It’s about the journey – therefore do not focus on the end

Waking to sunlight streaming through the louvered blinds in our delightful Cabin #12 at Devil’s Den State Park, I stumbled to the kitchen and as I started the coffee I contemplated the glamping in which we found ourselves – and how dichotomous this scenario would be to the next two nights of primitive camping. If the first night’s cabin was to ease my wife into the stark nature of the following nights – perhaps I aimed a bit high. Electricity, a/c and heat, running water, a full kitchen and even satellite tv? What this cabin lacked in “back to nature, one with the earth”-ness it made up for with creature comforts. It wasn’t true camping – but I’ll definitely be back with the family.

As the eggs for our frittata slid from the cast iron skillet we polished off coffee cup #2, warming our bones for the 38 degree weather and rugged hike up Yellow Rock Trail our morning would include. A cloudless night had given way to a beautiful, crisp morning. The leaves, nearing the completion of their annual fall cycle, fell like snow of yellow and red onto the already leaf-covered trail. The trees they left bare clung to the remaining morsels of color, fighting in vain against the impending winter.

Yellow Rock trail, a single lane, loop trail climbs quickly through fascinating sandstone formations where fissures remain after elephant sized boulders have fallen and rolled downhill. Wondering underneath an outcropping of the same, apparently unstable, stone we found the namesake of the park – the caves in which outlaws in the 1800’s used to hide – presumably to escape their felonious past while rampaging along the Butterfield Overland Trail. 

Emerging from the cedar trees a palette of crimson red, butternut squash and evergreen laid out across Lee Creek Valley. Interrupting these hues a giant rock formation known simply as Yellow Rock resembled the beak of a hawk watching over the valley below, ready to pounce at a moments notice on the unsuspecting rabbit or chipmunk. 

The entire day could be filled in this park but our journey would continue eastward on this weekend. Departing the park, I considered the enormous effort required to create this treasure… but also the effort required to maintain its beauty. National parks are in decline nationwide as public and government support wanes. Perhaps there will be a day when National Parks no longer exist – having been sold to the highest bidder to raise funds. Let’s hope that day never comes.

Our vehicle, filled to the brim inside, rolled easily down the two-lane blacktop of Hwy. 74, over I-49 and into Winslow, AR. A town forgotten, with a surprisingly nice, double-track rail line passing through, Winslow greets visitors with a single row of shotgun style storefronts, long since closed by time and economics. Stopping at the Finish Line gas station to refuel, our gas options included Regular and, well, Regular. No need for other options as the trucks here don’t need it, nor the “pay at pump” features like in the city. While Elizabeth perused the small convenience store inside, I topped off the tank, noticing the stares from locals. Grabbing what turned out to be a satisfying Sioux City Sarsaparilla, I approached the counter to pay. The friendly man behind the counter asked “how much you pump?” A quick round trip to the pump and back I responded “$21.85.” 

Taking Hwy 71 southward down the Boston Loop scenic road, we again turned eastward on Hickory St. which soon turned to gravel, then dirt. Interspersed in thickets of pine and oak, small plots of cleared timber yielded way to cattle and winter crops. Sharing a fence line was the owners’ homes… surprisingly nice and tidy, with an abundance of birdhouses. 

Meandering through National Forest Roads (a state treasure in my opinion) lead us to White Rock Mountain, one of the highest points in the Ozark NF. From this CCC lookout, you can see 360 degrees across the beautiful forest. Resembling what I envision of the Tennessee Smokey Mountains, ridges of evergreens were separated by valleys thick with the remaining haze of the morning.

Leaving White Rock Mountain we entered exactly what I had been longing for – single-lane, tree-lined, dirt road with a windshield filled from side to side with beautiful fall leaves. The road, NFR 75, winding its way through the forest as we descended from White Rock, crossed several creeks and babbling brooks – all of us making our way down into the Mulberry River valley. There are a multitude of options to drive from White Rock to the valley below. Yes, we got lost. Yes, we enjoyed getting lost.

