Life is Short, Adventure Hard - Dance Weekend Turned Adventure Bonanza

There is an annual event in Mountain Home, AR called Folk Dance Days.  Every September, the rare dancer who appreciates dances from a past time can join other dancers in a celebration of these arts.  Coupled with the ambiance and joy of Ozark Folk Center State Park, it's a wholesome, fun weekend.  Fortunately, this folk mecca is also surrounded by national forest, Blanchard Springs State Park, the White River, Sylamore Creek, Syllamo Mountain Bike trail and loads of little creeks, trails and woods waiting to be explored.  If you want to be outside all day and hear exceptional music at night, this is the town for you.

Traditionally, I've taken dance classes all weekend and fellowshiped with all the lovely dancers that make their way to Mountain View. This year, I decided to fall to the temptation of the outdoors and dance a little in the evenings.  I set off in a motorcade with Joanie and Mim.  First of all, these are lovely travel companions.  Rarely in a rush and always up for a proper food and beverage stop, they are moms to the hilt.  Mim and I had a vehicle loaded with a banjo, mandolin, ukulele, mountain bike, two kayaks, dance shoes, and all the fixin's for camping.  This is a vehicle full of potential adventure.  We also had loads of snacks (this is a given when I'm traveling).

After a late night fueled wrong turn and traveling through a few cities again, we made a late arrival to Mountain View.  When this happens with the right people, it is really no hassle.  More time to chat, right?

FRIDAY

The morning was leisurely and I had big plans on the beginner Syllamo Mountain Bike Trail.  Bad Branch was beckoning me and my fairly shiny new bike was ready for some more action.  After assuring moms of departure time and more importantly, expected return time, I headed off with a packed lunch and confidence beyond what was probably appropriate.  I drove 5.6 miles down a dirt road and had my first victory -- I finally saw a wild pig.  Five years in Arkansas and loads of time in their habitats and finally, crossing the road and very difficult to describe was my first little black wild pig.  On to the bike trail, I geared up, with gloves, and headed down a very narrow single track path.  It kept getting narrower from a foliage perspective, but I tried to not imagine seed ticks leaping on as I went past.  Grass was brushing my elbows on both sides and then it appeared that the grass went all the way across.  Well, the grass was camouflaging a bold briar that had wandered across the road and established itself.  Powering through the grass was a no-go and so very suddenly, my hindquarters were downhill, my feet and head uphill and my bike above a log on the trail.  This wasn't particularly disturbing until I flexed to move and found that even the most minor flexion resulted in a negative experience.  A deep breath and some pondering made me realize I was completely in the middle of the briar's home bush.  Finally deciding to put hands on branches to wrench out, the briars did their best to make sure everyone knew where I landed and I walked my bike back out.  No real damage, just a startling position to suddenly find oneself in.  In the spirit of getting back on the horse, I rode the dirt road in for about 30 minutes and then packed the bike up.

 

I think how I was feeling about the sport is pretty self-explanatory.

Like any good outdoor person, I drove to the nearest boat ramp, unloaded my kayak and paddled up the creek to take a deep breath and do something I am competent at.  I've been wanting to paddle up Sylamore Creek for years, so it kind of worked out.  It is clear, the fish are plentiful and although a bit short in September, it is a quality afternoon cruise that is unlikely to end up in a briar bush...  On the upside, I saw a soft shell turtle in the wild for the first time in 10 years.  

After the kayak therapy concluded, my traveling companions graciously accompanied me to Tommy's Pizza.  This is the heaviest, most delicious pizza in that part of the state.  Even with vegetarian options, we were so full I thought we may perish.  The gals took their food coma to the evening concert while I dozed and read the mountain bike Arkansas pamphlets and pondered a reboot.  About 10 PM we wandered to the lodge for the big Country Dance.  Contra dances, square dances and fun were definitely on the menu.  There is nothing better than coming together with a group of fun and skilled dancers from all over.  You learn new moves, practice old ones and catch up with friends.  

An interesting anniversary occurs every year on this weekend.  I actually met the group know as "Sugar on the Floor" at dance weekend.  I signed up solo and they found me lost in the hall.  Convincing me to come to their singing class (they seemed like nice women), I met two women and eventually a third that I would end up loving more deeply than I can imagine.  We've since played for crowds, paddled together, and gone on epic adventures of all sorts.  I can't imagine missing the weekend that would change the course of my life here in Arkansas.  After cupcakes and a toast, we finally settled in for some semblance of sleep.  It was a perfect end to a big adventure day.  

