My parents do not like the outdoors. My dad is an adventurous man- he will hike, run, bike, kayak, canoe, or surf with the best of them, but he then likes to have a nice hotel room to return to with a bed. Don't bother asking mom...if it is even somewhat rustic she will think it is gross and awful. The closest we ever got to camping when I was younger was building a fort in the living room to sleep under. They wouldn't even spend a night with me at church camp...I had to be an adopted child of one of my friend's parents.
I do enjoy the outdoors and managed to experience camping with the help of those families that would graciously take me to camp and through those wonderful high school youth group canoe trips. Two weekends ago I took my first "no adults present" camping trip. Well, I suppose all of us that went were adults, but it doesn't seem that way. I still feel like a high school kid and actually get mistaken for one quite often. Alan and I went with 4 of our friends to Ponca, Arkansas to spend the weekend hiking, sleeping in a tent, sitting by the fire, the whole bit. It was fun, but I had no idea what I was getting into.
Sunday morning we got up and headed to a place that one of my friends had hiked many times before. Right when we started I asked him about the severity of this trail and all I remember about his response is that he said there may be some climbing. I immediately demanded his definition of "climbing." That could mean stepping over a tree on the path or it could mean we should have harnesses and helmets. He never really answered me.
For the next three hours we followed a creek (a very full creek) to a small canyon. There wasn't really a trail most of the time and we had to climb over huge rocks and trees and were crossing over the creek all the time. (I think I will actually call it a river from now on, I mean it was really full!) We tried to stay pretty dry by walking on stones in the river, but as you will later find out that was a waste of time.
When we reached the canyon we got to this rock face that was totally vertical and had a tree at the top of it with a rope hanging down. Ah, this was where the "climbing" came in. We had to hold the rope and climb up a vertical rock surface. Who put the rope there? Was this a joke that we were all actually trusting this rope and putting all of our weight on it to pull ourselves up??? I was a little terrified. Once we got past that we had to crawl up another practically vertical incline to get to our lunch spot. A few times we were hanging onto ledges while walking along a very thin one under our feet. When we were sitting up in this weird cave/canyon overlooking the trees below all I did was freak out about how we were all probably going to die on the way back. This was some extreme hiking!! I think I hid my fear well.
Once we'd finished lunch we tried to find out if there was a better way back. Mostly I just wanted to avoid that ridiculous rope. We saw a flat trail off to our right and hoped that would lead us down a better way. Turns out the rope would have been a way better idea! We followed the trail for awhile and just kept getting further and further into the brush. There was no more trail. We knew that we had to get down at some point- back to the river. So, when we saw an opportunity- a decline that didn't look as steep as the rest of the mountain we headed down. It was hilarious and ridiculous. We bushwhacked out way down a muddy hill covered with trees and poison ivy. People were sliding and falling and twice I was hanging from a rock ledge with my feet not touching the ground. We would slide into a tree to hold onto and then we would find the next closest one, slide again, and hope that we were grabbing for a tree that was rooted well. It was intense. (I wish I could paint a better picture of what this was really like. Whatever you are picturing as I describe this, multiply it times four. Put more trees and rocks in there. Maybe a steeper hill. Lots of water and wetness.) We were almost to the bottom and my dear husband slid and grabbed for one of those not-rooted-so-well trees. He went rolling through the mud down the rest of the hill and right into the stream/river. Amazing dismount off the mountain! The rest of the way back you could see how no one cared about being wet anymore. We just went straight through the river most of the time.
After six hours in the woods we made it back to the car- covered in mud and each of us having some sort of battle wound acquired from the hike. I want use a better word than "hike." It wasn't a nice little "hike." It was extreme trail blazing. Professionals would question our sanity. I was thanking the Lord that we all were safe at the end of that day. Perhaps you will think I am being dramatic, but we could have died multiple times that day. A good roll down one of them hills or a ledge cracking beneath you and its all over. What a day.
We were supposed to stay one more night, but we'd pretty much had our fill of camping at that point. We packed up camp, stopped at Quiznos, and headed home to tell of our adventure in the woods of Ponca, Arkansas.
1 year ago
