4/1/99 Someone was singing a lullaby to me as my brain came to life. There was no sunrise outside my window, but there was a bird, perched on a nearby limb, singing his heart out. I think it was a junco. Could he have been crying out for FOOD, or just welcoming me back to the cabin? I took it as a sign to get up and see what April was all about. Oh yea, there was also a serviceberry tree in bloom a few feet from my head - brilliant white.

I had some yogurt and Grape Nuts and a banana for breakfast. It seemed warm as I stepped outside (63 degrees), but the wind was howling - up in the 30mph range - which made it a little chilly. I sat on my own little perch and marveled at all the movement out in the air space in front of me. Even though it was just barely daylight, there were a dozen or more soaring birds out playing in the wind. Mostly buzzards, but there were a few hawks too. And there were little birds, several different species, darting back and forth in the meadow below.

Hey, there was a bluebird! And he flew right past one of the little houses and landed in a nearby tree. I got out the telescope and examined him. He had something in his mouth. I zoomed in close. He had either one of those green strands of something that grows on oak trees at this time of the year, or a caterpillar. And he kept tossing it up in the air and catching it, then tossing it back up again. He was very serious about this business. I wasn't sure what the heck he was doing. Every two or three tosses he would pause and look in my direction, as if to ask what the heck I was looking at.

He must have done this twenty or more times, and I eventually realized that whatever it was he was tossing was growing LONGER! What? Looked to be about two inches long. Then in one quick flip of his beak, and a big gulp that I swear I could hear, he tossed the object up in the air and inhaled the entire thing - it disappeared in a split second. I had to look twice to see that it was all gone. Sure enough. It had to have been a caterpillar. But why was he biting on it and tossing it up in the air? It remained in one piece. The only thing that I can think of is that he was tenderizing it, just like a piece of meat. Or trying to smash it down so that it wasn't so big around. At any rate, the entire scene was a treat for this porch sitter to witness. Now, if he can only get his mate to take up residence in one of my houses - the caterpillar supply will be great.

I turned my attention to a very large red-tailed hawk that was soaring nearby. I watched him through the binocs, as he rode the wind currents with his outstretched arms. All he had to do was curve one of his wingtips just a little, and he went sailing off in a different direction. Such beauty. Such grace. Please let me be a hawk in the next life.

As I looked around I could see eleven serviceberries that were in bloom right in my little backyard. And some of the mature trees out in the wilderness were beginning to take an individual tree shape - budding out some. These were the first that I had noticed this year.

There were lots of clouds, but the sun managed to break through ever now and then, sending a shaft of life down into the forest. Moving clouds often create a real light show.

There were many chores on tap for me today, but I decided to get out and walk around a little before I got too serious. Then I realized that I could do both. I grabbed a roll of flagging tape and headed on up towards the East Meadow. Since this is one of the routes that I use the most, I need to get a trail built here soon. Within about ten minutes I had the route flagged all the way to the meadow. Nothing fancy, no SSS's, but just a nice stroll through the woods. It will take a bit of work to construct, but that will be the fun part. There were about a hundred trout lilies along one stretch, but none of them were in bloom yet. In fact, there were very flew wildflowers in bloom up this high.

Everywhere I walked there were birds. Lots of birds. Calling out into the woods, flying from tree to tree, soaring overhead. I counted about thirteen different species in twenty minutes, although I couldn't ID them all.

I went by the Faddis Cabin and then Bob's, looking for a little digging tool. I found it in the little old log shed at Bob's, the one that the bear broke into last summer. There was this old homestead nearby that had a large patch of daylilies that I wanted to borrow a few of to plant at my place (on private land - can't dig wildflowers in the wilderness). On the way back to the cabin, I stopped and got out a few clumps of the plants and loaded them up in my pack.

The wild plums and the peaches were really coming out in full force. The peach blossoms were very colorful and striking. There seem to be lots of wild plums up here, but I don't recall ever seeing any of the fruit. Now that I know the trees, I will keep my eyes open as summer approaches.

On the way back I found a nice red bud tree, in full bloom, that had been knocked over by another large tree as it fell from the ice storm. After about five minutes of heavy dragging and a bit of cursing, I was able to remove the larger tree and free the redbud.

I took up my seat on the back deck again. Now the valley was full of smaller hawks - three of them all flying in formation. Round and round and up and up they went. Then they dove back down again.

I brought out a new addition to the cabin with me. Actually several. One thing was a 31' runner, three feet wide. I unrolled it in the great room, and it stretches all the way from the front door to the back door. Now you can walk through the cabin without getting on the wood floor. Still no shoes inside though!

And my truck was packed to the gills with PLANTS! A thousand bucks worth. Azaleas and rhododendrons mostly. I have tried to find someplace to buy wild azaleas to plant in the steeper areas of the meadow, but I was unable to find anybody who grew them. I know they are very difficult to transplant from the wild, plus I don't know of very many of private property. So we went with domestic varieties, but I think the colors will be good, and blend in quite well.

And the rhododendrons will add a bit of green color in the wintertime, plus some nice flowers in the spring.

I also brought out some bug bombs to slow down the wasps, which I set off upstairs in the loft. It would be four hours before I could re-enter the cabin, so I got a lot of little chores done outside.

One chore was to lay out the new deck that I am going to build to put the hot tub on. Once I figured out where the posts were going, I had to get the heavy steel pry bar and move a few rather large boulders that were in the way. One of them went crashing down the hillside, but I managed to move the others out of the way without any further dramatics.

Come to think of it, I don't remember what any of the other chores were. Perhaps there weren't any in the morning, because I did head off soon for a little hike and then a trail maintenance work trip.

The hike took me down the ladder trail to the river. It didn't take me too long to skip down the steep slope. And you should have seen all of the bloodroot flowers! They were EVERYWHERE, and just incredible! And dancing to the pulse of the wind. But they weren't the only flowers out. There seemed to be tiny blooms of this or that all around me. It was a fairy tale hike for sure.

The sun was shining brightly when I reached the river. And it was getting rather warm. The river was running normal, and was this wonderful color. Let's see, last night was the blue moon, today is April 1st, the first real day of spring for me. It is warm, and there is this gorgeous river right at my feet. I don't know what came over me, but before I knew what was going on, I had stripped off my clothes and was screaming at the top of my lungs as I plunged my body into the FRIGID water! The first dip was downright painful. But I quickly got out, and then went right back in again. The second time is always better. I stayed in for maybe ten seconds this time. That was enough for me.

I got out and dried off as best as I could, then turned towards the big hill and tried to make it to the top as fast as I could, non stop, and taking large steps. I'm sure the cold water helped a little, and before I knew it I was sitting in one of my chairs on the back deck, panting heavily.

There were still a lot of birds out, mostly little ones now. In fact, there were a couple of pairs of very tiny birds that were chasing each other out over the meadow. I never could ID them, but they seemed to be having a great time. Once I rested up a little, it was time for another hike.

I took a new route over towards the Crag. This area is one that I plan to put a trail through at some point, one that would connect my cabin with the Faddis Meadow. As I got to the end of the area, I discovered an old log road that went straight down the hillside. I followed it, and found that it joined another old road trace on the lower bench. I took this road on over through the maple grove near the Crag.

Right out in the middle of the woods, there was a bright yellow balloon hanging from a limb. It must have gotten away from someone and floated all the way into the wilderness. It looked a little funny.

On the bench above the Crag, there is a good campsite that is legal. It looked like a large group had used it lately - they rolled up a bunch of pretty good sized boulders around a firering to use as backrests, seats and tables. It was a pretty nice looking campsite, and a much better spot to camp at then down right next to the Crag where stupid people camp.

There was a group of folks down at the Crag, but they weren't camping.

My goal was to cut out all of the limbs and trees that had fallen across the trail during the ice storm. The Forest Service basically ignores this trail, but it still need maintenance, especially when there is storm damage. I worked for about an hour, and cut out a dozen or more big limbs. There were already trails beat out around every one of them.

Along one stretch of the trail there were literally hundreds and hundreds of spring beauty wildflowers - the entire forest floor took on this pink/purple hue. What wonderful little fellows these tiny spring messengers are!

I found a little dead bird in the leaves - a downy woodpecker. Couldn't figure out what had happened. I guess they guys die of old age and other natural causes sometimes. It was a sad moment of the day. This little guy added so much beauty and music to the world during its short life, I hated to see it ended. Then I realized that I had certainly come a very long way since my childhood. I used to shoot and kill little birds like this one with my BB gun all the time. And now, here I was, nearly in tears. I guess that I have walked many miles since those days.

As I walked on further, I got to thinking about bears. There is a nice little bluffline right above the trail, and there are several very bear-looking holes in the base. These would be perfect dens for bears, and they are on the southern slope, and near the top of the ridge (they don't have to climb the bluff to get into Bob's cabin). Even though some of the bears caused a great deal of grief last summer, I feel like the last one that I saw became my friend of sorts, and I wondered how he had been all winter, and when I would get to wander around with him again. I looked forward to the next meeting.

And as I got near the trailhead, guess what I found - a new registration box! Way to go Forest Service! However, when I opened it, there were no cards. This box had only been up a few weeks, and already all of the cards were filled out. This trail gets a lot of use, and if they are going to put out registration cards, they need to check and replace them every week or two. It looked pretty silly to have this expensive new box and no cards. Typical. I will give them an A for effort though, to put up a nice box. Gosh, too bad there isn't some local guy who uses this trail a lot that could check and refill the box with cards! I have asked, but the Forest Service is not interested.

I spotted one small black caterpillar crawling down on the trail. Hum - I wondered how long it would be before this guy became a bluebird snack?

Once I got to the trailhead, I followed the road back. And I spotted what must have been a remarkable discovery - in fact, I thought that it was a brand new species of butterfly, because I had never seen anything like it before! It was black, and looked like it had two sets of wings, at right angles to each other. But it managed to fly through the air OK. Upon closer inspection I realized that my great discovery was merely two little black butterflies enjoying a spring afternoon together.

Then I made a real discovery. As I walked past a stand of wild plum - the fragrance was overwhelming, simply incredible - I spotted the skeleton of some large creature. My goodness, there aren't any cows around here, and elk never stray up this far. It was a large skeleton alright, that of an ancient tractor. There was something there sticking up that looked a lot like a set of rib bones. What stuck me most about this old tractor was that the wheel had wooden spokes, like a wagon wheel. Bob later told me this was typical of old tractors. It looked pretty neat, and I learned a little something about early Ozark life. And those plums were just, well, wonderful!

Also in the same general area (an old homestead), there was this flaming red flowering bush of something, and a large black and blue butterfly feeding on one of the brilliant blossoms. It was a stirring contrast of color indeed!

As I was kicking back on the deck once again, I spotted more butterflies down below. There were three or four large yellow ones flying around. I think it is going to be a very good year for butterflies. Gosh, last summer was a GREAT ONE!

Uh oh. A tick. First one of the season. Let's hope it wasn't an omen.

There has been a water leak down in the basement, actually in the main electric line coming into the cabin - water has been filling up the conduit and dripping out. I have never been able to figure out how or where this water is getting into the electric line (underground cable, so no problem). I tried a new technique to stop the leak, and it worked!

While I was fixing the leak, I realized that I had a more serious water problem. There apparently is a leak in the main waterline coming into the cabin. I could tell because the water pressure drops a little over time, even though there are not faucets on or leaking toilets. That is not a good sign. I have no idea where the leak might be.

I vacuumed up a couple hundred dead wasps and lady bugs.

And I had a spoonful or two of Starbucks ice cream for lunch.

It was time for one last hike, and I headed back down to the river, just as the sun was beginning to set. I was soon without sunshine. When I got down to where the bloodroots were growing, I found them all wound up tight. They looked like pure white tulips. I guess they had put in a long day, and were in bed for the night.

I wanted to see what the yellow trout lilies were doing, but could hardly find any that were out - only two or three. Yet the flat ground where they were growing was literally COVERED with their distinctive leaves! I mean there were probably thousands of them there, but only a few with flowers out. There were other low growing plants too, and the forest floor was nearly solid green - about ten shades of it.

There were tons of phlox in bloom, and several other wildflower species too, including toothwort and Dutchman's Breeches. And I found a new one for this year - bellwort. Those are the yellow ones that hang their heads in shame, always looking like they are wilted. They could be such a pretty flower if they would only stand up and show themselves! There were also several tiny and tender wild iris coming out. I'll bet they bloom within a couple of weeks.

There was no way that I was going to jump in the river again today.

As I headed back up the hillside, I realized that it got dark a lot sooner down there in the valley where all of the homesites where. Because of the tall ridges all around, the sun got there late in the mornings too. I guess there would be maybe as much as an hour less daylight than up at the cabin. I wonder if that had any effect on the early pioneer who lived down there? Perhaps the extended darkness produced more children.

The owls were out, and hooting like crazy, as I made my way up the steep hillside. In the dimming light I could see that there were lots of large trillium wildflowers beginning to take over long stretches of the trail. They weren't in bloom yet, but their distinctive leaves were everywhere.

It was a sweat climbing the hill again, but I knew there was ice cream waiting for me at the top, so I pressed on, trying to burn off enough calories to justify indulging more than my usual.

I slowed down as I walked through my little meadow. I got down and began to look closely (the sun was just now setting up at the cabin, so I still had plenty of light). There were all kinds of little plants coming up. I had no idea if they were some of the wildflowers that I had planted in February, or some from last year, or just weeds. I will be keeping an eye on them as spring progresses. One of these years I hope to be able to actually identify some of these plants before they flower.

And speaking of flowers, there were already six or eight different species of wildflowers blooming in the meadow, all small ones. The violets are about to take over one spot. I can't wait to witness the progression of color as the year goes on.

I spent ten minutes out on the "cooling down deck." The wind was still blowing hard, but it had shifted from the normal SW direction to the east - that usually means a change in the weather. It was blowing pretty good - up in the mid 30's. The baro pressure was dropping.

Someone told me recently that you can eat anything that you want within thirty minutes of serious exercise and your body will burn it up immediately. Hum. What a great deal! I have no idea if that is even remotely true or not, but just in case it was, I hurried to the freezer and scooped out a cupful of ice cream. I ate it slowly, back out on the deck, and enjoyed every single frozen drop.

I have this simple green and while checkered cotton table cloth for the dining table. It is now about one size too small - I took it home and washed it. Oops. Looks like another trip to Wal Mart.

After a well-deserved hot shower, I had a plate of veggies and rice and a glass of wine, then sat down at the computer and spent several hours writing. It had been a great day, with lots of work done, and FOUR hikes! Bob is up at his cabin for a few days, and I am going over to help him plant taters in the morning. I just stepped outside a few minutes ago to check on the progress of the rising moon, and discovered that not only was there no moon out, but it was misting. And still very warm.

4/2/99 A little lady named Robin woke me this morning. She was sitting on a limb right outside my bedroom window, singing her heart out. It wasn't quite daylight yet. I could see a hazy yellow moon setting in the west out the other window. And to the east, the sky was getting light, although it was full of broken clouds. I laid back and rested a few more minutes.

I got up just before the sun rose and ate a quick bite. When I went outside to put my boots on, I met a rabbit that was munching on some new green leaves near the edge of the carport. He didn't stick around long. By the way, we had a discussion about "rabbits" vs. "hares" the other night, and found out that a "hare" is born with hair, where a "rabbit" is born hairless. You would think that they would have spelled "hare" "hair."

Bob had already been working in the Faddis garden a while by the time I arrived. The sun wasn't quite up there yet. He had been tilling a spot in the corner of his big garden. I took over the tilling job while he cut up some seed potatoes. We put out three rows of them - about 120 in all. I plan to fry/bake/grill and otherwise eat as many of these spuds this summer as I can - I just LOVE potatoes!

Bob is in his 70's and still going strong. He is tall and slender, and you can usually find a smile on his face. There is a great deal of Ozark pioneer in his blood. He sat down on a pile of straw to survey the garden. The sun peeked over the trees far behind him and put a yellow rim of light on him. He said to me: "You know, working with the earth like this is very good for the soul." Darn right.

I finished up the tilling of one end of the garden, and then had to get back to the cabin. Bob was going to put out garlic, horseradish, rhubarb, lettuce, radish, kale, collards, English peas, and cabbage this weekend. Corn, green beans, tomatoes and a few other odds and ends would be added later. Summer is the best time to visit Cloudland because there is always FRESH food in the skillet!

On the way back I plotted out another trail through the woods. This one dropped down from the garden through a small but colorful broken bluffline, then out across a wide bench that was covered with trout lilies, and finally along the edge of the bench where you can look down the steep hillside to the lower trail to the Crag below. I want to utilize this trail instead of walking down the road when going to the Faddis Cabin, and to the garden.

Right out in the middle of the woods, a bright yellow butterfly came floating by. He followed me nearly all the way back to the cabin. Nice company for a warm spring morning.

I like living out here at Cloudland. It seems like there is always something to look at, or feel or experience in some way. Right now, as I am sitting in my office here, typing away at the computer, there are butterfly shadows dancing across the mini-blinds. I guess they are trying to edit what I am writing about them. And I can hear little birds nearby, and the drumming of a woodpecker way off in the distance.

4/3/99 Lightening, thunder, RAIN! Lots of the above. That is what this Saturday was filled with. Must be April in the Ozarks. We sure did need the rain - could use some every week to keep the waterfalls and creeks up and running full tilt until summer.

I met with Bob and Dawna from Ft. Smith out on the Ozark Highlands Trail to hike in and take a look at some trail work that needed to be done. It had already rained quite a bit, and all watercourses were swollen. After our little trail inspection, we hiked on down into the Spirits Creek drainage. The very first thing that we found was this INCREDIBLE waterfall! It was just below the main trail, but none of us had ever seen it before. It was multi-level and just went on forever, spilling down over moss-covered boulders.

And once we reached the main Spirits Creek gorge, the wonderful water scenes just got better. This is one of the most scenic parts of the trail at any time of the year, but especially so with all of the water. There were also a lot of dogwoods beginning to blossom, although the flowers were coming out green at first instead of bright white. This area is only slightly south of Cloudland (and 50 miles to the west), but everything seemed about a week farther into spring, with many trees budding and/or leafing out.

And the forest floor was COVERED with wildflowers, although not all that many of them were blooming. We found one giant boulder that we climbed up on that was literally covered, every square inch of it, with trout lilies and a couple of other wildflowers, all rimmed with walking ferns.

Bob didn't have a raincoat with him. Mine was tucked into my daypack about a mile up the trail. As we continued exploring the creek, the sky got very dark. I mean about as dark as you can get during the daytime. Then the sky opened up, and it began to pour buckets. Dawna had her rain gear on, of course. Bob and I headed straight up the steep hillside as the rain got heavier. I had on a pair of nylon shorts and a poly pro top. Thank goodness it wasn't too cold out. I enjoyed hiking in the rain, although I did have to hike about as fast as I could in order to stay warm. By the time I reached my daypack, and my raincoat, I decided just to keep on going and keep the rain gear dry - hey, I was soaked anyway.

On the way back up the hill, we stopped and spent ten minutes building a very large waterbar across the trail. There was a great deal of water running down the trail - about six inches deep. I had never built a waterbar underwater before, but had to do most of the digging there. Before too long, we had a descent ditch constructed and most of the water was running off of the trail. We will have to go back later and build a real waterbar there in the future.

On the way back from the trail, we drove past dozens and dozens of waterfalls and cascades plunging down mountainsides. It was a great scenic driving tour for sure.

We had our spring hike-in scheduled at our hiking club's Williams Woods Nature Preserve this day, but the heavy downpour all day kept most away. I can't blame them. Hiking in the rain is one thing, but camping in it is quite another. Not too much fun, especially for novice hikers.

I got back to Cloudland just as the sky was breaking up a little and the daylight was fading. It had been one thunderous day outside, and I sat out on the back deck to wind down. Of course, both the Buffalo River and Whitaker Creek were flooded and making a lot of noise. And just across the valley, I could hear and SEE those two hundred foot waterfalls spilling over the big bluff - they were awesome!

The wind had topped out at 41mph, and we had 2.5 inches of rain. I suspect there was even more rain than that, but it was blowing horizontal and didn't get caught in the rain gauge.

But what really got me was the weird color and quality of the light. Weird, that pretty well describes it. It was a mixture of the warm colors of sunset through the clouds, and the green of the new trees budding out.

It was warm out, with a light breeze. Actually, it was a pretty good breeze out in back, and I spent some time sitting in the front porch swing. I like to do that sometimes. There isn't much of a view, but it was dark out, so I didn't need a view. The rivers and the wind and the chimes and the stereo all combined to form a very relaxing tune. It was one of those top-ten moments at Cloudland. A glass of good wine sent to me by some new friends in California topped everything off. I sat and swayed back and forth and let my mind wander.

Here is a little tidbit that I learned about how lightening will stimulate plant growth. It seems that when conditions are just right, like they were this day, with spring rains and plants already about to bud out, a lightening storm will speed up the process. The lightening somehow changes the nitrogen in the atmosphere into a form that is more usable by plants. This gives the trees a jolt and makes them grow faster. I expected to see a lot of new growth the next day!

4/4/99 Easter. Even before it got light enough to see, I could tell it was going to be one incredible morning. There was a sea of clouds down in the valley - one of the largest that I had ever seen. The nearly full moon was shining in one window of the loft. And there were stars out.

As the sun began to rise, both the sun and the moon could be seen reflecting in the lamp beside the bed (through two different windows). Then sunlight spilled over the ridgetop and illuminated the sea of fog. Time to get up and greet the day!

I cooked up some asparagus eggs, garlic new potatoes, blueberry biscuits, and fresh ground coffee with that special Cloudland touch for breakfast. Hey, it was a holiday. The incredible light and fog show was quite a treat to watch, even from inside the cabin. It was cool outside, and no wind at all. The clouds were going to hang around for a little while.

And for a really special treat, those two big waterfalls across the way were still running. The top of the fog bank was hovering right about in the middle of the waterfalls - the waterfalls were spilling over this huge painted sandstone bluff right into the sea of fog! Gosh, it was just incredible.

But today was a work day, so I got into work clothes and got to it. Plants. There were lots of plants to put in the ground. A friend came out from town to do the planting. I helped out some, but mostly tended to my own chores.

I moved on over to the other side of the big deck and worked on the hot tub site. There were more giant rocks to move, and lots of dirt to dig up. I made a level spot to set the tub on (up on 6 x 6 posts). Once the hot tub gets here, I will build a new deck around it, so it will be built in and sunken. The new deck won't be much larger than the hot tub though.

After much figuring and measuring, I decided to orient the tub east-west. I plan on spending most of my time in the lounger, and from my seat, I will be able to see under the big deck, and will have a terrific view of the Buffalo River.

As the morning drew on, the clouds eventually disappeared. It never got foggy at the cabin. I don't know what happens to the clouds - they just evaporate into the air I guess. But the sky was clear and blue and the sunshine felt great. And there were lots of birds out too. Including the blue birds. We never actually saw them going into either birdhouse, but they were handing around close. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

And there was a pair of birds that were beginning a nest over near the hot tub site - up on top of the overhead light fixture.

An unusual bird landed on a nearby limb. It was about the size of a sparrow, but had very distinctive black and white stripes covering its entire body. Neither of us had ever seen a bird like this before. And we never could find it in the ID book. Someone help! This was one unusual feathered friend.

Roy and Norma came hiking by with Ony and her friend Leslie. They were headed down to the bluff to do a little repelling, and waved as they went by. A few screams were heard coming from their direction later on.

It had been a hard morning, but the work felt great. We took a break and had lunch on the deck. Just about the time we were finishing up, a commotion broke out down below. Lizards. Two of them. And they were quite LARGE lizards. My friend has a pet iguana, about five feet long, so we were especially interested in what these guys were up to. I had spent time on this deck looking through the binocs or the tele as birds, foxes, butterflies, people, but never lizards!

