not a driving rainstorm - hey, you have to get a little wet sometimes!
I loaded up the indoor wood stash, filled the fireplace with a couple of large logs, and crawled between the Cloudland sheets, happy and warm and snug in my little log cabin. This was the first time in a long while that I had gone to bed with a big fire going downstairs, and I had forgot about the show on the ceiling. All of the log rails, log perlins and fan blades created a pattern of a hundred shadows on the light-colored Aspen ceiling. The shadows danced and played to the rhythm of the fire. Who needs to count sheep with all of this going on?
11/8/98 I woke up in a fog, and while it wasn't quite as thick as it had been the night before, it completely engulfed the cabin. I could only see a few feet away from the cabin, where the branches of a few maple trees poked their way in, and there leaves were glowing orange. It was dead still out - not a whisp of wind at all. It was eerie, and wonderful and exciting all at the same time.
The big log that I had put in the fireplace burned all night, and was still flickering when I got up. In the past, I had filled the fireplace with smaller, split wood, which burned out within a few hours, and it was normal for me to have to get up two or three times during the night to keep the fire going. My fireplace is a great one, but is designed to burn hot, to keep a good flame going which keeps the glass burned off and clear. Even shut all the way down, the fire burns at nearly full blast. Bob Chester told me to use one big log instead of the smaller ones, and he was right.
I sat in the big over-stuffed leather chair that is next to the fireplace and sipped some hot chocolate that had been laced with frozen cool whip. It was a little chilly in the cabin, but nice and toasty around the fire. I have found that it feels great to stand in front of the fireplace and get the backside very warm, then go sit in the chair, which warms up the leather, which in turn warms you up again.
But it was glorious outside - fog and great color. I had to make a choice - to stay in my leather chair and fireplace world, or go out and hike in the fog. It was an easy call. I put on my dry hiking boots and disappeared into the fog. Since the wind wasn't blowing, it felt kind of warm out, or at least not nearly as cold as the day before, although it was 39 degrees. The branches were covered with red and yellow maple leaves, and the thick fog blended the color together into a mystic colorful soup. It was very quiet out, and even my boots were silent against the wet carpet of leaves. There weren't any critters out either - no squirrels in the trees or on the ground, no deer in the meadows, and no bears munching hickory nuts. It was a pleasant stroll through the woods.
The forest looked as though someone had taken buckets of red, yellow, orange and green paints, mixed them all together just a tad so that one color streaked into the next, then splashed the entire batch through the woods. I walked through the greatest masterpiece ever created. And I'll bet most people stayed home today because the weather was "cold and miserable out." Ha! Give me a day like this and I will live forever.
As I got back to the cabin the fog was lifting, and I could see the lower half of the wilderness, all the way down to the river. But I couldn't see any of the tops of the hills, which were still up in the fog bank. It is funny how sometimes you are above the ceiling here, with the fog bank down in the valley, and the hills poking up through it, and sometimes you are right below the ceiling, like it was today, with all the wilderness below the fog.
I sat in the leather chair and worked on books and answered e-mail and wrote in the journal, then I got up and split a little more wood. I just love to do that when it is chilly out. Next I brought in the big extension ladder, carefully extended it 23 feet up to the main ceiling beam in the living room, and gingerly crawled up with screwdriver and insulation in hand. I had to remove the grill to the big power exhaust vent there and fill the space with insulation. Otherwise, there is a free-flow of warm air through the space and out the roof. This is great in summer, but not in the winter. I will have to crawl back up in the spring and remove the insulation. I used the step ladder to do the same procedure to the power vent up in the loft.
As I was returning the large extension ladder to its resting place outside, an incredible burst of sunlight spilled out from the clouds and lit up a dozen parts of the wilderness, creating a magical light show. Wow! Without the sun, the overall view is OK color-wise, but not real brilliant. There is still a great deal of color, but many of the trees have lost their leaves. When the sun hits the forest, all of the color that remains really packs a punch! And you can still see lots of green trees, so there is more color to come. We are past the peak now though.
That light show was a fitting end to my short visit. I will not be able to return to the cabin for a week or two, which seems like an eternity to me right now. I've got five programs to give this week in five different towns (Hot Springs, Springdale, Tulsa, Rogers, and Leslie), then the week after I have five more to give in five more towns (Fayetteville, Rogers, Ft. Smith, Oklahoma City, and Little Rock). After that I get a break, and you can bet that I will spend as much of it as I can out here at Cloudland. So unless something odd happens, I probably won't be making any posts to the journal until after November 22nd, although I may try to sneak out for a short visit or two, and if I do, I'll let you know. This has been one terrific fall color show!!!
11/13/98 Just after I passed through my gate, a very fat raccoon ran into the road ahead, and led me on down the hill towards the cabin. It had been very foggy all the way from town, but the sky was crystal clear at Cloudland, and the stars were out in full force. The weather station reveled that there was one heck of a storm a few days before, with winds up to 46mph and some rain. The low temp so far this fall has only 36 - can't believe that we haven't had a freeze yet.
A bright star that I think was Jupiter was in full view (OK, I know, it is a planet not a star), so I went inside to get the telescope to see how many moons were out. By the time I got back out onto the deck, less than a minute, the fog bank had caught up with me, and all of the stars disappeared. Wow, it really moved in fast, and was very thick. I spent the next half hour unloading a half ton of books from the van. At one point I looked up to the ceiling and couldn't believe that it was foggy INSIDE the cabin! Man, that was some thick fog!!!
While it was only in the low 50's outside, it was rather chilly in the cabin, so I made a big fire, and even turned the heat pump on (first time this year) just to get the logs warmed up a bit. I filled my glass with wild berry wine, and autographed about 100 books. McNamara would be here on the next day to sign them too.
All of my programs have gone very well, even better than I had expected. Large crowds of friendly people, and lots of book sales. I had one show cancel tomorrow, so I was able to slip out to the cabin for a night and day. I've still got four programs in four towns in five days beginning day after tomorrow, and after that I will get a break for a week or so. While I have thoroughly enjoyed every show, all of the long days have begun to take a toll on me, and I have been down right worn out several times. And I won't really get any time to lay around while I am here, but the visit will be worth it if only to soak up the place some.
11/14/98 An orange glow penetrated the loft at first light. I rolled over and realized that I was surrounded by bright yellow and orange maple trees just outside my windows, the colors all smeared into one by the heavy fog that was still here. It was downright beautiful! And there was no way that I could lay in bed - I had to get up and get out and see what was going on. The fire had almost gone out. I put on my luscious new robe, my blue suede slippers, grabbed a Starbucks Mocha from the fridge and went out onto the back deck to enjoy the show.
The fog was moving around a lot. First it surrounded the cabin completely, with only the closest trees in view. Then silhouettes of the next layer of trees would show up. Soon the fog had settled and I could see all the way across the valley to the ridgetops that were sticking up out of the fog. There was another layer of fog above the ridges too, so the cabin was suspended right in the middle of two layers of fog. And then the sun broke through. It lit up the narrow fins of the ridgetops, which were still covered with colored trees. It all created another surreal scene at Cloudland. Within minutes the sun had risen up into the upper fog bank and the sunshine disappeared.
I realized that I needed to get off of my deck and out into the woods and try to take a picture or two. After all, I was a nature photographer, was expected to take lots and lots of colorful pictures in the fall, but I hadn't even loaded a single roll of film yet this fall. So I jumped up, put on some work clothes, grabbed an apple, shouldered my heavy camera pack and picked up my tripod and took off towards the Crag.
