October Camping Trip

First posted on 11-10-2011

Camping in the Ozarks this time of year means being prepared for rapidly changing weather conditions. That’s written from experience. Last time around, the trip included ancient sleeping bags that were probably rated for mild 50 degree temperatures, not the upper-30s we actually encountered.

This time, armed with down-filled bags and an air-filled mattress, we were ready for a forecast that included frost and sub-freezing temps.

A “No Vacancies” sign greeted us at the entrance to Steele Creek campground on the Buffalo River, but it was likely that the sign reflected an October weekend, not the mid-week trip we were taking. Only one campsite was occupied, and that by a couple from Noel, Missouri. They chose a great spot at the far end of the campground, surrounded by trees. That only left 25 others from which to choose, but we managed to select a nice spot in the middle of the long valley that makes up Steele Creek.

Before we set up camp, a hiker named Darwin and his dog, Bolt, greeted us. We talked about the trails, and he reminded us how cold the nights were going to be. Darwin recommended tossing a couple instant hot packs into the bags for added warmth. I use them in the woods during deer season, but failed to bring any along for this trip.

Darwin and Bolt headed out to the trails as we constructed the tent, aired the mattress and unloaded the gear. We headed off for a mile and a half hike up and down the river trail, just to stretch our legs a bit and view the scenery along some tall bluffs. When we returned to camp, two Hot Hands heat packs were casually presented on top the cooler. Darwin was looking out for us.

This trip, the Buffalo was just a creek, which left plenty of room to explore the gravel bars made up of large rocks rounded smooth by the patient work of a river’s travels through the centuries. Sometimes mild, sometimes raging, the river crafts sandstone and limestone into works of art.

Someone with plenty of time on his hands saw fit to create large, stone circles with towers constructed of river rock. Others built channels to direct the flow of low water, and still others left stacks standing knee-deep in river pools. I wonder if the river finds this amusing, or if it will wipe the slate clean as soon as it swells again.

For dinner, we roasted Angus beef hot dogs over a hickory campfire as the sun began to set behind tall hills that surrounded us in all directions. Since the grounds had a nice bathroom with plumbing, we were able to take the edge off roughing it by keeping a set of clothes for hiking, another set to absorb the scent of a campfire, and a third set for sleeping.

I had hung a small thermometer from a tent pole and we were greeted to temperatures just below 40 degrees the first night. The Kelty bags worked great and my slumber was only broken by bugling elk bulls that called out a few times during the early morning hours.

The sun warmed things considerably even as we sat and ate a breakfast of biscuits, eggs and bacon. Food never tastes as good as that cooked in an iron skillet over a crackling fire.

We exhausted ourselves with two hikes after breakfast. The first was to explore Lost Valley, where damage from spring rains was still evident even as summer’s drought left the falls as little more than a trickle. A forest service crew worked hard at rebuilding steps and we delayed their progress with a long conversation about the trails, the area. I don’t think they minded the diversion too much.

After an 8-mile drive along a gravel road that at times felt as if it were built at a 45-degree angle, we finally parked at the entrance to our second hike to Whitaker Point. We took this journey late in the day, which worked out well. The sun was at a nice angle for photographs and the crag that juts into the valley was unoccupied. Typically, people stand on the crag to pose for pictures or to gaze at the hills and valleys. We decided to double-time the trip back since the light was fading and we carried no flashlights. Hated to think about walking atop those bluffs in total darkness, but we did make it back to the truck safely, and with plenty of daylight to spare.

Plunging temperatures made keeping my face warm a bit more of a challenge the second night, and we awoke to a 27-degree morning with frost that made the top of the tent crispy, and glistened on stiffened grass blades. Breakfast was good, although we consumed it quickly to avoid letting it get too cold.

After breaking camp, we used my field guide to practice identifying trees along a trail. While I didn’t need the book to recognize white oak, walnut, sassafras or gum, the guide proved helpful toward discovering mulberry, post oak and beech.

Reluctantly, we climbed back into the truck for the drive home even though hot showers waited on the other end. We did take the trip at a leisurely pace.

Some people are summer campers, and I suppose cool nights after a warm day could be very relaxing. But for me, nothing beats pitching a tent in autumn. Blazing leaves, quiet campgrounds and nearly vacant trails greet October campers. Just remember to come prepared. Those summer sleeping bags are no match for icy fall air.

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