Meador Manor

Hemmed-In Hollow Falls (click image for slideshow)

I awoke early for my hot breakfast at the Hampton Inn and hit the highway, bound for Lost Valley. But I could never find it, even with Trixie the GPS leading me right to it, because the entry was blocked by “emergency closure” notices. I later discovered that a flood had wiped out a bridge, scoured much of the trail, and the site would require $250,000 for full renovation and may be converted from a campground to day use due to the flood risk…shades of what happened to the beautiful but deadly Winding Stairs area.

So I backtracked, driving past Ponca with the morning sun shining through the trees and a beautiful view of the fog amidst the mountains, to Compton for the Hemmed-In Hollow hike. It would extend to 10.2 miles, although my stupid EveryTrail iPhone app did not save the track properly, so I had to piece one together – I think I’ll go back to using MotionX.

The sandy trail led off through the trees and began a long descent towards the Buffalo River, past spiderwort and other flowers. Stone steps eased the way here and there and butterflies flitted and landed hither and thither.

I reached a campsite and found a promised overlook which provided a panoramic view of the hollow and across the way I could see where a tiny creek had carved its way through the stone, ending in a fall of 209 feet, the highest waterfall between the Appalachians and the Rockies.

The trail continued downward, finally reaching Sneeds Creek, which I paralleled until I found a stone ford someone had thoughtfully arranged. The creek ran into the Buffalo River, and a large tree had fallen victim to its relentless erosion. I followed the Old River Trail past the foundations of the Centerpoint School, which reportedly was so named because of its location at the center of its district.

The remains I saw were from a building built in 1920 but burned in 1937 after a pupil, who had paraded naked in front of his classmates, burned down the building after the consequent whipping. The ornery fellow, or his brother, then again burned the rebuilt structure before it opened. A lady of the day described them both as “mean as snakes” and at least one went off to a reform school. I suppose the school was rebuilt yet again, but it finally closed in 1951 and floated away in a flood a decade later. Today there is only an overgrown set of foundation stones.

In low water one can easily ford the Buffalo at the horseshoe bend here to continue along the trail, but the water was up enough for my float trip a day earlier a bit downstream and the only way I’d get across would be to doff my footwear and struggle across the stony river, something I had no interest in doing. So I admired the reflections in the water, discovered a family camping out on the river shore nearby, and then retraced my steps so I could take the other part of a loop trail to the falls.

I reached a scenic side creek and took a self-portrait. At a later prettier side creek, a backpacking couple came up the trail behind me to ask if they were on the right track. I assured them they were – I’d yet to see the falls, but my trail map showed we were fine, although there is a confusing lack of signage at several trail junctions. I sat down to cool off and snap another self-portrait, since it had risen from the 70s into the 90s and I did not want to dog the couple as they strode to the falls.

The trail narrowed beside a small creek, I crossed a treacherous washout, and then the narrow defile suddenly opened into a wide bowl with the spectacularly high falls directly ahead. There was only a spattering of water, but it came from on high. After gaping awhile, I offered to snap the photo of the backpacking couple and then moved away to photograph the eroded walls with close-ups, how the bowl left only a patch of sky open, and to shoot a movie.

I ate a snack and guzzled down another bottle of water before heading back, past tiny waterfalls and a treefall across the creek, determined to head down this side of the loop to the Buffalo River so that only a tiny portion of trail would remain unseen because of the high water.

The trail meandered through the trees and past a flat creek bed to where the creek was digging into a side bluff and shot the light patterns reflecting up onto the rock. I reached the Buffalo, discovering more campers, who were out in the stream fishing.

I met a couple from eastern Europe, who asked if they were headed to the falls. No, they were downstream about a mile from the falls, and the couple were clearly perturbed by the confusing paths. So I turned them around and said I would guide them to the right path. I shot some jigsaw blocks on our way and directed them onto the right course before turning about for the infamous climb out of the hollow.

It is a steep 1300 foot climb back up to the Compton trailhead, and it was humid and in the 90s. I staggered uphill, pausing now and then when my heart pounded me to a stop. I passed colorful bugs, flowers of varying colors, but was dismayed whenever I hit a set of sunny steps. So I was thrilled when I hit the junction for the final leg. But I still found the energy to shoot some more butterflies.