The Crag hung out over a sea of white, out there in the air all by itself. I quickly set up my camera gear and started shooting. The fog was on the move, but I think that I got a few good shots. I don't normally like to shoot the Crag without hikers standing on it (for scale), but The Ozark Society wanted a new picture of the Crag for their new membership brochure, and they didn't want any people on it. So I shot away. Then I heard voices, but they weren't coming down the trail. They were coming from up above, from the direction of the Faddis Cabin. A group of five folks stepped out onto the Crag, which was still hanging out over the fog bank. My camera motor went into high gear, but only for a couple of pictures, then I got to the end of the roll.
As I quickly put in a new roll of film, one of the group called out my name. Oops, I got caught. It was Mike Mills, former Director of Tourism for Arkansas and owner of the Buffalo Outdoor Center down in Ponca. He was going to take his hot balloon crew up for a fun ride this morning, but the fog kept them grounded, so he decided to bring them up to the Crag. I shot a few more pictures, we all soaked up the view, then I led them on over to the cabin for a quick tour. Then I realized that all of the Tourism Directors for the State of Arkansas for the past 25 years had been at my cain in the last two weeks (well, that is only two guy, but I thought it was significant).
Once they were on their way, I decided to head back out again to see if I could find a few pictures. I had wanted to drop down into Whitaker Creek, then work my way upstream into the headwaters of this most scenic drainage. To my horror, I discovered that I only had two rolls of film left - 72 pictures. I had shot about 100 pictures at the Crag. I would normally shoot three or four rolls of film for each good scene that I might find, so going out on a major shoot with only two rolls was not very good. What I decided to do was hike and explore and look around until I found one single scene, then shoot all of my film there. And even when I ran out of film, the hike would be a splendid one.
So I went back to the Crag, then made my way along the top of the bluffline to where I could get down through it, then I slipped and slid on down the hillside to the bottom, where I found Whitaker Creek running pretty good. I made my way upstream. The fog had all lifted, but it was still overcast, just exactly what I wanted. I passed by a number of wonderful scenes - white water rushing over moss-covered rocks, lots of bright green ferns, and a few deep pools of emerald water.
Then I came across one scene that I thought might fill the bill for my remaining film. There were several small maple trees growing right next to the stream, and their leaves were brilliant yellow. I guess their time had come, because it looked like about half of their leaves had dropped off recently, and they blanketed the green rocks in and along the stream below. And there was some white water in the stream. So I stopped and set up my equipment. The right spot to take the picture was at a difficult location for my tripod - I had to secure it on top of a slick boulder that layed at a 45 degree angle. I could get the camera in position OK, but when it was just right, there was no place for me to stand and look through it. It must have taken me ten minutes to get set up the way I wanted it. And then horror struck - just as I was loading the film, the sun broke through the clouds above. This scene was basically worthless with the sunshine on it. I fired off a few quick pictures, then laid down against the rock to wait out the sun, hoping for a cloud or two to drift by.
After about an hour of waiting, no clouds. I got a little frustrated - this was a very nice scene indeed. And I knew that it wouldn't do any good to proceed to find a different scene, because I couldn't shoot any of them as long as the sun was out. I could see a lot of blue sky. I waited. Finally, a thin layer of clouds drifted by, and while the shadows were never completely eliminated, I did manage to shoot my two rolls of film. Not a masterpiece, but an OK snapshot.
From the creek I decided to head straight up the hillside and see what I could find. This was one STEEP hillside, about as steep as it could get without being bluffline. I made it up to the bottom of the main bluffline, where I found some really gorgeous trees in full fall dress. This was the same bluffline that runs through the entire wilderness, and that the Crag is made of. The trees were beech, bright yellow and orange, more yellow maples, and a lot of really yellow oak trees too. I found one rather perfect red oak leaf that was the most pure yellow that I had ever seen. I've never seen oaks like this before. It was a glorious walk below the bluffline, then I found a break in the bluff and had another fine walk along a level bunch up above. I tried to forget that the sun was out and ruining my pictures. But then, what the heck, I was out of film anyway. So I really enjoyed this walk through the yellow woods. Then I came upon a tiny red maple tree, about a foot tall, that was bright red, and in great contrast to all of the yellow.
I was really surprised to see so much color. When looking at the long views, more than half of the trees were bare. But up close and personal walking through the woods, there was a tremendous burst of color everywhere that you looked. I sat down to take a break, and was joined by a fat grey squirrel in the tree next to me. He was in a small maple tree, and really looked out of place running past all of those yellow leaves.
After my short conversation with the squirrel, I hiked on and picked up the Hawksbill Crag Trail and headed towards the cabin. I came up on a young couple, all dressed in blaze orange, and walked behind them for a short stretch. When we all came to the registration box, they just kept right on walking. I think that I pissed them off when I called out and said that I was going to register for them. They gave me a puzzled look, and I said that you were always supposed to register. That is a pet peeve of mine you know, people who do not register. Well, the guy came back and said that there were no pencils in the box when he had been here a month before, so there was no need to stop. Good answer. But I felt confident that the Forest Service had the box well stocked, especially in the height of the busiest season for this trail. Son of a gun, not only were there NO pencils in the box, there were no CARDS either! This made my comment to them rather stupid. I wonder sometimes just what kind of grade school kids are running the forest these days. They spend a lot of time criticizing hikers for not registering (and it is true that most hikers are just to lazy to stop and spend 30 seconds to register - but it is very important that everyone register at every box you come to), and then they don't even stock their boxes so that we can. Dumb management, really dumb. I made a proposal to the Ozark National Forest one time that our volunteers would check each trail registration box monthly, keep them well stocked, and send in all of the cards to their office. And do it for FREE. Nope, they weren't interested. They would rather sit in their offices and complain about hikers.
When I reached the Crag, there was no one there. I sat down to rest and to enjoy the sunshine. I was immediately surrounded by a herd of lady bugs - they were everywhere! Bright orange ones with black spots. And a hawk or two soared low, down along the treetops in the valley.
I hiked up to the Faddis Cabin and through the meadow there. No more hickory nuts. No persimmons. But the deciduous holly tree was looking mighty fine. And I ran into a flock of bluebirds - the first that I had seen up here in a long while. They were busy jumping back and forth among the hickory tree branches. Their orange breasts shown brightly against their own blue feathers and the blue sky above.
Oh, I forgot to tell ya before, that the wasps had gotten rather thick in the cabin, especially since the fireplace had warmed all of the logs up. I set off a bunch of smoke bombs in the cabin before my hike. When I returned I found hundreds and even thousands of dead wasps on the floor. You could hardly walk without crunching one. Unfortunately there were also hundreds of dead lady bugs too - I guess they run with the wasps. I got out the vacuum and sucked them all up. Then I collapsed out on the deck, weary and sore from my little hike. The camera gear weighs about 42 pounds, and I realized that I had really gotten out of shape during my marathon book tour. Lots of sitting in the car and driving, and a ton of bad junk food on the go had taken their toll. It was a great hike, but I was glad to be sitting down on my deck!
Today was the first day of deer season, but I didn't hear too many shots. As I sat there recovering from the hike, and waiting for a pot of red beans and rice to boil, my brain wandered back to the days of my youth, to my very first deer season when I was seven years old. My dad had been a world class swimmer when he was young (really - at one time he held the world record in the breast stroke, was an All-American for three years in college, and was ranked number one for the Olympic Team). He won the very first race that he ever swam - it was a five mile swim in the Meramac River outside of St. Louis. I still have a copy of the half-page newspaper article about his feat. I swam competitively from age five through my first year in college, then I discovered cameras and left the Razorback swim team that I was on. I was never the athlete that my dad was, but swimming was good to me, and taught me a great deal about disipline.