SATURDAY

In an unexpected twist, I ended up joining BSA Troop 29 out of Little Rock on their Blanchard Springs Cavern Wild Cave Tour.  I was thrilled to have an alternative to mountain biking given my new loss of confidence in trail maintenance in the national forest.  I've been on this trip before, but the beauty of the cave never ceases to rock me back on my heals.  The cool air, dramatic landscape and otherworldly quality of it is a great escape.  Watching 10 - 12 year old kids discover it with dirt on their coveralls and grins from exhaustion was a bonus.  I'll let the photos speak for the experience.  

Bat skeleton

That hand is pointing to our direction of travel...

Underground slot canyon.

We got out in time for me to rush back for rehearsal for the evening show.  An amazing dinner at the State Park restaurant and we were on to the big Saturday night stage.  Acts from the whole weekend performed dances and songs.  It is a solid show to say the least and knowing a lot of the performers only enhances the experience!

Another community dance in the evening and lots of goodbyes until next year and a the day was suddenly over.  We finished the night with snacks, wine and the latest Oktoberfest brew.  What could be much better in your pajamas?

SUNDAY

For the last two years, Mim and I have floated to the big closing party of dance weekend.  This year, the float was part of the party and we had the blessing of floating down the river with local friends who happen to be amazing musicians and much more important, amazing and wonderful people.  Our group of 12 got on the White River midday and took a very leisurely cruise that included two dogs, one of which was Luna the Adventure Pug.  There is no better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than with friends on the river.  We wrapped it up with a graciously hosted cookout and campfire.  Divine.

Adventure pug on the lookout.

MONDAY - TUESDAY

Although I enjoy the social nature of this weekend, I always look very forward to a relaxing, peaceful float on the Buffalo.  This year we committed to a lot of book reading, resting and casual adventure.  Mim and I started out with the traditional Hardee's breakfast (read greasy brick that tastes amazing).  Leisurely traveling to the outfitter, we eventually started our float at North Maumee.  It was pristine, quiet and we only had two other travelers on the river all day.  We took time to nap, lunch, swim, read and ever so slowly work our way to a camp site 6 miles down river.  Along the way, we encountered a school of gar and another large fish yet to be identified.  Heron escorted us down the river in their regal coats and tails.  The only drawback of the whole adventure was the awareness of a new growth in the river.  Some sort of green, fibrous plant had intensely populated the river in the last month.  It had a beautiful hue and flow, but it didn't belong there.   

Exceptionally large fish!

My favorite kayak visitors.

The mysterious green....

Arriving at camp, we were unhurried except to grab our books and chairs to linger after a bath in a little shoal that went right by camp.  Exploring our gravel bar and finding firewood was the next priority.  This led to exploring new plants and pondering tracks in the mud.  

Setting up camp was quick and on to preparing the fajita feast.  Modern options have made this very achievable!   We quickly found that the local Daddy Long Leg population was ecstatic about fajita fixings.  Every spoon or plate laid down was explored by the spider scouts.  It was entertaining, but very unusual.  The next activity in line was building our fire.  As cool settled over the river and the moonlight cast over us, we piled our collection of driftwood and sticks into an organized pile.  What followed is the joy of being present for the transition from day to night.  The birds grow quiet, the bugs become busier, fireflies are in motion and the crackle of the fire only barely distracting from the sound of the river gliding by.  

Our evening ended with s'mores and settling into our lush accommodations. With no need for a rain fly, we settled into a perfect view of the moon shining down.  Using headlamps to read we settled in for the night.  No more than 10 minutes later the piercing howl of a single coyote lit up the audio landscape.  A brief silence followed by both of us making sure the other heard it (i.e. it wasn't some bizarrely loud imagined sound) was immediately followed by an intense burst of yipping, barking, yelping and more howls.  Punctuated only by the distress calls of the prey, the chaos all died down in a matter of a minute.  Left with the moon shining bright and the normal soundtrack of the evening back on, we laid down and were thankful that the feast seemed to be on the other side of the river.  

Waking up on the Buffalo is as near to a spiritual experience as I can describe.  The air is clean, the sound of water and birds paramount and nothing can remotely be amiss.  Seeing one of your best friends reading by the campfire that miraculously still had a spark to it hours later and then looking downriver to a mist laden scene is simply perfect.  The whole purpose of camping on the river is going about the very business of living.  You cook, collect firewood, set up house and paddle, because it is what you need to be doing.  There is no pretense, no where to be and certainly no one to be.  You just exist and that is enough.  If you really do it right, you can take a moment to submit to something greater than you.  Our troubles, our fears, emotions are all so minute in the big scale of things.  We are a very fine part of something bigger, not the masters of the universe.