It seems they had a disagreement, or a territorial dispute or something. The were both up on a log down below that was covered with lichens. They faced each other and both started "pumping" (doing push-ups). This was funny to begin with. Then, all of a sudden, one jumped at the other, got him by the neck, and they twisted and flopped all around (no they weren't having sex - these dudes were fighting!). In fact they wrestled themselves right off of the log, and disappeared into the leaves.

We watched on, fascinated. They both climbed up onto a rock, pumped up some more, then went at each other again. At one point, they were down in the leaves thrashing around, and while they were actually out of sight, there was stuff being thrown up in the air by their fighting - it was a lot of fun watching them!

The reptile ID book that I had was of no use. Everything that we thought we had a perfect match, we discovered that particular lizard was only found in one county in California, or something like that. They were large, not the normal lizards that you see in the Ozarks, and had bright green bellies.

The lizards moved on down the hillside and continued their argument. We went back to work and found that the trickle watering plan I had set up had completely drained the water well - this had not happened in over a year. That was not a good thing. Especially since we still had a lot of plants to get into the ground and water in. I couldn't get the well pump to pump any water, but there was still a little bit in the hose, so we just let a little water dribble into the plants and hoped that would be enough.

The sun began to beat down pretty good in the afternoon. It was in fact a little warm. Still felt great. We both were getting tired, dried out, and a little sunburned. But we finally did get the last of the big plants in the ground. I had finished with my leveling project, and dug that last few holes while my friend did the planting. That system worked well.

Right before we quit for the day, I tried to manually start the well pump once again, and it started up and filled up the water pressure tank in the basement. Yea, water again! We got the rest of the plants a good dose of the wet stuff, then shut everything down and packed up all the tools.

As my friend was leaving, she spotted a rabbit out in front. It wasn't afraid of her at all, and never ran off. It didn't dawn on me that it must have been the Easter Bunny!

Another terrific weekend at Cloudland. Spring is in full swing.

4/5/99 Sunrise never came today. It was dark, very dark. And the wind was blowing. No HOWLING! And then the rains came. The wet stuff was blowing horizontally, and so were many tree branches and other debris. Gale force winds topped out at 52mph. And about an inch of rain, which was great for all of the new plants in the neighborhood.

This was a fitting beginning to my day as I had to get into town and go through a State Sales Tax audit. Not the most pleasant experience, but I did survive.

Everything was calm out at the cabin when I returned at night. No major damage, except for three chairs that had been blown from the lower deck way out into the front, and broken. Nothing on the upper decks was moved at all. Strange. And the well water was back to normal, thank goodness.

I got an e-mail from a Canadian journal reader, who suggested an ID for the weird bird that we had seen over the weekend. While I was in town, I had picked up an Eastern US bird ID book, and son of a gun, her ID was correct - the black and white striped bird that we saw was a Black and White Warbler. The first warbler ID at Cloudland! The new book is a Peterson Field Guide, which I like a LOT better than the Audubon guides. From now on, I'm sticking with Peterson's.

As I shut down the cabin and got ready for bed, I spend a little time out on the back deck. It was calm out, and clear, with lots of stars. Out in the distance, there were flashes of light - lots of them.

4/6/99 The flashes didn't produce anything, and a bright sun quickly filled the cabin and got me out of bed. Clear skies, no wind, 49 degrees. When I opened the back door to the deck I was met with throngs of bird songs - the trees and the ground and the sky was alive with motion and color! Lots of little birds especially, out playing in the trees.

There were blue birds, juncos, sparrows, pewees, more of the warblers, red tailed hawks, buzzards, crows, and both ends of the wood pecker spectrum - a couple of giant pileated ones and several tiny downy ones. I just sat and watched in amazement at all of the life outside my door.

The recent rains and sunshine were having an impact on the trees of the forest. Down below me I could see individual trees that had popped out and were green and taking on tree shapes. They were mostly down in the bottom of the valleys, a few up the hillsides, but none on the ridgetops. The side-lighting of the morning sun really brought out the green.

It was tough to tear myself away from the wonderful show outside. I spent most of the morning inside, down in the basement, getting the heavy wiring for the hot tub all set up and in place. It was actually easy, once I got about a dozen holes drilled in the floor joists. It took a chunk of 220 wire that weights about 30 pounds to make the connection.

Then I moved outside and poured the concrete footing for the new deck post. There were a couple of birds that were a little annoyed while I was working in that spot. I later learned that they were peewees, and they were busy building a nest on top of one of the lower deck lights, right next to the future hot tub location. Oops. That was not a good place for them to nest.

Next on my list was to plant all of the day lilies. I put them along part of the drive out in front. It was getting a little hot by then, and gradually my clothes came off. I realized that I didn't have a pair of shorts out at the cabin - big mistake at this time of the year - so before long I was working in just my hiking boots, socks, and my underwear.

While I was taking a break on the back deck, another new bird flew up and perched in the tree right in front of me. I even had my binocs at the ready, and studied him carefully. He looked just like the Black and White Warblers that were chasing each other around the meadow, although he had this brilliant yellow throat patch. A quick look in the new guidebook confirmed that it was a Yellow-throated Warbler. I love these descriptive names. And I like all of the warblers around.

It would turn out to be a very long, hot, sunny, and productive afternoon. I spent most of it hauling wood up from the meadow, and clearing out logs from down there. I decided that this would be my last day of clearing down there. There were so many tiny new plants coming up in the meadow - wildflowers I hoped - that I didn't want to trample them any more. It was amazing just how many logs were left down there. Many of them were really too large for me to handle alone, but I did the best that I could.

Since it got pretty hot, I decided to strip off what was left of my clothing, and I spent the afternoon working in the buff. Good thing that I didn't have any visitors! Of course, if anyone had wandered by, they wouldn't have seen much - probably would have had to use their binocs anyway. I did get a little worried about all of those birds flying around nearby though - after all, they were all out looking for little worms. Hum.

I also spent a lot of time taking breaks up on the back deck, and looking around at all the life. The valley below was filled with soaring birds - lots of hawks and even more buzzards. Curiously though they were all flying low, below the ridgetops. None were up in the sky. I don't know if it was the air temp, or currents, or what. At one point, I looked up the Whitaker Creek drainage and there were about a dozen buzzards flying in formation right down the valley, weaving back and forth, but all remaining at about the same elevation. They looked like a squadron of jet fighters coming in for an attack.

Eventually the soaring birds did make their way up into the air. At one point, there seemed to be two distinctly different groups of hawks flying around. There were several large red tails circling high up, and a group of three or four smaller ones that mainly kept low in the valleys. It was like each bunch had its own territory, which was divided by elevation.

I watched one of the hawks through the binocs as he was doing his acrobatics. He would soar around a little, then dive down a hundred feet, then flare up into the wind and climb. He was backlit by the sun the whole time and I could see the brilliant rust color in his tail plainly.

And another hawk entered the valley at one end and sailed low all the way to the other end, without flapping a single time.

There were also a LOT of butterflies soaring around down in the meadow. At first I just noticed a few here and there, then more came, and more. They were coming over the top of the cabin and spilling down into the meadow. Two kinds mostly - both Zebra and Yellow Tiger swallow tails. Zebras and tigers oh my! I wondered how such gentle creatures could be named after ferocious animals? It was great to see the splash of color darting back and forth across the meadow. And I realized that it was nearly impossible to follow one of these butterflies through the binocs - they were just to fast and unpredictable.

One of the big lizards came out. He crawled out to the end of a log in the meadow, and went through an exercise routine - doing push-ups. He appeared to be surveying his kingdom, and proclaiming himself as lizard king. I didn't argue.

The rivers down below sung all day - there was a lot of water in them, although the color was normal. And at one point, I heard a noise, and looked down just in time to see a kayak in the Buffalo. The "Hailstone" run from one end of the wilderness to the other - fifteen miles - is a float that I have been anxious to do, and I will get to it before this spring is out. For the experienced floater, high water is best, and about the only time that it can be floated. But I'm not that good, and so will pick a more normal water flow, which means that I will probably have to get out and drag the canoe a lot, but I won't care. It will be a wonderful trip. I'll bet the floaters were having a great time today with all of the water.

As the afternoon drew on and it got warmer, you could almost see the individual trees popping out below. I would say that the number of trees out doubled during the afternoon.

There didn't seem to be any dogwoods out though. They will often bloom before the rest of the forest leafs out. Some of the dogwoods down in the meadow appeared to be on the verge of popping out right before my eyes, but they held their buds tight. I did find one dogwood that had burst out though - the one right outside of the guest bath window. It had been heavily damaged by the cabin construction activities, but it seems to want to stand up and tell the world that it was still as beautiful as any tree in the forest - and it is! Great to see dogwood blooms again.

There was a small flock of juncos that were feeding on some seed that I had scattered on the ground. At first, when I would walk near them, they would all jump up into the air and take off, just like a group of disturbed pigeons in the park. As the day wore on, and I walked past them a lot, they got less and less afraid, and eventually didn't pay me any attention and just kept right on eating. Good for them.

The zillion tiny plants down in the meadow seemed to grow a little with each trip past them. The sun and that nitrogen were having quite an impact on the forest. I liked to think that my bare behind did too. Maybe that was what all of the chatter up in the trees was all about. Ha, ha, I'm sure the birds will talk about that for a while.

My friend Ken Eastin faxed me a design that he drew up for the little tower that I had to build for the big water tank that I wanted to install to catch rain water (to water plants with and fill the hot tub).

By the end of the day, I was beat, and sunburned all over. But it felt great to get as much work done. I was now ready for spring to happen down in the meadow. Perhaps I will plant a few more things - got some coneflowers all ready - but that may be about it until next year. Looks like the wild sunflowers will come on strong again this summer, and they have spread from last year. There will be an explosion of growth and color for several months ahead I bet. And with all of that growth will bring many forms of life for all to watch and enjoy. Thank goodness for my meadow!

4/7/99 I arrived back at the cabin at mid-morning accompanied by Terry Fredrick. His truck was filled with long and heavy boards - treated 6 x 6 posts and 2 x 12's and stuff like that. AND, a 500 gallon water tank. It was time to get the cistern put up.

We unloaded everything, and then I ran a shuttle for Terry, who was out to do a hike over in the Beech Creek drainage. I let him off down at the old Sassafras community. This was a woman's commune for many years back in the 70's - 90's. There are 20 or so dwelling there, all abandoned. I heard that the last folks moved out a couple of years ago. Terry says that the long bench were the commune was located is one of the most incredible wildflower areas in the region. I vowed to return one day and see for myself, but I had work to do back at the cabin. (An UPDATE: Terry was met and run off by a woman, and he said that there was fresh construction going on, so I guess the community is alive and well once again - that means that we need to respect their rights and NOT trespass to get into the Beech Creek drainage. I have also since learned that someone else has purchased the property, an so it may not be the community folks after all.)

And it was hard, dirty work too. I dug holes and cut posts and poured concrete. The posts were so heavy that I could not even being to pick one up, so I had to drag them around and muscle them into place. By the end of the day, I had all four big posts cemented in the ground, and the structure began to look a little like Ken's faxed design.

4/8/99 It was late morning when I got back to work, and the wind was howling - up in the low 40's. And it was in the low 70's temp wise. Lots of clouds. Ken Eastin came out to help with the final assembly of the water tower. We quickly got to work sawing and drilling and hauling. The wind blew and blew all afternoon, but the rain held off.

We managed to solve all of the little problems that cropped up, and by the end of the day, we had a finished rain water catch system in place! I hadn't been able to get the rain gutter stuff that I wanted, so we rigged up a temporary system that looked like some hillbilly contraption, with wires and hanging pipes and such. We had no idea if it would work. Of if the system would work at all. Or if the tower would hold the more than two ton weight of a full water tank. Now we needed some rain.

As we sat out on the back sipping a couple of beers, a storm blew up. And I mean really BLEW! There was this one hawk that came flying through. He got up into the wind, which was blowing about 40mph. And you could tell that he was straining to keep from being blown away - his wings were tucked in close to his body as he made his was up the valley.

And in a fitting note, Ken's pack of cigarettes blew right off of the deck and down into the woods - served him right for smoking. It was a funny sight to see this rain-soaked body trudging up the steep slope, clutching a pack of soggy cigarettes!

And then the rain got a little harder. We rushed to the guest bath window and stuck our heads out to see if we could hear any water running into the tank. And we could! It rained on, and the tank began to fill up. Within an hour, it had rained about a quarter of an inch. I had no idea how much rain it would take to fill up the tank. We checked the tank and discovered, much to our great delight, that there was already over 100 gallons in the tank! And everything was working fine. Even out little hillbilly pipe contraption. Although we did have to shore it up in a spot or two with some rope.

We sat around and listened to the storm. The rain finally stopped, and stars came out. Just over one half inch fell, and the tank had 300 gallons of water in it - yippie! What great timing. It may not rain again for a month. But I've got water, and the water tower was working fine. So it takes about an inch of rain to fill the tank completely. And I'm only using about 1/2 the surface area of the roof - I could always add a second tank on the back side of the cabin if I needed to.

After Ken left and went home, I sat out on the deck and watched one tremendous light show. There was still a bank of thunderheads on the horizon, and it was filled with electricity. I think the lightening was just trying to match the brilliance of the sky full of stars above.

4/9/99 I got up in the middle of the night and realized that it was bright outside. A quarter moon was rising into the eastern sky. It was about 4am. I couldn't sleep, so I got up and wrote for a couple of hours. It was warm and calm and loud outside - the rivers were really running! I had to strain to make out features in the wilderness in the dim light, but the river below was sparkling in the moonlight.

I returned to bed until the sun came up. When it did, my eyes were flooded with green light from the budding trees outside my window. That wonderful bright spring green will soon cover the entire Ozarks. I've not seen anything to match that elsewhere in this country. New England may have its fall, the Rockies in the winter, but spring in the Ozarks is tops!

As the sun was climbing into the sky, I took off down the ladder trail for a quick trip to the river and back. I just needed to work through some personal problems, and didn't know of a better way to think. While there weren't all that many flowers out, cities of may apples were popping up all over. No flowers yet, but they will be out soon. And there were tons of giant bloodroot leaves - some about the size of small elephants ears, but no blooms. The trillium were out in full force too, and blooming nicely.

Once I reached the river, I found a raging torrent. The rock bar was completely under water, with only the tops of the individual sycamore trees sticking up. Looked a little funny. And Whitaker Creek was running high too, and there was no way that I could have crossed it dry. A half inch of rain can sure send a lot of water!

The climb back up the hill was swift, and my brain was running on overdrive. I hardly even noticed the steepness of the hill at all. Really. That wasn't because I was in such great shape, but because my mental attention was elsewhere, on problems in my life.

Just as I made it to the top of the bluff, I looked right out in front of me, and a few inches from my face was a lone wildflower, perched on a tiny ledge. Its whole purpose it seemed was to welcome me to the top, to let me know that I would aways have the beauty of nature to make my heart soar. Thanks little buddy!

And when I reached the cabin, I found a tick - #2 for the season.

Touches of green are beginning to climb up the hillsides now, and while most of the trees are still brown, the wilderneess is taking on a green tint. And there are a few dogwoods here and there beginning to pop out, including several round the cabin. They are coming out with that yellow/green shade instead of pure white. They will eventually turn all white.

4/10/99 This Saturday was going to be a work day for me, mostly away from the cabin. I had to lead a group of folks to a couple of scenic areas, then a quick stop by the cabin, then a short hike into Dug Hollow, then into town for a little while, then back out to the cabin. A very long but wonderful spring day in the Ozarks.

We hiked into Kings River Falls first. There was lots of water in the river from the recent rains, and the waterfall was as incredible as I had ever seen it - really spectacular! This is not a very tall waterfall, but it is wide, and has a great deal of personality. And the color of the water was this very rich green. There were a few wildflowers out there, but not nearly as many as usual at this time of the year. The redbuds and service berry were out in full force. And we saw two snakes along the trail - a copperhead and a big black snake, both still a little lethargic from a long winter rest.

Kings River Falls is one of those spots that you can go to at just about any time of the year and have a great hike. The water forms and rock sculptures are so wonderful there. And the vegetation is always lush. It is protected as a State Natural Area, just like Sweden Falls.

Next we drove on over and hiked down into the Glory Hole. It too was full of water and really pumping. There were a lot of other hikers on that trail. One group of folks said that they recognized me by my tripod. Good grief. Since I have a very nice wood tripod, I guess that is not all that bad. I tore up some of the rubber part of my bumper on the new truck as I was turning around - a stupid thing to do. On the way out, we saw and photographed a huge luna moth (aren't they all?) that was clinging to the truck of a tree. The wind was whipping the poor guy around, and we were hardly able to take any pictures of him at all.

From there we visited the cabin, and spent some time lounging around on the back deck, munching on chocolate, sipping a little brew, and taking a few pictures. When it came time to move on, I had a trouble getting everyone up and going. I think they enjoyed the place.

I took one of the hikers down to Roberts Falls while the rest of the group went down to the Crag. We visited Bob's yellow lady slipper orchids, and found them to be just starting to come out of the ground - will probably be 2-3 weeks before any bloom. The waterfall was running pretty good, and the umbrella magnolia trees around it had begun to leaf out, but no blooms yet - another 2-3 weeks on them as well.

It was very late and dark when I returned to the cabin. The stars were shining brightly in the coal black sky. I was tired, and went straight up to bed.

4/11/99 I rested my head on the pillow and watched as the yellow ball eased up over the hillside, lightening up brilliant new green growth in the trees out my window. Sunshine filled the valleys one by one, and soon it was a bright green and blue kind of a day. And it was chilly out - in the low 50's with wind.

I didn't have any Starbucks, so I fixed up a Cloudland cocoa and sipped it out on the deck and the light show went on. One thing that I noticed right away was that there weren't very many birds out. A few little ones playing in the treetops, but that was about it. I didn't see a single soaring bird of any kind.

There were a few inside chores to do, then I spent some time putting up the permanent gutter system to feed the cistern. I had to get out the chain saw and do a little alteration to the log carport in one spot. Yikes, I was cutting into my cabin with a chain saw! It turned out just fine, and no longer looked like a hillbilly set up. Probably won't work.

As the morning went on, the wilderness became greener with each passing hour. Most of the trees had some degree of green now. Some were with tiny leaves, others with those weird green things that grow on them first in the spring. And still no soaring birds. A single male bluebird spent a few minutes sitting in the top of one of the dogwoods down below.

Then a buzzard appeared way off in the distance. Just one guy. He took his time, and was just cruising down the valley. An old lonely buzzard. I guess we had a lot in common. Only my house is nicer than his. I think.

Some of the azaleas that we had planted last week were already blooming, and they were attracting a number of yellow tiger swallowtail butterflies. It was good to see the butterflies getting something to eat.

I tried out the new cistern, and while the water pressure was not very good, I was able to water a few plants with no problems, saving precious well water.

After another hour or two of chores, I stuck out for a hike. Did a quick trip out to the main trailhead and back. I passed a number of folks along the way, all couples. Not what I needed to see. Many folks don't like to do an out-and-back on the same trail - they would rather loop around and not see the same country twice. Well, I consider myself to be a pretty good spotter of things along the trails as I hike. On my way back down the very same trail, I found gobs of wildflowers that I hadn't even noticed just a few minutes before. And there were lots of firepink coming out. This is another one of those things that is not named correctly at all - they are bright RED, not pink! But it was great to see them.

And I was glad to see that the Forest Service had put a batch of sign in cards at the new registration box. Good for them.

As I was crossing a level bench that was mostly void of wildflowers, I came across a little oasis of color and movement. At the base of this large oak tree, there were about fifty little spring beauty wildflowers, all clumped together. They were shimmering in the sunny wind.

I headed down the ladder trail, and passed a group of guys from Missouri that had spent the night down on the river. Their packs looked rather heavy, and they all appeared a little tired - could it have been our little steep hill?

Most of the wildflowers along the trail were at the bottom, although since the sun was out I didn't really have a good look deep into the forest. Both rivers were back down to more normal spring flow levels, and the color was wonderful. I stuck my head and shoulders into the Buffalo and got a good cool-down.

The dogwoods along the river were out in full force - and blooming the typical bright white blooms too. It was great to see them - they were everywhere! Looking up into a blue sky through backlit dogwood blossoms and new green growth was one stunning sight, and one that I never tire of.

The trip back up the hill didn't take too long, or hurt much. It felt good to stretch the leg muscles. As I wandered through the meadow, I found that the huckleberry, wild sunflowers and polk salad were all coming out in great numbers. I'm not sure about that polk salad - guess I need to learn how to cook it. Recipes anyone?

And on the way back up the hillside, I made a decision about the Cloudland Online Journal. Since I had mentioned recently that this would be the last full month of the journal (a year ends in mid-May), I have received quite a few e-mails from faithful readers (well, more than a dozen anyway) about the subject. There were many requests, pleadings, and even a demand or two that I not stop the journal and continue it. Well, you won. I do plan to continue writing the online journal and posting it to the web site on a regular basis after May. I will have to sit down and take a look and see what kind of things are worth putting in there, and I suspect that the text will be shorter, perhaps some days even just an update. Although who knows, I might babble on for pages and pages every day - if so, you guys are to blame! I still plan to put the first year's worth of text into book form later in the year - it will be HEAVILY edited!

I spent some time down on the big low deck soaking up the bright sunshine and taking in the cooling breezes. I'm not normally a sun worshiper, but today it felt just wonderful. Still no soaring birds out.

If I had to make a prediction, I would say that next weekend will be the peak of spring around my little cabin. It will continue for several weeks for sure, but next weekend may be the best.

Later in the afternoon I took a nap in the back porch swing, and had a cup of ice cream - two treats for getting all of my allotted chores done for the day. While I was laying there, I could hear the distant drumming of a woodcock over on Beagle Mountain. I had seen one near the cabin last month, but hadn't heard one until now. It was great to hear the sound waves echoing across the valley.

4/12/99 It was 3am when I got back to the cabin. It was clear and rather chilly out - down in the low 40's. It didn't take me long to drift off once I hit the pillow. But the early morning sky soon woke me up - lots of bright orange clouds over in the east - the best pre-sunrise that I had seen in a long time!

The sun soon followed all of the color, and I had to get up and get to work. No breakfast or coffee or even hot chocolate for me today. I had a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it in. First thing I did was spend an hour or two cutting up all of the logs that I had brought up from the meadow the last couple of weeks. They were going to be in the way of the trailer that will be bringing in the hot tub, so I had to get them out of the way. I had been out of chain saw gas, but brought out a new gallon. The cutting was loud, but it went fast. By the time I had finished cutting and piled all the firewood up, it was warm outside and I was ready for a break.

Just like the day before, there were hardly any birds out. And no soaring birds at all. There were about a dozen or so little birds playing in the nearby treetops, but nothing else. Then a hawk flew in and landed in a tree at the lower edge of the meadow. Hawks seldom ever land here - they are always soaring overhead or through the meadow airspace. But this guy took a firm grip and stayed a while.

I hustled in and got the telescope and the bird book - he wasn't a red tailed hawk for sure. As I studied the detail in his body and feathers, he kept looking around him intently. Back and forth, rotating his head, pointing those piercing eyes down every little knock and cranny of the meadow. He was obviously hunting, but I wondered if he has seen some movement and stopped to check it out, or just thought that it would be a good spot to hunt.

Red shouldered hawk, immature. That's what he looked like to me. A handsome devil for sure. I continued to study him through the scope. He continued his optical workout. The brightest color on him was his brilliant yellow beak, which was short and turned down and very sharp, and his yellow feet.

