Backpack adventure
Three-day bushwhack on the Ozark Highlands Trail
“Anyone up for a backpack adventure?”
When I saw this teaser Chris Adams, Ozark Highlands Trail Association (OHTA) member sent in a group text, without even knowing the details, I responded, “Just tell me when/where.”
Adams then pitched a plan for a multiday bushwhack through the Lower Buffalo Wilderness section of the Ozark Highlands Trail (OHT). We would begin our hike at the easternmost point of the Buffalo National River/ Ozark Highlands Trail located at Dillard’s Ferry on Arkansas 14. It would end, as the crow flies, some 13 miles east at the western end of the Ozark Highlands Trail-Sylamore Section. However, since we are not crows, it would result in about a 16-mile trek.
This segment is the only stretch of the 300-plus-mile OHT that does not, and may never, have a pathway constructed on it. (Note: I’ll just say the decision to not build a trail is complicated and leave it at that.)
However, hikers do not have to blindly go tramping through the woods with compass and topo map in hand. Duane Woltjen published “Ozark Highlands Trail Route,” which provides GPS coordinates and a brief description of a route he scouted out. You can also buy the Ozark Highlands Trail North map, with a highlighted “suggested corridor” to follow. (Both can be bought at ozarkhighlandstrail.com). Another option is a route on the AllTrails app that OHTA member Roy Stovall recorded.
LET THE FUN BEGIN
As luck would have it, the day before we started the hike, Arkansas had its first snow. On the evening prior to our departure, assuming the road conditions would result in an already long drive taking even more time, Ad
ams pushed our start time to 11 a.m.
When the newly designated time arrived, there were six eager outdoorsmen at the Dillard’s Ferry parking lot, packed and ready to begin our Lower Buffalo Wilderness Adventure.
Steven Parker, who had previously hiked this section, pointed to a steep wooded hillside bordering the parking lot, and simply stated, “That way.”
There was no sign, nor orange survey tape often used by hikers to mark a route, or even a faint path from previous hikers who have passed this way. This was just the direction for the first GPS coordinates from Woltjen’s guidebook.
With hiking pole in hand, I leaned into the hillside to begin trudging up. A dusting of snow covered a thick blanket of leaves, thus muffling the group’s footsteps. The grade wasn’t too steep, just enough to make me fill my lungs with clean, chilled air and to get my heart pumping.
It was great to be in the Arkansas backwoods once again.
ACROSS THE RIDGE
Topping the crest, we continued across the ridge until reaching an old forest road. This road is used to reach an agricultural field maintained by the Forest Service. We followed the road past the pasture enroute to Rock Creek.
Luckily, on this cold winter morning, it was a dry crossing. But exiting the opposite bank we had to scramble up a muddy, 10-foot embankment. The climb became more slippery with each hiker, until the last two hikers were forced to find another route out of the creek bed.
Once again, we were bushwhacking up a steep hillside. This would become our normal routine for the next three days, climbing up hill then descending the opposite slope. There wasn’t a great deal of level terrain on this hike.
Crossing through the forest we discovered a waypoint survey marker poking through the leaves. The concrete encased metal medallion read U.S Department of the Interior National Park Service, 1982, H-7g. This was the first of many medallions we came across.
KEEP EVERYONE IN SIGHT
As we hiked our group scattered about the woods but were always conscious to keep everyone within sight. A little over three hours into the hike I was halfway down a hillside, conversing with Sean Prewitt, when we noticed the group behind us was not moving. After waiting a few minutes, we called out, asking if everything was alright. They answered they would be with us shortly.
Several minutes passed before two hikers began hiking down the hillside toward us. Dale White had twisted his ankle badly. Bad news, but hiking over the mountains, with the leaves concealing fist-size rocks, it could have happened to any of us.
Over White’s insistence that he was capable of returning to the trailhead on his own accord, Adams insisted on accompanying him. He said he would join our group the following day at the Cozahome Trailhead.
This was unfortunate for White and Adams, but safety first is the rule on all OHTA outings. Our now group of four continued down the mountain, even more attentive to where we placed our feet.
SLOW THE DESCENT
The steep 200-plus-foot slope into Ingram Creek drainage was very technical. I grabbed trees, used my hiking pole, and anything else I could find to slow the momentum of my descent.
Being winter, the sun sets early. The thought of bushwhacking in the dark was not an appealing option. But Ingram Creek was dry, and we would need water at camp. We hiked in the rocky creek bed in search of a possible pool or feeder spring.
Along the hike we caught sight of the concrete foundation for the old Sauer Zinc Mill. Kenneth Smith shares the history of the mill in his Buffalo River Handbook. Due to the absence of rock waste piles, it is likely the mill never processed a single ton of ore. Like many of the zinc diggings in the area, it was a wasted effort.