The afternoon sun reminded me that our time through the forest and at White Rock Mountain had taken longer than expected and that we’d missed lunch. Crossing over the Hwy 23 Mulberry River bridge, a 445′ truss design, we veered left into Turner Bend outfitters, a log-cabin style building that started in 1911 as a canoe and kayak guide service but has now branched out to offer supplies, gear, camping spots, Arkansas wines (at cheap prices) and “almost famous sandwiches.” 

After perusing the large wine section we landed on an Arkansas cab sav and chardonnay, both from Post in Altus. Turner Bend is exactly the kind of store you hope to find while venturing about: local color, healthy supply of sundries, and best of all – local knowledge. The woman at the counter suggested we camp at Redding Recreation area over Bryd’s or Wolf Pen. I ordered an “almost famous sandwich” consisting of ham, swiss, fresh lettuce and pickles, all on white loaf bread. There was nothing special about the ingredients but together they played in concert… or perhaps my time on the dusty forest roads had left me famished. Either way, we stopped along the Mulberry, dangling our feet off a rock embankment, and quickly consumed our sandwiches.

The sun sets early in the valley, especially after the fall time change, and we still needed fire wood for camp. We headed down Hwy 215, the central character along the Mulberry River Valley, stopping at Bryd’s Adventure Center where we picked up quite possibly the worst firewood known to mankind. Of course, we didn’t realize this till back at camp cursing and thrashing about trying to get the moisture-laden sticks to burn. Luckily, a last minute add to the camping equipment in the form of a Camp Chef single-burner propane stove rescued our dinner plans. Or so we thought.

I’m not one to eat hot dogs or frank-and-beans when I camp. No, I’m an admitted foodie and camping should not be an excuse for bad food. On this night, the menu de jour included New York strips cooked over an open fire with cook’s butter and sautéed mushrooms. Baked potato on the side. The Edsel-version of a campfire however redirected cooking to the cast iron skillet – a formidable implement for sure – but not the same as cooking over an open flame. But, as I always say, no interesting vacation story begins with “let me tell you how perfectly everything went.” The steaks cooked up reasonably well with a nice char on one side, but admittedly cooked too fast for the fat to render properly. The baked potatoes however, having been wrapped in heavy foil and placed in a small bed of coals from the campfire, came out a black, ashen charcoal briquette. More practice will be required for that technique in the future. Making up for the potato and steak though was the surprisingly good Arkansas Post wine – a full-bodied cab with the right amount of fruit and tannin – a wonderful compliment to the buttery, saltiness of the steak.

It was late and we headed to bed – our bellies full and our glasses empty. We were among just three occupied campsites in the entire park, save for a raccoon and kitty. Utilizing the roof top tent (I prefer the term “custom” over “homemade”) we both slept soundly despite temperatures in the low 30’s. 

The Oark General Store is the oldest, continuously operating general store in Arkansas. Locals have been wearing down the small wooden plank floors since 1890. Today, the double-shotgun style building provides a cafe, small sundry selection, gift shop and gas pump out front. We arrived hungry and quickly ordered eggs, sausage, hash browns and the recommend Cathead biscuit with gravy for $5.75. All were satisfying and served as an appropriate stick-to-the ribs breakfast. The ambiance of this store doesn’t disappoint – with old pictures and signs hanging from the wall. Jerry Reed’s “East Bound and Down” from Smokey and the Bandit played from the jukebox. This communal destination of locals and visitors alike creates the unique experience one must occasionally have to remain centered.

The two-lane blacktop running past Oark soon turns to gravel, then dirt, as it meanders its way through the Mulberry River valley. A short drive down Hwy 123 and we pulled off the road at Haw Creek Falls, a small but picturesque natural rock falls. Along side the falls is a campsite of the same name with perhaps 12 campsites, most of which were occupied. Despite the low water, the stop provided a nice chance to stretch our legs and snap a few photos. Returning to Hwy 123, we crossed the impressive Big Piney Creek Bridge. Resting on its side-rails, four hikers completing the Ozark Highland Trail sipped from their canteens. We turned left immediately after the bridge onto CR 5881 or what is also known as the Carwash Falls Trail.