Then he got this weird look on his face, like he had spotted something, or something was approaching him. He tensed up and froze. Then ever so slowly, he arched his back a little, cocked his wings, and sprang to life. He dove the thirty or so feet down to the meadow below and landed. Yea, he pounced on something. I couldn't quite make it out, until he flapped his wings and got airborne again. A snake! He had grabbed a snake. I think it was a garden snake. And then he flew off and circled back around over the point and disappeared down the Buffalo valley. I didn't know whether to feel sorry for the snake (a harmless and even helpful species), or applaud the patience and hunting savvy of the hawk. I settled instead on thinking how lucky I was to have been privy to such a raw act of nature, right in my own back yard. OK, it was time to get back to work.

I spent the rest of the morning getting the big 6x6 treated post in place. This will form the corner post for the new deck that I'm going to build around the hot tub. I had to cut and level and attach a couple of ten foot long 2x8's to the post to keep it in place. Then I mounted a breaker box to the post. The big wire for the hot tub will come into this box, and then smaller wires will go into the hot tub itself to power everything. I also spent some time doing a little more levelling of the actual tub spot (which will be on solid ground, with the little deck built around it once the tub is in place). I continue to have trouble with the final placement of the tub (which direction it will face), but I think that I finally got that nailed down.

My only nourishment was the last cup of Starbucks ice cream. This stuff was simply wonderful, every last spoonful. And now it was all gone. It is a good thing that I have not been able to find a source for it in this area, or I would put on a lot of weight. Speaking of weight, a combination of factors has contributed to me dropping 13 pounds in the past three weeks. It feels very good, and I hope to keep myself at or near this weight, at least through the summer. It is just like removing 13 pounds from your backpack (or getting to pack that much extra). I weighed in the low 180's all winter, and tipped the scale today at 169 (I'm about 6 foot, with a slender build).

The brilliant orange azaleas that are in bloom below the deck were covered with tiger swallow tails all morning, and their rich yellow color contrasted nicely with the deep orange blooms. Lots of dogwoods popping out all over. And the forest overall is getting greener and greener. Sometimes you just have to sit back and breathe deep and just try to take it all in.

4/13/99 It was another early arrival for me today, and my truck was filled with concrete blocks. I spent the next couple of hours hauling the blocks to the hot tub site and putting them in place under the 6x6 timbers. All of this will form the base for the hot tub, which is supposed to arrive later in the week.

It was windy and cloudy all day, but warm. There weren't many birds out that I could see, but the mournful droning of mourning doves off in the distance echoed throughout the valley all day long. Kind of matched my general mood. Hum.

A GIANT hawk came soaring by near noon. I took a break and watched him through the binocs for a while. He was very animated as he toured the airways out in front. Back and forth he soared, looking left and right, dipping down and swooping up and turning to the left and then to the right. Every now and then he would glance over my direction and wink.

The dogwoods down in the meadow were beginning to bloom. Five of them in all were out, including both of the larger ones. It was GREAT to see dogwoods in bloom in my little meadow!

I installed an electrical box on the new deck post, and finished up the wiring for the tub. Lots of big wire was needed to feed this electrical hog. The company claims that it will only eat about $15 worth of power a month, but I am skeptical about it.

A phone company truck arrived early in the afternoon, and we spent a half hour going through every phone connection in the cabin looking for the reason why I could not receive any calls. Son of a gun, the guy found a bad cord in the guest room - it had just gone bad at some point. I had complete phone service again! The repairman was a turkey hunter, and made the comment that I must have to use ear plugs in the mornings here because the gobbling must be so loud. While I have seen literally hundreds of turkeys at Cloudland (some of them even in the woods), I have never heard a single gobble. One of these days I will have to do a little calling and see what happens.

4/14/99 It was late at night when I arrived at the cabin. It had rained a full inch, and I hurried out to see what the cisternwas doing. It was full, and overflowing. I removed the supply pipe and rigged up an extension so that the water would run away from the cabin and out into the woods. Let's see, an inch of rain equals about 500 gallons for the cistern. It already had 300 gallons in it, so I figure that I wasted 300 gallons by not being able to catch the additional rainfall after the tank was full. If this system works out, and I need more water outside, I may add a second tank to catch the overflow. Plus, I'm only catching about 1/2 of the water that hits the roof anyway, so I could rig up even more tanks if needed. Of course, it doesn't always rain this much - about five inches so far this month already.

One of the little nagging problems that I have always had out here is a lack of a wine glass rack. I finally found one that I liked in town, and installed it. Well, actually I had to cut it in two before I could put it where I wanted to. There is now a short rack on either side of the china cabinet, under the ends of the map bar. The racks only hold a total of 12 glasses, but they are in full view, and should accommodate most of the wine traffic. The glasses look like they belong under the map bar. I need to figure out how to store a few wine bottles in the same spot. I've got about a dozen more glasses, stashed inside the china cabinet.

The temp had dipped down into the 40's, and the wind was blowing. It was raining a little, but not much.

A couple of late night phone calls to and from a friend in Kansas helped lift my spirits, which have remained at a very low point now for three weeks. I'm not normally like this. It must be my version of a mid-life crisis. I have been unable to find much sympathy though. New car, new cabin, new hot tub, work when I want doing what I want, live in the most beautiful spot on earth, fame and fortune. Nope, not much sympathy. But, of course, there is one item missing from the above list, and I would trade all of the above for it in a second. Sorry but I am a romantic, a hopeless one.

4/15/99 It rained a little during the night, but not too much. It was very wet and dark and misty at daylight, and a little chilly - I had the heat pump on all night - I had taken all of the firewood out of the cabin and stored down in the wood rack, so I didn't build a fire. There were a number of small mist clouds dancing around down in the valleys below. The cloud cover was hanging low, right around the top of the ridgetops. And the wind was blowing quite a bit. Pretty much all of the trees are now beginning to leaf out, and that brilliant green now covers the entire wilderness - looks pretty darn nice!

I guess that it is appropriate that the first thing that I did this morning was to get out my tax returns that I had picked up on my way out to the cabin the night before and looked them over. Not too bad. Paying all of that estimated tax sure does help lessen the blow on April 15th.

While there is an overall dark cast outside, the dogwoods around the cabin are very BRIGHT white, and just beaming out through the dim. This is what dogwoods were put here to do - shine the way through the forest. And these guys are working overtime.

The river below is singing a lively tune. And along the bank there is an old field or something that is almost completely covered with blooming dogwoods - looks like 50 or more of them. I must go down there and take a look soon - they are across the river, and it would be a bit of a swim today. Besides, I'm waiting for an important delivery this morning. There are birds singing outside too, all lined up in the treetops around the meadow. And some of those mist clouds were being blown straight up into the air from the valley below.

The new hot tub showed up right on time, and we actually managed to get all 650 pounds of it from the trailer, across the lower deck, and down onto the platform that I had built for it without any problems. A roller system that they brought out helped out a great deal - only took four of us. The last hot tub that I put in at my house took about ten or twelve strong bodies to wrestle into place.

The tub looks good. It is sunken down into the deck, with about ten inches of it sticking up above the deck boards. There isn't too much room where the tub is sitting for deck around it - only 18 inches across two sides, but the other two sides will be open to the other decks.

We put about 100 gallons of water in the tub through the well - the cistern system did not have enough pressure to push water through a special pre-filter that came with the tub. After the well started burping, I decided to just fill the rest of the tub up without the filter, direct from the cistern (didn't run the well dry, but was probably close). Hey, it is pure Ozark rainwater, so what could be better than that?

The temp dropped to 40 degrees while we were out working on the tub, and with the wind and spitting rain, it got a little nasty. The wind chill is in the upper teens. After being inside for 30 minutes now, my hands are still a little numb, and I am having trouble typing. Too bad the hot tub isn't filled and heated up already! I suspect it will take another hour or two to finish the filling - got lots of water in the cistern. The tub holds 355 gallons. Unless I have some problems, or a lot of drunks spill drinks into the tub, I will change out the water a couple of times a year, always timed with a full cistern.

While I waited for the tub to fill - a very slow process - I decided that conditions were right for pictures. I packed my camera gear up and headed over to Dug Hollow. It was raining a little, and the wind was blowing, but the forest was rich with deep colors of greens and browns. The North Meadow was alive with several large dogwoods, each full of sparkling white diamond blossoms.

I dropped on down to the waterfall area. Believe it or not, I have never shot any serious pictures in Dug Hollow. Billy McNamara has made nearly 40 paintings of this area, but I've never taken a picture there. That was about to change, I hoped.

The very first waterfall was running full blast and making a lot of noise. I found a great spot on the side of a bluff that had a good angle, but discovered a large branch that had broken off of a tree and landed right at the top of the waterfall. Such things tend to mess up my pictures, so I try to clear them out when I can.

I made my way up around the little bluffline and on out to the edge of the creek by the branch. The rocks below my feet were very slick, and I tried to be careful. I had to step out into the water to get a hold of the branch. It was large, and very heavy. I couldn't budge it at first. I tried another position. Yea, I got a better grip, but still nothing. Then a third spot, which put me close to the edge of the falls. One big heave ho and, sh**! - my feet slid out from under me and I lunged towards the edge. I twisted myself around and grabbed for whatever I could get. My hands caught on the large limb, and it held in place, saving my butt from a nasty fall.

I pulled myself up to safety, and stood up and took a few deep breaths. Watch it buddy. While it might be a nice place to die, I have too much left to do to go right now! I was shaking a little, as I returned to my chore, even more careful this time. I found out that I could roll the limb and it would move, so in a minute or two I was able to get the offending yet life saving branch out of the way of my picture. Deep breath.

When I got back to my perch on the side of the bluff, I decided that I didn't want to take the picture after all. Sometimes it just happens like that. I was anxious to see what the other falls looked like.

The next waterfall was spectacular, and I got out the camera gear and shot away. The next waterfall was spectacular, and I got out the camera gear and shot away. The next waterfall was spectacular, and I got out the camera gear and shot away. I guess you get the picture. Sorry for that little pun. Wow, what a wonderful area in the rain!

I worked my way down through the cascades, crossing over a time or two for a different angle. I ended up deep in the back of the large overhang at the lower end of the falls area, finished up my third roll of film, and headed back. I couldn't pass up that very first waterfall, so I shot a few of it too. Dug Hollow is indeed one wonderful spot, perhaps one of the best little waterfall areas there is. So is Hubbard Hollow, Bowers Hollow, Hawk Hollow, Boen Gulf, Terrapin Branch, Indian Creek, and, well, you get the idea. I love waterfalls.

It felt GREAT to get out and work behind a camera. I can't believe that sometimes I get paid to do this.

Two wonderful things happened to me on the hike back. First, I had a vision of my next book project, or should I say my next picture book project. Everyone has been asking what that was going to be, and I have not been able to give any answer. I won't go into details just yet, but let's just say that it will happen next spring, but it won't be just Buffalo River pics. All new stuff though. And a few essays. Yea, this book idea feels good, right from the very start. I will have to think about it and run it through my slow brain for a few months. But at least I now have a project in mind.

The other thing that happened was rather small, but made my heart soar anyway. As I made my way across a level bench, I noticed a bright white spot up ahead. The rest of the forest floor was this rich brown color (wet leaves). The white really stuck out. As I got closer, I could make it out - it was a lone dogwood blossom, sitting all by itself on the forest floor. It was big and pure white and about as perfect a blossom as you will ever see. The middle was filled with those neat green things. The high winds must have torn it off from its tree, sent it flying through the woods, then gently setting it down. I wondered what kind of sound it made when it landed. One little white dogwood blossom shining brightly in the forest. That's what life is all about, and I'm glad the waterfall didn't get me so that I could find it.

When I got back, I found the hot tub not only full, but overfilled a bit. I had to attach the drain hose and drop the level a couple of inches. Then everything was ready for the big test - did my electrical connection actually work! I flipped all three breakers, and sure enough, the tub fired right up and began doing its thing. Of course, the water temp was about 50 degrees, so it would take a day to bring it up to a good sitting temp, but I was a little relieved that the power worked. Now I've got to get a deck built around it - that's the next project.

The outside temp hovered around 40 degrees the rest of the day. I worked in the cabin on the computer, then raced back to town to mail my taxes. I will return as soon as the water is hot.

I returned in a few hours to find a black sky full of brilliant stars, and hot water. It was getting nippy outside, so I built a fire. It took a little extra work since I had already pretty much shut down the fireplace and removed all of the wood and kindling and stuff. Once the fire was roaring, I poured a small glass of wild turkey liqueur, got down to the bare essentials, and slipped into the hot tub. This moment had been nearly two years in the making.

And it was worth the weight. The heated Cloudland rainwater felt wonderful, and the view up into the heavens was just about right. My seat is positioned so that I am looking straight out from the cabin right on over to Beagle Point. Directly above me there are trees to the left and right, but a good hole in the middle, which was filled tonight with a constellation that I need to look up. I guess that will be one measuring stick of how the stars are moving around - which stars are in the open slot above the tub. I could also see some bright planets shining through the trees - Venus in the west, and Mars rising in the east.

There was a breeze blowing, and its coolness was a great contrast to the warmth below the water surface. That is what you are supposed to do in a hot tub - get all heated up and relaxed below, then be cooled off by spring breezes above. And then a shooting star broke out of the darkness and screamed across the sky out in front and over Beagle Point. Breathtaking! I laid back and counted my blessings.

Once I got back inside, the crackling fire dried off all of the remaining drops that my robe missed. The fire felt great. Something about heat, no matter if it comes in the form of hot water, fire, or the touch of a loved one. It soothes the beast and levels out the bumps of life, if only for a little while.

As I climbed the staircase to bed, the entire cabin was lit by the dancing flames below. I absolutely love spring in the Ozarks, but it was nice to have a little bit of winter once again. The down comforter soon drove me off to sleep.

4/16/99 Fresh baking bread. Is there any more wonderful smell to wake up to? The aroma filled the cabin, and I was lured from my feather nest just as daylight creeped inside. Apple cinnamon bread with butter and honey. Hum, is that on my diet? It sure was this morning. I ate a big slab of it and stood in front of the fireplace. Then I realized that I had a date with a hot tub!

Most people only use these tubs at night, but I use mine more in the mornings, in fact every morning (I have one at home too, and have had for nearly 20 years). The key is that you only are in long enough to wake up and stretch your muscles a little, not long enough to make you sleepy. I grabbed a Starbucks from the frige, and hurried down the steps and into the hot water. Ahhhhh. Yea. That's it.

Up above there were clouds moving, and coming from the west, not the usual south. Some of them were lit individually by the sun, which had not yet risen. The bright orange clouds streaked across the sky, racing each other. More and more of them lit up, and soon the sun appeared on the ridge way off yonder, and flooded my world with the same rays that had been lighting up the clouds. Man, this was one terrific light show! It looks like the sunrise will be visible from the hot tub most of the year, except in the middle of the summer. It will be interesting to track its path as it moves back and forth across the ridge.

The temp outside got down to about 34 degrees. There had been freeze warnings out all over, but it didn't quite get that cold here. The breeze probably helped some, although it did drop the wind chill down below 20. The temp in the tub was about 104. Ha, ha.

One more note about the hot tub. It is not intended to be a party tub, like many are. In fact, it probably will be off limits during parties. Water is the main reason for this, or the lack of it. Everyone who goes into the tub must be CLEAN, and have just taken a shower lately. There isn't enough water out here for many showers with a group of people. Also, I have found in the past that if the tub gets a great deal of use, then the water needs to be changed out more often. There isn't enough water to fill the tub. Plus, the tub only holds about four folks at a time anyway. So its use will be more of a private thing, for me and a close friend or two or three. Of course, it is also a fact that any clothing worn in the hot tub, including swim suits, adds detergent to the water, which causing foaming, so swim suits are discouraged. Hey, its a hot tub in the wilderness, what do you expect? But there will be many wonderful moments happen while I am in the tub, and I will try to report them as I can.

The sun has climbed high into the sky now, and the color is pure white. Many of the clouds have blown themselves away, and it looks like I'm in for sunshine today. I've got to unload a bunch of heavy treated lumber from the trailer that I hauled out last night, and build the small deck around the hot tub. There is also a new queen mattress set for the downstairs guest room, and two futons - one of them a queen as well - for the TV room downstairs. Oops, did I say TV? Well, not yet.

The scene outside is one of soft, multicolored hues of green and blue and white and grey. Sunlight is filtering through the clouds, and poking out directly through some of the holes, creating spots of light and different shades of green across the entire wilderness. Above, it is blue sky patches behind shaded clouds. Nothing very strong or brightly colored, but lots of different shades and patterns.

I spent the rest of the day building the narrow deck around the hot tub, and got it all finished up except for two short boards that needed a little special attention. Now I can walk around the tub without getting all muddy. Rails will be added later, and perhaps even another bear post in the corner.

The sun played tag with me all day, and never really came out for more than a few minutes at a time. There were lots of puffy clouds up there dancing around though, and scores of shadows moving across the green hillsides. The wind continued to blow all day, which made it cool at times. The temps stayed in the 40's.

One job left for me to do was to unload the futons and mattress set. The futons were no problem, but when it came to the queen mattress, I found that it was a little too heavy and cumbersome for me to handle. I tried every way, but just couldn't figure out a way to carry it. So I ended up using the turtle method. I got down on all fours, flipped the mattress onto my back, and sort of crawled around the end of the cabin and onto the lower back deck and into the basement. I'm sure it looked a little funny. In the process, of course, I hurt my back. Duh. Sometimes I find that there are things out there that must be done that I am just too weak to do, but I often end up having no choice but to go ahead and do them.

The clouds eventually cleared away, and the nighttime was spectacular. As I sat in the tub near midnight soaking my weary bones, another shooting star streaked across the sky. Down in the valley, there was a narrow band of clouds hovering tight right over the Buffalo, but none up in Whitaker Creek. It was completely dark out, since the moon was no where in sight (it is in a dark phase right now), but the white of the cloud bank shone through the darkness.

The temp was down in the 30's, with the wind blowing, and there was ice on the decks. It felt GREAT to climb out of the hot tub and into the cold breeze - this is when you know the water is at the right temperature - if you can stand and even enjoy the cold when you get out and are still wet.

Once I got back inside, I spent some time in front of the roaring fire, sipping a little Merlot and munching on fine dark chocolate. Another fine Friday night, and the only thing missing was a companion.

4/17/99 They had called for some snow during the night, and temps down in the 20's, but it never even got to freezing at Cloudland. Although the decks were still frozen, which I suspect had something to do with the wind, which brought the wind chill down into the teens.

I slept in late, then got up and slipped into the tub to survey my little world. I noticed that the water was a little dingy - we had to fill the tub with water from the cistern, unfiltered, and it looked like the hot tub filters hadn't been able to completely clean up the water, which was full of pollen and other stuff. I spent some time going from seat to seat rubbing dinginess from the sides of the tub. Each seat is a good one, with a wonderful view.

Before long there was solid cloud cover. It kind of looked and felt like a snow kind of a day, more like late October than mid April. No matter, it felt very good.

A burst of sunshine broke through the clouds and lit up a couple of the dogwoods down in the meadow. As if on cue, a bright male bluebird flew across the meadow and landed right in the middle of all the white blossoms. What a delightful contrast - bright white dogwood flowers and blue and orange feathers, all beaming in the spring sunshine! What means SPRING more than dogwoods and bluebirds?

After a couple of hours of messing with the little hot tub deck, I finally got it finished. All it needs now is a railing. I'm trying to decide if I should get another bear post or not for the corner of the new deck.

I also set up the queen-size futon frame, and the regular bed in the Aspen room. Hey, this new guest room is going to be pretty nice - I may have to move in down there. Need to get some little tables and lamps and stuff like that.

One of the continuing questions here is what I am going to put on the basement floor - paint the concrete and use a lot of throw rugs, or carpet the entire thing with that indoor/outdoor commercial carpet. I just can't make a choice. Right now it is cold, bare concrete.

I am taking a little break from cabin chores to write in the journal, and munch on a bagel or two. A friend just called me from the top of a mountain over near Ponca - she was on the back of a horse moving down a trail. Cell phones are great, when they work. They don't work too well around here, but I do think the coverage was getting better.

Outside here it is still rather cloudy and grey, but the new forest that is emerging is putting out a wonderful green glow. Way off in the distance, I can see a lone dogwood tree at the top of a bluff. It is just beaming white out over the valley.

And nearby the dogwood I can just barely see a giant sandstone block that has slipped off of the end of the bluffline on the other side of Hubbard Hollow. I've been looking at this block all winter long, wondering what it would be like to be sitting on top of it. I've also see it on my hikes to the hollow, but have never actually went up to touch it. The block has been slowly disappearing behind the wall of new green. I've got to go see if I can climb it, and soon, before the view is completely obscured. Perhaps tomorrow.

And I hadn't noticed it until just now, but the bluff over on Beagle Point is about to disappear as well. It's a layer of weathered sandstone, 50-80 feet thick, and covered with mosses and lichens and huckleberry. My gosh, that bluffline has been my constant companion out here ever since late October when the leaves fell off. I've watched it catch the first light in the morning, reflect moonbeams over to me, counted the blooms on the first service berry tree to bloom, and watched that tremendous cascade of whitewater leap from it. I have screamed cries of joy over to it as I discovered any one of dozens of new things, and even threw a few choice words that a way when things weren't going right for me. And now in a few days, I will have to bid it farewell for the next six months. Have a grand summer my friend! Good grief, I am getting all sentimental about a bluff.

A single beam of sunshine swept across the forest. It paused when it lit up the batch of dogwoods down next to the river - it was as if the sunshine and dogwoods were having a contest to see who was the brightest. Or perhaps it was just the sun recharging the blossoms. The spot light moved on, in search of more wonderful things to see.

The river below creates a blue stroke through the middle of all the green. I guess you could call it a "water" color scene.

Two young guys came walking down the road and knocked on the front door of the cabin. They introduced themselves, said they had been to one of my programs last fall, and then turned around and walked off back up the road. Kind of strange.

After I finished all of my cabin chores for the day, I decided to make a quick trip down to the new spring in Dug Hollow and take a few pictures. I had never photographed it before, and the conditions seemed right for some good light and even better water.

I struck out up the hill along my new trail path. As I climbed up I could see four or five different may apple forests down below. I wondered if all of the plants in each group are related, like Aspen trees are? The groups were really dense, and I even found several flowers - white with yellow centers. Very nice.

Nothing in the East Meadow. Before too long there would be lots growing in the garden spot there, and probably a bear or two munching on corn or watermelons.

I dropped on down through the bluffline, and stopped for a few minutes to admire a HUGE dogwood tree, in full bloom, that was guarding the entrance to Magnolia Canyon. I've not seen a larger or more full dogwood in bloom this year. The magnolias there were popping out, but no flowers yet. I have a feeling it is going to be a great magnolia year, like last year was.

As I slipped and slide my way on down the steep hillside, I went through some very lush areas covered with three or four different wildflowers, though none of them were in bloom. Then I passed through a stand of mayapples that were HUGE! I mean they were TALLER than my knees! And there were giant trillium, and some bloodroot leaves that were much larger than my hand. Something in the soil at this spot was really rich. It was tropical. A jungle. Spring in the Ozarks.

There were a few bellworts blooming, and lots of Rue Anemone. Come to think of it, over all, the Rue Anemone are about the only wildflowers that have continued to bloom through all of this cold weather. They have always been around. They are a small, delicate and nearly white flower. Good to have them here.

The creek in Dug Hollow was running pretty good, and I saw several nice little waterfalls, all dumping into emerald pools. I didn't linger there long, and continued my quest towards the spring. I followed alongside the creek a little ways, walking through a couple of perfect flat benches that were also lush with wildflowers and other plants.