Anyway, his heart muscle was a tremendous one, but a lifetime working behind a desk took its toll, and he had a heart attack at a young age. He survived that one, and several others, but was unable to really get out and enjoy the woods like I know he wanted to. He had been an outdoorsman growing up, and wanted his boys to follow. The special relationship that I have with the outdoors began on that first hunt with my dad some 36 years ago. Because of his heart, he mainly stayed around our deer camp and cooked and generally kept things running while all of the hunters were out in the field. I went to a Catholic school, and several of us boys were excused each deer season to go hunt. I got to go out and run around in the woods for a full week, and loved every minute of it!
Anyway, there was one time during that very first hunt so long ago that my dad took me out into the woods and taught me a thing or two. I've never told this story to anyone before. It would be the only time that my dad would spend time with me out in the woods (because of his heart condition), and somehow we both knew that it was special. We didn't carry our guns. He took me down a small hill into a little ravine near camp, where there was a small waterfall that ran over moss-covered rocks. We sat down at the base of the biggest tree that I had ever seen. He told me that I was big enough to carry a gun now, but that it was also up to me to care for it, use it responsibility, and never cause any undue harm to any one or any thing with it. Legal game during legal seasons for food and self defense were the only living things that my gun was to be pointed at. That was all pretty basic. But he also talked about the forest, and the land, the rocks and trees and birds and the earth in general. He pointed up to the big tree above us and said that it would be up to me too to be responsible and use the trees and the land wisely, that if I cared for them, that they would care for me in return.
He said that all he ever expected from me was to be kind to others and to be the very best person that I could be, to work hard and to always be honest and fair. That was quite a load for a seven year old, and much of it would never hit home for many years to come, but I think he knew that he might not be around long enough for another talk, so he might as well cover as much as he could right then and there. I'm sure that I strayed from these principles many times while growing up, but seeing him stick to them throughout his life continued to steer me back in the right direction.
My dad did live many more years, but we never did have another talk, except for a short one on the day that he died, seventeen years later. I had just sold my studio photography business to become a nature photographer full time. It was a big risk for me to give up a steady income for an uncertain freelance career. He was recovering from yet another heart attack, and we spent about ten minutes talking about life, our second real talk ever. He told me that he supported my decision to become a nature photographer, and he reminded me of our little walk in the woods so long ago, and that all he ever expected was for me to do the very best that I could, no matter what I was doing. He died several hours later. I have always tried to live up to his standards. As I sat out on the back deck today, looking at one of the most beautiful places on earth, I thought about my dad. And how lucky I had been in life, not only to have all of the things that I do, but that I had him as a father. He was the greatest man that I will ever meet, and I am proud to bear his name.
So you see, to all of you who don't like the sport of hunting much, there is often a great deal more to hunting than just killing animals. I don't hunt anymore, but am thankful that my dad gave me a gun, and the road map for life that went with it.
It is late at night now, and I have just completed a marathon book signing session with Billy McNamara. The sunset was incredible - a high layer of clouds lit up bright pink and orange against a blue sky. And you almost had to wear sunglasses inside the cabin just before sunset because all of the maple trees outside were glowing brightly. It was a good move for me to have built this little cabin right in the middle of a maple grove.
I have discovered that there is a mouse loose in the cabin. Traps have been set out - I don't like mouse turds on my computer keyboard.
The half ton of books is now loaded back into the van for delivery to Barnes and Noble and for me to sell at the upcoming programs. I'm headed back to town in a few minutes for I have to get up early, unload all of the books, load up all of my program equipment, then drive to the arts center in Leslie to give a program. It will be a long day, but I will enjoy getting to meet the people of Leslie. After I give a small program in Fayetteville on Monday, McNamara will join me for the largest show of the season at the NWA Community College in Rogers. It will be the 1,000th program that I have given since I started doing this back in 1981. I wish that my dad could be there to see it - I would hope that he would approve of the route that I have taken in life. It all started with that first hunting trip and the walk with him in the woods. I'll see ya in a week or so.
11/17/98 I couldn't stand it any longer. Just about everyone that I talked to had been out or was going out to see the meteor shower, one that was supposed to be the best in many decades. Couldn't see too much from town, so I decided that I must be a part of it all, and made a quick trip out to Cloudland late in the evening, after the largest slide program of the season (about 350 folks watched the show at the NWA Community College in Rogers - great group, and since I was celebrating my 1,000th program, I really enjoyed the entire affair).
It was nearly midnight when I pulled into the East Meadow and shut off the engine. I got lucky - crystal clear skies! I spread a ground cloth out on top of the wet grass (dew had already began to form), then crawled into my sleeping bag, putting myself in a perfect position for star gazing. And it didn't take long for the first shooting star to streak across the black sky above. Fabulous. Then there was another. And another. The regular stars were bright and twinkling, but the shooting stars were just spectacular as they spread silver dust in the heavens. It seemed like many of them were closer than the normal variety. Perhaps the sky was just clearer. And something else was that there were many very tiny ones that could be seen, not just the blazing ones.
There were a dozen, then two, then three. Sometimes I could even see two shooting stars at the same time. It was a grand show indeed. Although I had missed the real peak of the shower - it was supposed to have been at 2pm - great for watching in Tokyo, but a little bright in the middle of the day in the United States! But what I saw was like a peak to me - many more than I had ever seen before. Brilliant, just wonderful.
I began to drift in and out of sleep - after you had seen a hundred stars, how many could one mind take? A lot more I'm sure. But I was dead tired, and didn't last nearly long enough. I crawled down into the summer bag and pulled the top over my head for warmth - it had gotten a wee bit chilly.
Sometime later in the night, a barred out let out a scream near the edge of the meadow, and I must have jumped a foot off of the ground. Where was I? Shooting stars, oh yea, right. As I rolled over another one reflected in my eyes. My mind drifted out into space as I forced myself to stay awake. No problem - the cold that had creeped into my bones was keeping me awake, and I began to shiver. That was it for me. I bid farewell to the sky and drove down to the cabin, then crawled in between the flannel sheets under the down comforter and knocked out.
11/18/98 Something woke me from within - that seems to happen a lot out at Cloudland. It was light, no bright outside. Must be time to get up. I did, then quickly discovered why I needed to be up. Leaf fall was happening!!! There is usually one day in the fall when a majority of the leaves in the forest drop from their lofty perches to the ground. It is always after the peak of the color, but seldom ever this late in the year. Last year it was on November 15th, and that seemed about two or three weeks late. Maybe we are beginning a new trend.
I had sat through many leaf falls while deer hunting, and knew that they are one of the great natural phenomenon there is. I grabbed a Starbucks out of the fridge, put on some warm clothes, and my boots, and headed out into the chilly morning air. I walked hurriedly out into the middle of the bench to the west, and plopped right down at the base of a big red oak tree.
The sun was out, and I had stepped right into a magical wonderland of motion and music. There were leaves coming down from EVERYWHERE! And there was no wind, so they all just gently rocked back and forth in the air until each gently landed with a gentle hush. When I closed my eyes, it sounded like a rainstorm, and the sounds were many, varied, and went deep back into the woods. Wow, I live for this! Once you sit through one, and you have to sit there quietly, with absolutely nothing else to do or think about, then you will be hooked for life. Few things are as wonderful as this treat.
It was cold, but the sun warmed things up nicely, and before long, I had shed the first layer and was laying down in the leaves, staring at a 100 "leaf meteors" rushing down towards me at probably 1/10mph. It was a pretty nice pace of life. Every now and then a leaf would land on my nose- it's a big target you know. I closed my eyes and imagined that they were giant snow flakes. That is what they reminded me of, although the leaves landed with a little more force than do snowflakes. Of course, if you listen very close, you can hear a snowflake hitting the ground too. At least you can here at Cloudland. I'm hoping for many concerts out here this winter!
After an hour of bliss, I had to get up and rejoin civilization to give another program or two, but I would be back soon.
