[Dover, AK WalMart]
Last night's optimism carried us into the cold morning and extended into breakfast, an ambrosia we devoured at a high way rest stop picnic table. After some rest stop yoga, and quite a few glares in our direction later, we made the four hour push to Sam's Throne, a peculiar sandstone bluff deep inside the Ozark National Forest with more folklore than I cared to ingest. Our mission; haul ass to the crag so we could absorb the solar energy that barely peeked through the clouds over Tennessee. Here in Arkansas the sun would soon warm the earth, and we felt ready to climb, but no amount of yoga or mental exercise could have prepared us for the hellish nightmare that awaited...
The alpine start was not an utter failure, but after spending much time trying to take a decent picture (I am photographically challenged) on various mountainous lookouts, we finally arrived at the top of Sam's throne with a few hours of daylight left.
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| The Roadside Lookout |
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| Our Camp Site |
We found a great place to set up camp next to the cliff access and I quickly packed shoes and harness into a daypack. I rushed down the trail with Shadow to find that there was no easy way down. There, at the top of the cliff, I met a group of kids setting up a rappel to avoid the steep gully access. The largest one of the four was going first, and offered to carry his friend's 10lb dog, and she reluctantly agreed. Sensing their inexperience, I offered some advice on how to lower the dog safely by creating a harness out of slings. The girl who owned the dog seemed up for it, but they only had one dyneema sling to create their anchor. In any case, my advice fell on deaf ears. These kids were going to do it their way. I left them to it, and as I walked further down the cliff, I heard them joke about how dogs' necks are strong, and that the collar will hold the pup by the neck in case she slips out of his grasp. Oddly, I had the strong sense that they weren't joking, but I had already added my two cents, and so I hiked along, determined to find a way down. We stumbled upon Sam's Throne, a castle like portion of the outcropping from where the now mythologized Sam Davis would preach fiery sermons to the settlers below. He originally climbed these cliffs in search of his sister, who he believed had been kidnapped by a band of native indians. I laid down to rest on a tree and soon fell into a half stupor, but awoke to an itch on my back. I plucked off a tick and immediately noticed another crawling up my shirt. Wide Awake. I gathered my items and shook them off violently. We were covered. We ran back up to the car and set up our solar shower. No time to absorb photons, a cold shower with our last few liters of water and soap was in order. Standing butt naked, I proceeded to pull twenty or so ticks from off my body and my pants, then decapitated each with my knife. Every time I checked, I found another, and when I turned the pants inside out I was back to square one. I spent a full hour quarantining the clothes and checking me and the pup. He was infested, and they had already latched on. Luckily our bath soap was flea and tick removal dog shampoo. Somehow, I still felt so dirty. Back up the mountain we stopped at the same rest area lookout we took pictures at a few hours ago. I ran into the bathroom and vigorously scrubbed dog shampoo into my matted hair, then we sped into Dover, the nearest civilized town, and threw the infected clothing into the dryer on the hottest setting. Then we washed and dried them normally. According to the CDC, the dryer is an effective method for desiccating those blood sucking bastards to death. I've never felt such an intense hatred towards a living thing. By the time laundry was done, I was overwhelmingly tired. We drove down the mountain and pulled off at the Dover WalMart. Sitting here scribbling into the journal, wrapped up in freshly cleaned sheets, I feel bug free. But theres a sense that we were just violated, even raped, by tiny parasitic demons. The Ozark National Forest did not give us any climbing at all, it just kicked our asses and took our names.
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| Vacuum Time; No room for hitchhikers in this van |
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