A Sunday trip out to Loess Bluffs National Wildlife Refuge for Eagle Days found much clearer skies than the last visit out at the first of this year. Temperatures were much warmer than that journey as well, around °C. The eagles proved as sparse as the clouds too.
An opportunity to admire these raptors up close proved the best viewing. The first introduced is shown above. The Harpy is biggest and the baddest of the group. It ranges as far south from Mexico into Argentina and have held the honor of an Endangered listing since 1976.
Over the last couple of years, the cold of late December stands more successful in the field. The ongoing drought, which created dry, shallow conditions at the site, likely contributed to the scarcity of waterfowl observed at this time. Hardly any were observable from closer than a half kilometer, at best.
Setting off on the latest post-holiday adventure, our crew landed in Silver
Dollar City without incident. The remainder of the day would remain in
question. The mass of people joining this expedition proved
astounding. Later inspection of statistics outlined an amusement park at
97% capacity. It was too much.
From the moment of entry, the masses insisted on forward movement. It
did not matter in which direction, so long as it was away from the front
gates. Resistance proved futile. We persevered though, riding rode
the crest to discover the most welcoming place of sustenance that did not
already host an hour or more wait.
We plunged back into the fray, satisfied and in a better frame of mind to
handle the obtuse situation. Inspecting the variety of offerings brought
no real sense of joy. Silver Dollar City has long since sold out to
commercialism. Very little is actually made there any longer. Most
items are directly imported from China. There are a few exceptions; very
few.
Shopping proved relatively easy. Otherwise, lines were awful in every
direction, boasting a wait time of an hour or longer for even the simplest
things. Waiting for the night parade to begin, one man returned with hot
chocolate for his family, proudly declaring he had waited in line for one hour
to obtain the substance.
A portion of the expedition chose to ride the "Time Traveler" roller coaster
prior to the start of the parade. They did not return in time; instead,
standing in line for more than an hour. The parade came and went, much
to their disappointment. Those of our crew remaining, enjoyed the show,
excepting the interference of angry woman. She decided to chastise us
for choosing to sit where she was clearly reserving six spaces on a rock
wall. Her moose intervened, but decided to forgo any sort of sustained
confrontation, after hearing of her blatantly rude and antagonistic opening
remarks to the situation.
In contrast, the crowd was mostly jovial throughout the day, and our crew all seemed to have a good time of it. It was that
evening hour that things began to deteriorate. In addition to the
aforementioned situation, parents appeared drained, and the protests of
children echoed in every hollow. One woman passed, dragging her child
along, insisting they were going to have fun, as the child howled in response,
"I don't want to have fun!"
Our clan had reached a pinnacle of excitement as well, but took a little time
to wonder at the millions of lights adorning nearly every building, tree, and
orifice of the front third of the amusement complex. A man doing repairs
earlier in the day had indicated there were over 6 million lights on display
there. He followed that up with the fact that they were all torn down
after Christmas and tossed to the side for someone else to figure out.
That seemed a bit of a waste, and not entirely representative of the
"hillbilly" ideal, where nothing is ever really thrown out; rather,
repurposed.
The following day, thoughts turned towards looking about Branson a short
while. That was quickly shut down, as the town roared to life after
breakfast, seeking in earnest to reproduce the population encountered the
previous day. The road home suddenly took on the luster of a
well-polished diamond.
This turned out the best decision all around. and offered up the chance to
wander about a bit of memory lane in Warsaw. Some of our crew found more
exceptional opportunities for shopping in that little town, along with quiet
sustenance and a unique little light display at Drake Harbor. Lesson learned. Stick with the simple things.
The road home was mostly uneventful. Rain greeted our expedition as we neared the city, just after stopping at a traditional spot for a little ice cream from the home state. The blackberry cobbler is truly delicious and the price, much more satisfying than buying it at the local market for five times the same amount.
Buying a new computer is equitable to buying a new car. It is exhilarating and awful in the same breath. There are entirely too many options to filter the noise out effectively, as well as a lot of junk, too. Sometimes, it is better stick with what you know.
I gave in to the world of Apple, recently while considering options to replace my 2014 i5 with something similar to the to the Mac Mini M1. I wanted appropriate power in a small footprint. That little piece of equipment fit the bill, while the variety of comparable options in the PC world boggles the mind, with mixed reviews. Conversely, Apple's reputation for both hardware and software stood for itself.
All seemed well, at first. Learning the OS involved a lot of "how to" searches. Each left me a little more disappointed, each time. Functionality in that realm is somewhat limited or pushed to "the cloud" without any other option. That may not be entirely true, but I did not wait around long with this platform.
A lack of ability to write to NTFS drives felt crippling. There is an option out there to enable it, but often the installation requires changes to the kernel, seeming to leave doors open. Other options offer the chance to "brick" your new Mac Mini M1, attempting to open this forbidden gateway.
That was really the last straw. I packed it up and sent it back. Suddenly, there seemed very little reason to abandon the old i5. A facelift with Windows 10 made it feel new again, along with my old friend the alien head. That upgrade had been put off for entirely too long.