11/20/98 The road was covered with leaves - solid. I had locked the gate because it was deer season and many folks do a lot of driving during that time, exploring new roads. I didn't want a lot of this kind of traffic on my wet road. So mine were the first tracks. The cabin was a little chilly, so I built a fire and turned on the heat pump for a little extra kick. There was a thin haze outside, and the stars were blurry. And the wind was blowing. Two days before it had blown up to 36mph (this was the leaf-fall day), and we got 1/2" of rain. The low temp was still 36 degrees - the middle of November and no frost yet!
The fire was great, and the cabin was a warm and welcome sight, and old friend. After unloading some of the van cargo, I plopped down in the big leather chair with a glass of wine and soaked up the fireglow. It was great to be back, and for a couple of unhurried days too. I had work to do, but except for a trip into Jasper in the morning, had no time schedule for the weekend - just the way it should be.
Oh yea, I almost forgot, the fireplace messed up. It wouldn't draw, and every bit of smoke from the burning paper came pouring out of the front. It seemed like the flue was stopped up, but I had no idea what it could have been. So I just closed the doors and forgot about it. The fireplace had never done this before. Ten minutes later there was a roaring fire going! Never found out what the problem was.
Later in the evening, the wind picked up, my glass got empty, and I retired.
11/21/98 Bob Chester called early and said that he had some apple butter that he had made from the tree at the Faddis house, so I crawled out of bed and drove on over to his cabin. It was a bright sunny day. He gave me a bag of dried apple slices from the same tree too - a great natural candy! He had been there for two days and nights - the longest time that he had been there since the very first bear came a calling back in May. It was good to have him back on the mountain.
Several of the maple trees on the east side of the cabin still had yellow leaves on them, and the early sunshine really lit them up. I sat out on the back deck and sipped my Starbucks. The scene out front had changed dramatically from just the weekend before, heck, even from two days before. Most of the trees had dropped their leaves, and the overcall color of the forest had changed from yellow and orange to brown. But it was a nice shade of brown, and I rather liked it. And the bluff just across the way over on Beagle Point was really visible. It is a pretty nice bluff that remains hidden all during leafoff.
I lingered for a few minutes, then left my Cloudland heaven and made a quick trip into the library in Harrison. I would be giving a program there in December, and wanted to drop off my seven books that I was donating to the library. It was a very nice little place I must say. I have been speaking at some pretty nice places all over the region, several that I had never seen before (like the Heritage Arts Center at Leslie, and this little county library in Jasper).
Before long I was back at the cabin, with vacuum cleaner in hand, sucking up hords of dead wasps. Those bombs that I had set off a week earlier were still working. There weren't any live wasps, but there were lots of dead and dying ones. I also worked some on my bread maker, which had not worked the last two times that I had attempted to use it. I beat on it a little, then ran through the cycle with nothing but water, and then finally put a batch of sourdough mix into it.
Oh yea, and I had caught a mouse. He became hawk bait pretty quick. And I guess just to even things out, a mouse or squirrel had gnawed through both the rain gauge wire and the outdoor temp/humidity sensor wire. This was serious stuff - I couldn't live without my weather station readings! So I spent about an hour splicing the wires back together. And my splice job actually worked.
From the back deck I could see the main Buffalo River way upstream - the sun was hitting it just right, and there was a clear shot, more or less, to the silver sparkles of the water. I could even seen side streams tumbling down the hillside towards the river. And Whitaker Creek was up and running - it splits up into several tributaries just before joining with the main river, and the sun was glinting off of each path. When there is snow on the ground, you can see the old chimney down there next to the creek. There weren't any soaring birds out at all. In fact, I hadn't seen any in a while.
I did put up a new bird feeder that Erna H. from Hot Springs gave me when I was down there doing a program. This one is for the winter birds - it's a natural log with balls of peanut butter and fat rolled together and attached. It was up all weekend, but no one visited it - could have been all of the strong wind, or it may just take a few days for them to find it.
After a little more indoor chores were completed, I decided to go on a hike. Just as I had laced up and headed down the trail, someone yelled up from below. It was Bob and Dawna Robinson, which I had expected to stop by and spend the night, but I wasn't planning on running into them in the woods first. They had been on an OHTA hike earlier in the day, and just decided to bushwhack all the way from Hawk Hollow to the cabin in stead of hiking back with the group. They had a long and interesting trip. One of the "highlights" that they told me about was a tornado area that they had hiked/crawled through. It was somewhere upstream from Bowers Hollow, but they didn't know where for sure. And it was fresh - probably just a couple of weeks old. They saw lots of twisted trees and ones that had been snapped off ten feet high and tossed about in all directions. Sounded like a tornado alright!
The main thing that spurred them on was the knowledge that if they had to spend the night in the woods, that they would end up in the Cloudland Journal and on the Internet! They are a great couple together, and I know that they had one terrific hike. Adventure is one thing. Getting to do it with your favorite companion is even better.
A little later Norma showed up - she had led the hike, and was coming by to see if they made it out alive, and to get a sip of wine and a bit of dinner. Also Dottie and Steve Hobbs dropped by. Another nice couple - a product of OHT entirely (they met each other through the club and got married last year). Steve and Dottie had to leave, the four of us popped open a bottle or two or three of some special Hawaiian wine that Bob had brought from his recent trip. And we fired up the grill and put on some wonderful fillets that Nancy Williams had left a couple of weeks ago. Meat and spuds and salad and homemade bread (the machine did work!) and fine wine and even homemade cheesecake (Dawna)! Good food, great company, a crackling fire an nice music. Sounds like just another typical evening at Cloudland.
Norma returned to town, and the three of us did a little star gazing through the tele. We found Jupiter, but could only see a couple of its moons hugging close below. The moon sliver was the star of the night - the part that was lit up by the sun was its usual brilliant silver, but you could also see the outline of the dark part, and I swear it had a color all of its own - kind of a dark muddy brown. Bob and Dawna forgot to bring their sleeping bags (they have always slept out on the deck), so they were forced to spend the night in the spare bedroom - no sympathy from the host.
11/22/98 It was about 2:30am when I got up to feed the fire. Man, the wind was howling outside, although it wasn't too noisy in the cabin. In fact, you could hardly hear the wind. But the wind chimes in the front were playing lots and lots of music. I couldn't go back to sleep, so I decided to get up and take a short stroll in the wind. The pitch and volume changed constantly, and the wind made music in the trees. It was kind of weird because the stars were out and so bright, but there was all of this wind. The trees swaying back and forth in the wind made the stars really twinkle. I sat down at the base of a tree and turned my face into the wind. It felt great, but I got chilled quickly, and soon got up and returned to my warm little nest in the loft. My brief wandering did the trick, and I was fast asleep in no time.
The mice were running down on the main floor before sunup, so I got up and joined them out on the deck - it was a brisk morning, and the wind was still a blowing. The pre-dawn sky was really nice - lots of color. Then the horizon went pale, and the sun popped up, but it was way over to the right of the ridge from where it had been rising. Man, I really have been away from the cabin for while - the sun was rising in a different spot!
Dawna cooked up some blueberry biscuits, and we all put on hiking duds and headed out the door. We walked on over to the East Meadow (saw three deer in the thick cover just below the east end of the meadow), then out an old road and down to the big flat with the leaning red oak tree. There was no wind on this side of the hill, and the sun was warming things up nicely. We made out way down the old trail through the break in the bluff, through the little magnolia canyon, and on over to Robert's Falls, which was running pretty good. Lots of moss-covered rocks around too.
Next we visited the waterfalls up in Dug Hollow, which were running great too. It seems to me to be getting harder to climb around in there these days - I wonder if my appearance of the cover of ACTIVE YEARS magazine is having anything to do with it? I smashed my little finger trying to get up one spot. The creek water was very cold, and cleaned up the wound nicely. But it hurt. I'm becoming a whimp too.