Soon I veered off towards the hillside, where I hoped to find the spring. I went on and on, and on, and on. No spring. A little further. It must be here somewhere. My progress had taken me around the nose of the ridge, and I felt that this was just too far for the spring. So I reluctantly turned back, by way of climbing up to the bluff above, hoping to find the spring further upstream.

The hillside at this point was more like a tornado zone - you could hardly move because the underbrush was just to thick! Vines and plants and downed trees and rocks. Man, it was thick. Then I saw some orange paint. What? Out here in the middle of the wilderness? As I got closer, I realized that it was not paint at all, but rather some kind of bright orange fungus that was growing on several grape vines. It felt a little like thick jello. And very bright orange. (*One of my Canadian readers sent an e-mail suggesting that this weird stuff is either Fairy Butter or Witches Butter - her ID book description sounded right on.)

As I made my way up onto a bench, I came across a large chunk of sandstone that had obviously broken off of the bluff above. I climbed up onto the rock by way of a natural staircase, and discovered a solid patch of spiderworts, many of them in bloom. Not only was this one incredible batch of wildflowers, and growing on top of solid rock, but these flowers were WHITE, not the normal purple of most spiderworts. If you looked close, you could maybe see just a hint of color in the blossom. I couldn't hardly even step without getting some of them under my boot, so I backed away, admiring.

Still no spring. But I did see a couple of turkeys. Two large toms flew across right in front of me, one at a time. I could see beards on them, but the beards weren't all that long.

I eventually made it back to the creek. Where had I gone wrong? It couldn't have been further upstream. I felt a little silly. So I decided once again to follow the stream down towards the Buffalo, and break off into the woods later. It was a tough hike down, not because the terrain was so rough, but because there seemed to be one incredible sight after another after another down on the creek - all beckoning me to come take their picture. I'll bet I could have taken a different picture every 25 feet. It was marvelous. And in addition to all of those little waterfalls and emerald pools, there were lots of dogwoods in bloom and magnolia, all hanging low over the water. Splendid!

Soon after I left the creek, sure enough, I came right to the spring, and it was well worth the trouble to find! My goodness, I knew it was nice, but I didn't remember it as being to nice. The spring come out of the base of a small bluff, a bluff that I must have just walked above, not noticing the spring below. Then it spills down a steep hillside for a little ways, cascading down over moss-covered rocks, and creating a lot of whitewater. Once it hits a level bench below, it meanders its way through the woods, finally dumping into the creek, and then into the Buffalo.

The light was perfect, the water white, and the moss green. I set up my tripod, and began to fire away. I could never take enough pictures of beautiful things like this spring, no matter how many of them I had photographed before. And this one was special, not only because it is so close to my cabin, but because we discovered it quite by accident, and I have fond memories of every previous visit.

One roll shot. Then another. And another. I ended up shooting about 100 pictures, mostly from the same spot, although I did get a few different angles. Just as I packed up everything and was ready to leave, I noticed this group of ferns growing right in the middle of it all. Out came the camera again, and I shot another roll. In all, I had spent about an hour there.

Photography often times for me is something spiritual, very intense, and many times an emotional high. This was one of those moments. I plopped down beside the cascade, exhausted, emotionally drained, and thirsty. I got up and sucked down a few gulps of that cold water. It was SO SWEET! As I lay back on the forest floor, I realized that the sun had broken through the clouds, and that it was getting late. Yikes, I had better get back up the hill!

So I bid my little spring farewell and returned to the creek. I crossed near an area where there were several house-sized boulders alongside the creek. Lots of moss, and white water, and dogwoods and magnolias.

I headed up the steep hillside, racing the light. About half way up I found part of something that I had looked for many times - a section of the old Ryker to Mossville Trail. There it was, right under foot. I followed it for about a hundred yards. It wasn't nearly as wide as a road, but much wider than a deer path. It headed up the hill and into some VERY thick brush. Then I found this grapevine. No, it was a monster grapevine! I measured it, and it turned out to be a full twelve inches thick. That is one large grapevine.

As I looked around, I could see many grapevines, much smaller ones, but lots and lots of them. I had lost the trail in the thick brush, so I continued my uphill struggle. There were many times where I was down on all fours, grabbing whatever I could to pull myself up. My feet weren't much help. This is steep country!

I finally made it to the top of the ridge, and as I popped up through the bluffline, a blast of arctic air hit me. Since I was completely soaked with sweat from the climb, the wind was quite COLD! But the low sunshine hit me in the face too. I felt a little like I had just been freeze-dried.

It was a great hike, and I hoped to have gotten a good picture or two, but the cabin was a warm sight and I was glad to be back. I sat out on the back deck to cool down, sipped on a glass of wine, and watch the light show of the setting sun. You see, since the sun is constantly moving, each and every sunrise and sunset is a little different. The shadows move around with the sun, creating different shapes and forms out there in the wilderness.

The river was talking a soothing line tonight.

After the sun went down, there were several dark clouds over there in the west, illuminated from the fading rays of the sun. Out in front, up against one of those dark clouds, was the thinnest of all crescent moons. Even though it was small, it shone brightly in the western sky. And that scene got me to thinking. Clouds are always getting in front of and hiding the sun and moon, but I wondered, is it possible for the moon to ever get IN FRONT of a cloud? Hum. Looked like it did tonight. Sometimes things happen a little differently out at Cloudland.

And in the eastern sky, a point of red light shone through the trees. I set up the tele, and could see Mars rising. I've never really taken a close look at Mars, and its red blow, but it really is red isn't it. Being here at Cloudland, I am able to look at and keep track of some of the things going on overhead at night. I need to get busy and learn all of the constellations - a good project for the summer months ahead.

The evening drew on with a good bowl of pasta, some great bluegrass music on the Pickin' Post on KUAF, and a fine fire.

And, of course, I spent some time in the hot tub. I suspect that I will take a dip every night and morning that I am here. The moon had gone down quickly, and was replaced by Venus, so bright and full of life, twinkling through the trees. And Mars had risen just enough to be exacely opposite of Venus. In the southwest, Orion stood tall and proud. I decided that whenever the sky is clear, I would stay in the tub until I saw a shooting star. They happen all year long, with many minature showers and lots of really big ones, especially in the late summer. As I have always said, the more shooting stars you see, the more luck will come your way.

The owls were out late, and hooting and crying and talking to each other way up the valley. Sometimes it sounds like there is a party going on. I guess there is - an owl party!

I saw my shooting star, lingered a while longer, then went back inside to sit in front of the dying fire and listen to the Folk Sampler on the radio. Their theme was love songs, not what I really wanted to hear, but since I am still a hopeless romantic, I listened on. These radio shows on KUAF usually play some of the most interesting and unusual music, and tonight was no exception. Not the normal love songs for sure. They really dug up some great ones. A couple in particular were by Hal Bynum and by Lynn Miles ("Rust") - I must go out and try to find those two CD's - really nice stuff. I still fancy myself as a future writer of love songs. While I sold my wonderful maple guitar a few months ago, I do plan to get another one, probably a classical guitar with softer strings.

4/18/99 Clear blue skies, NO wind, bright sunshine. Temps in the low 40's. I slept in a little, and missed sunrise from the tub. I did get to see it out the loft window though, then rolled over and went back to sleep. Looks like it is going to be a textbook spring day in the Ozarks. I'm headed out in a few minutes to hike over to Hubbard Hollow. Since the sun is out, I won't bother taking my big camera equipment - I really need overcast skies for good pictures. But I still want to see this boulder-choked hollow with good water in it. And I want to climb up to that large sandstone block that I can see from the cabin. Hiking in the spring here is part of my job, and I must get to work!

I wanted to travel light and fast, so I only took a fanny pack with the little camera, a rope, bagel, a jug of water, and my note pad and pen. My feet got beat up from my hike the day before, so I put on my lightweight walking shoes, which I absolutely love anyway. Walking magazine sent them to me a couple of years ago to try out. They are made by Wilson, and are all leather. I've never had any problems with my feet while wearing them in the woods, although I have not used them with any weight.

As I headed out the door, my little friend the blue bird landed in the dogwood tree again. I just couldn't pass this one up, so I hurried back into the cabin to get the real camera. It took me a minute to get my long lens all set up on and everything on the tripod - looked like the little guy was going to keep posing for me. Just as I swung the camera around and pointed it at him, he flew off. Darn. Just a few more seconds and I would have had him!

I skipped on down the trail towards the river. Just below the bluffline I saw a Phoebe. He acted a little nervous, like these birds always do, with his tail bobbing up and down, so I figured that he was building a nest under the bluff somewhere. There weren't many wildflowers out on this hillside, but it was lush. Towards the bottom of the hill though, large numbers of phlox and firepink were out.

Whitaker Creek was running pretty good, and instead of searching for a dry crossing upstream somewhere, I found a log jam down near the mouth of the creek that I crossed with great ease. There were two main logs spanning the split creek, with lots and lots of smaller logs all mingled together - I guess you would call them drift wood, since they had been drifting in the creek and got washed up here. I'd not seen the creek when the water was that high!

On the other side I found lots of wildflowers blooming - more phlox and firepink, bellwort, crested iris, and this plant that reminded me of Arrow Root, I guess because of the shape of the leaves, but it was not that.

My route took me along the Buffalo, and I followed it upstream. Depending on the way the sunlight hit the water, the pools would either be blue or green. Sometimes an upper pool in a scene was blue and the lower one was green, connected by thrashing whitewater. The water was perfect, just perfect.

In one stretch of level streamside there were many clumps of bloodroot wildflowers - no blooms, just large leaves, and 15-20 to a clump. I had always associated bloodroot as individual plants before, not growing in groups. They guys were all very good friends I guess.

And then I came across this incredible forest of mayapples - as far as the eye could see, and growing so close together that you could not see the ground. They stand engulfed several trees, including one large beech. And they grew all the way to the river's edge. I just had to get a better look, so I got down on my hands and knees and then my belly and tried to crawl into the forest. Wow, it was wonderful! The earth was very soft. I could see into the forest a long ways, and found dozens and dozens of flowers under there, all of them bowing down to the ground a little. No way to photograph this, especially with my little camera. Oh to be two inches tall! I would love to be tiny and roam around in this forest, and sleep under the solid canopy. You know, you always see a smile on a lizard's face, and I wonder if it is because they get to hang out in places like this one. I loved it.

I walked through another stretch of flat ground that was completely covered with grasses, mayapples trillium, violets, and bloodroot. I mean SOLID cover! It was so lush. And then up on another little hillside, yet another kind of vegetation, without blooms, but lush and covering the ground. In fact, these little plants swallowed up several moss-covered logs and rocks that were on the ground (where else would a rock be?). At first, I was afraid to walk through this dense undergrowth. But then when I did, I looked behind me and saw that the plants rebounded and completely covered up my passing.

Then I saw lots of yellow violets, and at least three white flowers that I could not identify. Plus several other wildflowers of different colors, all sticking their heads out from the ground cover. Are you getting the picture that this low land was one of extreme richness? I could have spent days here.

There were also several squirrels that were playing on the logs and low trees in this area. They seemed to be having a good time and enjoying the spring day as was I.

As I headed up the steep hillside towards my little hollow, I came across several Jack-in-the-Pulpits, perhaps the strangest plants in the forest. And they are tough to photograph too. I've tried. And there was this one large mayapple that had a sweet gum ball lodge right in the middle of the leaf. If I took a picture of it, no one would believe that I found it that way.

When I got to the hollow where I was expecting to find thunderous waterfalls and giant moss-covered boulders, I was not disappointed. There were tremendous waterfalls everywhere! And house-sized boulders, all tossed about on the hillside like a giant had gone away and left all of his play toys.

Now let's see, should I explore up the creek or go around the side and climb around on all of the boulders? It was a tough decision. I did some of each. The waterfalls were great, mostly taller and narrow than those that I saw the day before. Some of the boulders were strewn across the creek, and there were often waterfalls inside the boulders, if you can imagine that.

I climbed up through one giant boulder, and when I came out on top, I recognized a spot where I had been before. The top edge of this boulder is covered with thick moss, and the rock drops off steeply to the stream below, and you can see several cascades flowing by. Up at that level, there were tons of umbrella magnolia trees, all leafing out, plus dogwoods and even a few redbuds. I sat down at the same spot where me and my friend Chally had lunch back in December - it was our very first day together. I thought about the beauty of the wilderness, of the rocks and the trees and the water, and I thought about how wonderful it has been to spend some time with this lady friend. I have explored and discovered many things because of her. At this point, our future is uncertain though, and so I may have to live with what has been. Some pretty nice times to live with.

Oops, pardon me, back to earth. I continued up the magnolia-choked canyon, and made my way around this big block that I knew had a secret passage way in it. Way in the back, there was a hole that led up and out to the top of the rock. Only today I found that a number of logs had been washed into the hole, and so my passage was blocked. Good grief! The water must have been REALLY high! I found another way around.

I finally made it to the top of the hollow, and the big waterfall there, and sat down and took a quick break. This was a wider waterfall, splashing on the black rocks far below. There were ferns growing all around the base, but there was no pool of water like there normally is with waterfalls this size. I guess the water is in such a hurry to see the rest of the canyon. There was one surprise here - a small but brilliant rainbow arched across the base of the falls. Yep, mighty fine.

OK, I had seen the wonders of the canyon, now it was time to turn my attention to the object of my search - the giant block rock up on the bluffline. I began to make my way along the base of the bluff, but found the going very tough at first - like nearly a vertical dropoff and no hand holds! I managed to get through the rough stuff, then things got a little easier.

There was a great deal of breakdown under this bluffline, like you see all over, but I came across this one section of overhang that had no large breakdown under it. The floor was covered with tiny chunks of flat rocks, none larger than an inch or two across. And it was all very dry and smooth. There were a number of half-eaten acorns scattered there too.

One overhang had a band of water streaming off of it. Down below, where the water hit, there was a band of green life about five feet wide that spanned the entire overhang. Where the water was not splashing, there was no life, only rocks.

And then, all of a sudden, there it was - the huge block of sandstone that I could see from my cabin. It was big alright, about 40 feet tall, and maybe 75 feet square, and flat on top. But wait, there was a second block rock, about the same size, sitting right next to the main bluffline. And alley about ten feet wide separated the one block and the bluff, and there was space of about 30-40 feet between the two blocks. The blocks were about the same size as my cabin. Hum.

I was at once overjoyed to finally be standing next to these monsters, but yet a little disappointed because it was obvious that there would be no way for me to climb up either one of them. A climbing expert (like my friend Chally) could probably run right up the side of either of them, but they would have to have rope to get back down with. Perhaps some day, when I learn to climb, I will attempt one of them.

From the side of one of the blocks there was a clear view of the cabin, about two miles away and at the same level. The old place looked pretty darn good! I sat down in the sunshine up against one of the rocks and had my bagel and gazed up into the blue sky.

This was one really nice spot. The little point of land where the blocks were stuck out into the main Buffalo valley, and I could see both up and downstream. There was an especially good view of the river downstream, the blue waters cutting their way through all of the new green below. And I could hear the river, just like at the cabin. I wondered how many Native Americans or early pioneers had sat in the same spot and gazed out across the wilderness. This was one magical spot for sure. And I would be back.

I thought about spring for a moment - why it was such a wonderful time of the year. The air was fresh and clean, the sunshine seemed scrubbed, and all of the vegetation was new and glorious and brilliant green. And wildflowers coming up all over, and new critters being born. It is a time of renewal, of beginnings, of hope, and of joy for the future. Yea, spring is OK with me. I love it.

Just before I left, I made one circle around both blocks. I discovered a way that I might be able to get to the top of one of the blocks, if I had the right equipment. I would be back!

I went over the edge and headed down towards the river. The hillside was about the steepest that I had ever gone down before! It was almost straight down, and there would have been no way that I could have climbed up it. At first, there was no vegetation at all - just leaves on the ground. Then there were lots of little plants and trees growing all over. Thank goodness there were lots of regular trees too for me to hold on to. I did spend a few moments sliding on my butt too - there was simply no other way to do it.

Right in the middle of the steepest part, there was a deer trail running across the hillside.

This hillside and the sliding reminded me of a hike that I took once many years ago. My father in law (at the time) and I took an old road trace up to the top of this pointed mountain on some land that they owned along the Little Red River over near Clinton, Arkansas. It was very steep, but the road made the going easy. It had just snowed about two feet the night before. We decided to take the short way down - straight down. After a couple of steps, it became obvious that there was no way we could proceed on our feet, so we just plopped down on our butts and slide all the way to the bottom - it was great fun!!! And I never even felt a rock or log or anything.

Anyway, as I got near the bottom today, I landed on the top of a small bluffline that ran along the river. I could peer over and see the wonderful waters below, but could not get down. So I made my way on over to the mouth of Hubbard Hollow. Just upstream in the little hollow, there was one last thunderous waterfall. A fitting end to a spectacular journey.

In the main river, there was a giant boulder laying in the river bed, sticking up about ten feet in the air. It was kind of protecting the mouth of Hubbard Hollow. The pool that it was sitting in was a deep turquoise, with whitewater both above and below. I climbed up onto it and laid down and gazed at the sparkling water below, and the sunshine and blue sky above. This was a wonderful spot, one of the best that I knew about on the river. Yes, perhaps even the best swimming hole of all in summer. Then I realized that this very spot was the subject of one of Billy McNamara's paintings, and I had it as a two-page spread in my picture book. Hey, I was laying right in the middle of a painting!

It had been several days since I had seen any butterflies, but the sunshine had really brought them out today. There were about a dozen of them cruising along the river here. And one pair flying in close formation - one was a tiger swallowtail and one was a zebra swallowtail. It was good to see them all out again.

And a bird flew up and landed on the bank next to the river. It was some kind of sandpiper. He bobbed his tail up and down constantly, and kept pacing back and forth along the bank, often wading out into the water a few inches. He was feeding I guess. Every now and then he would stop his bobbing and turn and look directly up at me. It is nice to be noticed by a sandpiper.

I headed downstream along the river. Just as I was about to put my foot down into a batch of leaves, a flash of white caught my eye, and just in time for me to alter the direction of my step. There was a cottonmouth snake coiled up tightly right in the middle of the pile of leaves that I was about to put my foot into. The white flash that I saw was the inside of the snake's mouth - he was trying to warn me of his presence, which WORKED! This guy was not all that sluggish either, like you might expect for this time of the year. I played with him for a minute, and he was very quick on the draw. I concentrated on where my feet were going a lot more after that. And I especially watched for white.

The rest of the trip downstream went pretty fast. I walked along the river, enjoying its every pool and whitewater run. It seemed that the river and I were one, in tune with each other, and with the earth. And we were both going the same direction, flowing downhill to the next exciting rapid and quiet pool.

Just before I reached Whitaker Creek, I found a group of wild geraniums, growing about a foot tall. The first really good wildflower picture that I ever took was of a wild germanium over in Richland Creek.

When I reached the ladder trail, I went into overdrive. My feet went faster and faster with each step. The steepness of the hill didn't seem to bother me at all, and I kept accelerating all the way up. About the only thing that I remember about that climb was one bright batch of phlox beside the trail, with a yellow tiger swallowtail butterfly feeding on the flowers.

When I reached the top of the bluff, I was greeted by my little wildflower buddy. He was almost in bloom, and now I knew what he was - a shooting star. There will be three blooms, and I expect to see them sometime this week.

Wow, what a hike. What a day. What a place. What a great time of the year!

The wind picked up and blew all afternoon, which kept the temps on the cool side. The sunshine called me out onto the back for an hour of natural worshiping, plus I cleaned off the big tub filters (the dingy water had already gotten the best of them). And I spent a couple of hours writing. Just another tough day at Cloudland.

4/19/99 There were two bluebirds sitting in the dogwood trees down in the meadow when I arrived back at the cabin around noon. Clear blue skies, lots of sunshine, temps in the low 70's, and a slight breeze. The forest has taken on this fluorescent green with all of the new growth. The world is so alive with great beauty!

I quickly unloaded the truck, strapped on my walking shoes, and headed out into the spring woods towards a secret little spot where I go sometimes to think, to reflect, and to cry. It is a small, comfortable spot, a canyon of sorts, with steep sandstone walls that are covered with thick green moss and ferns and wildflowers. There is a little trickle of water passing one end of it - this little creek eventually spills on down the hillside and runs directly into the Buffalo River. The floor is uncluttered and deep with brown leaves, with the exception of three chunks of rock that had been laid down from above. They too are covered with moss. One of them is up against the tallest wall, and it is there that I sit and lay back and exercise my mind and explore my soul. No one but me has been here that I know of - the entrance is hidden, and I steer my hikes away so as not to invite any company.

When I reached this spot today, I found a dogwood in full bloom, leaning in close to hear my thoughts. There were crested iris blooming, a couple of spiderworts, and a group of mayapples down at the far end, five of them with large white blossoms. The sunshine was streaming down through an umbrella magnolia tree, and casting shadows on the floor. I sat down, laid back, and looked up into the blue sky.

I came here today with a heavy heart and a bright soul. Sitting here in my little secret canyon and tossing all of my pain and triumph back and forth in my head does seem to ease the pain a little, and bring me back down to earth. There is so much beauty everywhere that I look, and the world has been so great to me, I should have a permanent smile plastered on my face. And I do most of the time.

There is a little bird high up in the upper branches of a nearby hickory tree that is just singing his heart out. I don't have my binocs with me, and so I can't even get a close look at this little guy. He must be calling out to someone, maybe even to me. Perhaps he just wants to let me know, like that little shooting star at the top of the bluff, that everything is going to be OK. And it is. The moss beneath me is soft and brilliant, the breezes are creating a kaleidoscope of bright colors overhead as the new leaves dance across the blue patches of sky, and the little bird and the river below are singing a melody as pure and sweet as spring water. Speaking of spring water, I am thirsty, and I think I'll crawl on over to the tiny creek and take a sip. Yep, it is sweet indeed, just like my life out here at Cloudland!

I leave my little sanctuary and head back towards the cabin, following a yellow tiger swallowtail butterfly that passed through the canyon. I am a very lucky man, and I count my blessings. And I thank you, the reader, for taking the time to wade through all of this with me.

When I got back to the cabin, I discovered that the swing out back had been neglected, and needed some company, so I got out a pillow and sat down for a good long swing and waited for aTV crew to arrive (they were going to shoot an "Ozarks Spirit" segment for the 10 o'clock news). The wind was playing music through the chimes in front, and there were many birds flying back and forth in the treetops. All at once, I was engulfed with about twenty butterflies - they were everywhere! Mostly the big yellow ones, but there were several of the black and white zebra ones too, plus a couple of smaller ones that I could not ID. They were all flying in this mass formation of swirling color and light. They came close to me, under the overhang, then right past me and back out into space. Just for a moment, I thought that I could feel the beating of their wings. Is that possible?

I hear the TV truck approaching. Kelly Kemp (star reporter) and Larry Baker (ace videographer) actually made it from civilization out here to the wilds of Cloudland, and right on time too. After a quick tour of the cabin, we packed up and headed out for a hike. Packing up a huge TV camera and tripod and batteries takes a little more effort than just throwing a little still camera into a bag and taking off. But we managed OK, and soon were out in the woods shooting. We spent some time down at the Crag, and ran into several other hikers that were out enjoying a textbook spring day.

It was good to work with Larry, becuase he not only knew what he was doing, but was trying to get some interesting and unusual camera angles. I appreciate folks like that. Some people just let you wander around in front of the camera, without any direction, and whatever happens, happens. He tried to pre-visualize the scene, how I would walk through it, etc. One time he told me to "walk down the trail and put your LEFT foot right HERE." I did, and I'll bet it looked good.