Finally, we discovered an unlimited supply of crystal-clear water and a scenic polished rock shore to pitch camp, the Buffalo River.
Everyone spread out to set up their home away from home. I found the perfect campsite on a small patch of sandbar. It was encircled by the river except for a narrow peninsula that connected to the shore. It was just large enough to accommodate my tent.
The group gathered around a blazing fire that Peter Cooper was feeding with the abundance of driftwood wedged in small trees along the riverbank. For those that were too big to break, he had even hauled in a handsaw.
SHARED OBSERVATIONS
With the hiss of small camp stoves as a backdrop, we shared observations from the day’s outing. It was very unfortunate that Adams and White were not sharing our cozy camp. I had been looking forward to hearing about the documentary White is working on.
From our conversation while hiking earlier, he told me he fell in love with the Buffalo River area when he was 4 years old. It has become a passion for him to showcase the beauty and significance of this national treasure. His hope is the documentary will help preserve and protect the area for future generations.
The conversation and food were enlightening and entertaining, but as the clock struck 8, “backpackers’ midnight,” everyone gathered their cooking paraphernalia and retired to their tents.
Approaching my private island retreat, I caught a fleeting shadow in the perimeter of the light from my headlamp. It disappeared into the dark waters of the Buffalo. As I swept the beam of light across the water’s surface, I saw two small lights shining back at me.
It was the reflection of my own light in a pair of eyes. I followed them with the beam as they continued to circle about. Then there was a loud slapping sound. “Smack!”
A second slap followed.
“Smack!”
The slapping was coming from the creature. Then further upstream I heard another slap.
“Smack!”
My intruder was a beaver. And it wasn’t alone. “Smack! Smack!” They let me know that I was the intruder, not them. And they did not appear happy with my presence.
I decided I had disrupted their evening enough. Moving my tent farther up the bank the slapping ended, and we all had a restful night’s slumber.
DAY TWO
The following day picked up where our wildlife encounters of the previous day had ended. Parker was awakened by the snort of deer near his tent. Then a flock of clucking wild turkeys strolled contently past camp.
Following breakfast and hot coffee, we crossed the creek to begin the long trudge up the steep 400-plus foot climb to one of the hike’s main attractions, Devil’s Tea Table.
This rugged St. Peter sandstone rock feature is the last remnants of the layer of rock that once covered the area. Centuries of erosion have carved the massive stone into a natural work of art. Scrambling atop the eightfoot tabletop offered an unobstructed panoramic view of a sweeping bend of the Buffalo River.
We found a faint pathway as we left the Tea Table. This led us to well defined, abandoned logging road, that wove its way along the hillside to another popular feature.
Many hikers have missed The Throne. It is tucked back in a small alcove at the base of a tall bluff. At first glance I thought someone had created the chair-like structure. But upon closer examination, I realized it is a natural formation, still attached to the bluff.
We continued on the logging road to arrive at the Cozahome trailhead, where Adams waited. He said White was in a great deal of pain on the return hike, but he toughed it out. All was OK when he left him at his vehicle.
POPULAR WITH RIDERS
The trailhead is a popular area for horse riders. We followed their well-defined trail to our next geological wonder. Natural Bridge is a 50-foot-long slab of rock that has refused to erode, as the mountain on both sides had, resulting in an impressive thick arch.
The horse trail soon ventured off in a direction other than our own. Once again, we followed a path less followed. Bushwhacking through dense briars and stumbling on goat head-size rocks, hidden under layers of leaves, we made our way into Fishtrap Hollow.
The temperature had passed its peak high and begun to drop. However, we still had several miles to cover if we wanted to camp near a water source. After crossing Fishtrap Creek, it was an old fashion slog up the toughest climb of the outing —a 400-foot elevation gain, straight up.
We passed through a neon green, moss-covered glade that everyone took special care not to damage. The clearing offered expansive views across the deep hollow. But spare time was a luxury we couldn’t afford. We pushed on.
I was on the verge of pulling out my headlamp when we reached an inviting campsite on the shore of Big Creek. In fading light, the reflection of the sheer bluff was a welcome sight.
Adams joining us in the campfire banter was a welcome addition. We had no problem staying up until “backpackers’ midnight” before the call of our warm sleeping bags won out.
DAY THREE
Big Creek lived up to its name. In subfreezing weather, we began the day with a wet crossing. But with only a short two-mile hike remaining, everyone rolled up their trousers and marched through the creek.
Perched on the tailgates of our trucks, with a refreshing brew in hand, we raised a salute to the end of another outstanding adventure in The Natural State.