This gem of a county road meanders through several farm plots, with the Big Piney creek to the west, and a large, rock bluff to the east. The trail is littered with house-sized boulders, some requiring a driver to navigate around them, and numerous waterfalls (though admittedly most were dry on our trip). A few miles into this trail we came upon the impressive looking, though easy to cross, Hurricane Creek. At about 60 feet across, it requires fording but upon our crossing was only about 8 inches at its deepest. The namesake of the trail – the Carwash – is a waterfall cascading down from a large, rock outcropping. In wet times, the water falls directly upon passing vehicles – hence the name “Car wash.” Today however, I needed to steer hard right to get even a misting of water.

An 80-degree right turn onto Parker Ridge Rd is a sometimes-steep, ridge top run several miles across the beautiful, treed hills and valleys of the forest. This weekend happened to be opening day for deer rifle hunting and many spots along the road were populated with campers, trucks, side-by-sides and dogs. I’ve never hunted on public land before but I can imagine that these makeshift campsites, and their prime hunting spots, have been the inspiration for many a “mine first” argument.

Needing gas, we wondered into Deer, AR. Stopping at the Deer Country Store we were impressed by the gasoline options – all three varieties – but again were required to tell the attendant how much we’d pumped. “$22.21 and a cane sugar Dr. Pepper please.” Two younger gentlemen at the counter decked out in camo were discussing the morning’s hunt. I asked, “see anything” (trying to sound as local as I could). “Nah,” the tall slender man replied, “shot a coyote though.” They were headed back to deer camp and had stopped into Deer (fitting) for supplies that consisted of Yoo-hoo, counter pizza, beer and ice. I hoped their menu would improve later based on their hunting performance. Veering left at Deer High School (where the deer learn to hide on opening day?) we headed north to Alum Cove.

At 130 feet, Alum Cove natural bridge is one of the largest in this part of the country. Formed by thousands of years of water carving and biting at the rock underneath, the bridge overhead provides an impressive deck some 20 feet wide. Venture below for the most impressive views of the underside and the large rocks that have fallen from it over the decades. This natural wonder is impressive and shouldn’t be missed if in this part of the state. The park itself though could use significant trail improvements, with several steep drops and one fallen tree blocking the trail. Hungry, we returned to the trailhead and enjoyed a charcuterie lunch.

Ahead of schedule, we veered from our plan and stopped into the quaint town of Jasper, AR. A small, yet well developed town square that includes several shops and restaurants. We opted for the Ozark Cafe that has been feeding locals since 1909. We opted for the coffee and fresh fried pie – both of which were served by the friendly, high-school aged waitress. The Ozark Cafe has an extensive menu of burgers, fried fish and even salads. It also provides live music on Saturday nights from its large, professionally lit stage. From all appearances, the Ozark Cafe was the largest food establishment in town and definitely catered to “those out of town’ers.”

The sun was tiring and we pushed northward towards our planned campsite, Shady Oaks Campground in Harrison. A pleasant spot set a mile from the highway and slopping upward to a small hill, there was an abundance of open RV-style spots from which to choose. Wanting our privacy – we selected a spot in the back with a level grade and small fire-pit, backing up to a dense thicket of trees and underbrush. We quickly set about making camp, a raging bonfire, and appropriate cocktails before dining on chicken fajitas with grilled peppers and onions.

This night would not be as cold as the previous, only dipping into the mid forties. However, the passing cars on Hwy 206 were within earshot – an unfortunate aspect of camping near civilization. The cheerful owner Robert made the experience a pleasure – and the campground provided very nice facilities.

It was Sunday and the clock had ticked down on our trip – it was time to return home. It had been a wonderful four days filled with new adventures, sites, and places. We were shocked by how enjoyable the entire area had been – including the people we met along the way. We stayed mostly to our planned itinerary – but fortunately strayed from it enough to find a few hidden and unexpected gems. Planning a trip like this took months – but adventures don’t always follow the plan. Always be willing and ready to travel that road less travelled – to follow your nose – to trust your gut instinct. Chances are you will be rewarded handsomely.