Once the filming was finished at the Crag, we headed back to the cabin, and spent about an hour out on the back deck talking and shooting a long interview, one of those sit-down-and-look-straight-into-the-camera kinds of things. Kelly Kemp is a great reporter, a TV personality really, since she has had her own noon news and talk show. We have done many shows together before, and so I was at ease with her. That is until she started asking some pretty tough questions! In fact, about half of the questions I had never been asked before. While I don't mind working from the cuff - which is what I always do anyway - I got a little choked up trying to answer a couple of them.

And the whole time we were doing the interview, the aroma of fresh baking sourdough bread was pouring out of the cabin windows - it was tough to concentrate with that wonderful smell around!

We discovered a little bat, probably an eastern pip, sleeping up on the side of one of the porch lights. Kind of strange to see a bat, in the daylight, sitting on a light.

The light out in the wilderness from the late afternoon sun was just spectacular, but we couldn't include that scene in the background because the light where we were sitting was just too different. I think Larry got some good footage of it anyway, to be used elsewhere in the piece. He forced me to go sit in the swing and enjoy the view for a few minutes while he framed the back of the cabin with one of the dogwoods down in the meadow. Then he had me stand up and lean over the railing and gaze out into the wilderness. Hey, he was capturing some of what I really do out here!

Kelly had brought some special black Angus beef with her, and after a bit of grilling, we all sat down to one of the best cuts of beef that I had ever eaten, plus the homemade sourdough bread and giant baked potatoes. All three of us like our meat well done, so I slow-grilled it to perfection! Couldn't believe how tender it still was, even after all of that cooking. Hum, cooking s-l-o-w on the grill seems to work.

Once the dishes were cleared away, we got down to some serious discussions. It was kind of funny, but we almost seemed to span three generations in our ages and experiences. I was the old guy, in my 40's. Kelly is in her early 30's, married to a guy that I went to high school with, and they have a young son. And Larry is in his 20's, married, and expecting his first child in a few weeks. We listened to a lot of music from the 70's (James Taylor, Carole King, America), talked about life, loves, and the pursuit of happiness. And we even talked about our favorite TV shows over the years. It was interesting to hear all of the comments from the three different decades.

We talked long into the night, and it was nearly 1pm before they went off to bed and I slipped into the hot tub. As I sat there in the darkness, surrounded by a million stars, I saw something that I could hardly believe - fireflies! At first I thought that I was seeing things, or some kind of reflections, but as I sat up and looked closer, sure enough, there were five or six lightening bugs flying about down in the woods at the far end of the meadow. Normally they would hang out in the open, but these guys were in the woods. And about a month early I would say.

I saw not one, but four shooting stars, then shut the cabin down and climbed up to bed.

4/20/99 It was early when I got up and made my way downstairs to put on coffee and blueberry biscuits and to start up a new loaf of 12-grain bread for lunch sandwiches. As I was typing away at the computer, the sun peeked up over the ridge to the east. Then I noticed a strange shadow moving across the shade. A big shadow - good grief, what the heck was it? Had the warm temps brought a bear out from his hiding place in search of food? Na, it was just Larry, shooting some nice video of the sunrise through the dogwood blossoms.

The following quote was e-mailed to me by a journal reader, and it applies quite well to my situation these days:

"Happiness is as a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you."--Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864)

I put some new age Beatles nature music on the stereo (really - it is great) and continued typing while Larry tried the porch swing on for size, and Kelly did her best to drain the well from inside the shower. Sunshine, blue skies, light breezes, warm temps and lots of birds out.

We packed up all of the camera gear and hiked down into Dug Hollow, and spent about three hours photographing the waterfalls there. Even though the light was terrible (that awful sunshine!), I think Larry got some good footage. Just as we were leaving, I found a phoebe nest right next to one of the waterfalls. There were five eggs in it, and nervous birds flying around wanting for us to leave. We did.

We returned to the cabin and had some smokehouse sandwiches with the fresh bread, took a few more pictures, and then set a spell in the warm afternoon breezes. It had been a good visit, and I think they got enough video to do several stories. I look forward to seeing the finished product.

Those little breezes soon turned into high winds up in the 40mph range. The temp climbed to about 80 degrees - first time this year I think. I spent the rest of the afternoon writing and cleaning up and just messing around the cabin.

4/21/99 Howling was an understatement. The wind woke up and began to race through the trees late in the afternoon. 47 miles per hour. And the wind was swirling, coming out of the south, then the east, then on over from the west. One of the deck chairs down below was blown across the deck, and landed on the west side. The BBQ grill blew out of its nest and lodged against the east railing. But there were several things that normally get blown away in medium winds that didn't even move at all. Funny wind.

And clouds were building up, some of them on the dark side. It is time for some rain, so the clouds were a welcome sight for me. Not only do the plants need the water, but so do any waterfalls that want to jump in front of my camera. Conditions are right this next week for some fine photography of the new spring growth and water features. But we need some of that rain. A couple inches would do.

I sat out on the back deck and watched a big hawk working between the cabin and the Craig. He would fly up into the current, bend his wings and tilt his body in just the right way, and then he would just hover there, not moving at all. He had to work a little in the high wind to stay put, but he could do so for ten or fifteen seconds at a time before being tossed on over to another spot.

And a little later, another hawk (might have been the same one) came streaking by right over the meadow, wings tucked tight against his body. He looked like he was on an amusement park ride, as he flared up when he got out over the valley and peeled back - a little like a hot shot jet pilot that had flown by the cabin site.

The wind didn't seem to be bothering the hot tub cover - I had worried about it being blown off. It is buckled down to the tub, but probably should have some sort of heavy object on top of it for a little extra security.

The wind did move the big oak tree that is growing up through the lower deck - it swayed back and forth pretty good, but not enough to rub against the deck.

On the upper deck, the swing was a swinging, and the rockers were a rockin'. Lots of wind.

As it got close to sundown, I took off on a hike. I wanted to feel more of the wind, and see what it was doing to the forest. Actually, I wanted to go out and find this great tree to climb up in and do a trick like John Muir - to see how the tree feels in the high winds. I followed along the top of the bench to the west of the cabin, where I could look down onto the bench below - the woods are very open there, because of all the maples.

I was also looking for that mystery tree that we have been trying to identify all winter. It is time to figure out what the heck this species is. I looked many trees over good from above to see if any were the right tree, but I couldn't find a single one.

There were lots of squirrels out running around, more than I had seen since last fall. And they wouldn't just jump up into a tree and climb up and disappear. These guys all took off running along the ground, sometime bouncing off of a tree here and there, but they would just keep going, and not go up into the trees.

As I made my way up the hillside, I came across this wonderful large shagbark hickory tree. I just love these trees, not only because their shaggy bark makes them so easy to identify, but because I think these trees have a great personality. Don't know why. As I stood there admiring this great plant, I looked around and realized that I had never been to that spot before. And I wondered how much of my own little 40 acres I have not set foot on yet. Hum, I must make that a goal to see all of my property. Lay eyes on every tree. Walk up and touch all of the big rocks. When I get done with mine, I'll do Bob's 120 acres. Then I'll head for the 13,000 acre wilderness. Guess I have some work to do.

I cut through the woods and got to the connecting lane between the East and Faddis meadows. It was lined with dogwoods - everywhere! It was quite impressive. And at the end of the lane, that large dogwood tree that had been split over by the ice storm was in full bloom. There wasn't hardly any tree attached to the base after the split, I couldn't believe that there was enough juice to create the bloom. And the flowers were large and bright and beautiful, as if to say "Look at me, I'm not going to die that easy!"

I hurried through the meadow and dropped down to the little lane that heads on over to Bob's cabin. Both sides were grown up with thick brush, since a lot of it had been logged in the last decade. Still lots of larger trees around, but enough holes in the canopy to allow lots of sunlight to reach the ground, a new forest to sprout up.

Then I came across this wonderful batch of wild iris in full bloom. They were very dark and rich colored, almost blue. It contrasted well with the green leaves. And there were so many of them together and in bloom. I would soon discover that there lots of these bunches of iris along this road, most of them growing right down the middle of the road. It's funny, but I remember all of these wildflowers from last spring, but once they quit blooming last year, I forgot completely about them. I have been walking right over them all fall and winter and early spring, and now they have popped up to pronounce their beauty to the world.

One batch of iris was about seven feet long and four feet wide. Amazing! And one smaller batch was completely encircled with wild mint plants, growing at about the same height at the iris.

I turned onto another lane that dropped on down into the drainage. My eyes were pretty much glued to the ground in front of me, watching for the next batch of iris. Then all of a sudden the air changed. Something felt different. I looked up and saw this incredible open forest with large trees all around me and hardly any underbrush at all. And it was a long ways up into the canopy. Wow, this was a wonderful forest! Beeches, oaks, sweetgum.

And just then, I found a copy of the mystery tree, right next to the lane. Hum, those new leaves way up there sure did look a lot like the kind of tree that I think it is. My friend and I continue to play this guessing game about this tree, but it won't be long now before I will have proof.

But the overall forest was center stage. As I walked down the hill I veered off of the lane to take a look at some showy orchids. They were hidden in between three rather large oaks, just a few feet from a nice stream. The orchids were there alright, but hadn't bloomed yet. I looked like a few more days and something might happen.

Most of them were around the base of this one dark, giant tree. I wrapped my arms around it - didn't reach - and looked right straight up the nearly-black trunk. Way up there it went, high into the canopy. And it ended right at the base of a half moon, which was beaming down through a hole in the clouds. That was a neat scene, and I wish that I could have photographed it. Tough light to take a picture of.

I wander along the lane, and across the creek and up the other side of the ravine I heard a thrush sing out. Some kind of wood thrush I think. It sounded just wonderful, as it echoed through the open forest.

A little further down the lane I came across an umbrella magnolia tree that was in bloom - yea, they have returned! We had one terrific magnolia bloom last year, and I'm hoping for another good one this year. This poor magnolia was a lot like the dogwood up in the meadow - it had been knocked over by the ice storm and was barely alive, though had put out some remarkable big blooms.

And then I came to the yellow lady slipper orchids. Not all of them were up out of the ground yet, but a number of them were. And one had the very first bloom - a yellow ball all curled up inside some larger green leaves. If we had a little rain and a few days of sunshine, there would be yellow on these plants! Last year there were 17 blooms in this bunch.

It was getting rather dim out, so I turned and hurried back down the lane and up the hill. The thrush continued to sing. It was a terrific little spot to hike.

As I walked I got to thinking about why sometimes you go out and hike and keep going and don't stop much, while on other hikes you stop and sit and watch for a while in a spot or two. Does the plan come from within - a desire to stop or keep walking - or from the outside - rocks and trees and flowers reaching out to you to stop, or hike further? Just wondered.

The clouds were lightening up as I cross the meadow. And then a whippoorwill called out from the edge of the forest - What? This is April. Isn't that a summer bird? Gosh, it was great to hear him. A sure sign of long lazy summer nights ahead.

There was a big stand of may apples growing right across the new trail route, and I had to be careful not to knock them down as I passed. I probably should get this trail built before too long. Perhaps after all of the apples bloom.

It was dark when I arrived back at the cabin. The wind was still blowing pretty hard - in the upper 30's. It was warm though, about 70.

As I sat down for a moment on the back deck, another whippoorwill called out. Could it have been the same one from the East Meadow - did he follow me here? That would be an interesting thought, to have wildlife following you. Hum, how about a bear? Speaking of bears, their time is coming soon, and I would expect to see one anytime in the next few weeks. I am looking forward to seeing what they will be up to this year.

The wind continued to blow and howl and make music long into the night. This cabin is so tight that with all of the windows and doors closed you really can't even tell that the wind is blowing.

When I crawled into the hot tub, I figured there might be white caps on the water. But the wind just wasn't blowing onto the tub much. But it was blowing up in the trees, and the moon was out and shining through the new growth on those waving trees, and, well, the night just had this incredible feeling to it.

I looked and looked and looked but never saw a shooting star. They were out tonight for sure, but were hiding behind the many dark clouds that were moving around up there. But I did see a single firefly, and it came up close to the tub. So I figured that was my shooting star for this night, and so I dried off, shut down the computer, and climbed up to the loft.

4/22/99 More wind at daylight. But it felt a little different. This wind was full of moisture - yea! It was misting a little when I crawled into the hot tub at first light. A warm mist - it was still in the 60's. Now, if it only will rain an inch or two today. There were lots of soaring birds around this morning early, which is unusual for them. Maybe they sense the weather change (duh, of course they do) and are out trying to get one last meal before the big storm. The valleys below are filled with the mist, and the bright greens of new growth are mixed and muted, although still very rich. Photographs are a lot better with this kind of air, so I hope it continues.

This is going to be a busy weekend for me, and so I may not be able to make another post until Monday, which is my normal weekly posting time anyway. Sometimes I just post more often because I can. Several folks are coming out to spend the weekend, with the main goal of going out and taking pictures. We will get up early, stay up late, and shoot a lot of film, if the rain comes and the clouds remain that is. See you soon...

Well, I got a spot of time, so I thought that I had better get up to date. It didn't rain much during the day, but did wet everything down just a little. As evening approached, a few dark clouds circled, and the light got really nice. No sunset though.

I grilled some salmon (very good) and eggplant, made up a batch of Greek pasta, and generally made a pig out of myself for dinner. As the dishes were being washed off, the sky began to light up. In fact, when the lightening would strike, you could see the flash out of all the windows (must have been overhead). The wind blew, and the sky flashed, but not much of anything else happened. I elected to stay out of the tub.

It wasn't until after I went to bed that it began to rain. It didn't drop too much - less than a tenth of an inch. But the light show was very nice.

4/23/99 I got up just in time to see one of the most incredible sunrises ever - as I rolled over and looked out the window, there was a giant red ball, flattened a bit, rising above the ridge. All of the colors were muted, from the greens of the half-leafed-out trees, to the red of the sun, to the shades of white in the clouds that were still hanging around. It was one terrific pastel scene indeed!

It didn't take me long to jump into the tub and continue to enjoy the wonderful morning. The wind had died down, and there were lots and lots of birds out, playing in the treetops and singing for joy. I don't recall ever seeing so many different birds at the same time here before. Up in the big tree next to the tub, there seemed to be a different bird on every branch. There was a big fat bluebird dude sitting on the lowest branch. Sitting there in the swirling warm waters surrounded by all of this beauty, well, it was very special.

Next I put on my shoes and headed on down the ladder trail towards the river. As I got lower and lower, the sunrise pretty much stayed the same - one continuous sunrise all the way down. And the air got cooler with each bench that I went down. And the smells were tremendous - lots of plant smells that I can't really describe.

The forest was full of bird sounds, many different levels of them, from high-pitched squawks up close, to the purely musical tones of a thrush somewhere out there, to the deep bass of a woodpecker that echoed through the valley. Man, it was a spring morning in the Ozarks alright, all framed with the sound of the rivers running.

When I walked up to the river, I startled a great blue heron that had been fishing along the bank. Darn, I should approached a little more carefully, just like you should do when coming into a meadow - you tend to see a lot more wildlife that way. The heron cleared the treetops in a hurry, and lumbered on upstream out of sight.

The climb out seemed very fast, and I was breathing hard. As I was making my way up the two steepest benches, my head was bent low to the ground, and I was taking the earthy aromas deep into my lungs. Gosh, I don't know of too many better smells than earth and leaves and new plants. I'll bet it did my lungs a lot of good.

And when I reached the top of the bluff, the shooting star wildflowers were blooming everywhere. My little flower friend at the very top of the bluff was standing tall and smiling. He knew it was a grand day as well.

While sitting on the cool-down deck, I found tick #3, a big fellow. By the way, I don't plan to note each and every tick that snags a ride, but I always find it amusing to remember that there really aren't as many ticks out there in the woods as many people would have you believe. And when you find one, you simply pull it off, pinch its little head off, and go on about your day.

The sun disappeared behind the clouds, and it got a little hazy, mostly from the a fine mist that was hanging around. The humidity was 93%.

Birds continued to dominate the morning. One hummingbird - first I had seen this season - came by to check out the deck, to see if I had the feeder out yet, and almost invited himself into the cabin. Then a minute later, a brilliant flash of red streaked by and landed in one of the dogwoods in the meadow. It was a scarlet tanager, a bird that lives up to his name! Smaller than a cardinal, it is easy to tell what this bird is. Always a delightful surprise to see one of these in the area.

No real rain yet, which we need for our waterfall photography, but the overcast skies are great. I would be happy if it would rain this afternoon and/or tonight, then be nice and cloudy and misty all day tomorrow and Sunday. Keep your fingers crossed for me. Thank you.

I had hired a cook to come out and spend the weekend and take care of the food chores for the photo workshop that was happening at the cabin - that was a good move.The cabin was soon filled with a aroma of her special chocolate chip oatmeal cookies and some sourdough bread that I was baking. She made a LOT of cookies - two pounds of butter in the batch! I had bought a mountain of food, some really great stuff, and we were going to eat our way through the weekend.

After a few hours of food prep, The cook retired to the swing for a short nap, and I worked on my weekend workshop plan. Then I put together the last futon, which I put down in the tool/wine room - the cook's other assignment for the weekend was to sleep there and guard the wine rack. Kind of like getting the fox to guard the chicken house.

I also put up the hummingbird feeder out on the back deck. It wouldn't be long now before the little buggers would be buzzing around and fighting each other.

Three photographers arrived early in the evening. Ray Scott from Little Rock, a great photographer and a wonderful drummer for a rock and roll band; Mark Hardgrave from Knoxville, who had been to the McNeil Bear Preserve in Alaska and had some amazing grizzly images to show us; and Chuck Haralson (A.C.), who has been the official photographer for the Arkansas Department of Parks and Tourism for sixteen years (chances are that most any picture that you have ever seen advertising Arkansas was his). It was going to be one great weekend of shooting and talking nature photography with some pretty high powered photographers. I was honored to have all three at Cloudland.

We snacked and munched and talked about each other's work and saw slides long into the night. The bear pictures from Alaska were really something! Mark had full-frame head shots of thousand pound grizzlies, which he shot from only several yards away. I ate about a dozen cookies. No new rain.

4/24/99 A VERY loud whippoorwill cracked the early morning silence, and soon it was daylight and everyone was up and moving around. No sunrise, but it looked like the heavy cloud cover was going to stick around all day - that was PERFECT shooting light for us!

The cook fixed one terrific breakfast, including this great egg dish, her homemade herb biscuits, bacon, garlic taters, a big plate of fruit slices, and fresh-squeezed orange juice. I think everyone wanted to stick around and just keep eating, but we had work to do, so we packed up and took off for the woods.

We went down into one of my favorite waterfall areas. While the water was not nearly as high as it had been the week before, there was still plenty flowing. We spent many hours going from one waterfall to the next, each one of us picking different angles to shoot from. We spent a lot of time looking through each other's cameras to get their perspective - this is my most effective teaching tool. Besides all of the waterfalls, we had lots of shooting stars, wild iris, and umbrella magnolias to photograph.

At one point, the sky opened up and it began to rain - yea! We just happened to be under this big overhang, and there was a terrific scene from there that included a couple of waterfalls, so we just went right on shooting, and stayed dry. The rain didn't last too long, and we moved onto another waterfall area for more pics.

We visited the yellow lady slipper orchids, and found one bright yellow boat just about fully out, but not enough so to take pictures of. Before anyone realized it, the time was three o'clock! Lunch was overdue, so we returned to the cabin.

We had left the cook at the cabin, and she had gone on a little adventure of her own. After planting a Simon and Garfunkel garden for me down below the deck (plants that I bought at the Farmer's Market on the square in Fayetteville - parsley, sage, rosemary & thyme), she took a hike down the ladder trail to the river. While she was near the old homesite there, she came face to face with A BEAR! Not only was this the first bear sighting of the season out here, but it was also the very first time that anyone but me staying at Cloudland had seen one. What exciting news!!! She was pretty happy about it all, especially since she had never seen a bear in Arkansas before.

She got back in time to create this incredible Thai Salad that was simply out of this world. We teamed it with meats and cheeses from the Ozark Mountain Smokehouse for another feast. Everyone was a little slow moving by the time we finished, but we still had daylight left and pictures to shoot (the group was warned ahead of time that it would be long exhausting days).

We drove on over to Pearly Spring, one of my favorite shooting locations in the area, and spent a couple of hours there. One of my pictures of this spring appears on the label of "Arkansas Ale" beer.

Then we found these large rock slabs in the woods that were completely COVERED with wildflowers! And I mean that you could not step without getting a flower or two under foot. It was late in the day, we were all sort of mentally exhausted from all of the wonderful scenes that we had been photographing. There was something very special about all of us standing there, knee deep in wildflowers (spider worts and wild hibiscus), with all of this rich color everywhere. We were all on the same plane, people who work at taking pictures of the natural world simply because we are drawn to the great beauty and want to share it with others through our photographs. I really enjoyed the moment. And the entire day.

It was dark by the time we returned to the cabin. We were greeted with an incredible smell when we opened the door - more great food! Our cook had been slaving away again, and laid out a spread that included this wonderful dish of baked herb veggies, fresh french bread, and a salad that had about eight different varieties of greens in it. Plus we had my secret recipe of Cajun salmon filets, marinated in this special sauce and grilled to perfection. Oh yea, and for desert we had fresh cheese cake! What a tremendous dinner. Hey, just another typical feed at Cloudland.

We talked on again long into the night about the more serious side of photography - selling pictures. This was a workshop for advanced photographers, and the business discussions that we had all weekend were an important part.

4/25/99 It thundered and rained a little on and off during the night, but no real downpours like we had hoped. No matter, it looked like it was going to be another cloudy day, so we were all happy.

Breakfast was on the lighter and quicker side today, then we made sandwiches and packed everything up and headed out to another shooting location.

We had a long hike this morning to get to our scenic spot, but when we did arrive, there was a big round of oohs and aahs - I had taken them to the largest and most spectacular waterfall in the wilderness. And it was running pretty good. No problem finding something to take pictures of here! We all set up and fired away, roll after roll. Several times during the day, the sky opened up and it really poured (NOW it rained!). A lot of the great scenes were right there from under this terrific bluff overhang, so we didn't mind the rain one bit. Spectacular! I'll bet we took more than 500 pictures of that waterfall today. There were also a lot of wonderful, lush ferns lining the banks of the creek for us to photograph, and a number of wild azaleas that were blooming - deep, rich color and this incredible aroma. All too soon it was time to hike out. And then a strange thing happened - it quit raining, and remained dry all the way out. Life isn't supposed to work out like that.

The cabin was engulfed with a heavy fog bank when we got back - just Cloudland living up to its name. The rainfall had completely filled up the cistron. Soon the photographers were all packed up and headed back to civilization. It had been one fine weekend of natural beauty, great conversation, and five star cuisine. Some of the pictures taken by Chuck will probably end up as ads for the state of Arkansas in the years to come - we set up a few of them with a photographer or hiker standing in front of a gorgeous waterfall. It wasn't a stretch at all.

Night has fallen, and it is still really foggy outside, with a warm wind blowing the trees around. Everything is wet, soggy wet, and the air is full of moisture. The humidity is about 110%. I had wanted to go take a well-deserved long soak in the hot tub, but it has just now begun to rain again, heavily. I am tired, so I will put off my soak and go on up to bed. There is this great waterfall that I want to hike into and take pictures of in the morning.

4/26/99 There was thunder and lightening and some rain for several hours during the night, then calm. It had rained a little over an inch total yesterday. The forest really needed that to feed the tremendous appetite of all the new growth, while still maintain good waterfall and river levels.

