In early October a whole slew of us from Grace Community 20Somethings needed to go hiking. And not just any ol' day-hike, but something with some grit. A place where we completely leave civilization back to raw nature. Digging into the Backpacker Magazine, I noticed a short article on the Butterfield Trail in the northwestern corner of Arkansas. Beginning in Devil’s Den State Park, the Butterfield Trail loops 15 miles outside the state park deep into the mountainous terrain of the Ozark National Forest. No campgrounds with electricity or water. No cars or parking lots. This was the real deal. As a highlight, it exclaimed this area had the largest limestone crevice caves in the nation available to explore! Yeehaw, Speeelunkin'! In no time, hikers signed on for the trip and the planning began.

About a month later we headed north, 12 anxious hikers and an enormous load of hiking gear piled into a 15 passenger church bus. Around 1:30am while Devil's Den campers were slumbering peacefully to mountain crickets and gentle rustling leaves, we made a grand entrance. Barreling into camp, Kelly, Shooby, and I are deliriously happy and woke up the sleeping crew with "On Top of Ol' Smokey" and "Rise and Shine". About ten pairs of squinty eyes started searching for campground slots #22 & 24 while, in extraordinary brightness, the midibus headlights lit up every tent in a brilliant array of yellow, red, and blue domes. Miscalculating the entrance angle of our the slot we lodged its back wheel on a rock, so we had to back up. The metal undercarriage ground off the stone while the bus emergency reverse signal sent high-pitched alarms into the camp. For the consciencious amoung us, it was excruciating. Taking charge of the situation (a true leader) I jumped into the driver seat to round the loop again, somehow got lost exiting the campground (even though it is built on a simple loop), re-entered the campground, lit up the tents again, and once again missed the slot (this is usually where someone says my name and slaps their forehead). With the group unable to bear the embarrassment of a third round, the consensus was to park at the shower-house opposing our slot. Opening the emergency door, gear spilled out the back like an overdue belch and we immediately started putting up tents in the dark (also not exactly a quiet feat). Finally, at 2:30am we settled into our sleeping bags. Enjoying the cool, moist air Scott, Phil, and I rolled the pads and slept under the stars. Slipping into unconsciousness wrapped in warmth, I heard the snoring from the surrounding tents erupt into a chorus of roaring lions. It was comforting to know the campground was once again asleep.

My eyes pealed open under a thick bed of dew to brilliant yellows, oranges, and red treetops as I heard the sound of a small child trying to wake a tired “Paw-Paw” in a nearby tent. Groggy and hoarse, Paw-Paw replied, “I’m tired. Some people came in around 2 am acting as if they owned the whole mountainside”. I winced in guilt and half joked to myself, “I haven’t a clue what he’s talking about, I was up at that hour and I sure didn’t see them!” Somehow I doubted he’d see the humor in that. Within minutes after the child woke Paw-Paw, the entire campground was scurrying around in the morning chill making breakfast and starting the day’s adventure. Kelli and Phil had already driven to Fayetteville for last-minute Tomato Paste and a spatula and we fired up the one-burner propane stove welcoming the thought of warm Aunt Jemimah pancakes and sausage. After a quick walk-by apology to “Paw-Paw”, we launched onto the Butterfield trail. The plan was to cover 9 miles to Junction Camp the first day leaving enough time the second day for the remaining 6 miles and some adrenaline-pumping cave exploration.

The trail was spectacular, carpeted with bright yellow and orange leaves with tall deciduous and evergreen trees reaching toward the canopy 50-100 up. At times the only designation of our way were blue markings on trees or an indentation in the leaves from previous hikers. Scott tinkered with the settings on his new altimeter/barometer/compass watch and announced we’ve ascended 300 feet in the first mile. Normally this is nothing, but adjusing to a pack my thighs were burnin' and I was sweating like a hog. Fortunately, we topped the first acent around 1800 feet, 500 feet above the campground, and started into a gentle decent. With that the entire group fell into a pace and the mile markers passed rapidly.

Rest stops were absolutely comical. Here’s a typical scene: everyone grunts, drops the pack, and the illusion of sudden lightness sparks random bursts of energy. Scott and Buzz (Jeff) start “tree riding” climbing the trucks of the small trees to about 15-20 feet until the poor sapling bends over handing him back to the ground. Amy, our resident personal trainer naturally bounding with energy, breaks into an exercise calling the lounging group into action. I was no different. As we sat and ate lunch, I sprinted through the woods like a wild animal set free not exactly sure where I was going or how I’d get back. It was great. Normally, these actions border on psychosis, but on the trail with this group, even the simplest, strangest things somehow made perfect sense. We all knew what we came for: to get away.

By mile 5 Grant, Jeff, I, and a few others plunged into the deeply philosophical feat of naming nature objects along the trail through the entire alphabet becoming utterly stumped at “Q”. At mile seven, we find the ridge of a 50 foot cliff overlooking treetops from below and offering a view of the neighboring mountainsides carpeted in fall colors. After a short stop, we continued down the path, as it wound around to the base of the cliff revealing awesome rock formations. A large overhanging limestone wall full of cracks, pockets, and ledges marked the entrance to a path that ran the expanse of the cliff. Boulders as large as houses were broken off forming crevices to explore. The crew instantly dropped the packs and spread over the rocks like school-kids released to the playground. In awe of the overhanging rock, I remained at the entrance lying atop a flat rock entranced by the surreal potential for rock climbing. Oh, how I wish I had brought my gear! All around me I heard shouts of, “Oh, look at this” or “Wow, check THIS out!” Thirty feet up on the cliff wall, Scott called out from a distance, “Hey, what kind of snake is large and black?” Why doesn’t that surprise me? Then I heard, “Man, this alone makes the whole trip worth while!” That did it. All I could do was smile and thank God things were going so well.