Once while we were standing there admiring the falls, a hawk came swooping down to say high. I hadn't been seeing too many hawks out here in a while.
As we were approaching the Woods deer hunting cabin, we spooked two deer that were nearly within sigh of the cabin. No one was at home. But there were a bunch of tired dogs, and one mamma, that had two darling little puppies with her. One of them was so fat that when he rolled over to get his belly rubbed, couldn't roll back over on his own! We stopped off and had a good chat with Bob Chester (he fed us dried apples and peanuts). While we were there, one of the Woods boys drove up and snowed us a nice little buck that he had in the back of his pickup - deer season can be quite bloody. They had harvested a number of deer during the week, including several in the immediate Cloudland area. I don't think that they got any of the big ones that had visited me, and no one had even seen the big monster that I had seen a couple of times - he is probably long since checked into a hotel in the tropics for the winter.
We headed back to the cabin and we ran into Janis Rogers from Little Rock on the road. She had stopped by to pick up some guidebooks for her TAOWN club (Today's Arkansas Outdoor Women's Network). Their officers are going to have a little retreat at Cloudland in February. Hey, I'll do anything to get some nice ladies out here!
The sunlight on the far slopes was good, and we set up the tele and scoured the hillsides for sign of the tornado damage that Bob and Dawna had hiked through the day before. It was a long way off, but son of a gun, there it was - dozens of trees that had been peeled clean and snapped off and it all looked like a big mess, even from four miles away.
Everyone left, and it was time for me to dig into my chores. I put up a section of rain gutter that prevents rain from getting onto the main deck (where Scott sleeps), sucked up many more wasps with the vacuum, and FINALLY put up the WINE RACK! This dude is big - holds 126 bottles of wine. It is down in the basement, in the tool room. I loaded up all of the wine bottles that have been donated this past year, and even tried to categorize them. I ended up with 9 bottles of Merlot (love it), 14 different Cabernet Sauvignons, plus many other misc. wines like Pear, Peach, Big Daddy (screw top), red muscadine, and three bottles of champagne - 52 bottles in all. Far short of capacity though. I'll have to get to work on that.
The afternoon was sunny and very windy. And also rather crowded. There seemed to be a steady stream of visitors. I could hardly get a nap in. Neil Compton came by with his daughter Ellen Shipley and her husband Curtis and their son. Curtis Cemetery, which is visible on a hilltop about 5.5 miles up the valley from cabin, was named for Curtis's family long ago. A number of his relatives are buried there. It was good to see Neil again, and especially in such good spirits (isn't he always). I took this opportunity to ask him how the Crag got its name. He proclaimed that "I named it." And I'm sure that he did. But why Hawksbill? He said that while it didn't really look like a hawk's bill, he thought that it was OK, especially since there were so many hawks flying around. That was almost the exact same thing that I told the PBS TV crew while we were standing on the Crag and on camera. Good. Then Neil said that it really looked more like an eagle bill than a hawk's, but that there weren't any eagles around. Of course, there ARE eagles around now, thanks in part to the chicken industry. Hawksbill still sound better, and I'm glad that's the name. You always learn something from a visit with Neil Compton.
Billy Bisswanger from the Pack Rat and a couple of buddies stopped by. Billy is quickly becoming famous as the guy who is dangling from the bottom of Hawksbill Crag on the last page of the new Buffalo picture book. It took a great deal of work on his part to get that picture taken. I just stood there and pushed the button.
Mary McCutchan from Kansas City came by too, along with Melba Conklin (Toast) and another friend. They were staying in a small log cabin down in Boxley Valley, and had been out doing trail maintenance all day. Nice weather for it.
Once they all left, I brewed up a big pot of Cloudland soup, and drank a little more wine and munched on dried apples. And I hauled a lot of firewood up the steps too. Looks like that will be happening a lot this winter. The wind continued to pound the cabin, although you really couldn't tell it much from inside.
One of the questions that everyone keeps asking me on these book tours is what will my next project be. I have always told them that selling all of the books and putting out the Cloudland Journal next fall were my two main priorities for the near future. I will also be doing several photo workshops, filming two different hiking videos, and beginning work on filming several scenic videos. All of that will be great fun, and a lot work. But there has been another project bouncing around in the back of my head for some time now. And at least three different people have been urging me to consider doing it. While I had thought about it a lot, I had never really been too serious about it. Today, while napping on the couch, I woke up with the realization that I DID need to do this new book project. And so I started running through everything in my mind, and now think that I might be able to make a go of it.
If the idea materializes, I'll let you know all about it.
I just heard a thump or a thud outside. The wind had taken the gas grill and tossed it up against the east railing. The gusts were over 41mph, with pretty steady winds in the 30's. I just can't wait to see the wind chill reading when it does that at 10 degrees! It is a bright sky outside tonight too, and the stars are winking and dancing to the music of the wind. Orion is rising over the eastern hillside. It's time for me to go to bed.
11/23/98 The wind howled all night, but it was the howl of a dog that woke me just after daylight. It was a very grey day outside, and the wind had quit. We had heard a lonely dog the day before, but weren't sure exactly where it was coming from - it sounded too close to be from over on Beagle Point. I got up and sipped my Starbucks Mocha out on the back, and listened. Sure enough, he barked again, and it still sounded very close, perhaps just down below the bluffline in front of the cabin. I had to get back to town to a meeting, and didn't have any time to go wandering off in the wilderness looking for lost deer dogs, but I decided to go ahead and see if the guy was close by.
I slipped down the ladder trail and made my way around the base of the big bluff. Man, this chunk of rock is very impressive, and probably 75 feet thick. The rock face is covered with multi-colored lichens, except for a spot here and there where fresh rock had broken off. And there was a great deal of that rock lying on the forest floor below the bluff. In fact, there was an entire rock garden! Boulders of all shapes and sizes filled the level area, and I had to climb hand over fist in a few spots. Most of these boulders were covered with the same lichens as the bluff face, but some of them were clean - recent arrivals I presume.
But there was no dog to be found. As I was on my way back to the ladder, the dog wailed away again, and this time I could pinpoint the location - he was over on Beagle Point for sure. I really didn't have the time, nor was I dressed for a hike, but I just felt like it was my duty to make a rescue attempt. So I headed straight down the hillside, splashing across Whitaker Creek, which was running pretty good, and then up the opposite hillside. As I crossed the flat I began to see bare ground - it looked like a flock of turkeys had been scratching up every leaf in sight. And even though I half way expected it, I was literally knocked to the ground with surprise when the largest flock of turkeys took off into the air all around me - it sounded like a 747 taking off! I counted over 20 birds, and am sure that I missed at least that many. The ground was nearly bare as far as I could see in all directions - that was one large flock!
I decided to try to cut some time out and go straight up the hill instead of finding my way around the front end like I usually do. This was somewhat of a mistake, because the hillside was just about vertical! And with all of the fresh leaves on the ground, the going was slow, and tough. I literally had to go from one tree hand-hold to another.
It must have taken me 20 or 30 minutes to make it up the slope, but I eventually arrived at the base of the bluff, huffing and puffing and scratched up a bit. The dog barked again, and I found him within a few seconds. Son of a gun, there were two dogs, both black, and they had fallen about half way down the bluff and had come to rest on a ledge, and were unable to go back up or jump down. This was the very same spot on the bluff that the squirrel had showed me way back in May. I knew that I could get up to them, but wasn't sure how I was going to get them off of the ledge.
They were quite happy to see me to say the least, and were very friendly. There was one male and one female. When I saw the name on their collars, I knew that I had done one right thing. There is a creek nearby that is shown on maps as "Edgemon Creek." McNamara has some paintings that I put in the new picture book from there, and he spells the name "Edgmon," without the e. And that is the way that I left he spelling, even though all of the maps show it with an e. Well it just so happened that these dogs were owned by Marty and Lawton Edgmon - the name in the book was spelled correctly!
