Despondent. Sometimes you just need a break from life; to get away, run away, as far as your legs (or a set of wheels) can take you. It was in that mindset that I set out recently with a friend, taking off to the Ouichita Mountains in central Arkansas for a day trip with the sole goal of forgetting myself for the day. I had just suffered, was still suffering from, the sudden, heartbreaking death of a beloved pet, and needed to get away. It's not the first time I've used my trips as a way to deal with loss, and I'm sure it won't be the last. I had the intention of losing myself along the forest service roads in Ouichita National Forest, and had a friend and my dog along for the ride.
We set off early in the morning, and drove several hours under a blanket of pre-dawn darkness before watching a brilliant sunrise over the rolling hills of East Texas. Before long we had entered Arkansas and, turning north, drove from hills into mountains. These aren't the soaring, bald and snow-wreathed mountains of the west but weathered ranges similar to the Appalachian Mountains, though even older. Covered in dediduous forests, these mountains aren't very tall, but you can't deny that they are mountains. There are streams and small rivers everywhere, and the Ouichita Mountains house Hot Springs National Park, though the park was further east than where we spent our day. After a short search through a small mountain town we found a forest service road, took a right turn from pavement to gravel, and began our adventure.
I felt an immediate sense of peace as soon as we turned our backs on civilization, a feeling that increased as we also lost cell service. No people, no loud noises, no distractions, and no thought; just us, my dog, crunchy gravel under rubber, and the endless green of trees. That feeling is why I turn to the natural world in troubled times, where I can escape from reality for a while and deal with my problems while reminding myself that the earth continues to spin. A soft tinkling of falling water, the chatter of birds, buzz of insects and the unidentifiable forest noises ground me in a way nothing else can.
Our first stop for the day was Collier Spring, a picnic area I had discovered on my last trip into the forest, this time blazed with an emerald green forest that surrounded the icy swimming hole and small waterfall on the stream, and velvet moss coated the cobbled stones where the spring gushed from the foundation of the shelter. It took Callie all of five minutes from the time we pulled into the two-car parking space before she jumped in for a swim, chasing sticks and leaves. Jamie and I explored the forest near the stream and pool, marveling at the abundance and variety of spiders just in one small area while being careful not to stick our hands anywhere we couldn't see. After a while a wet and shivering dog crawled out of the pool, shook herself off, and followed us around, which we took to mean she was done with the place and ready to move on.
We followed the single-lane mountain road a little further to Crystal View trailhead, which was supposed to be a short trail to an old quartz quarry that was now open to the public. We had a little trouble finding the trailhead as we didn't have a good map and our phones wouldn't work, and once we finally got to the trailhead and started hiking we actually passed the smaller, unmarked trail that led to the quarry, instead continuing down the path, finding our way around a downed tree, and descending down the mountain a little before admitting we must have passed it and turning back. We saw the quarry from the trail on our way back up, although that was probably because we were diligently looking for it. An exposed, rust colored gash in the forest marks the quarry, and we amused ourselves for a while searching through the white crystal for fun colors while Callie found the nearest muddy puddle and lay down in it for a cool off. My white dog turned orange.
From Crystal Vista we drove a few miles and found Albert Pike Recreation Area where we intended to hike a small section of the Little Missouri Trail after lunch, and started out even though it had begun to rain. We were foiled before we had even gone half a mile by a giant tree that had come down on the poorly marked trail, and we were unwilling to walk through the thick grass and trees (potential snakes) or in the river (potential floods from heavy rain) to get around it. That, plus the fact that it was now thundering as well as pouring rain, convinced us to abandon our hiking efforts and come up with Plan B. We drove up the gravel road a bit, eventually finding a spot near the river to pull off and let Callie out to swim and us to explore. The rain slowed and stopped, though it threatened us with sprinkles several times while we meandered up and down the small section of river bank, throwing sticks into the water for Callie and watching her bound over the rocks, springing off of them to dive with a splash into the river. The clouds closed in on us again, and we spent the rest of the day in the middle of a downpour. We weren't quite ready to call it quits though, and drove the soggy mountain roads slowly, enjoying the forest in the rain and hoping for a glimpse of a black bear.
Our last stop for the day was Little Missouri Falls, a place I had also visited on my March trip to the area, though I didn't linger long at the falls last time. We didn't linger long this time, either, due to the frequent lightning and heavy rain that now threatened to wash us away. We made the trek to the falls, took some pictures, and agreed that we would have to come back on a nicer day before hurrying back to the dry warmth of the car and turning our noses toward home. Despite the rain, the day had been exactly what I needed: an escape, a get-away from normal life where I only had to think about the here and now, and a way to find myself again. Getting out and exploring doesn't take the pain of loss away, but does make it a little easier to deal with.
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