It was still foggy when I got up at daylight, but it had lifted somewhat and I could see out into the wilderness. The hot tub felt great. There were birds out singing and playing all around me. It was warm - in the mid 60's, and hardly any wind. The Buffalo was up and running pretty good, and so was Whitaker Creek. The waterfall that I want to go hike into and photograph this morning is the twin one. The second part of the falls only runs when there is good water, and it should be doing its thing this morning. After a little Starbucks and some journal editing (my sister sent me an e-mail correcting the spelling of "cistern," which I had spelled wrong eleven times already - took about ten minutes just to find and change all of them), I packed up my camera gear and headed out into the fog.

The first part of the hike was through this thick stand of mature pines. The ground was covered with pine needles, and a layer of green - poison ivy! The ivy was solid as far as you could see. Thanks goodness that I am not allergic to it. They say that my body chemistry will change some day, and I might eventually become allergic to it. If that day ever does come, my outdoor careers will probably come to an end. In the meantime, I will continue to snicker at the rest of the world, which I know will come back to haunt me some day.

Anyway, the heavy fog in the pines and the green ivy really made for an unusual scene, one of those that looked great while standing there, but impossible to put onto film - lots of environmental factors contributing to the whole thing, like the feel and smell and temperature of the fog. It was quiet as I walked, with only a distant bird call now and then, and the snap of a twig or two underfoot.

I left the pines behind and began to drop down a steep hillside, leaving the fog behind. Soon I reached the creek, and began to search for the waterfall. I had only been to this spot once before, on New Year's Day, when everything was ice and snow and blowing cold. I made my way downstream and finally came to a spot where the earth dropped away - what I was about to witness became a near religious experience for me.

The creek splits in two just before it leaps off of a 60-70 foot overhanging bluff, and both falls plunge into this incredible pool below. The forest around the bluffs above and the falls and below around the pool was filled with magnolia, dogwood, sassafras, redbud, hickory, oak, and a number of other trees that I could not identify. In a word - LUSH!

I made my way around to one side of the falls. I could feel that the light was about to change, and this was one remarkable scene, so I tried to hurry to find a suitable photo spot. At the same time, where I was walking was close to the edge and very dangerous - once tiny little slip and I would be over the edge. But I had to stay close to the edge, for that is where I would find a picture spot. I had never photographed this falls before, and didn't even know if there was an open spot anywhere with a good view. But I had to try.

And then I found it, right at the edge. The trees opened up just enough to allow me an open view of the falls and the pool below. Holy Ansel Adams, I was stunned and brought nearly to tears at the incredible beauty that stood before me. And the light was perfect, the wind was not blowing, and the water was just fabulous. I tied myself and my tripod to a nearby tree, and got set up as quickly as possible.

Then I discovered a problem. It was SOOOO humid and wet out that my lens had fogged up. Wiping it off did no good. The thundering waterfalls were pushing even more moisture up into the air, and right onto my lens. Darn. No, DAMN! Here I was, finally at what I considered the most scenic of all waterfalls in the Ozarks, when perfect conditions, and I couldn't take a picture. This was one of those times in life when you learn something - today it was patience. All I could do was sit there and hope that everything would clear up.

And, of course, it did clear up. Prayers answered. I spent the next 30 minutes running roll after roll after roll of film through my camera. Probably got the picture with the very first shot, but the scene was so incredible that I just kept shooting. It was no use to look for another vantage point, because I knew this was the only open spot. I shot some more. Then I zoomed out just a little, and a second shot showed up. A couple more rolls of film went through the camera. This scene will probably become the cover for my next picture book. It was that good.

The light was changing fast, as the sun burned through the fog. I couldn't shoot with sun on the scene - just too dull. But I couldn't meter when the sun was out either, because the reading would be off when the sun went behind a cloud. So I had to wait until the sun was behind a cloud, meter, then wait for the next cloud to take any pictures. It was a bit frustrating at times, but I knew that I had to keep firing away to make sure that I had to good picture.

I had already taken about 350 pictures when disaster struck. As I leaned over to adjust the focus on the camera, I leaned a little too far, and my feet slipped out from under me. Within a split second both me and my camera/tripod had gone over the edge. I started roping myself up to a tree a year ago in situations just like this. The rope worked just fine the only other time that I had slipped and headed towards the edge. I normally leave just enough rope for me to move around, and to stop me from going over the edge. Something went very wrong today.

Either I hadn't measured correctly and left too much slack, or the knot slipped - I went over the edge of the cliff. I'm not exactly sure what happened next, but I think that when I went over the edge and the rope went tight, my body swung in under the lip and I smashed into the bluff. I hit my head, hard, and I'm not sure if I was knocked out or not. I do know that the next thing that I remember is a very tight feeling in my gut - I had only tied a slip knot around my waist (no web harness like I should have had), and it was VERY tight. In fact, it hurt like hell, and every time that I tried to move, it cinched up even tighter. So there I was, dangling in space about 60 feet from the rocks below, and I was slowly being cut in half by my own rope. Not a good situation at all.

The rope was thin and wet and slick, and my hands were wet, and I could not get a grip on the rope. Damn, I was in trouble. This was serious business, and I knew it. My head was throbbing. The earth kept moving around me. I was about to panic. That would have been it. The rope kept getting tighter and tighter. I had to get a hold of myself. I fought hard to concentrate on something, ANYTHING.

And then the noise of the waterfall suddenly entered my mind. I turned to look at it, and that is what got me back to earth. Yea, the waterfall, pictures of the waterfall. OK, my head was clearing. I turned my attention to the rope and the bluff in front of me. I dried my hands. I found a foothold that I could use to steady myself on and use to push off and up on. I knew that no one was going to come get me, I had to do this myself. I've always had terrible arm strength, but I knew that I had no choice but to grab the rope and pull myself up. I tried to take a deep breath, but the rope around me wouldn't allow it. I took a slow breath, then wrapped my hands around the rope as tight as I could and gave it all I had.

As I got close to the top, I reached out and grabbed onto the base of a small tree - I yanked it right out of the soft earth, and fell back part way over the bluff. The rope tightened even more. The next time I grabbed a larger tree - reached and stretched with all my might, and this one held, and I pulled myself up over the edge to safety. The rope was sooo tight, that I could not get it loose. My camera bag was nearby, and I was able to grab my Swiss Army knife and cut the darn thing free. What a RELIEF! I could breathe again.

As I lay there gasping for air, tears were streaming down my face. I don't guess that I had ever come that close to death before. I drank my entire bottle of water, and tried to regain my composure. It wasn't easy. That waterfall was so beautiful though, and I know sitting right there looking at it had to have helped. Then I remembered my camera - smashed on the rocks below. No big deal - I've got another one.

OK, I was alive, now I had to go down and gather up the camera. I made my way back across the top of the waterfall, and down through the bluffline to the bottom and the creek. It was pretty slick going on the way down, and I couldn't believe that Chally and I had made this same descent when everything was covered with ice back in January. My legs were pretty weak, and I was shaking the entire time, but I was moving OK.

My poor camera. It was in about six or eight pieces, and the lens was shattered. But the tripod only had one broken leg. It is made of wood, really good wood, and has always withstood a lot. Now it survived a 60 foot fall. Well, almost survived.

I sat down at the base of the falls to rest before the trip out. I thought about how lucky I was to be alive, to have been spared. And I thought about how great my life was in general, to be able to go out pretty much whenever I want to and explore special places like this one, and spend my life in the wilderness. And to have survived many close calls. I don't know who was keeping an eye on me, but I thanked whoever it was.

Then my thoughts turned back to the waterfall. It needed a name. It reminded me of Punch Bowl Falls in Oregon, one of the most beautiful waterfalls that I had ever laid eyes on. I saw pictures of it made by the color master photographer David Muench, and then visited it myself. This waterfall was even better than that one. But it needed a different name than Punch Bowl. It was a twin falls, but there are already at least two Twin Falls in the Buffalo Drainage, so that was out. Besides, the second falls only runs when the water is good.

Then I thought about Neil Compton, and how much he had done for the region and for the world. He needed a waterfall named after him. So I decided the official name for this falls would be Neil Compton Falls. Yea, that fit. A spectacular waterfall named after an incredible man.

Even if you are not dangling over the edge of the bluff trying to take pictures, the area around this waterfall is really treacherous, and while the beauty is extreme, so is the danger, and I do not recommend this as a casual hiking trip for anyone but expert level. And even then extreme caution must be exercised. Don't be stupid like me.

As I left the falls area and headed up the steep slope, I came across this little fountain of water that was coming out of a moss-covered boulder. Actually it was a very large slab of sandstone. What was most unusual about this fountain was that the water was actually ABOVE any surrounding ground level - the rock was sticking up above the forest floor. That meant that the fountain was actually a little artesian spring, being pushed uphill inside the rock by some force. I leaned over and took a good long drink.

The fog was gone and the sun was breaking up the sky as I drove back to the cabin. It was a terrific little hike, except for that one little mishap. My head was pounding, and there was a nice lump, but no broken skin or blood. I quickly packed up the truck with all of the weekend photo class stuff, and rushed back to town to get the film processed and see if my cover picture actually turned out (and to get my backup camera and another tripod). It had been one incredible, splendid and grand weekend at Cloudland.

It was dark when I returned, late at night actually. The cabin seemed empty, yet warm and inviting. I slipped into the hot tub and laid back to survey the night sky. What I found was one spectacular light show going on.

First off, the heavy cloud cover was beginning to break up, and beaming down from straight overhead was a 2/3rds full moon. It lit up the wilderness with a soft glow. It also backlit the clouds, many of which were black, and the moonlight gave them a silver lining.

There were a few bright stars visible through the clouds, even a few formations. It was interesting to watch the clouds move across in front of the stars.

Over in the southern sky there was an amazing light show going on - lots and lots of flashes from a big thunderstorm that was raging somewhere. And every time that a flash happened, it too created many silver linings in the black clouds. Lots of black clouds, and an equal number of silver linings. I guess that is a good lesson in life.

There were also smaller and thinner clouds floating around at a lower altitude. Every once in a while, one would break away from the pack and come cruising by all by itself.

As I was sitting back enjoying the show and the hot bubbles, I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye. Something was moving up the tree next to the tub. He stopped his progress for a moment and looked down right at me - a raccoon! I had seen them up near the gate before, but never at the cabin. He moved around from limb to limb for a while, then I lost track of him.

It was an unusual sight with the bright moon and the lightening flashes and the black clouds and now this raccoon. I guess you never know what scene will happen at Cloudland.

No fireflies out tonight - guess the moon lit everything up well enough.

When I opened the window in the loft to get some fresh air to sleep by, I could hear a few raindrops falling. One of my last thoughts before I fell asleep was how great it was to be alive.

4/27/99 The eastern horizon glowed orange early. I was sitting in the hot tub when the sun showed up. It was a very blue morning - blue jays, blue birds, and blue skies! The trees were alive with the sounds and movements of dozens of birds of all types. There were at least twenty birds in this one flock of bluejays. A group of them would rise up together and fly across the meadow towards me, lit by the rising sun. Reminded me of the Blue Angels jet team.

And the few puffy clouds that were out were constantly changing color. First, they were their normal white. Within five minutes they turned pink, then dark grey, then back to white again.

There were cloud banks down in the valleys too. One main bank went all the way up the Buffalo, then began to break up and the sun hit it. Several of the parts broke off and went up side canyons, while others moved down the main canyon, hanging low and scraping the treetops.

There was a single cloud hanging out below the Crag. It was round and fluffy, and looked like it had been placed there to catch someone who might jump off of the Crag to a soft landing.

There wasn't any wind at all, and it was a cool 52 degrees.

This was one of those mornings that you just had to spend some time sitting out on the back deck watching all that was going on. I took my place and munched on a toasted bagel.

One large bird took off from my area and headed out over the main valley. I wondered if he really knew what he was getting himself into. He soared and flapped a little and soared some more, heading towards the opposite hillside. It was about a mile to the next tree. It took him about a minute to find a landing spot.

And as if to defy the blue theme of the morning, a brilliant red scarlet tanager flew up and landed on a nearby limb. I don't really know all that much about complementary colors, but I do know that at Cloudland blue and green and red all go together quite well. Oh yea, and the pure white of the dogwoods down in the meadow, now at their peak, looked like they belonged too.

After an hour or so of lounging around on the deck, I realized two things. First, this deck is about the best spot on earth to begin the day. And second, I was still in my bath robe, and I had better get dressed and get some work done!

One other thought crossed my mind. An old friend e-mailed me one of those "lists" yesterday - I get a lot of that stuff, most of which I simply delete. This list was entitled "Instructions for Life," and included a lot of things that I happen to agree with, so I saved it in my special quotes file. Anyway, I started thinking about other things to add to that list. The first one that I came up with was that you should drink a lot of water each day for sure, but you should also eat at least three cookies every day as well. And be awake and watch and listen and enjoy the first hour of every day.

I forgot to post the following recipe for "poke salat" that was e-mailed to me by Hilda Turner in Russellville recently:

Cook tender greens slightly. Drain well and chop. Cook bacon. Drain and crumble. Use a bit of bacon grease to saute green onions. Add crumbled bacon, chopped "poke", and lightly beaten eggs. Cook until eggs are done, stirring well.

The eggs, bacon, and onion do a good job of camouflaging the taste of "poke salat."

Sounds great! And there is getting to be a lot of poke down in the meadow - I need to pick some and cook before it gets too high.

And I did get a lot of work done today. First I installed handles on all of the windows in the cabin - they are really tough to open, and the handles should help. Then I got up on the ladder and glued all of the joints together of the gutter system that leads to the cistern - it had been leaking. And I put up a bracket or two on some sagging gutters elsewhere. Then I built a stand to put the hot tub cover up on when it is removed. You can buy this same type of thing for a couple of hundred bucks, but I made mine out of scrap lumber - it only cost me about thirty minutes labor, and I am pretty cheap. I also planted some mint out in front (peppermint, spearmint and chocolate mint), and mulched all of the new larger plants with pine straw that I had collected.

While all of this work was going on, I took several breaks - my head was still pounding a little from the bump the day before. The sky was blue and filled with puffy white clouds, the brilliant green of new spring growth was still dominant across the forest, and lots of birds played in the trees.

At one point there was a LOT of chatter from the birds, and then a bluebird came and landed right on top of the large carved bear out back - looked pretty funny. I had set up my camera (the backup camera that I had at home) pointing towards the main dogwood tree down in the meadow, hoping to get a picture of that very bluebird sitting in it. Now he was standing on the bear right behind the camera.

Then a black and white warbler came flying up and landed in the tree nearby. Both birds were looking back behind them - they hesitated a moment, then flew off into the woods. Then I saw him - a large and very slow moving red tailed hawk came gliding in over the meadow and landed in the big pine tree. Those birds must have seen him coming and got the heck out of there. I stepped over to the tele and zoomed in close on him - could count every feather on his body. His eyes were very intent, like he was looking for something very specific. He didn't stick around long, and soon jumped up and flew off.

As the day drew on, I got to watching the pair of bluebirds that were hanging around. While they were always around somewhere close, I had never seen them land on or go into either one of the bluebird boxes. But today I noticed them around this snag down at the edge of the meadow a lot. It is located just a few feet away from one of the bluebird houses.

The bluebird would land on the top of the snag, sit there a while, then jump up and disappear behind the snag. Hum, something was up. I had to investigate. Son of a gun, an amazing discovery! These love birds had made their own little house in the snag - I found a hole just the right size, about seven feet off of the ground, and facing away from the cabin. It had to be their nest! I was THRILLED to have bluebirds nesting at Cloudland! And to think that I almost cut down that old snag. Good lesson - snags are home to a lot of critters.

I had eaten too many chocolate chip oatmeal cookies during the day and decided that it was time for a hike to work them off. Besides, all of my chores were done, and the day was perfect for hiking.

I headed down the ladder trail, crossed Whitaker Creek, and started up the steep slope towards Beagle Point. The hillside was lush, and the going was slow at times. When I got to the real steep part, I found it to be COVERED with white violets - I mean thousands and thousands of them! I hated to even walk through them, but there was no place else to step. They were tall too. As I climbed up further, the violets were replaced with spiderworts, also white ones, and a lot of maidenhair ferns. Towards the top of the slope, the spiderworts turned from the pale ones to the darker purple ones.

The hillside was steep, and I had to get down on all fours some of the time just to keep going, grabbing for anything solid that I could find. I sat down to take a breather and could see a splendid view of the river below through the trees.

I finally made it up to the base of the bluff. Tough climb. My goal was to make my way around the bluff to the spot where I had rescued those two deer dogs last fall, and get up on top of the bluff there. I started walking along the base of the bluff, admiring tiny wildflowers. Just as I rounded the point of the bluff, I looked up and got startled out of my wits - A BEAR! And only about twenty feet away - Yikes!!!

I'm not sure who was surprised more, or who jumped higher. He leapt into the sky, turned to his left, and hit the ground about ten feet down the slope and immediately disappeared. I literally was startled backwards and landed on my butt. The entire thing took maybe three seconds. I burst out laughing, uncontrollably, and laughed so hard that I started to cough. I'm sure my laughter could be heard throughout the wilderness. That bear had the funniest look on his face! I'm sure that I did too. He was a small bear, and perhaps the same one that Chally had seen on Saturday. I had almost gotten used to seeing bears last summer, but this one really took me by surprise. I wish that I could have seen him without startling him and watched to see what he was up to. Oh well, I suspect he won't be the last bear that I see this year.

I made it to the top of the bluff, and went on out to the point and sat down and looked around a while. There was a great view of the river downstream, and of the cabin. I could hear the river just like over at my place. And a barred owl called out a couple of times - a little odd for the middle of the day. Well, actually it was late afternoon, so I guess he was entitled.

I climbed on up a little and followed a bench through open forest and past piles of stones left by pioneers. The deeper into the woods I traveled, the larger the trees got. Beeches, oaks, hickories, and black gums - some of these dudes were HUGE! And entire forest of them, towering over everything else below. A wind storm had come through one section, and there were about a dozen of them big guys down on the ground, tossed about in all directions.

The bench that I was following was really nice and wide and flat and level. It was hard to believe that such a long stretch of fine level forest existed amidst all of this rough terrain. The bench followed along near the top of the bluffline, which I kept just in sight below. Every now and then, there was an opening around the bluffline, and I wandered over and took a look at the view. One thing that I saw was the incredible red color in the sandstone of the bluff on the opposite side of the valley - looked a little like Utah canyon country.

There were patches of wild azaleas in bloom along many parts of the blufftop, and they smelled heavenly. And there were several old cedar trees lining the bluffs too - hadn't seen them in this area before.

The big trees gave way to an open spot ahead - a clearing of some sort. It was a glade of sorts, covered with thick mosses and reindeer lichens and azaleas in bloom. Something was special here, I could feel it. And then I saw a waterfall leaping over the edge of the bluff - another twin falls, no it was a TRIPLE falls! And it wasn't just a pour off from the recent rains either, but a real creek that came down the hillside and across the exposed rock of the blufftop.

I was careful not to get too close to the edge, ha, ha. The falls were backlit by the low sun, and looked just spectacular. There was a giant cedar tree growing right on the edge and in between the falls. The bluff was really very large here, much larger that I had expected to find. Man oh man this was one wonderful spot. But I could not find anyplace to take a picture of it. I had my backup camera with me, and the other tripod, which was much smaller and lighter than my wood one. But no picture spot.

Down below, there was no pool like Compton falls - the water just splashed on black rocks and continued on down the slope. But the area below was filled with magnolias, and they appeared to be in full bloom. I had to find a way down.

Close by, the bluff made an abrupt turn to the left, and son of a gun, there was a nice little path for me to go down. I hurried around the point and on over towards the falls. What I found was a wall of ferns, moss, Jack-In-Pulpit, and even small magnolia trees behind the waterfalls - it was REALLY lush! And the fragrance of the magnolia blooms was overwhelming - reminded me of ripe paw paws. I don't know what the height of these falls was - probably 60-70 feet - but they were very tall, and hit the rocks with a great deal of force.

But this place was more than just the waterfall. There were large sandstone boulders tossed about, many covered with moss and ferns and all surrounded by umbrella magnolias, their branches heavy with the white blossoms.

I set up the camera to take a picture, but had to wait for the sun to go behind a cloud and for the wind to stop. So I went exploring. I felt like a kid again, with a giant playhouse to run around in. There were lots of hiding places and neat little spots back in the rocks to peer into. And all of those blooms! It was one amazing little place. I thought that there might be something at this spot from looking at the map, but nothing as nice as it is.

The big cedar tree above was actually growing out away from the bluff, and then straight up - I have no idea how it kept from falling. And down below it there was a little ledge that was filled with wild iris, most in bloom.

While I was playing in the rocks, the sun went behind a cloud and the wind stopped - I missed my picture. But I got a few others, then realized that it was getting late, so I moved on. But before I left, I went to the base of the falls and reached out into the falling water and filled my water bottle. I have heard that if you drink from such a place your travels will be blessed. I had a lot of traveling to do this week, and needed a little more blessing.

But the triple falls was not the only wonder in this little area. As I followed the water down the hill, I came across not one, not two, not three, but FOUR cascading waterfalls, each with a completely different shape and character. Then the water come to rest and flowed into Whitaker Creek.

The fragrance of the magnolia blooms followed me all the way down, and so did many more blooming trees. And I found one absolutely perfect blossom - open just right with all its petals, and the complete umbrella of giant leaves surrounding it. I sat down next to it and took the aroma deep into my lungs. And admired its beauty.

Whitaker Creek was flowing pretty good, but had a quiet personality most of the way. I followed it downstream, stopping every now and then to take a few pictures. It flowed past one area that was filled with giant sandstone blocks up on one side, all covered with moss. And many of the blocks had jagged edges and odd shapes.

The more I walked the more lush the forest got. I had never seen anything like the incredible display of blooming magnolias before. It is definitely tropical out there right now folks!

I had noticed that my exposures were getting longer, and when I looked up I saw pink clouds in the sky. Oops. It was about to get dark on me, and I was no where near home, or any trail that led to it. So I left the wonderful creek and headed up the hillside. It got very steep in a hurry, and sometimes it was difficult to suck in all the air that I needed for the climb because of the heavy magnolia blooms! I lead a cursed life don't I.

Before long I was at the base of those red sandstone bluffs that I had seen from across the way. And the evening light was really turning them RED. I had no idea! Then I found my way to the top, and took the trail back to the cabin, just as the last bit of daylight faded into the night.

Another terrific hike. A bear. A new spectacular waterfall. And I didn't fall off any bluffs. Hey, and I even got some work done around the cabin. Now that is what I call one fine day at Cloudland!

While I am sitting here writing this journal entry tonight, I noticed the Ansel Adams wall calendar nearby. I have been x'ing out each day that I am out at the cabin, and see that April is almost full - I have been here every single day in April! I have never been here every day of any month since I have been keeping the journal. Only three more days to go. And man have I got some adventures planned for those three days! And then the journal will be finished, or at least over. Has it really been a year?

Time to go soak for a few minutes and see what the moon is up to.

4/28/99 Another classic, textbook morning at Cloudland. The sun appeared as a red ball on the horizon. The main Buffalo valley was socked in with a low cloudbank. There were birds everywhere, already up and singing at the top of their lungs. Bluebirds, scarlet tanagers, warblers, hummingbirds at the feeder, doves, blue jays, and three or four others that flew by so fast I could not identify. The brilliant red tanagers seem to be hanging around more lately. Temp in the low 50's. Blue skies. The rivers below were singing too, calling out to me to come visit. I tried to get some work done at the computer, but the wonderful world outside kept dragging me away.

Speaking of the river, today is a day that I have been looking forward to for a very long time. I will go upstream and visit the river, get to know it intimately, and probably take a frigid bath or two in it along the way.