Oh yea, back to the dogs. I managed to get them back up the bluff to the top by lifting them up to another ledge, and then another. Once on top, they both took off running further up the hill. I followed. I had never been up on top before. And it was wonderful up there. The hillside leveled off into a wide open bench, and there were many piles of rocks. In fact, the rock piles went on as far as I could see. Someone had cleared this parcel as a field once upon a time, but there were nothing but big trees everywhere now, and the rocks. A little further up the ridge there was a wonderful rock wall, perhaps 200 feet long, and four or five feet tall. It was covered with nice green lichen. A great rock wall. I never did find a homesite, but I'll bet there is one nearby somewhere, probably just a chimney.
One of the dogs started barking wildly, and I went over to investigate. He had treed a squirrel. I must say that this was one dumb squirrel, because after a couple of minutes, the squirrel came down the tree and started running across the ground. Well, the little black dog tore off after him, and nearly caught him. At one point, the dog did get a mouthful of squirrel tail. But the squirrel did jump into a small tree and disappeared into a hole. Lucky squirrel. I pulled the dog away from the tree and headed him on up the ridge. I didn't have time to walk out all the way to the road with them, but I thought that if I could get them headed in the right direction, they would do it on their own. And then I would call the owners and let them know where to find them. Both dogs bounded off up the ridge, and I headed back down the hillside.
I found a deer trail, and followed it down through a split in the bluffline. And then I came across a big chunk of blue styrofoam - it must have been blown there over night in the big wind (it was just sitting on top of the ground, with no leaves on it). Some building is missing part of a panel of insulation. I continued down the steep slope. About half way down, I looked up and saw both dogs tearing down the hill, right on past me, and then they disappeared once again down below. I knew where they were headed - they could hear Whitaker Creek, and they were thirsty!
Once I got to the bottom, I found both dogs sitting in the creek, lapping up the cold water. Another old dog joined them, but I had to take my hat off. I hadn't had any water in a while either. When I looked up, I realized that we were right in the middle of a very scenic spot - there were many boulders all over the place, both in the water and on the bench next to the creek, and all of them were covered with a thick carpet of bright green moss. A really nice place. There must be some springs feeding the creek here in order for the moss to be there.
After our drinks, we continued across the creek and up the opposite hillside, up towards the ladder trail. The dogs only followed me for the first bench, then took off along the bench, barking like crazy - they must have jumped a deer. I knew that I would not be able to follow them. My rescue attempt had been interrupted. The best that I could do was hope they gave up soon and backtracked and followed my scent up the hillside.
I lingered a while at the ladder, and called out to them, but only heard a faint bark way down in the bottom. All I could do was go back to the cabin. I called the owner and talked to his wife. I gave her as much information as I could. After I packed up the van and locked the cabin door, I went back down to the ladder, just in case. No dogs. Oh well, I did feel much better about them. At least they weren't stranded on the ledge, where they most certainly would have starved to death. Now they might be able to find their way out, or be rescued by their owners. I hope so. They were a couple of nice dogs.
On the way back I ran into Benny and a friend who were hunting. They had shot a deer in the East Meadow the evening before, but hadn't been able to find it. A good hunter will always spend a great deal of time looking for wounded game, and they had spent a couple of hours the night before, and a lot of time again this morning looking for the deer. They only found one tiny spot of blood. There is a good possibility that this deer was not wounded very bad, and would survive. You always hate to waste game.
While we were talking, the electric meter reader woman drove up. I think sometimes it is silly to send someone all the way out this far just to read the meter - we could always call the reading in on the same day of the month, and then have them come out once or twice a year just to double check. It is a big waste of the co-op's money, but then I guess it does employ a lot of folks.
I gave Benny four more empty wine bottles in hopes that he would return them filled with some homemade blackberry wine! As I thought about it on the way home, I decided that I need to look into making my own wine - I have all of those empty slots in the wine rack, and I could develop a couple of Cloudland Wines down in the basement. Yea, a great idea. I'll have to look into that.
I almost forgot to tell ya, but Cloudland made it into a magazine article. It is in the current November-December issue of ARKANSAS LIFE AND FITNESS, which is a tabloid-size magazine of newsprint paper. The article was written about Hetes Hikes and Dennis Heter, but since the group came by the cabin both coming and going during their hike, the cabin was talked about several times, and was called "Ernst's grand home, Cloudland." It was a very good article too, although in a major error on the magazine's part, they forgot to list Hete's phone number or address! Good grief, that was bad. I have found that publishers do often leave out the most important part of the story. The whole idea of the article was to let people know about Hete's guided hikes, but folks who read the article won't have any idea how to contact him. I find that most publications won't list my phone number either when they write about my books - "Let them buy from their local bookstore." Well, the local bookstore does not have autographed copies that are personalized. I say let the reader decide, and make it as easy for them as possible.
11/27/98 The sunset was terrific. Or should I say that the "after" sunset was. There were lots of thin clouds up high, all scattered about, and they turned the most wonderful shade of pink after the sun went down. Against the blue sky they looked quite dreamy. It was warm outside, and the wind was blowing. A half-moon was about straight up - lit from the right, so it was waning. And there was a bright star or planet next to it, just above and to the left.
As I sat out on the deck enjoying the evening, a campfire way down below began to flicker. Someone was camped at the old homesite on Whitaker Creek. It was one of those balmy nights when you really didn't need a campfire, but they do add so much atmosphere.
I went over to Bob's cabin to see what he was up to. There was going to be a herd of relatives of his out the next day for a Thanksgiving lunch (a couple of days late), so Bob was busy cooking, and baking and roasting. It smelled heavenly - BBQ brisket was on the grill outside, and a turkey or two in the oven. He said that he would probably be up until midnight getting everything ready. While we were sitting there talking, a black object streaked across the back deck - no, not a bear, but a black cat! I made sure that I didn't cross that deck.
As I headed back to the cabin, I noticed that the planet (it was way too bright to be a star - must be Jupiter) was now directly over the moon. Hum. The moon and Jupiter were having a race across the sky.
After I ate a baked potato (covered with sour cream and cheese), I unloaded the car (more boxes of books), and sipped a glass of wine or two while soaking up the view - the moon was really lighting up the wilderness, and all of the main features could be easily seen, even Hawksbill Crag. I couldn't stand it any longer, so I laced up my boots and headed out for a hike.
Once again this phase of the moon proved to be just the right amount of light for hiking - I didn't even bother to bring along a flashlight. There was plenty of light to see where I was going, yet I cold see into the shadows (the light is so bright during a full moon that there is too much contrast between the light and dark areas, so the shadows are black - not good when there are bears and bigfoots lurking there). As soon as I left the cabin area, the wind died down and I wandered through a silent forest, with only the swooshing of my feet in the leaves making any noise.
When I arrived at the Faddis Meadow, it was so light that I could see the smoke rising from Bob's grill! Good think that I couldn't smell it, or I might have become a beef robber in the night. I peaked in the Faddis cabin and found that Bob had installed a real bed in one room - it looked very homey for the first time. And the view of the moonlight and the wilderness from one end of his deck was great. I suspect that Bob will gradually improve this place and eventually make it is wilderness retreat. Right now it is just a spare bunkhouse, but I know Bob really likes it there. Of course, his other cabin is quite comfortable, and has a special feel to it all its own.