Before long, the sun began to duck behind the trees and we quickly departed for Junction Camp. With the thick carpet of leaves along a sometimes invisible path it would be virtually impossible and dangerous to find our way in the dark. The sounds of our crew filled the valley as we meandered toward mile 9 alongside a riverbed. Our formerly tight line now spread along the trail in a long snaking, disconnected bunches. As we passed the mile markers the front group let out a cheer and a minute or two later we’d hear the distant cheering from the group behind us. Any form of native wildlife knew exactly where we were. By mile 9, I was parched having consumed every drop from my hydration pack. Only small pools of water remained back at mile 7, and I risked pressing on without filling up. Seeing the “JC” sign after the 9 mile mark, a tired Michelle declared, “it’s time to go see Jesus (JC)”, and we ventured down the hill into the river basin to a dry, rocky, river bed. My heart sank. I tried to imagine running back two miles only to haul back several gallons of water both for drinking and cooking. Opting to venture up and down the river bed at Junction Camp, however, it took no more than a few hundred feet before finding small pockets of absolutely crystal clear water along its edge. The new Katadyn water filter worked perfectly and that water was delicious. This was just one of MANY things that seemed to just fall into place during the trip.

By 5, the sun sank beneath the hillsides around us. JP proved to have uncanny firewood gathering skills building a huge pile of logs. Meanwhile Grant, and Scott built a fire in the riverbed generating the coals needed for cooking. At 6pm Grant proclaimed for the third time, “Guys, I’m sooo hungry.” He wasn’t alone and I was glad. I had tested out some Bear Creek "Darn" Good Chili and even by the standards of those who hadn’t just hiked 9 miles with heavy packs, it was good. Now, it would be beyond words. After 20 minutes trying to bring the water to a boil, it finally started to roll and all the contents went in. Aromas of summer sausage, cheese, and spices rose with the steam and a dozen eyes watched the kettle, bowls and spoons in hand. After a long half hour of simmering, Grant took the honorary taste test and declared it done. As Buzz ladled out the chili into outstretched bowls, chattering and conversations quickly dropped to sounds of slurping and pleasure. It was like hearing a toned down version of the Herbal Essence Shampoo commercial. It really was “the best chili I’d ever tasted”. After polishing off the chili everyone sat around the campfire for a while making s’mores, laughing, and telling stories. But by 10pm, most were already sawing logs in thier tent. Around 2am while everyone was peacefully slumbering (Kelli talking in her sleep), two drunk four-wheelers raced along a path that ran past the tents revving engines, laughing, and shouting with adrenaline-filled joy waking the entire camp. The next morning we woke slowly with some talk of how rude and inconsiderate they were shining lights in our tents and acting like they owned the whole mountainside. Some people are so inconsiderate, you know?

After some Instant-Milk cereal, bagels, and hot cocoa for breakfast we packed up and hit the trail by 10am. Anticipating the caves would show up somewhere along the path, I started to get concerned as we passed mile 13. A bit further down the trail, Scott and I learned from another group of hikers they were on another trail about 1.5 miles from the Visitor Center. Ouch. Not good. Mile 14, by the way, also marked the beginning of “Hells Half-mile” describing a muscle-wrenching steep decent leading back toward the State Park. Tired legs, hungry stomachs, Hell’s half-mile, and bad news was not a good combination. I was really glad to be among Christians at that moment. Luckily, many were simply too tired for disappointment and we quickly drew up a new game plan. Rather than eat lunch before our decent, we'd press on to eat at the bus giving us enough time to still explore the caves. Scott, Jeff, and I charged up our endorphins running down the trail as fast as our packs allowed us (corners taken like a true Dukes a Hazard car). Now THAT was fun. Hot and tired from the run, Buzz and I made a pact to dunk into the frigid waters in the creek near the bus. Although less than a foot deep, it was cold enough that Scott was certain we were delusional, if not flat out nuts. Jeff mustered up the strength and courage to go first. It was like plunging into an ice bath after soaking in the hot tub; freezing, yet somehow refreshing.(Right Click on Video Image and select "Save Target As" to download the video, or click the video and wait a while for it to open.)

After P&J sandwiches a small group of us headed off to explore the caves. Seeing a large “Unguided Tour” sign by the road next to some steps and a manicured path, a tinge of disappointment began settling in. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be the raw, adventurous spelunking we'd hoped for. It didn't help to see little kids wandering in and out of the cave with parents waiting at the entrance. However, after a few yards into the cave, we found slick rocks, large drops to navigate, and off-shooting tunnels. In fact, the further we ventured, the better it got! About 60 to 100 feet into the cave, the temperature cooled and small, furry bats were scattered all over the walls and ceiling. Everyone got their fill of adventure. I blinded about a dozen bats with my camera flash trying to get a Macro shot, Scott ventured into the ceiling tunnels in search of danger, Phil got to see how close he could get to licking a bat, but without actually licking a bat (right Phil?), and Jeff plunged into the narrowing tunnel on his belly squeezing in by his shoulders. No, it's wasn't a wilderness cave, but it really was fun. After getting back to the van, each of us melted in pleasure under a hot shower, snapped off a few last group shots, and we headed home. We were tired and achy, but it was worth it. It was an incredible trip.

Top Picture: Catalina Mountains in Tucson, AZ during monsoon season
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