The forest sounds different without its leaves. Rather than rustling millions of leaves, Sunday’s gusts roared like a distant waterfall between the trees’ bare bones. A good strong wind always seems to accompany hikes along the heights of the Ozark National Forest.
Area hiking enthusiasts probably recognize the outcropping above instantly: Hawksbill Crag at Whitaker Point, near the Buffalo River. It’s one of the best known spots in the state, but in all of my time here, I hadn’t seen it. I tried almost three years ago and was foiled by a steep and wet dirt road. A good friend just bought a Jeep, so this time we were golden. (It turns out there’s also at least one easier route a little further down the road. Good one, Google.)
The overlook at the end is obviously the primary draw of this trail, but the scenery on the way deserves its own attention. The trail runs along the top of a bluff line peppered with boulders and crowned by trees growing right out of the rock. The Boston Mountains swell and fall all around like immense ocean waves. These bluffs, like many around the Buffalo, can be deadly for those who go too close to the edge. Be careful if you visit.
And here’s a view from on the crag itself. An unseasonably warm December afternoon wound up being a terrific time to get acquainted with this landmark. Someday I’ll come back to see its greener self.
Thanks for lookin’,
The Lost Valley near the Buffalo National River was lush and green the first time I walked its trail, yet Eden Falls at the trail’s end and Clark Creek down its middle ran almost totally dry. I took another look this past weekend, sure it would be different after days of rain.
High rivers and the water overtaking pasture fences on the way were promising signs, and the creek at the trailhead burbled just loud enough to hear in the forest’s quiet. But it wasn’t long before the boulders and other shattered remnants of the cave that once enclosed the creek were dry and silent. The forest floor was carpeted in green with splashes of purple, but no water.
Soon, though, I could hear the sound of falling water from higher up on the valley wall. A steep but short climb took us to an emerald gem that many have taken to calling the moss falls. No more doubts for me.
This is the creek’s source, where it comes gushing out of a cave high on the south side of the valley. Eden Falls was lively and the creek below it flowed brightly. It seemed nothing but bizarre that the waterway further down the trail would be so dry instead of even more lively. Walking back toward the entrance along the creek bed soon gave the answer to this puzzle: a big crack at the base of another waterfall, where the water disappeared in a swirl of bubbles.
It wouldn’t emerge until a few hundred feet downstream, right before the natural bridge in that first photo.
Thanks for looking.
Places have moods, and it takes a few visits to really see them. The first time I went to the Goat Trail along the Buffalo River, it was cold, windy, overcast, quiet and slightly creepy. Somehow it was literally the complete opposite last weekend: warm, calm, sunny, full of people and a lot less creepy with the glow of autumn. Without the wind threatening to blow me off of the bluff, I also ventured a bit further along the 5-foot-wide trail. Slowly.
I just love these junipers so much — strong, worn smooth with age and leaning into the steep drop of a couple hundred feet.
As the sun sank, a little bit of the old creepiness came out. I didn’t mind.
Thanks for lookin’.