take a hike: Devil's Den (the conclusion)

And then the thunder began to rumble.  I'm staring at the sky through our mesh, rain-fly missing tent and realize we have managed to pitch our tent under a tree with no leaves.  Roo suggests we move further into the woods for more cover and further away from the river.  Just the week prior, several campers were killed in Arkansas when a river flooded and swept them away during the night.  As if just getting wet wasn't enough to worry about.
So we relocate further away from the water than Brent and Kristy.  If they yell, that will be a warning to jump and run.  I take the footprint tarp off the bottom of the tent and we try to make a makeshift cover.  It's too small to protect the entire tent, but at least it covers our heads to keep the rain from falling in our faces.  With everything else securely packed in our waterproof backpacks, we climb back inside our tent in time for the rain to begin falling softly.
At first it's a gentle rain.  The mist hitting the sides of the tent actually felt kind of nice in the hot, sticky air.  I was feeling quite comfortable and optimistic, especially when I could hear Brent complaining about how hot and miserable it was in their enclosed tent.  The nature of a rain fly is to obviously block rain.  Unfortunately for the Kotschedoffs, it also blocks any breeze.
Just as I'm thinking this isn't so bad and I might be able to doze off, it starts to rain a little harder.  The lightning strikes and it thunders a little louder.  And it rains a little harder.  Then the wind picks up.  And it rains a little harder.  The makeshift rain fly is now doing no good since the rain is coming in from all sides and soaking us.  We're feeling pretty miserable when WHOOSH!!!  The tree branch to which the overhead tarp was attached gives way and it's a waterfall right in our face. We jump out and try to re-position our rain cover the best we can, but it is raining so hard now that we know it doesn't really matter.  Surely it can't last long.
Wrong.
Hours later, it's still raining and the wind is still blowing.  Roo and I are snuggled together as close as possible, shivering under our soaking wet sarongs we brought for covers.  Were we really complaining about the heat earlier?  Sleep is impossible.  My eyes are only shut to keep out the rain.  I'm alternately praying and cursing the Kotschedoffs for not inviting us to join them in their dry, cozy tent.  Irrational thought, I know, since our two-man tents are barely large enough for two people, but not a lot of rational thoughts are going through my mind right now.  I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm exhausted, and I can't help but imagine the river rising and sweeping us away.  Roo bravely offers to go search for a cave or some more substantial shelter, but it's pitch dark and we don't know what's in these woods let alone what might be in any cave.  Aren't there bears around here?  I wonder how long it would take us to hike back to the car.  And the rain fly.  Why oh why did Roo not pack the rain fly?  I can't be mad at him, though.  I knew he took it out and I could have just as easily thrown it in my own pack.  But really, maybe he should run back to the car and get it.  It's just 16 miles round trip.  But we decide to wait it out.  Surely it can't last much longer.
Wrong.
All this rain makes me have to pee.  I sit up and discover that my air mattress is actually floating in the tent! When I return, Roo and I pick up our tent and dump out about 100 gallons of water.  Futile effort since it's still raining, but I'm already convinced I have hypothermia and I would rather not drown in my own tent.
I lay back and catch a glimpse of my dry socks in the net at the top of the tent.  At least something was protected by the tarp.  I am so wet and so cold and so tired, I think if I could just get my feet warm, I might be able to get five minutes of sleep.  I slowly begin to reach up toward my socks when a voice sternly says, "Don't do it."
"But my feet are so cold!"
"Do you have any other dry socks?" Roo asks.  "Do you really want to hike eight miles out in wet socks?"
He's right.  And that's when I begin to cry.
I must be able to drift off for a few minutes, because when I next open my eyes it's just beginning to turn light and the rain seems to be subsiding.  I quickly escape the tent and rush to see how high the stream has risen.  I'm astonished.  Not an inch!  How could the monsoon have had no impact?  I see fog rising from the water and it looks like steam, so I gingerly test the water temperature with my toes and it's warm!  Warmer than my body temp anyway, so I jump in.  Not like I can get any wetter than I already am.  I shout for Roo to come join me.  All my rejoicing seems to have roused the Kotschedoffs and they emerge from their tent soaked as well--from sweat.

Looks cozy, huh?

None of us slept very well and we're all eager to get back to the car.  Roo and I change into dry clothes (yippee!!) and wring the water out of tent the best we can and repack our packs.  Wet gear weighs at least twice as much, so our packs are that much heavier.  We camped at the midway point of the trail loop and Brent suggests hiking back the way we came in.  Since it was all uphill on the way here, it must be all downhill back to the car.
Never trust Brent.
I'm not sure how a trail can be uphill both ways, but it was.  And the morning heated up quickly.  As the sun came out, steam began rising off our wet packs.  Another downside of rain is that when it mixes with dirt on a trail, it makes mud, which is really not fun to hike in.  It was shaping up to be a really great day.
We hadn't gone very far at all before we noticed the trail was actually fairly dry.  Strange, but we weren't about to complain.  Aside from being more uphill than we remembered and the weight from our wet gear, the hike out wasn't terrible and before too long we had made it back to our raspberry bush.  Just beyond our rest stop the trail intersected the road back to the park.  After not much deliberation, the boys decided to leave their packs with Kristy and I and jog back to get the car and come pick us up.  We made good use of our time picking wild raspberries and had nearly a quart-size baggie each by the time the boys showed back up.  We loaded up the gear and headed back to the campground--the real one--in search of showers.
All clean and reclined in the backseat, I'm pretty sure I was snoozing before we made it out of the parking lot.  But my ice cream radar picked up the mention of Sonic near Fayetteville.  In honor of our survival and return to civilization, Sonic's milkshakes were half off.  We might have made two or three more shake stops on the route home.  I lost track.
Just for fun, Brent checked the radar from the previous night, to see how widespread that storm was.  Somehow, the only blip on the radar was right over us.  That explained the steady river and dry trail.  I don't know if God was just messing with us or trying to teach us, but we definitely came away from that memorable weekend with a few life lessons--never trust Brent and always ALWAYS pack the rain fly.