A fellow came along the trail, carrying a walking stick, and we chatted. He showed me the tiny camera he’d attached to his stick, one of the new tiny HD video cameras in a waterproof housing people wear on their ski helmets and the like. He does camera work for Channel 11 out of Little Rock, and said hauling this camera down to the falls and back up and out was a far cry from the 25 pound TV camera he’d hauled in five years earlier.

I was bushed when I reached the car after almost six hours of hiking, but given my early start I knew I could squeeze in another short hike before nightfall if I took a breather. So I cleaned up and drove down to Jasper, where I ate a delicious 6-inch pizza at Pizza on the Square and then drove south to Alum Cove.

The steep and winding road led up and down the mountains, passing the high bluffs of the Little Buffalo, an old barn near Parthenon, and more. It was a truly scenic drive.

At Alum Cove there is a loop trail of a bit more than a mile there, with the primary focus being a natural bridge, 130 feet long and 20 feet wide, carved from rock bluffs and actually used as a bridge by early settlers who moved their wagons and livestock across it rather than struggle through the stream during wet weather. Oldtimers are said to recall seeing lumbermen drive loaded log trucks over the natural “roadway” atop the arch during the rainy season.

The trail soon led across the odd bridge, with rails recently repaired by volunteers with the Arkansas Master Naturalists, who arranged to have new ones sawed and transported 90 miles to the site when the forestry service failed to secure any. They also cleaned up damage from a 2009 ice storm.

The area was lush, and soon after crossing a creek I saw the first entrance to a series of interconnected bluff caves, called goat caves by the locals because of the critters that once roamed here. I found six humans, not goats, roaming the caves and took a group photo for them before posing for my own shot.

There were interesting holes and pillars, and a final entrance to a larger cave before the trail wound back around under the natural bridge, with the group I’d met at the caves providing scale for my shot. There were interesting views from under the large bridge, but I was glad to finally climb the stairs back up to the trailhead.

The drive back to Harrison along Highway 7 was also scenic, except for the decaying remains of the failed Dogpatch theme park. I showered at the hotel and then had a delicious French Dip at the nearby Neighbor’s Mill Bakery and Cafe, along with part of a peanut butter cookie. I ordered a turkey sandwich to go, which I put in the hotel room fridge along with my cookie to take on my hikes tomorrow at Sam’s Throne and Round Top Mountain.

Click here for a slideshow from this day hike

Hercules Glades Wilderness (click image for slideshow)

I was dreaming in Lebanon, Missouri when thunder and rain awoke me, confirming that my plan to hike at Lake of the Ozarks was ill-timed. The updated forecast had told me I was in trouble, so I had already booked a ticket aboard the Titanic museum in Branson for the afternoon and planned to visit the Springfield Art Museum in the morning.

I waffled out of the continental breakfast at the Super 8 and drove to what was once the Country Kitchen but has been renamed the Elm Street Cafe. The hot breakfast was welcome amidst the rain and I overheard a nearby couple remarking on my iPad 2, which I was using to read the digital edition of the Tulsa World. But their discussion brought out that they’d already seen a unit, so I did not offer to let them play with it.

I drove an hour southeast to Springfield, arriving about 15 minutes before the Art Museum would open. It is on the edge of Phelps Grove, a park which was once the home of Missouri governor John Phelps and at one time sported a lake and zoo. The primary features today are a pavilion and small rose garden. I wandered amidst flowers which had passed their peak, shooting red roses, a crying rose, an iris or two, a reminder of clematis, and a final red and white rose.

It was a good thing I took plenty of flower pictures to remember my visit, because the art museum did not allow cameras and there was frankly little art there I would wish to remember. The main exhibit of Philip Pearlstein’s scrawny nudes did not appeal to me, although he has at least some work I like. But I did enjoy many of the watercolors on display and sale, particularly Rachel Collins’ Horn in F II.