I walked along the lane between the Faddis and East meadows, and was careful to avoid the low spot where I had sprained my ankle on my last moonlight hike there. It was very quiet and even a little eerie walking in silence through the moonlight. Then I came to the big East Meadow, where there had been so much killing in the past couple of weeks (at least four deer have been shot here during the season, perhaps more). I looked around carefully, but didn't see any one grazing. Orion was rising above the line of trees at the east end of the field. The night sky was spectacular as always, and I drifted out into the meadow.
A barred owl broke the silence, and I stopped to listen to his conversation. He hooted and cried, but no one answered (I need to learn how to do that!). It was such a wonderful night, I wanted to hang out there a while, so I stomped down a little spot in the tall grass and laid down. Somehow I feel more connected to the earth when I lay down in a meadow, or in a pile of leaves on the forest floor. You can really FEEL the land. The wilderness recharges my soul, scrapes away the layers of city dirt and grime. For me, being outdoors is a necessity. I laid there, under a blanket of stars, grasping the meadow, and gave thanks for how lucky I was to be there. There were even a couple of shooting stars out. All was quiet, and still, and warm, and the world was right.
I think that I fell asleep, but was awakened by a noise in the grass. Couldn't tell what it was, but it was getting a little louder, coming closer. I wanted to see whatever it was without spooking it, so I stayed put, but tried to roll my head over towards the noise just a bit. I saw them - two deer were working their way across the meadow right towards me. My heart began to thump a little. They were grazing some, but mostly just wandering around. They veered to my left, away from me. One of them was a little smaller - I could see them pretty good in the moonlight. The small one must have been this years' fawn - he began to hop around a little, and play in the moonlight. Mom wasn't so casual, but she did seem to be enjoying the night as well. I just laid there and tried not to move, or make any sound.
The owl cried out again, and both deer stopped and looked back in his direction. I wonder what deer think when they hear other animals talking? Deer seldom ever say anything, although I have heard a yearling cry out before - kind of like a "bleeeaaat." And, of course, when a deer discovers something odd in their world that they can't identify for sure, they will whistle really loud, and stomp their feet. I've had them do this while right in front of me - they just wanted to see if I would be startled and move at the shrill sound. I've never heard a buck snort, like you hear a lot of people talk about. I think folks often call the whistling that deer do snorting, and "snorting" is always used when talking about a buck (and it is usually a doe).
Anyway, the deer didn't whistle, or detect me. They just grazed and played and wandered off to the other side of the meadow. Another blessing bestowed on me.
Even though it was warm out, a chill began to creep into my body, so I got up and walked across the meadow. The deer must have still been at the edge of the meadow, because as soon as I got up, I heard them snort (oops, I mean whistle), and saw a couple of white flags waving in the moonlight as they darted into the nearby woods.
I entered the woods at the opposite side of the meadow, and began to work my way down the hill towards the cabin, through the maple grove. The woods were so open, and the moonlight so bright, that I didn't have to walk with my hands in front of my face - I could easily see any branches, although there weren't too many in the first place. There was a single lamp on in the cabin, and it glowed warmly in the night. Another great walk in the night, and another hiker glad to be home.
The planet had passed the moon and was sure to win the race to the horizon. I would have never thought that the stars moved faster than the moon. Well, actually it is the earth that is rotating faster than the moon is moving across the sky, but no matter. I continue to learn a lot of stuff out here.
The wind was blowing some, and the campfire down below was out. I filled up my wine glass, grabbed the guitar and found a comfortable spot on the back porch swing. I know the sounds coming from my maple and spruce box were crude, but somehow they mingled with the night winds and sounded pretty OK. I sent Jim Croce, John Denver, and the Beatles out into the moonlit wilderness.
11/28/98 It was smoky, hazy outside at daylight. And very warm - in the mid 60's. I didn't even take the time to drink my mocha, but instead put on my walking shoes and headed into the woods for a morning stroll. There were lots of squirrels out, still burying their nuts I guess. Although I wondered if they weren't digging nuts instead of burying them?
I was stunned to discover that there were both green and ripe TOMATOES on the vines in the Faddis garden. Tomatoes? It was nearly December! There were also all sorts of greens still growing - I need to learn how to cook them.
There wasn't a soul at the Crag, but I could smell campfire smoke while on the way down. All of the trees were bare, and the wilderness was brown. The air was heavy with moisture, and it was a little damp out. I sat down on the exposed rock and pondered a while. A large bird appeared out of the haze, and floated across the way in front of me - an eagle! The first one of the fall season for me. This guy made quick work of his visit to the Whitaker Valley, and was out of sight within a minute. He took my breath away - I'll never get used to seeing a bald eagle. Never.
As I got up to leave, I discovered the source of the smoke - there was someone camped along the edge of the bluff several hundred yards away, and their campfire was blazing. I guess I couldn't complain too much - at least they didn't camp right at the Crag, like some had done in the past. In fact, some idiots had built a campfire and fire ring right next to the Crag just in the last week - and left behind a dozen lichen-covered rocks, now all scarred black. Stupid. Senseless. Ignorant people. There are plenty of wonderful campsites up one bench from this most fragile and scenic area. I just don't understand why some hikers would want to destroy what they have come to enjoy. I stomped off in disgust.
But soon the rhythm of my boots in the leaves calmed me down, and I was once again at peace, lost in my little wilderness world. And I made another discovery - I came across an old pioneer road - just the slightest trace of where a lane had once been. Daniel Boone was good at blazing new routes, but I am pretty good at locating old ones that have long since melted into the forest. I followed this one back towards the cabin, but it soon disappeared. It may have simply ended. I put it away in my head for another search some day.
As I approached the cabin, I could see a light show beginning to happen. I grabbed my mocha and took a seat on the back deck. Way up the main Buffalo Valley, the haze had parted and the sun was breaking through, lighting up the hillsides and even part of the river. When the leaves are off, and the sun is just right, you can see the river three or four miles away from the cabin. Since the rest of the wilderness was still rather dark and hazy, it was kind of like seeing the light at the end of a tunnel. And then the light began to move towards the cabin, a sweeping beam of light illuminating the forest as it went, leaving dark haze behind it. And finally it reached the cabin, and the world sparkled. Then within a few seconds, the light moved on, and I was in the haze once again. I sat back and smiled to myself. Some moments out here are just special, and you can feel them all the way deep down inside. Well, OK, LOTS of moments out here are. That one burst of sunshine would be the only time that I would see the sun all day.
I put a CD on (Nature Sounds of the Beatles) and worked on the journal and answered e-mail. While I was in the middle of all that, the eagle swooped across the scene - I had a 180 degree view of him, but again for only a short time. He headed downstream towards Boxley Valley.
As I was looking at the weather station computer, I noticed that there had been a 41mph wind here a few days ago. That is a pretty good batch of wind! I went outside to see if my rain gutter had held up, and it looked fine. Upon closer inspection though I discovered that one of the braces was missing - the wind had tore it completely off! But the gutter was fine. I'll have to put up a couple of more braces next time I am out.
And I noticed a spot of color over on Beagle Mountain. When I looked through the telescope, I saw that large chunk of blue styrofoam that I had found during the dog rescue. I can't believe that I didn't cover it up when I was there! Now I will have to go do a styrofoam rescue (and I will carry it back). The bluffline over there really shows up great now, with no leaves on the trees and no sun. In fact, if there were dogs stranded on the bluff now, I could actually see them through the tele.
The humidity in the cabin is 61%, but it is 92% outside - the air is really saturated with moisture.
I've got to make a quick trip back into town to return a new car that I have been test driving, and get my mom some dinner, but I plan to return for another moon and planet race tonight (I just heard that it is supposed to be cloudy for the next couple of days, so I may just have to imagine it - easy to do out at Cloudland!).
When I returned to the cabin, I had a friend of mine in tow, Chally, along with a large bottle of wine. We sat out on the back deck in the moonlight long into the night. There was no race, as the star/planet was already a long way from the moon. The wind was blowing like crazy, and the chimes out in front were making a lot of music. The wind finally chased us inside sometime after 2am.
