Mississippi had rattled me a bit with its shady parking lots and challenges to my long held hiking-convictions. I was not exactly broken up about getting the heck out of there. Coincidentally, I had recently learned of the adage “Thank God for Mississippi,” which alludes to when people rank the states. Apparently, the phrase is uttered by low ranking states who might be lower…but “Thank God for Mississippi”. There’s even a wikipedia page for it, which is where I learned the word “adage” in the first place; check it out.
I hoped you enjoyed that little tangent because there’s about 12 more waiting for you in this post.
The next portion of my journey took me down to northern Louisiana where Driskill Mountain awaited. Unfortunately, there’s not much to say about this highpoint. It is the third shortest out of all the high-points, beating out only Rhode Island and Florida, which is akin to winning a swimming race against two rocks. While Driskill wasn’t the simple five minute walk that encompassed the top of Florida it wasn’t exactly Kilimanjaro either.
The trail began behind a quaint southern church, Mt. Zion Presbyterian Church, whose name I decided to type here just to prove to myself that I could type the word ‘presbyterian’ successfully. It was mild mid-morning as I hopped out of the van and hit the trail. Copper colored mud and dull brown deciduous trees accompanied me through the low hills. The trail was easy, which explained why all the comments online saying that it was “great for small children!”. There was small incline, but nothing else notable on the trail. At the top was a small post-board, seen above, in what is the only picture I took on this hike. Which should tell you something because I usually take a lot of pictures, often of the same thing over and over again, a habit I’m trying to shake for my memory card’s sake. There was also a bench donated by the High-pointers club, if you picture the most basic of benches in your minds eye then you’ve essentially seen this bench and don’t need a picture nor to experience it firsthand. The lack of excitement for this mound was foreshadowed when I typed it into Google Maps and the address was shown as 1, LA. As far as I can tell that’s the number “1” followed by Louisiana. It’s a place so bland that not only did no town claim ownership, but they could hardly bother to name the road it was on.
In the same way that I got back into Bucket and scurried off after the hike, let’s carry on to the next leg of the journey when I shot north towards Arkansas’s Mount Magazine State Park. From what I can tell the entire mountain is called Mount Magazine while highest point itself is called Signal Hill. Its full name ,according to the sign pictured a short ways down this page, is Mount Magazine-Signal Hill, it’s parents seemed to have settled on a hyphenated name. I’ll be referring to it as Mount Magazine, not just because I like alliteration, but also because what with all the minute High Points that I’ve been detailing for you, let’s make it seem like I conquered a mountain. After all, I have to attempt to uphold the appearance of an adventurer here.
Cliffs in the Ozarks
Mount Magazine lies deep in the heart of the Ozark Mountains. Incidentally, this is one of my favorite names for a mountain range of all time. If you’re wondering if that’s actually something I keep track of, it very much is. I also have notes on my phone containing: my top 10 songs of all time, a list of things I don’t like, and my favorite colloquial phrases I heard one woman in New Zealand say. So, the favorite names of mountains is pretty much par for the course. All that being said, I didn’t realize until recently that the Ozarks were even in the U.S. In truth, I had pictured them being somewhere in eastern Europe or from an imaginary land in one of the plethora of fantasy novels I’ve read. Turns out the Ozarks are both in the U.S. and quite real.
The greater portion of these mountains lie between Arkansas and Missouri, which kind of explains my lack of knowledge about them (and probably yours too). The Ozarks are heavily forested highlands. There is a ton of different land features, from streams to plateaus, from bluffs to cliffs. In this short foray into the Ozarks I was privy to the many trees I was promised, some very steep and winding roads as well as the aforementioned cliffs. I was also to become acquainted with a heaping helping of rain while in the area.
I blurted out weak attempts at motivational sayings to Bucket as he did his darnedest to tackle the fantastically steep roads that lead into Mount Magazine State Park. He rumbled his way through the hardest part, wheezing and (probably) sweating the entire way, which is exactly how I am when I have to scramble up big hills, so no judgement there. We stopped at a vista after the road returned to a more reasonable grade where I had a snack and watched the ominous clouds that lurked nearby loom ever closer. The snack finished, we scampered over to the trailhead to attempt to beat imminent inclement weather.
The trail to the summit was only about a mile and a half, which considering the weather wasn’t a bad thing at all. A gloomy sky looked down on me as I trotted along the rocky trail, surrounded by bare trees and soggy leaves of seasons past. The trail meandered around the side of the mountain for a while, before hitting a cross section with another trail where it turned towards the summit. When I reached the top, I was met with a sign and a stone monument which depicted the state of Arkansas, split into a few sections. The sections were each made of different types of rock, whatever type was most prominent in each respective region.
I had brought my tripod with me to the summit, it hadn’t seen any use yet on the trip, so I figured why not give it a go, while I had the solitude of a nice mountain top. The clouds had begun spitting a bit, but the rain was still holding off, so I at least had a few minutes before I had to move along. I set a 10 second timer and scuttled over to try and strike my best “cool guy” pose near the sign…it didn’t work, but I have (GENEROUSLY) shared the result with you nonetheless.