take a hike: Devil's Den (part 1)

Well, it's that time of year again and Memorial Day weekend is upon us.  It stands for several things, not the least of which is the kick off to camping season.  I could--and maybe someday I will--write an entire book on my adventures in camping.  Some good, some bad, some I'd really rather forget.  One of the best, I mean worst, or at least one of the most memorable was the weekend of our fourth wedding anniversary.
Roo and I decided to celebrate with a romantic trek through the woods on our first overnight hiking adventure.  We invited the Kotschedoffs along as our guides and set off for Devil's Den State Park in Winslow, Arkansas.  (A little foreshadowing here--I now know where the park gets it's name.)
We set off after work on Friday, intending to camp at the car the first night, then backpack in and camp on the trail the second night before hiking back out on day three.  Since it was sort of a last-minute trip and our first backpack/hiking adventure, we didn't bother to reserve a campsite for the first night.  Upon arrival, we found the ranger station dark and empty.  While trying to decide what to do, a car came screeching into the parking lot and a woman jumped out frantically screaming, "My son is missing!"  A ranger appeared and calmed her down.  Apparently the son had been hiking and didn't check in, she thought he was lost, but I'm pretty sure they located him.  I think.  That should have been our first clue.  After that issue was dealt with, we inquired as to a place to pitch our tent since the campground was full.  The ranger directed us to follow the highway out of the park where we would find two pull-off campsites along the road that would be suitable for our stay.
Well, the "highway" turned into a gravel road just outside the park.  And the "campsites" were dirt paths where people just parked in the woods.  Creepy!  We pulled off at the first one and didn't bother to stop the car.  The second pull-off was less populated and a little less Deliverance, so we parked in the woods for the night, probably illegally trespassing on someone's private property.  Brent and Kristy pitched a tent while Roo and I took the back of the Element.  And since I was the only one hungry for dinner, I settled for a feast of beef jerky and gummy worms.
We woke up fairly early the next day because we wanted to grab breakfast at the park's restaurant before hitting the trail.  You know, get one last good meal in before busting out the trail food.  So we packed our packs and headed back to the main campground.  After consulting the weather forecast and seeing zero percent chance of rain, Roo decided to save eight ounces of weight and leave the tent's rain fly in the car.
We found the cafe, but were thirty minutes early for opening.  We used the time to explore a little bit.  The historic state park was built in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps--the "Tree Army" of Franklin D. Roosevelt's New Deal.  There is a beautiful lake, campground, rustic facilities, and numerous trails to explore.  There are at least four caves in the park as well, but last I checked they were still closed to the public to prevent White-nose syndrome in the bats.

We took a few pictures by the rock dam that forms Lake Devil and made friends with a few armadillos before being treated to the best microwavable breakfast the cafe had to offer.  Don't go expecting anything gourmet here.  Then it was off to the ranger station for our backpacking permit and a-hiking we went.
Brent started out as our navigator.  We fired him after we took a wrong turn and ended up back at the trailhead.  (I know, those colored arrows are hard to follow.)  It got hot quick and two miles into our eight-mile (well--now nine-mile hike if you include our detour), I for one was ready to find a swimming hole.  Instead we found a wild raspberry bush.  While taking a break to pick and eat berries, a fellow hiker and his two kids told us a little of what to expect in our overnight accommodations.  The designated backpack camping sites are located on the bank of a stream.  The tent sites are pretty level with fire pits and there is a boulder in the middle of the stream--perfect for climbing and jumping into the water.  That sounded UH-MAY-ZING right about then.  We picked up the pace with a renewed bounce in our step, only stopping for lunch at the coolest pile of boulders that formed a sort of cave structure.  A few miles more brought us to our evening's destination.  It was indeed the oasis our trail friends had described.
It was roughly 4 p.m., the hottest part of the day, and the cool clear stream was calling our name.  We hurriedly pitched our tents and changed into swimsuits.
Aaaaahhhhhh!!!!  The water felt fabulous.  Did I mention it was the hottest day of the summer thus far?  The first day that year to reach triple digits.  Perfect weather for toting a 50-pound pack eight miles just for fun.
So we swam, we explored the stream, I scurried back to the boulder when I saw a snake, and we sunbathed.  Sun-napped was more like it.  And we spread our towels out on the boulder and played cards.  After the tenth or so hand of pinochle, I glanced up at the sky and asked, "Do those look like rain clouds to anyone else?"  Oh, no, they assured me.  There is a zero percent chance of rain.  Don't you worry about that.
It was too hot to even think about building a fire, so instead we fired up the Jet Boil and had a fine package of freeze-dried lasagna for dinner.  It actually tasted pretty good.  And after a long day of hiking we were all exhausted and retired to our tents before it was totally dark.  Not long after, we heard a group of four-wheelers approach the stream from the opposite bank.  We didn't get out to investigate, but the people sounded friendly enough.  I could hear them splashing around and talking from what I assumed was the boulder.  I wasn't worried until I heard one person say to the rest of the group, "We probably better head out before the rain opens up on us."
And then the thunder began to rumble...
(To be continued.)