11/29/98 The wind blew and howled all night, up into the 30's, but it was a warm wind. It was quite hazy at first light, and the wind was still blowing. We sat out on the deck and watched the forest come alive. Our blueberry biscuits were interrupted once by a black and white blur - a mature bald eagle cruised by right in front of us, then headed out into the main canyon and played in the wind currents, then disappeared. Chally had only seen a couple of eagles before, so she was excited. I had only seen hundreds of eagles before, and I was very excited - another one of the many things in life that I will never tire of or stop marveling at.
A guy that Chally works with stopped by to go hiking with us (Eric). He is a young whipper-snapper, in college, and seems to know a lot about the outdoors. He had "done" Dug Hollow and Whitaker Creek, and wanted to go someplace a little more challenging. I smiled. We all laced up our boots and headed down the ladder trail towards Hubbard Hollow. It was a warm, wonderful day to be in the woods.
When we reached the old home place next to Whitaker Creek, we discovered that the campfire that I had seen on Friday night had come from the chimney itself - actually a good place to build a fire. The campers had a couple of rock seats propped up in front of the chimney, and everything was clean. Although it looked like a herd of elk had bedded down there because there were many level spots in the leaves. We had seen two backpackers earlier coming up the ladder trail and past the cabin, but didn't talk to them. I think they had been down there for several days, and maybe moved their tents. They had also hung a bottomless tin tub in a tree, and had fashioned a bunch of trash and duct tape to use as a basketball. Some people come to the wilderness to shoot hoops. I just come to enjoy.
We headed upstream past some lovely green pools and a little white water. The river looked great, and sounded nice too. When we stopped to take a look at a chert cave, Chally stirred up about a thousand tiny flying bugs that were bedded down in the leaves. I don't know exactly what they were, but I'll bet they enjoyed getting out in the warm air.
Once we climbed hand over fist up a steep slope, we dropped down into Hubbard Hollow. This is one terrific little playground, chocked full of giant moss-covered boulders, caves, waterfalls, HUGE sycamore trees, and all kinds of neat stuff to explore. Eric really liked it. Me too. I didn't have my camera with me, but I did find a bunch of scenes that I want to come back to in the spring and photograph. In fact, I might even bring my advanced photo class to this spot for a day. This is one of those places that you could spend all day in, then come back the next day and find different things.
We exited out the top, over the big waterfall on the main bluffline. Then we just sort of drifted across several level benches, wandering through the open woods. It was a great way to hike, not really needing to follow a particular route, just flowing with the terrain. At one point we passed through an area that had obviously been hit hard by a tornado many years ago - there were dozens and dozens, perhaps hundreds, of dirt mounds, which were the remains of the root balls of trees that were ripped out of the ground by a tornado. And there were still many logs left, although it was obvious that the big old trees had come down a long time ago because they were almost entirely rotted out. And you could tell that it was a tornado instead of just straight line winds because the logs had fallen in all directions, not in the same direction.
We intersected an old road at the very top of the ridge, and followed it on out onto Beagle Point Mountain (this is the same road that comes from the Kaypark Trailhead area). I was going to settle the mysterious road down through the bluff issue once and for all (Billy McNamara and others had told me of this road, but some of the locals denied that it existed. I had followed a part of it up from Whitaker Creek, but couldn't find where it went up through the bluffline.). The old road did exactly what an old timer told me it would do - veer off to the right side of the mountain and away from the Whitaker Creek drainage. We were getting close, I could feel it. Most of the time the road was easy to follow, but every now and then it disappeared below the pile of fresh leaves, and we had to look very close to figure the route out. It turns out that Chally also has a good nose for finding and following such things, and she led some. I enjoyed hiking with her a great deal.
Just as we were about to be lulled to sleep, the road trace took a hard turn to the right, and headed down the hill. Then another turn through some smaller broken bluffs. Then we lost it entirely. Darn, so close. I sniffed the air, then drifted over the edge of the hillside, and there it was - a major road trace that had been cut through the big bluff! It switchbacked down through the bluffline, through a couple of giant boulders. It was obvious there had been a great deal of work done on this dude. I had been looking for and wondering about this little spot since the very first day of this journal back in May, and I was happy to have found it.
We climbed up onto one of the big rocks to take a break and celebrate our find. The back edge of the rock made a great back rest, but we had to be careful because the back side of the rock was completely vertical, and it was about 35 feet straight down! Nice rock.
I laid back in the warm afternoon sun, munching my sunflower seeds and chocolate-covered raisins, and wondered what it must have been like way back in the 1800's when they built this road. It was rather tough I imagined. Hard working folks with a zest for life. I could hear their laughter bouncing off of the big bluffline, and their cursing.
From the bluff the road headed down the hillside at a pretty good clip, and much of the route had been long since eroded out deeply. The downhill side was lined with lichen-covered rocks. It switchbacked a time or two, then went into a very soft, almost sandy soil section. We lost the road trace there. I know we must have walked over it three or four times, but it was just gone. Happy and content about finding the route through the bluff, we continued down the hill to Whitaker Creek.
It was time to make the climb back up to the cabin, a part of the hike that I was particularly looking forward to. I wanted to see what kind of stuff Eric was made of. He had done pretty good so far, but this hill was a little different. Young folks with his credentials shouldn't have too much trouble. Ha, ha. I leaned into the hill, and knowing that both of my hiking partners would probably pass me halfway up, I wanted to run out ahead and at least have a few minutes of glory. I think that the hill had grown some since my last trip up, because it was one tough bugger. Don't know exactly why, but I get real competitive when I hit this hill.
Try as I might, I just couldn't make it all the way up without stopping. And the first time that I stopped to take a blow, I turned around and was surprised to see them lagging a little behind, down on the bench below. That spurred me on, and so this old guy took off up the hill at a quicker pace. And, of course, that nearly killed me! But I kept going. Another stop. They were a little farther behind. Then another stop. They were out of sight. I was about to die, but I couldn't let them see me kill over, so I went on, pushing and lifting and trying with every fiber of my being to keep on going. And much to my surprise, I did keep moving, and finally made it to the ladder. I climbed up to the top, sat down, and drank a liter of water. Chally soon appeared and joined me. She was a little red faced, but not really out of breath - in great shape for sure (she is a pretty young whipper-snapper too, and I mean that both ways). I thanked her for not embarrassing me by running off and leaving me.
Then Eric showed up, dragging just a little. He knew that he had climbed a hill in the Buffalo. I just smiled and went on up to the cabin. Bob Robinson had blown me away on this hill once, but today, it was still my mountain. I heard a country song the other day that said "A real man doesn't need to prove anywhing." I got to thinking about that quote on my way up the hill. And it is partly right. I'm a far cry from a real man, and while I really don't have anything to prove to ANYBODY, I do have to continue to prove to MYSELF a few things, including that I can keep going under stress. I think it helps my mind, not to mention my body, when I push myself just a little bit - gets a few of those cobwebs knocked out of my brain.
The wind was really screaming when we got to the cabin, up to 40mph, but it felt great, although a little chilly on our sweat-soaked bodies. We sat around a while recovering, then Eric loaded up and headed out. He took Chally with him. Story of my life. I won the mountain, but lost the woman. I think that I enjoy them both, mountains and women, equally well, and am happy to have either around for any amount of time.
Wow, I just realized that November is over! It has been one terrific month out here at Cloudland, filled with spectacular fall colors, lots of wildlife encounters, many wonderful hikes, and some great company. And it hasn't even frosted yet. I'm hoping for a cold winter with plenty of snow, but I'd take several more months just like this one. On to WINTER!
high wind of 41mph, low temp of 36 degrees
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