Not much left to be said about Arkansas and the Ozarks, unfortunately, but I’d be back to the marvelously named mountains later on in the adventure. I’ve also recently found out that the Ozark Trail is currently being constructed. It will be a 700 mile trail that traverses the mountain range (like the Appalachian trail, but shorter and in places where it’s way harder to understand the local’s accents, at least as a northerner anyway). It’s definitely something I’ll be looking into doing down the metaphorical road.
Next, it was time to head to the Sooner State; Oklahoma. A drive through mid-sized suburban towns, past an abundance of casinos and over an upsetting amount of barren, flat plains ensued. This was my first true test of patience as I tackled long drives that included at least one or two seemingly unending straight, featureless roads that droned on for well over 100 miles each. Podcasts and music quickly became the glue that held my sanity together. To give you some context one of the most exciting things I saw was some tumbleweeds. To be fair I had never seen one before. I yelled when I saw my first one, it was really cool seeing something I’d only seen in Looney Tunes in real life. I was also desperate for visual entertainment. Alas my euphoria was short lived, as was my inaugural tumbleweed was promptly obliterated by a passing truck. How cruel this world can be! I hope you pictured me driving my van shaking my fist at the sky and proclaiming that, I’m not saying it happened, but I’m certainly not saying it didn’t.
This picture accurately represents my drives through Oklahoma
A night in a parking lot, you can probably guess which type of store at this point, was followed by an early rise and a trip to a disappointingly un-photogenic state park. At least for someone with my limited camera gear and skills it was sorely lacking in pictures worth taking, let alone sharing with you my sweet, sweet reader. It was fairly nice to view first hand; wind brushed across the dark water of a lake surrounded by frail bushes and low, yellow hills that drifted off into the distance. Unfortunately there was nothing I could capture that would encompass a smidgen of the niceness of the first-hand view. But that is part of the fun and challenge of photography, it’s often difficult. Sometimes you fail. But that just makes the times you succeed that much more enjoyable. A lot of life is probably like that, but I’m not articulate enough, nor wise enough to start lecturing you on the finer points of life. I’m just saying photography can be a fun hobby, is all.
Sightseeing
After untold hours of driving I arrived at the trailhead of Black Mesa, the highest point in Oklahoma, located all the way west on the state’s panhandle.
All right kids, it’s time to buckle up because I have some hard hitting geological information to share with you before we continue on with these tales from the trails. Mesas are effectively the same thing as plateaus (the main difference being they are always isolated while plateaus can be part of a larger formation) and the end of the panhandle was littered with these intriguing geological formations. Let me rock your world with another geology fact: Buttes are very similar to mesas/plateaus the only difference is the size. Buttes are smaller, so if you like big buttes (and cannot lie) you actually like mesas and plateaus. I hope you cherish this knowledge and think of me anytime you see a butte.
Dirt paths alined with pale yellow grass led me past round green bushes that were sprinkled across the landscape like freckles. Tufts of green reeds and spindly brown cacti were the finishing touches on this landscape which would have made a perfect backdrop for an old western.
Another side-note:I was trying to figure out whether I should be describing the area around Black Mesa as a prairie or a plain and in doing some research (aka one google search) I deduced that not only is the area technically a prairie; furthermore prairies are a subclass of plains..so it’s both. The more you know. Take a couple minutes to gather yourself as I’m sure these facts have turned your world upside down, then lets jump back to the golden-grassed prairie that was far from plain.
The first 2.5 miles of trail was flat, lending wide open vistas of the surrounding mesas. It was also a nice way to ease my legs into doing more than resting in a 90 degree angle for long hours while Buck and I trudged across Oklahoma and its panhandle. If my legs weren’t awake after those first few miles then they were rudely awoken with the bucket of ice water that was the elevation gain that lay between miles 2.5 and 3.5. The trail wrapped around the side of Black Mesa quickly increasing in height. I huffed and puffed my way up, seeking shade from the pestering sun’s rays when I could. A while later, significantly sweatier than I had been after the first few miles, I crested the top of the mesa. The next half-mile or so was another flat walk.
Part of the fun of hiking, for me, is that no two hikes are exactly the same. Sure, there are lots of similarities: they generally take place outside and on trails, yet you can do the same trail twice and have two totally different experiences. The weather can be totally different, the time of day can change things, there can be more or less people on the trail, you could see wildlife one day and not the next and so on. Hikes are a lot like books for me in this sense. There is always going to be more books out there to read, but sometimes it’s worth going back and checking out ones you’ve read before, you’ll reflect on the past reading experience while refreshing your memory and noticing things you may have overlooked last time. My point here was supposed to be that I’d never done a hike that was flat, had a bunch of elevation, then was just flat the rest of the way; I realized I had no idea how I was going to arrive at this point so I blurted it out just now. Sometimes I impress myself with how smooth and eloquent I am.