When I was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time in a canoe. My dad built his own when he was young, and my older brother Terry was near expert level. All of the Ernst men knew how to drive a canoe. The last time that I had floated the upper Buffalo, there were more than 200 canoes waiting to put in. It was on that morning many years ago that I decided to quit floating and see the river from a different angle. Since then, I have spent most of my time on trails, or bushwhacking, and have only floated the river a few times, mostly in the lower, calmer and less crowded stretches.

I had borrowed a friend's canoe last month and did a section of the middle river, kind of in preparation for this most upper section that I was about to attempt. It wasn't a special canoe, just a normal ABS canoe, but a little shorter than normal, so that a solo guy could handle it OK.

The "Hailstone" run has long been known as a stretch of the river that can only be run at flood stage, and only then for a few hours, perhaps even a full day, during and just after a lot of rainfall. I have heard that the name Hailstone comes from an attempt to keep folks from trying to float this stretch - trying to give it a name that just sounds bad. I have also seen this section called Hailstone Creek, and even seen the creek listed on maps. There is no Hailstone Creek. It is the Buffalo River and nothing else. It is one of the wildest and most remote floats in this part of the United States.

The upper put-in point is located at Dixon Ford, a forest road that connects Hwy. 16 near Fallsville with Cave Mountain Road near the Kapark Cemetery Trailhead. This road forms the upstream boundary of the Upper Buffalo River Wilderness Area. Once you put in your boat here, there is no access whatsoever until you emerge from the wilderness area fifteen and a half miles downstream at the Hwy. 21 crossing of the Buffalo in Boxley Valley. And if you get in trouble, there is no way out, except the river, or to climb out of the Buffalo gorge, which is often a major problem in itself. The closest point of civilization along this entire stretch is, CLOUDLAND.

The river was not at flood stage this day - I don't have anywhere near the skills to attempt such a thing. But it did have plenty of water in it, and I have also heard that you can float this stretch pretty much any time - the lower the water, the more dragging you had to do. No problem for me, I didn't mind a little dragging or portaging at all. I have spent a lot of time up in Canada with a canoe strapped to my back, and have done up to a mile portage at one time. I just wanted to get out and spend some time on the water, and see the river from within.

So I had my friend meet me at the Boxley bridge, where I left my truck. We got down to Dixon Ford via the VERY rough forest road, and soon I was all suited up and ready to go. Just in case, we had outfitted his canoe with full floatation. What that means is that when the boat goes under, it probably will float instead of simply filling up entirely with water and sinking. Ha, ha. Even though it was pretty warm out - in the low 60's, I had put on my old wet suit from my scuba diving days. It wasn't a matter of if I was going to dump into the frigid waters, but when, and how many times. So I wanted to be prepared. And for the very first time, I wore a PFD - personal floatation device. In the past, I had always just brought along a cushion and sat on it.

The river was running clear, and didn't look too tough at the put in. I was traveling light, very light, so there wasn't much to load up, and soon I got in and pushed off. The sun was just beginning to burn off the fog in the valley, and there were rays peeking through here and there. The sun was a welcome sight.

There were a few anxious moments in the first mile or two of the river, but I managed to get through them OK, and mostly dry. There was this one spot where a giant boulder was sitting right in the middle of the river, splitting the waters. And there were several other places where rock ledges formed small waterfalls across most of the river. I could just imagine how these spots looked when the water was high. Today they were merely a little whitewater in between calm emerald pools. I did have to get out and carry around a couple of them, but I did run one or two just for fun.

Somewhere during the third mile or so of the run, I attempted a fast little rapid. My heart sped up as I approached the opening "V" and put the bow into the whitewater. My dad always said that as long as I am moving faster than the water, then I will have control. Go slower, and the river is in charge. So I paddled fast. No problem. Slosh and bump and scrape and oh, yea, it felt great! Then at the far end of the rapid, I hit a rock straight on and flipped right over. Dumb move. The rapid had been toying with me, allowing me to think that I was in charge, when in reality it had plans to get me wet all the time.

The canoe and I were spit out into a calm pool below the rapids. Once I got a hold of the boat and swam to the shore, I just had to sit down and laugh out loud a little. It really wasn't all that big of a rapid.

The water was very cold at first, but the wet suit soon warmed it up. I didn't have any gear to speak of - just my daypack, which was strapped into the canoe, and a throw rope. I flipped the canoe over and got all of the water out, then pointed it downstream and pushed on.

The within an hour, the sun had burned off all the fog, and a spectacular spring day unfolded. Most of the float was gentle, one long pool after another, connected by short whitewater runs. The boat did drag a little, well, a lot, over some of the shallow stretches, and I spent a lot of time out of the canoe, dragging it along over the rocks. I only had to actually carry the canoe a couple of times. Much better than a mile portage up in Canada. And there were no mosquitoes here.

I dumped again. And then again. Stupid mistakes, nothing really dangerous or tough. The water seemed to get a little warmer each time. Good thing no one was watching though. Although there were a lot of folks watching - critters. I saw deer four different times, a couple of beavers working long pools, and a number of blue herons, fishing along the shallow banks. Plus there were literally hundreds and hundreds of birds about. The forest was alive with bird activity, which seemed to increase when I dumped - can birds laugh? I'm sure they were today.

I floated past the mouth of Atkins Creek, where I had hiked down into in six inches of fresh snow twenty years ago. I remember nearly freezing on that trip - I didn't have a sleeping pad of any kind, nor did I bother to clear out a spot when I pitched the tent. All of the snow under me melted just a little, and turned to ice. So I slept on a bed of ice. I have this picture somewhere of me in front of a huge fire that first night - it is one of the best pictures of my early days, although the exposure is so long that I am blurred. The fire looks great though! And it was much needed. Come to think of it, that was the very first hike that I ever took into the upper Buffalo area. I have come a long way since that trip.

Next was Lovell Hollow. We spent the night on the river near there over Memorial Day Weekend last year. It rained and rained and rained. But it was a warm rain.

Then came Terrapin Branch. I have made a number of trips down into this incredible gorge from the top, but have never made it all the way to the river. It is a tough hike, but one of the most scenic that you will ever take. This was the very first time that I had seen this part of the river. More gorgeous pools, more rapids, but I managed to stay dry.

The tornado that swept through last year dipped down and got a lot of the trees along the river below Terrapin Branch. It continues to amaze me how much power the wind can have. Good thing I was on the river and not walking through that mess! Oops, I might have spoke a little soon - I plan to hike through this spot tomorrow!

Bowers Hollow was next, and the very first view of, of, CLOUDLAND! I had to stop the canoe and get out and look close, but way off on top of a distant hill, I could see my little cabin, standing tall and watching over the wilderness and all who pass through it. Some people have complained about this cabin, about the fact that you could actually see it from elsewhere in the wilderness. Regardless of what they might way, people DO belong in wilderness (after all, they were there weren't they?). And what a better representation of man in wilderness than a log cabin? To me they go hand in hand. It was a painting on my grandparent's wall that I first saw when I was five years old that set my mind and my heart on a vision of wilderness - and on protecting wild places. There is a log cabin in that painting, a trail leading to it, and a lake, a snow capped mountain, and a full moon. Yep, log cabins are OK in the wilderness.

I knew the route from that point on, and it got fun floating over and past many known spots along the way. Hubbard Hollow and the giant boulder in the river that I had sat on top of only last week. No one could guess what extreme beauty lie up this little drainage. Boen Gulf, that come into the river hidden behind another rock that I had slept on last summer. And I could feel the pull of Whitaker Creek. Another long pool, a set of rapids, and there it was! The one spot on the river that I visit several times a week. The best view of the cabin is from here. I got out and walked around and went over to the old homesite just to see what was going on.

I had come nine miles, and had almost seven to go. It was mid afternoon, and I had the option of hiking up to the cabin and spending the night, then finishing up the float the next day. But since I had a full day planned tomorrow already, I decided to continue on and make the float in one day. I pointed the bow downstream once again.

There was a large boulder in the river ahead, and the water went to both sides. Actually there were two boulders. I headed for the shoot of water that went between them. Probably a mistake. Just as the water hit the leading edge of the rock on the left, the river turned sharply to the right. I didn't. The canoe smashed into the rock. I tried to push off, but it was no use. Plunk! Under the canoe went, and out into the water I went. This scene happened a few other times during the day too.

Downstream a ways, the river bends to the left, goes through a set of rapids, then bends back to the right, emptying into one of the most gorgeous emerald pools on the entire river. The far bank is lined with a bluff, and a spring creates a waterfall that leaps out from the top of the bluff and over the entrance to a cave, then splashes in the deep pool. This is one of my favorite spots on the entire river. And just above the waterfall is my friend Yukon's grave. I got out and hiked up and spent a little time with my long lost friend. I know that no matter whereever I go in this wilderness, he is right there with me, just like old times.

Dug Hollow was next. And once again you would never guess what wild treasures lie upstream. And just downstream, Little Pine Hollow and Pine Hollow flow in. Well, sometimes they flow. I remembered the day when Chally and I explored this far side of the river, looking for the bear cave. We finally found it, but didn't realize it until we had hiked back to the cabin. We've never returned. I wondered if we ever would? Some things in life are left to the to finish.

I had not been downstream from the cave area, so the rest of the float would be all new to me. There were more rapids, and pools, and giant boulders in the middle of the river. And lush forest all around. I don't remember a spring as lush as this one. Perhaps I had spent more of it OUT in the woods than before.

Towards the end of the trip, I passed cultivated fields on the right. We had shot part of the TRAILSIDE TV show in this field, and along the river here. They didn't use any of that footage, but we had a good time shooting it. Then I heard the whining of a truck, one of those big ones coming off of the big hill on Hwy. 21 from Mossville. That, and the big fields, were a sign that the end was near. One more bluff. One more giant boulder. One more set of rapids. And then the highway bridge.

The river was terrific, the paddler was not too good, and his style a little sloppy. My arms were sore, and so were my legs - from being beat up by the boat and the rocks. I would have many bruises on my body tomorrow.

It was late in the day when I arrived, but only thirty minutes late. My friend was waiting to collect his boat, and to see if I actually had made it. Usually at the end of a wonderful float like this one, there is a lot of quick talking and story telling and maybe a little stretch of the truth or two. But I didn't really have all that much to say. I guess that I had done this float for me, to see my wilderness, and to see if I could do it. Of course, it was also possible that I was quite literally worn down and exhausted from all the work of the day. My friend had been there before, and he understood. I thanked him and headed on up the road towards the cabin.

I ate a lot for dinner, but mostly good stuff like pasta and veggies. As I sat and soaked in the tub in the moonlight and sipped my wine, I thought about what a wonderful day it had been, and once again how lucky I was to not only be alive, but to be able to do things like float the Hailstone on my own time. The whippoorwills came out and welcomed me back to the cabin. It was good to be there. Only two days left. I was out before my head hit the pillow.

4/29/99 I was back in the tub before the sun came up. My upper body was a mess, tired and sore from all of the paddling. And I had a couple of pretty good blisters on my hands. No matter - it was a splendid morning at Cloudland, and I was joined by dozens of birds to welcome the new day.

It would be another big adventure for me today. For some reason, I had been thinking that I needed to get out and do as much as I could this last week of April, and of the journal. I sat down once and drew up a list of the top things that I had wanted to do this last week, places that I wanted to visit. I narrowed the list down to 38! Good grief. It was then that I realized that the wilderness would always be there, that I could never see it all in one year, and that no one expected me to. So I picked a few of the more important things that I wanted to do, which included the float, and the hike that I was going to do today.

I have always wanted start at the very beginning of the Buffalo River, and hike to the cabin. Lots of people ask me where the river begins. I think that many folks believe that there is this magical spot in the middle of the woods somewhere where the river just bubbles up and is full sized. The Spring River up near the Missouri border actually does that, but most rivers don't. I remember a cartoon that shows a big sign pointing to the beginning of the mighty Mississippi River - it is a faucet in someone's yard that is left on and is dripping. The White River actually does begin at one spot - at the base of an outhouse next to the highway at Boston. The flow increases with every flush.

Rivers are formed one raindrop at a time, falling on a wide area of watershed that all comes together and eventually forms a tiny creek. This creek joins with other small creeks, and gets larger with every one. Creeks from different drainages come together, and finally a river is born. The exact beginning point of the Buffalo River is impossible to determine. It begins in a million spots. But there are several points at the tops of drainages where one can say the river is born. It was at one of these points that I began my hike this morning.

I followed an old pioneer road that had become a four wheeler road. Actually, I don't mind four wheelers, when they are used in their place. This old road made a perfect trail for them, and I'm sure it is a blast to get out in the woods and go riding around on them. I just don't care for them when the get onto hiking trails and tear them up.

The trail headed on down the drainage and soon came alongside a small creek, one of those that forms the headwaters of the Buffalo River. There was no fog this morning, only blue skies and lots of sunshine. It was going to be a long hike, with terrible light for pictures, so I didn't bother to bring along my camera gear, nor wanted to, because it was going to be a tough hike of sixteen miles. But the first part of the hike was really easy, thanks to the four wheeler trail.

The hillsides were lush with ferns and wildflowers. More ferns than I had seen anywhere else this spring. Entire hillsides of ferns! And I was glad to see the wildflowers out again - they had gone through a dull spell these last couple of weeks. The further I hiked, the more wildflowers came out.

And then I spotted three yellow lady slipper orchids, right in a row, and right next to the trail. I had heard stories about this incredible valley that was full of orchids. As many as a thousand orchids. Yea, right. Then I saw another patch of lady slippers. And another, and another. Each with bright yellow blooms. Nothing out here can match the flower of a lady slipper for pure beauty - they are just incredible!

As I walked on I passed more and more wild orchids. I started to count them. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. FIFTY! I was amazed. And there were more and more other wildflowers too - at one point I counted twelve different wildflowers in bloom in one small area, all different colors. Wild iris, fire pink (LOTS of them!), phlox, spiderwort, wild geranium, buttercup, may apple, and a ton of dew berries. Plus many that I didn't know. And the ground everywhere was lush with flowers and grasses and all kinds of vegetation. Sixty. Seventy. EIGHTY lady slippers! No kidding. These orchids weren't in big batches like the patch at Bob's, they were mostly single plants, or perhaps three or four in one area. They were really spread out.

I got into this rhythm, the trail was so easy, the weather very pleasant, and the miles just flew by. Before I knew it, I was standing back at Dixon Ford, where I had began my float trip the day before, and had already hiked seven miles. The lady slippers had played out a few miles back, and I hadn't seen any in a while. I counted over 100 BLOOMS. There were certainly two or three times as many plants without blooms on them. And that was just within sight of the trail. Very impressive.

Wow, that first stretch had gone by so quickly, I would be back at the cabin by noon. I knew better. There had been a clear and wide trail the entire way so far, but I knew the next few miles would be tough going through that thick, lush, tropical environment, not to mention the lovely tornado area. My work was cut out for me. I plunged into the forest.

The first mile or two wasn't all that bad, as I followed an old pioneer road that more or less runs the entire length of the wilderness. Only it wasn't cleared out like the four wheeler road was - no vehicles allowed in the wilderness. And the forest service had not allowed any type of trail along the route, so that has been no reason for anyone to clear anything out. I disagree with this policy, and believe that we should open up this old pioneer route along the river. It would make one of the greatest trails in the region. It would have to be a horse trail too, which would be fine, since the horses would not be tearing up narrow hiking trail. The roadbed could stand the traffic quite well. One of these years perhaps.

Before long I came to a river crossing. That is one problem with this old pioneer road - it crosses the river a lot. Heck, I had been in the river lots of times the day before, so it should be a piece of cake. Hum. I took off my boots and waded across. The water seemed a bit CHILLY today! And I slipped on a rock and almost went in.

The old road bed continued along the river, and crossed it a couple more times. One time I decided to not cross and just bushwhack my way along the bank. Big mistake. It was pretty easy going at first, then I realized why the pioneers had put the road on the other side - it was steep, nearly vertical down to the river, and choked with vines and boulders and just, well, it was THICK! And the footing was tough. I'll bet it took me an hour to go one half mile. No telling how many snakes I passed.

And speaking of snakes, I did see quite a few of them on this hike. Nearly stepped on a couple. I saw five copperheads and about a dozen cotton mouths. No rattle snakes though. I know it is just a matter of time and bad luck before I get bit, which I have never had happen in my life, yet. And even though I know it is not a cure-all, I do carry my Extractor kit with me for when that day comes. I suspect that when I do get bit, I will use the extractor, and the lay there in extreme pain for the rest of the day, perhaps will even have to spend the night in the woods. I don't carry extra food or shelter or anything like that with me on these dayhikes, but I do carry a lighter. I figure if I can get a fire going, I can wait it out until I am well enough to walk/crawl out. I would just asoon that never happen. But you never know.

And then I came to the tornado area. Yikes! This was really jungle. Trees down EVERYWHERE. Big ones, small ones, all twisted and weaved together, and all right in my way. You never really appreciate a nice maintained hiking trail until you bushwhack through a tornado area. The forest was making the best of it though, and there was no shortage of new growth. There must have been a healthy crop of wild iris at the base of this one big tree before it got knocked over, but the new earth that was exposed had created a really rich environment for new flowers, and they had literally taken over. It was funny to see all of the flowers covering the root ball and crater.

And then I found the rock wall that I had heard so much about. This is without a doubt the most impressive pioneer rock wall in the Ozarks. It is something like six feet tall, and goes on forever. There is a picture of it in Ken Smith's book Buffalo River Country. Back then (in the 1960's), you could still drive the old road, and his white VW Beetle is parked on the road next to the wall. Oh how things have changed.

As I passed the mouth of Bowers Hollow, I remembered that I had never been from the mouth up to the big waterfall before, and I wondered what treasures it held. There is so much to see in this country. I need a job where I can just get out and go hiking any time that I want to. Oh, I guess that is what I am doing.

Pretty soon I came to the mouth of Hubbard Hollow - one more crossing of the creek there, and I was home free. Good thing, because my legs were tired and I was all scratched up and needing a good soak in a hot tub. It was late afternoon, and the cabin way up there on the hill looked mighty good. Of course, I still had that big hill to climb, but I had a feeling it would be a piece of cake.

And it was. So NICE to be on a cleared out trail again. The elevation just didn't seem to matter. As I sat out on the deck cooling down, the last rays of the sun shone on the wilderness, and the shadows stretched all the way across the valley. At last, I had walked through what I could see from that deck. From the beginning of the river to Cloudland, about sixteen miles. Let's see, now I have to continue on and walk to the mouth of the Buffalo at the White River - it is only 137 miles! Perhaps next week.

I called a neighbor to come get me and run me back up to get the truck, then I had a good long soak in the tub. The moon was up and shining brightly on my wilderness world. Only one day left. Wow, it had been one incredible last month of the journal, last week, last day! And now only one more day to go. I laid back in the water in the moonlight and wondered what I was going to do tomorrow.

4/30/99 Once again I was up and in the tub before the sun popped up. Another wonderful sunrise at the edge of the wilderness. There were so many things that I had wanted to do this day, there was no way that I could even begin to get them all done. So I decided to just kick back and enjoy the fabulous spring day and do whatever stuck me at the time.

Part of the Cloudland experience is the great food. So I whipped up one terrific breakfast to go with the wonderful morning. Asparagus eggs, Cloudland hash, Cloudland coffee, and blueberry biscuits. I sat out on the back deck and savored every bite. It was a breakfast better than at any five star restaurant in the world. And the morning was golden.

Hey, how about a few pictures? I packed up my camera gear and headed down to the lady slipper patch at Bob's. The light was right for a few early pictures. And the flowers were simply gorgeous! I fired off about three rolls of film, then wandered on over to a magnolia that had some low branches in bloom. It was tough to concentrate on picture taking when the air was so heavy with the fragrance of these incredible blooms. A few more rolls went through the camera.

Then I stopped by the showy orchid plants nearby. There were five plants, all in different stages of bloom. One plant was in full bloom, and I shot another roll or two there - first pictures I had ever taken of these little wonders. And right next to one plant I found a morel mushroom. I took his picture too, even though I can't stand to eat mushrooms!

These orchids are growing around the base of this giant black gum tree. I still can't believe that me and everyone else had been stumped all winter as to the identity of this mystery tree - they are growing all over the wilderness! Black gum. They are so EASY to recognize now.

I saw Bob for a moment, and he told me that he had been down to my cabin the day before and found some fresh bear scat. I thought he was joking. But sure enough, about two hundred from the front door, and right in the MIDDLE of the road, was a small pile of bear scat. Hum.

I returned to the cabin and decided that a little work was in order. I started off by blowing out the route for the trail up to the East Meadow. I have this special backpack blower that puts out wind at 225 miles an hour. I use it for the first phase of trail construction, and while you have to work at it some, it does a great job of clearing out a nice walking path. That is just the first step, but it does give you an easy route to follow. That took me about two hours to do, and then I moved on to another chore.

Poison Ivy. There was lots of it sneaking around the lower decks and the meadow below. I spent the next couple of hours with a small spray can in hand, squirting roundup on hundreds of the plants. I'm not allergic to the stuff, but it seems that most others are, and so I wanted to try to get it under control for their sake.

While I was down close to the ground looking for the plants, I found a lot of other plants growing in my little patch of heaven just below the lower decks. Sassafras, wood sorrel in bloom, ferns, mosses, and six or eight plants that looked a lot like they would put forth flowers of some sort soon. I was thrilled to find such a variety of plant life down there. And some guy told me that nothing but cacti and sumac would grow there. I continue to have trouble identifying plants, but am getting better at it. Someone recently called me a "naturalist" on a TV show. Well, I'm far from it. Perhaps I am a "Junior Naturalist." Yea, I could handle that.

I spent the next hour watering the "domestic" plants that we had added to the scene. They were doing fine, but getting a little dried out from the lack of rain. The cistern setup worked great, and I drained about 75 gallons out of it. Let's see, 75 gallons a pop, I could water the plants six or seven times on one tank full. Surely it would rain by then and fill the tank. Well, maybe not this summer. I decided to water the plants whenever needed and just hope for the best.

After lunch, the swing called me out and I spent an unknown amount of time there in deep conversation with my dreams. In order to take full advantage of Cloudland, one must spent part of each day in the swing, napping.

A couple of weird things happened in the air space out in front while I was hanging out on the back deck. First, I saw this object rising from the river valley below. It wasn't moving all that fast, but it was moving, and headed in my direction. And it had a funny color to it. I got out the binocs and tried to follow it. It kept coming up my way. And then it suddenly hit me what it was - a great blue heron! The darn thing came right on up the hill and landed in one of the big pines in the meadow. A heron, up at Cloudland! He really looked out of place, and I swear there was a confused on his face. After a few moments, he took off and flew on up Whitaker Creek.

And one time when I woke up, I looked out and saw another strange shape in the air, only this object was just hovering there. I got up and put the binocs on him - it was a large red tailed hawk riding the wind currents - only he was FACING the cabin! That is why he looked so strange in the first place - I'm used to seeing them facing away from or to the side of the cabin. Then I realized that the wind was coming from the north, which is never does.

OK, enough of this lounging around, it was time to go hiking! One of the great hikes that I had been looking at all year, but never set foot on, was the hillside and major bluffline right across the river from the cabin. Not even Billy McNamara had been over there. I wanted to go take a look at where those two giant waterfalls were, and see if I could climb up onto the big sandstone blocks that have their own contour lines on the map. Today was the day. It was sunny and warm, the river was low, and I needed to hike. So I packed up my gear and headed down the ladder trail.

The river was cool and inviting. I slipped off my shoes and waded across, then put on my long pants and headed UP the hillside. Wow, this side of the hill was LUSH! My goodness, it was really tropical. There were places where I could not even see the ground for all of the flowers and plants growing there.

