I grew up on a farm in an area of the Natural State called the Ark-La-Tex. One set of grandparents had a cabin and acreage in the Boston Mountains, where they escaped the summer heat. The others had a fishing camp on Lake D'arbonne, where they eventually retired. I love plants, animals, water, forests and open sky. The water is up and the sun is out this week. I can't wait til Thursday, when I'm getting out. Here's a story to pass the time.
In late February 2018, the water level at Ponca was perfect. The sun burned away the fog as I unloaded and launched for a float to Kyles Landing. Where is everyone? I thought. No outfitters or day trippers like me. Perfect.
By the 3rd mile, I had taken off my jacket. Approaching Big Bluff, I heard a hoop and a holler. I looked high on the face of the Bluff, thinking there must be a hiker on the Goat Trail. Couldn't spot anyone. After rounding the bend, I heard it again, this time spotting a camper on the rock bar across from the bluff. "You just missed the eggs." He said. I held up the oatmeal stout that was near gone, and said, "Thanks, but I had breakfast."
He said, "Can you do me a favor?" I laid the paddle across my lap, thinking, uh-oh this guy needs help. Here goes my day. I said, "Sure, what's up?" He said, "Well, if you're taking out today, can you call my wife? I don't want to leave. I'm staying another night." I laughed. I got it. I've been there.
The water was moving, so I was drifting by quickly. I turned to hear his number and tap it into my phone. "What your name?" "Her name?" "No yours." "Alex." "I didn't know your name was Alex."
I rode along enjoying the day, taking a run up Hemmed-In Hollow and many pictures. Visibility was sweet with the leaves down. Eagles were busy. One speckled juvenile helped an adult pair ready their next.
The quick water got me to Kyles Landing thirty minutes early. Waiting for my son pick me up, I visited with a guy who rode up on a 4-wheeler. There was no one else at the landing or the camp ground. This guy was from Chicago. He had retired to some acreage on the edge of the national forest after a tour in Iraq. He said he enlisted and served in his fifties. I'd never heard of such a thing, much less considered it. He said when he got back, he couldn't live in or around the city. That's how he came to the Natural State. We had a nice conversation. It was interesting hearing his take on the locals who, after 50 years, still grouse about the feds claiming the river and much of the land around it.
My boy, ever punctual, arrived, and we loaded the boat and gear on the truck. I turned to see if I'd left anything by the river, and there was Alex. I said, "Hey, you change your mind?" He said, "Yeah, my son has a spelling bee tomorrow. I want to be there." I helped him tote gear up to the road. He said, "Thanks all the same for offering to call my wife."
I said, "To be honest, Alex. I wasn't going to call your wife. I was going to have my girlfriend call her." "Wow. That's perfect." That was not the last time I ran across Alex on the river.
In late February 2018, the water level at Ponca was perfect. The sun burned away the fog as I unloaded and launched for a float to Kyles Landing. Where is everyone? I thought. No outfitters or day trippers like me. Perfect.
By the 3rd mile, I had taken off my jacket. Approaching Big Bluff, I heard a hoop and a holler. I looked high on the face of the Bluff, thinking there must be a hiker on the Goat Trail. Couldn't spot anyone. After rounding the bend, I heard it again, this time spotting a camper on the rock bar across from the bluff. "You just missed the eggs." He said. I held up the oatmeal stout that was near gone, and said, "Thanks, but I had breakfast."
He said, "Can you do me a favor?" I laid the paddle across my lap, thinking, uh-oh this guy needs help. Here goes my day. I said, "Sure, what's up?" He said, "Well, if you're taking out today, can you call my wife? I don't want to leave. I'm staying another night." I laughed. I got it. I've been there.
The water was moving, so I was drifting by quickly. I turned to hear his number and tap it into my phone. "What your name?" "Her name?" "No yours." "Alex." "I didn't know your name was Alex."
I rode along enjoying the day, taking a run up Hemmed-In Hollow and many pictures. Visibility was sweet with the leaves down. Eagles were busy. One speckled juvenile helped an adult pair ready their next.
The quick water got me to Kyles Landing thirty minutes early. Waiting for my son pick me up, I visited with a guy who rode up on a 4-wheeler. There was no one else at the landing or the camp ground. This guy was from Chicago. He had retired to some acreage on the edge of the national forest after a tour in Iraq. He said he enlisted and served in his fifties. I'd never heard of such a thing, much less considered it. He said when he got back, he couldn't live in or around the city. That's how he came to the Natural State. We had a nice conversation. It was interesting hearing his take on the locals who, after 50 years, still grouse about the feds claiming the river and much of the land around it.
My boy, ever punctual, arrived, and we loaded the boat and gear on the truck. I turned to see if I'd left anything by the river, and there was Alex. I said, "Hey, you change your mind?" He said, "Yeah, my son has a spelling bee tomorrow. I want to be there." I helped him tote gear up to the road. He said, "Thanks all the same for offering to call my wife."
I said, "To be honest, Alex. I wasn't going to call your wife. I was going to have my girlfriend call her." "Wow. That's perfect." That was not the last time I ran across Alex on the river.