A mile of walking atop the mesa brought me to a pillar that denoted the top of Oklahoma. Turns out that Black Mesa is pretty massive and contains spots that are hundreds of feet higher, however these happen to fall beyond the borders of Oklahoma, in New Mexico and Colorado respectively. I took some pictures and signed the ledger that lay in a box near the pillar. After doing so I took a few more photos and wandered away towards the nearby edge of the mesa where I was met with views of buttes and distant mountains as well as a hearty beatdown from strong gusts of wind.
When I had had enough of being berated by the gales from the plains below, I retraced my steps to the pillar and beyond, heading back down the trail. I took my time watching as the sun crept lower to my left. The surrounding land and grasses below burned gold, I hustled about looking for views worth capturing.
It’s worth noting at this point, that I had spent the majority of this trip alone. I was used to it at this point. I would talk to the occasional Planet Fitness or Walmart employee and exchange brief hello’s and how are ya’s on hikes. Beyond that the majority of my interactions with other people was via my phone; which, let me tell you, is just as unhealthy as it sounds. This fact explains why I didn’t even consider how alone I was atop Black Mesa. I had seen very few cars as I approached the highpoint and the ones I did observe were going in totally different directions. The trailhead and hike itself were deserted, beyond my un-showered, wandering self there wasn’t a soul for miles. That is, until there was. Jaunting along the lower flat part trail, camera in hand it was a few moments before I noticed the figure further down the trail. Whoever they were they were running along right towards me.
Turns out he was a guy around my age, I’ll be honest at this point I can’t remember his name, beyond the fact that it began with a C and I remember thinking it was a pretty cool name. I’m going to hedge my bets and call him a host of different “C” names, one has to be right…right? Let’s start with Conrad. Conrad slowed to a stop and we exchanged the natural pleasantries that come from running across the only other human being in a remote corner of the world. We chatted about high points, where we’re from, what we’re doing, etc. Carlton was headed out soon to Vietnam, to teach English. He was also going to run the rest of the highpoint (the man deserves a medal if he ran up the side of the mesa) before heading back to Colorado Springs for work the next day. He still had the majority of the trail to go at about 8pm with a four hour drive to follow. He seemed like a madman and I mean that in the best way possible. One thing he said during our short talk was that he’s moved around a lot in his life and he’s found that traveling and seeing the world “does a lot to lift his spirits.” As you can imagine this line stuck with me. Cornelius asked me to snap a few pictures of him on my camera as he had recently lost his (madman!)and gave me his e-mail address to send them to him. And you know what? I never did.
I will be the first one to admit I am far from perfect. When you spend as much time alone and with your thoughts as I have on this trip and during past solo hikes, you inevitably turn your sights inward. Thoughts of my life, my future, my friends, and my family ebb and flow. I am well aware of a lot of my flaws, and one of them, that has arisen many times in my life, is that I don’t follow through with things. I stray, I wander off to different plans, the next thing that catches my eye. You can see evidence of digression in this very post, I went on tangents about buttes and thanking God for Mississippi for goodness sake. I think this wandering, this deviation is why I don’t follow through or finish things. Whether it’s grandiose ideas or video games or stories, I’ve left a lot of things incomplete in my life. An example that jumps to mind is from early in my high school days. I had this idea to use the power of arts and crafts to turn my room into an aquarium to try and impress a girl (puberty was a weird time for me, ok). I never finished the project and I definitely didn’t show her what I had done (in retrospect this was probably for the best, maybe this is a bad example). But fish cut out of paper remained on my room’s walls for months under the light of a blue lightbulb I had bought for the occasion. Reminders of my unaccomplished ideas were there to wish me goodnight and greet me in the morning. It’s actually in the past few years with traveling that I have started to make progress in dealing with this digressing (dropping hundreds of dollars on a plane ticket kind of helps you commit). Ironically wandering around the world and over mountains has started to make me quit wandering around things in my day to day life. However, I’ve only started to deal with the problem. It still rears it’s head in facets of my life, sure it’s not a huge deal that I never e-mailed Carmichael, but it’s a piece of the overall puzzle which, to me, kind of is a big deal. So I’m going to stop writing this for a moment and (months later) follow through with that e-mail.
There, that was painless and relatively quick. Definitely doesn’t make me want to delete my g-mail account and go into hiding for a year, nope not at all. Mostly joking there, but I almost called him Conrad which is likely not his name and if I had done that I probably would have smashed my phone and fled the country in sheer awkwardly, anxious panic.
All right enough about me, let’s get back into this story…about me.
After Cecil and I parted ways dusk had begun to plunge down across the sky and I found myself joined by another companion for the walk back to Bucket, the moon. The moon was massive, full and bright. It stared me in the face as it scaled the mountains in the distance and up into the sky. I swore aloud in awe. The sky was highlighted with shades of plum and peach and I could see the moon moving. I trust that my eyes weren’t messing with my brain nor that a hours of driving had finally cracked my mind in half. I saw the earth’s biggest satellite chug along, bit by bit, climbing higher in the sky, casting light down on the prairie around me. It was, for lack of a better word, really neat.
With another highpoint in hand, I debriefed from the hike, typed in my next destination on my phone, and got briefly lost in remote roads of the panhandle before Bucket and I righted ourselves and began what would feel like an overbearing and never-ending drive to New Mexico.