It didn't take long for the hill to get really steep. I didn't have any particular route in mind - I just wanted to go up until I got to the bluffline. And so I went up, and up and up. It was really steep, and I was often down on all fours, scrambling and reaching for anything to grab onto to get me a few feet higher.

And then I found some bear tracks, right there in the dirt. This dude was doing about the same thing that I was doing - climbing straight up the side of the hill. They looked to be at least a few hours old, perhaps even from the day before. I'm sure he wasn't having as tough a time as I was - especially since he had those claws to dig into the earth with.

As I climbed higher, I came across his tracks again and again. I never did spot any logs that had been torn up, or big rocks turned over, or any scat. But lots of prints. He must have just been on his way up the hill, and not really foraging. After about a twenty minute climb, I waded through a boulder field that was covered with grape vines and lots of other thick vegetation. Then I broke out into the open, and right up there above me was the bluffline. Whew, I had made it! The elevation gain was about the same as hiking from the river up the ladder trail to the bluffline, but since there was no clear and open trail to follow on this hill, the going was a little tougher. But I didn't mind at all, and it actually felt pretty good. Although I did lose my footing a couple of times and went tumbling back down the hillside on my rear. I'll bet the bear never did that!

OK, I was at the bluff, no what? It was a pretty solid bluff, about 50 feet thick. I decided to go to the south, along the base, until I found a spot where I could go up. And it didn't take me long to find a likely looking spot. A crack actually, with a few handholds here and there. After about a five minute struggle, I made it to the top of the bluff. I'm not all that big on climbing you know.

Once on top, I headed back towards the north to see what I could find. What I noticed right off the bat was that there wasn't a clear view over towards the cabin - lots and lots of big trees all around. But I kept going. The terrain on the bench above the bluff varied from completely flat, to mildly steep. And unlike the hillside below the bluff, there was hardly any ground cover at all.

I finally did get to a spot where I had a good view to the west towards the cabin. And much to my surprise, I couldn't see the cabin at all! I could see Hawksbill Crag just fine, and even the Buffalo Fire Tower, more than six miles away. I could see the real Whitaker Point - the lookout rock right down below the cabin. But no cabin. The trees had completely swallowed it up! I was a little disappointed, but also glad that it was not the eyesore that some had said it was.

I started to look for a go down spot, and found one in no time, so I slipped on back down to the base of the bluff. Now the real fun would begin. I followed the base of the bluff towards Little Pine Hollow, and towards those waterfalls and giant blocks. It was really lush in this area, with lots of wildflowers and magnolias in bloom. And the bluff itself was painted in different shades of reds and blacks. Some of the bluff was broken up and jagged like a lot of the bluffs in this area, but long stretches of it were very solid and sheer too - and thicker, more like 70-80 feet thick. It was a handsome bluff for sure!

And then I found the first waterfall, and it was running. It was surrounded by an umbrella magnolia, in full bloom. The rocks around the base where the water was splashing were coal black, I guess from the minerals in the water that were released when the water hit them.

There were a number of overhangs in the bluff too, although since they faced west, I doubted that any were important bluff dweller sites - they preferred southern exposure.

There were tons of ferns along this bluffline. Maidenhairs by the score, and three or four others that grew in bunches. All of them seemed to be happy to have company come along to talk to. The were in their prime, plump with fresh spring growth.

The second waterfall was right in the middle of the longest, straightest and thickest part of the bluffline. This one had more of a creek below it, which immediately lept off of the hillside and went screaming down the steep pitch.

Then I came to a big crack in the bluff. You see these all the time, but this one looked different the most. I went up to it and found that I could actually walk right into the bluff. The crack was about three feet wide, and went all the way to the top of the bluff, some 60 feet or so. The floor was covered with leaves, and went uphill. I climbed right on it.

The crevasse remained about two-three feet wide, and the floor headed downhill. I continued deeper into the bluff. It was pretty dark in there, but I swear that I could see daylight way down in the bottom. I went down about twenty feet, and finally bottomed out. Sure enough, there was daylight. The crevasse made a 90 degree turn, and although I had to squeeze past a block of rock in the way, I did manage to make the turn and continue on. I got a little uneasy poking around deep down in there, not knowing if I was about to put my foot on a rattlesnake's head or not.

I climbed on up and out towards the daylight, but just before I got to where I thought I could pop out of the bluff, there was another large rock blocking the way. Actually several of them. I could not go any further, so I turned around and went back. Wow, this crevasse really went far back into the bluff! It is an odd feeling of sorts to be so deep in, with all this tons of solid rock all around. I made it out OK, then went around to see where the crevasse came out. The rock blockage was only about twenty feet from the end - I almost made it. Neat spot for sure.

As I walked along the bluffline, I found a couple of sandstone blocks, but they didn't seem large enough to be the ones that I was looking for. They were pretty large though, and I made a not to look for them after leaf fall next winter. The bluff went on.

Then I found the real blocks - very large, but not quite as tall as the ones over near Hubbard Hollow. It was obvious where they had come from - there were large spots in the bluffline where these monsters used to rest. I would have love to have been standing around a million years ago and seen them tumble off.

There were three blocks actually - I had only seen two from the cabin. And the middle one appeared to have a way up. So I set my mind to climbing up, and plotted the route. Real climbers would call this "bouldering," but I just call it trying to scramble up to the top for a view.

I got up the first few feet OK, then worked my away over to one side, where I was able to climb up a lot farther, right on past a dew berry bush that was in full bloom. A few other moves brought me right on up to the top of the rock - hurrah! I had climbed up about 25-30 feet.

Oh my, what a view. It was stunning! I was looking down on a large pool in the river way below, and upstream to Hubbard and Bowers Hollows, and on up into Whitaker Creek - the Crag really stuck out - and I could even see up into Dug Hollow. Once again, no cabin. Didn't matter, I knew it was over there.

This was a really neat rock, and in fact there was another part of it that went up higher. At first, I could not find a way up on top. Then I found another crevasse that went into the rock, but the entrance was blocked with this most unusual chunk of vortical rock with sharp edges - only about six or eight feet tall. I looked farther, and discovered a second crevasse that I could walk right into. It wound around a little, and actually connected with the other crevasse that had the rock in it. And I was able to climb up and out of the crevasse and get up on top of the rock. My little camera couldn't take in all of the rock, but I did get a snapshot of where the two cracks came together. And once again, a great view.

OK, sandstone blocks done, now, how do I get down? Really. I had trouble finding the exact spot where I came up, and then I found the dew berry bush that I had climbed past on the way up - bingo. Climbing down is always the toughest for me anyway, but I did manage to make it down OK.

The third rock in the series was the largest, and I couldn't find a way up it. But I did find that this giant rock was split in two, right down the middle, and you could walk through the alley. It reminded me a little of this alley between two blocks over in Busby Hollow. Nice places, both.

I left the blocks and followed the bluffline on around the hill a little ways, then decided that I didn't have enough time to explore further, so I left the bluff behind and dropped on down the STEEP hillside, and landed in Little Pine Hollow.

This little hollow was a lot like Hubbard Hollow - filled with jagged boulders of all sizes, some of them very large, with a small stream leaping from rock to rock. It was steep, and rough going. And there were lots of magnolias drooping down over everything - very tropical indeed!

And then I came to this one neat spot. There was a giant boulder laying right across the creek, actually being held up at one end by a smaller boulder. And the creek had drilled a passageway right under the rock. I followed the creek inside, and eventually emerged on the other and lower side of the big block of rock. The creek spilled over a ledge and into a small pool, then formed another waterfall before leaving the darkness behind. I hate to keep doing this, but this was a miniature version of the cave over on Indian Creek that has the creek flowing through it. Once again, both are terrific places (Indian Creek is far more spectacular though).

And I kept finding fossils. TONS of fossils. Sometimes entire rock beds of fossils. I got to thinking about this little drainage that hardly even shows up on a map. I was only seeing a small part of it - no doubt there were great waterfalls and boulders and glorious things higher up in the drainage. But I bet that I could shoot 100 rolls of film in just about any drainage in the upper Buffalo area. At least. Each and every one is so wonderful. And I haven't seen them all yet! But I am still young, and there are many years of exploration left.

I landed on the bank of the Buffalo at a beautiful spot - I remembered this spot from my float - I had dumped here! The water was much lower today, and I was able to cross easily, but just had to stop a moment and laugh at how silly I must have looked going into the water from the canoe.

This Buffalo River is certainly one wonderful piece of water. It seems the more you look into it, the more color you see - greens, blues, silver and black. The texture of the water is great too. Often it will be calm, slick as glass, reflecting whatever is above. Then it will turn loud and rough and white and foamy as it plunges down a steep slope or around a rock. And sometimes there are a million tiny ripples in it from a light breeze.

One of my best memories of this river was when I slept on a rock out in the middle. There was this deep pool all around. I woke up early in the morning, and gazed out across the smooth surface. A beaver was making his way across, with a twig in his mouth. And trailing him were the most delicate waves going out in opposite directions. He made no sound, but eventually the ripples did make this gentle lapping noise as they came ashore. It was a calm, relaxing, serine wilderness scene. And then he saw me and slapped his tail against the water with a loud CRACK, which nearly knocked me off of the rock.

Once across the river, I bid it farewell and headed once more into the thick brush. Lots of briars down along this part. Soon I passed about two dozen piles of stones - placed there last century by early pioneers who cleared the land to create fields. Then I passed the double chimneys of the old Sparks place. It won't be long now before one of them tumbles over, and a part of history will go along with it.

Then the real work began. I headed straight up the hillside through the lush vegetation. Up and up and up I went, no stopping. I had been this way many times before, but there was no trail, and my route was always just a few feet off from the last time. When I reached the base of the bluff, I looked around and found a secret route up through it. Before long I was home again, and sitting on the back deck, and gazed across at the big hill that I had just explored.

What a great hike! And it had been right there in front of me all year long. There are many more out there, just waiting. I'll get to them.

I spent a few minutes cooling down from the climb, shoveled in a few mouthfuls of this great trail mix that I found at SAMS (cashews, almonds, raisins, peanuts, and M & M's), then got ready for another hike. The shadows were getting long, and the sun was beginning to drop near the horizon. Tonight was a FULL MOON, and I wanted to see it rise from the top of a bluff far up Whitaker Creek. It was clear, and was going to be one terrific moonrise!

To get to the bluff, I went over to the Crag, then dropped down below the bluffline just beyond and made my way down into the bottom or the South Fork drainage. It was a steep climb up the other side, through lush magnolia blooms, to the base of the bluffs, then finally up through a break in the bluff to the top, where I found a spot with a grand vista of the Whitaker Creek drainage. The view included Hawksbill Crag and my cabin, way off over there on top of the point overlooking the Buffalo. And just beyond the cabin was the big ridge that I see the sun and moon rise over.

It was nearly dark when I arrived on top of the bluff, and I laid back against a tree and next to an azalea bush in bloom and waited for the show. A full moon will always come up right at sunset, although since there are hills here, it would be a little later before the moon was actually visible. I didn't mind the wait at all. The fragrance of the azalea nearly put me to sleep. Or into some sort of dream state.

As the light faded, I could hear whippoorwills and owls calling out way across the valley. There were a few little clouds hanging around overhead, and they lit up pink, then turned grey and faded into the night sky. Mars was the first object to show up, and it glowed red, as always. I could also see Venus up behind me - it was very bright. Then a single star came out - this is the one that I wished upon (the others were planets, so the wish doesn't work). Same wish as always.

And then a glow appeared behind the distant trees. It was an orange glow. Soon this huge, brilliant pumpkin appeared and rose slowly into the eastern sky. My god it was an incredible scene! I had witnessed many full moon rises before, but none the magnitude of color and power of this one. I sat there in stunned silence, overwhelmed by the great beauty and nearly in tears. And the entire forest was silent as well - not a peep or hoot could be heard. I know that every other critter in the wilderness had to have been holding their breath too at this glorious scene. Wow, I never expected anything like this. And the moon remained that pumpkin color for a long while - it was just odd and beautiful and incredible to see that color rising into the sky. If I only had brought my camera.

The forest came back to life, and so did I. Now that I had a big lantern overhead, it was time for me to hike back to the cabin. It was dark, and I had no flashlight, but the moonlight would lead me.

Instead of going back the same way that I had come, I elected to follow the bluffline on up into the headwaters, where I could pick up the Crag trail and take it back to the cabin. It was pretty easy hiking, and the moonlight gave me plenty of illumination to go on.

Towards the end of the bluff, it forms a horseshoe shape, with a big waterfall pouring off it. I made my way down through the bluffline and went under the thundering waterfall. The last time that I had been there, was when Chally and I took refuge there during a heavy thunderstorm.

There is this waterfall on the Daniel Boone Trail over in Kentucky that is called Moonbow Falls. When the moon is bright there, you can actually see a "moonbow" in created by the moonlight. I have always wondered if that was just happened at that waterfall, or if you could see it at others. Since the moon was bright, and I was at the base of this large waterfall, I scrambled up behind it and took a look. Sure enough, if you stood in just the right spot and got the moonlight at just the right angle, there was a moonbow of sorts visible. It wasn't nearly as brightly colored like a rainbow is, but there definitely were a few bands of color from the moonlight. Wow, a moonbow waterfall right here in Arkansas!

As I climbed up the bluff on the far end, I passed a second waterfall in the main creek. OK, so I just had to go take a look. I slipped and slid on down to the base of this falls, and looked and looked all over from behind it, but I never could find the moonbow. One moonbow falls is enough.

It was an easy hike up from the falls area to the trail. And then a mostly level hike from there on over towards the cabin. Gosh, I could not think of a more fitting last hike of the journal year than one in the moonlight. My mind began to wander. What an incredible year I have had at Cloudland. NO way to have imagined all of the great joy and discovery that has taken place.

I thought about all of the waterfalls that I had seen, most of them for the first time. And the moss-covered boulders and ferns and wildflowers and near tropical quality of the forest with its magnolia, dogwood and azalea blossoms. And all of those moonlight hikes last summer, up to the East Meadow to watch for shooting stars and drink champagne and listen to the winds. And the big trees that I have seen, my gosh, there are lot of giants out here in the wilderness. And the weather. Winds up in the 50mph range several times. And standing and hiking in the pouring rain and loving it. And in the snow and the ice too, and laughing. And the incredible views, one after another after another after another. And the time that I got caught out in the dark and spent the night in my shorts and t-shirt, clinging to Yukon's grave with my shirt stuffed with leaves for warmth. And the wild critters that I have seen and heard and talked to. All of the colorful birds, the hawks and bluebirds and scarlet tanagers and turkeys, and the golden eagle that sat in the snag at the edge of the meadow by the cabin. And the wolf that broke the silence and woke up the wilderness and sent a chill down my spine. And, of course, all of the bears, the friends and the bad ones. I got to thinking about all of those bears a lot as I hiked on in the darkness. In fact, it seemed like I saw a bear in every black stump that I passed by. And there was that fresh bear scat right by the cabin, and Chally and I had both seen bears this past week. Hum. I walked on. The darkness didn't seem to bother me at all.

And I thought about all of the great food, the fresh veggies from Bob's garden, the salmon, the pasta, the PIZZAS! And all of the wonderful wine - very little of it from a box this year. And didn't we have a bushwhacker party or two? And the magnificent sunrises and sunsets, the brilliant clouds and thunderstorms and the couple of times that it snowed. I got to hike during every snow that we had this past year. But only one short cross-country ski - the snow just melted too fast! I thought about all of the work of the past year, the new aspen walls inside, clearing the meadow down below, the trail work, splitting all of that wood, and hey, how about all of those wonderful summer hikes down to the swimming hole at the river! And those lazy hours being underwater with a mask on, and all of the incredible color and LIFE that I saw in the deep pools and shallow rapids. And that one time that I went fishing with my little fly rod, and caught the most beautiful and colorful fish that I had ever laid eyes on - and then I let him go. And I remember those tough climbs up from the river with great fondness. And that tiny shooting star wildflower at the top of the climb that always welcomed me when I was at my lowest and let me know everything was going to be OK.

And all of those textbook Cloudland mornings when the fog banks hung low in the valleys, and the sunlight spilled into the wilderness and created life. Gosh, mornings here are the best in the world!

I remembered the hundred or so fires that I had built at the cabin and sat in front of, warming, drying, letting my mind wander around by. And all of the terrific music that came from my little speakers. Especially the Friday and Saturday night blues and folk music on KUAF radio.

And I thought about the people of the past year. My old friends who have always been around and who came out to share in the joy and in the chores, and the new friends that I have made. There are so many, and I have appreciated meeting and spending time with them all. There have been a couple of very special friends, much more than just friends, and my experiences with them will live forever in my heart.

There was this one kiss, right there in front of the roaring fireplace, during the blue moon, that has to rank as the single most passionate moment of my entire life. I will never forget that moment. She is one very special lady.

And, of course, I have a lot of new friends that I have never met, but only known through e-mail. The journal, while it has been a genuine chore to keep up at times, has been a giant blessing to me. I began the journal a year ago, in part to see if I could write. I still am not too sure about that, but I have created over 350 pages of text here, and I do hope that some of it is readable. It will be published in a book later this year.

I know that each and every person that I have been around or met or corresponded with had added a great deal to my life, and for each one of them, I am a little better person for having known them.

Gosh, what a wonderful year. And it was coming closer to an end with each step towards the cabin that I took. None of the bears that I had imagined turned out to be real, but I kept watching for them just the same. It was a most comfortable hike for me, moving through the darkness. If this past year has taught me anything, it is that I am one with the wilderness, a part of it, and that I belong here as much as any.

Regrets? Sure, there are many. Probably a million things that I didn't get to do - but there would be plenty of time in the next twenty or thirty of years to get to them. I did do and experience about a million things that I never had even thought about, so I guess it all evens out.

There actually are three regrets. First, and it doesn't have anything to do with Cloudland, but with the year, is that I didn't get to spend enough time with my mom. She can't really get out and around much anymore, and I was so pre-occupied with Cloudland that I failed to spend enough time with her. That will haunt me for a long time to come. Secondly, I didn't spend enough time at Cloudland. That is a simple one - I could have easily spent every single day out here and loved every minute of it. I will try to fix that in years to come. And lastly, that soul mate of mine never stepped out of the clouds and into my arms. Another year ended without love. I must say that I did come pretty close though, and while my heart has a hole in it right now, I am still hopeful, only now just looking for a companion to share my life with, and theirs with mine, and the future will build itself, if there is one.

OK, enough of the past year, back to the present. I arrived safely at the cabin, and realized that in my hurry to do the full moon hike, I had forgotten to eat! I fired up the grill, and the kitchen, and worked up one last, terrific feast for myself. Grilled salmon, fresh corn on the cob, and assortment of fresh veggies, warm sourdough bread, and the best bottle of wine in the house. No meal had ever tasted better. (It took seven pots and pans and eight utensils - all for one serving!) I sat out on the back deck, filled to the brim, and listened to a new CD.

I had heard a song from this CD on the Folk Sampler radio show a couple of weeks ago, and finally found the CD in the rock department of a local music store. Oh my gosh, this lady, her music, this CD, is one terrific piece of work! Her name is Lynn Miles, and the CD is "Night In A Strange Town." I bought it for the one incredible song at the end, but the entire CD is just wonderful. It really spoke to me, and much of the music played right along with my emotions and feelings of the past year that continued to swirl through my mind.

But the last song on the CD, "Rust," is perhaps the most powerful and wonderful piece of music that I had ever heard. I sat there in the swing in the moonlight and felt a huge wave of joy and sadness come over me. And I broke down, and I cried.

Part of the tears were from the joy of knowing my mom, who the song reminded me of a lot. She has been the most important person in my life for a very long time. There have been so many great times with her. But she is slipping away, and I am losing her. So some of the tears are very happy ones, others sad.

And the rest of the tears are purely selfish ones, because I end this year alone, and lonely. A new dawn will come though, I know it.

And at the risk of being sued by Lynn's publishing company, I'm printing the lyrics here for you. Although it really is her voice, and her piano, that will break you down, so you really must go buy this CD and listen to it:

"Every line in your face is a road you've been down. It's a freight train you hopped. It's a night in a strange town. It's a joke that you told, it's a tear that rolled on. A sad story you heard, or a lover, who's gone.

It's the scars on your hands. The hard work that you've done. It's the skin that you touched. All the wars that you've won. It's the baby you cradled. It's the letters you wrote. It's that time you held on, it's that time you let go.

And the footprints you leave, are perfect and deep. And your soul is a place, that is tough but it's sweet. And the shadow you cast, is straight and it's true. But the lines and the scars, are what I love about you.

The rust in your voice, that's the dust and the rain. It's the choices defended again and again and again. It's the life that you've led. It's the friends come and gone. It's the highways and the truck stops. And the cold steel dawns.

And the footprints you leave, are perfect and deep. And your soul is a place, that is tough but it's sweet. And the shadow you cast, is straight and it's true. But the lines and the scars and the rust, are what I love about you."

The day and the year were about to end. So I dried my tears, poured a little more wine and headed down to the tub to soak in the moonlight. Few things in life are as satisfying as slipping into a hot tub under a full moon. The wilderness was all lit up, almost like daylight. I kept the bubbles off because I wanted to hear the sounds of the night. And it didn't take long for a conversation between two owls to strike up. In fact, a third one joined in, and then a fourth owl started talking! And they went back and forth for ten minutes. One of them was very close. I could really hear the grittiness in his voice. And then they got silent, and all I could hear was the wind and the hush of the river below.

I leaned over the side of the tub to survey my little world below, and spotted some movement down in the meadow. My first thought was a bear. Yea, right, there was a big bear that had come a visiting in the middle of the night. Dream on bud. My eyes focused, and right there, as plain as day, WAS a bear! He was crossing the meadow, looking around and not in any big hurry. He stopped a couple of times to sniff the air. It was so bright out, he was easy to see. Not a big bear, but certainly not a little cub either.

What he did next must have really shocked me, because I immediately jumped up out of the tub, and went running down the trail towards this bear, in the moonlight, screaming at the top of my lungs. I was out there in the dark in the middle of the night chasing a bear, and I was naked. I told you it was a good bottle of wine! What the bear did that provoked such a knee-jerk response from me was that he went for the snag that the bluebirds were nesting in - no damn bear was going to tear up my bluebirds!

I'm sure the bear took off at the first sound of my voice, but I ran down through the meadow anyway, just to make sure that he knew he was not welcome to eat my bluebirds. I had done a lot of comical things out here this last year, but I suspect this one would have topped them all. It didn't bother me so much that I was out there naked in the moonlight, or dripping wet, but the fact that I had NO SHOES on became a painful fact. I didn't feel a thing while I was running after the bear, but as I started back up the trail, every step hurt! What a wimp.

Needless to say, it took a while for my heart to stop pounding. I need to get paid more money if I am to go chasing bears in the middle of the night. I sat there in the bubbles and laughed at myself. But also patted myself on the back for saving those little baby bluebirds. At least they are safe for now. Every year the bears tear up the bluebird houses at Bob's cabin - I don't know why the birds keep coming back. I was bound and determined to keep that from happening at Cloudland. I suspect that there will be many more bear encounters this year than last. I only hope most of them are friendly!

Anyway, the bubbles did finally calm me down, and the stroke of midnight found me in a relaxed bliss, and not a care in the world. It had been one damn fine year at Cloudland. My mind had been swept clear and I was ready for the next one to begin. Words cannot express my heartfelt gratitude to all of you who have faithfully read this journal. Thanks for wading through it all with me. I hope to meet each and every one of you in the woods someday...

BY THE WAY, the journal lives on - click here for the May 1999 Journal...May 1999 Journal