I had time to kill, so I drove over to L.E. Meador Park at Battlefield Mall to sit and read until the mall opened. The park is named for Dr. Lewis Elbern Meador, my third cousin twice removed, who wrote most of Missouri’s 1947 state constitution and helped end the Pendergast machine’s control of the state judiciary. He was the head of political science at Drury University and was instrumental in establishing the Wilson’s Creek National Battlefield.

Once the mall opened I went into J.C. Penney to update my school wardrobe, coming out with eight new pairs of slacks, four shirts, and two belts, none of which I’ll get to wear until August. I had lunch at the nearby Applebee’s and then drove south to Branson. To ensure I’d arrive at the designated departure time for the Titanic, and departure would have a double meaning for me later, I deliberately drove down the congested strip, passing the fun waxworks where Kong was fighting a biplane and found the Titanic plowing through the ocean and scraping the iceberg.

The museum was interesting, although I’ve been fascinated by the ship since childhood so I learned little that was new to me. It was fun to ascend the grand stairway and I enjoyed the large models of the ship, including the one of the wreck used in Cameron’s movie. I saw far more objects from the wreck itself at an exhibit in Oklahoma City some years back. I was assigned the role of Oscar Scott Woody, who was a mail clerk who departed this world in the accident on his birthday at 44 years of age. I’m 44 myself, so I felt for poor Oscar.

The sun was bright and hot and the forecast for the area said the chance for rain was now quite reduced. So I searched my Hiking Missouri book for a nearby trail and drove an hour east to the Hercules Glades Wilderness. It is the second largest in the state and preserves the occasional open grassland, forested knobs, steep rocky hillsides, limestone outcroppings, narrow drainage maze, and hollows that once characterized this part of the Ozarks before the big lakes were constructed.

Parking at the fire tower, a duplicate of the ones at Sugar Camp and elsewhere, I changed into a wicking shirt and light trail pants and doused myself with Cutter. There was a line of cars and some horse trailers at the camp, so I figured I’d see some other hikers and perhaps some trail riders out on the trail. Sadly, the fire towers are no longer maintained. When visiting the Piney Creek Wilderness last October I had to walk up a flight of stair supports to gain access and here they had surrounded the tower with a high fence topped by razor wire. So I could not get the promised great view of the surrounding wilderness.

I headed out on a trail and soon several riders passed, who commented on how maps seemed useless in the wilderness without a compass, and then I came upon a couple who asked about the trail. I confessed I was new to it as well, but shared my trail map and, having spied them taking photos of one another as I approached, pleased them with the offer of taking their photo. We decided what trail we might be on and then I marched ahead, propelled by my trekking poles. The trail offered plenty of shade from the hot afternoon and I quickly reached the first junction. I realized we were on a different trail than we’d thought, so I lingered and when the couple I met earlier arrived I showed them the path they should take for the shortest loop of 4.5 miles. They posed for another picture at the junction and we parted. I was opting to hike on toward Pilot Knob for a longer loop of 6.8 miles.

The trail had been wide and rocky but now narrowed, occasionally broadening out into one of the eponymous glades, where butterflies dined on white flowers. Some glades provided glimpses of the nearby ridges. I turned at the next junction toward Long Creek, which flows from the tower area clear across the wilderness. The creek was swollen and running well. It had scooped out a limestone bank and there was heavily eroded limestone at the ford. I admired the small waterfall and I made a movie of the water tumbling across the rocky limestone creek bed and took a close-up of the flow.

That first ford was the highlight of the hike, but I would ford the creek several times on my return to the trailhead. While my new waterproof boots served me well traipsing about the first ford, a couple of later ones had no rocks sticking up out of the high flow and I had to drown my boots and socks. Thankfully the water was far warmer than the 28 degree Fahrenheit ocean when the Titanic sank in the frigid North Atlantic.

Later fords had limestone outcrops and more small falls which provided a picturesque break from the forest as the trail paralleled the creek before heading uphill towards the fire tower. I snapped a millipede in motion and myself and a daisy at rest and arrived back at the camp for a much-needed clean up and change of clothes. I stopped at Prima’s in Ozarka for some fajitas and arrived back at home just before midnight with two days left in Memorial Day weekend for a visit to the lake with friends.

Click here for a slideshow from this day hike