It did not last long and was a poor choice, ultimately leading to a new i7 nVidia supported machine running Windows 11. It is good and makes light work of photo processing and video editing.
The video editor is a love / hate situation. It lacks certain functionality, while churning out high quality product. The recommended ClipChamp turned out to be a pile of garbage, leveraging so much compression that video looked awful, even at 1080p. I hope DaVinci Resolve stands up to its name and resolves the necessity to lean on either of the aforementioned.
. . .
Further Reading
If you are a veteran Windows user, don't buy a Mac. It is not worth the trouble.
The entire thing is designed for beginners and too simplified, to the point of annoying.
A new angle of presentation materialized on the recent journey south into
north central Arkansas. It seemed it might be fun leveraging Google Earth to share these adventures. A lot of consideration ensued with that in mind, and
the road unfurled under beautiful blue skies.
The weekend lived on the backroads, a few of which were captured on the
GoPro. It all started with a detour down AR-66 in Leslie. Weary of
the view from US-65, the alternate route east along AR-66 from Leslie offered
considerably less traffic and beautifully windy roads. Turning south on
AR-263 just before arriving at Timbo took the expedition south to AR-9 at
Rushing and on to Shirley and the old Missouri & North Arkansas Railroad
bridge that crosses the Middle Fork of the Little Red River.
The crossing was assembled in 1907 and opened to travel in 1909, running until
1946. After that it received concrete makeover for motor vehicle traffic
and nobody looked back, or down for that matter. Passing through can be
somewhat hair-raising.
Ghosts and ghouls greeted the evening of arrival, through an array of
decorations for the Halloween holiday. It was quite a site.
Checking in on Mossy Bluff National Nature Trail the next day found things a
bit dryer than usual. This year had been hard on cascades and
waterfalls.
Following up on a a personal project initiated on the last visit to this
area, scouted yet another old logging trail within the Jim Kress Wildlife
Management Area. This led along a path of shedding pines dry creek
beds, leading from Warren Mountain Road to the Big Creek crossing of the
same road.
Circling around and following along a few new highways back to home base led
to yet another Big Creek crossing at Tiger B Road.
A good dinner and conversation with family and friends closed out adventures
for the day, with thoughts towards how tomorrow would unfold.
Heading north the next day found skies threatening to cloud over, but
remaining relatively dry and clear for a journey down Gunner Pool
Road. It was a good thing. Rain could have made things very
messy. As it were, the camera proved uncooperative enough in the first couple of kilometers, becoming unstuck and drifting this way and that a few times.
A peaceful and quite 150 meter descent over 2.8 km along an old fire road, now horse trail, set the day in perspective. It was not a huge task, though a little steep near the end, but nothing unmanageable. This part of the forest is usually overgrown in August and September, and typically dying back by this time of year, before the growing season begins again in March.
A month earlier would have witnessed spiders and their webs, devouring most of the insect life. The rest of the year, they cannot seem to keep up and the random assortment of insects are overwhelming.
Increasing frequency of hikers have left their trashy mark here and there, but nothing too awful, yet. The intrusion of ATV, shattering the pristine quiet of the scene suggested that "yet" may come sooner than later for this part of the abandoned.
Otherwise, it was a peaceful and quiet walk in the woods. Out and back means what goes down must come up. The hike out is no more exerting than it is going down though.
This late mid-October late morning visit, all was dry, except one of the few running horsetail falls in the Ozark National Forest this season. Most ran out of water much earlier in this dryer than normal year. A couple of nearby springs feed this one, ensuring a fairly constant flow. It would be interesting to see this one after, or during, a good rain.
The return trip to home base paused momentarily at an old "swinging bridge" over South Sylamore Creek. The wire suspension, wood deck bridge is open to two-way traffic, but be prepared for one lane of traffic. It is only about 3.5 meters wide. The structure was built in 1943 and spans 60 meters to cross the creek and was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1999.
Later that afternoon, one more excursion into Jim Kress WMA, discovered Litaker Ridge Road, a reasonably good cut through the area. Civilization does not exist here. The wind and their passage through the pines is all that matters in the moment.
The namesake of Indian Cave State Park only recently re-opened, after having been closed for repairs for a couple of years. Flooding badly damaged walkways and access to those areas near the river. A forecast of clear and 30°C day encouraged a wandering to the local. It is impossible to say how many times it was passed on the way here or there.
A 1920's Richardson County Courthouse stood gleaming in the mid-morning sun of Falls City, encouraging the first small break from the road. Contrary to the forecast, weather made the journey soggier than expected. Gray skies shrouded the city, and passing through Weston, the clouds unleashed their fury. Crossing into Kansas improved the situation incrementally, until arriving to full sunshine in Nebraska.
Google indicated a seemingly random gravel road would prove a more expedient path and it turned out relatively well. Blue skies and wide open space unfurl above a sea of corn in every direction. Harvest is coming soon, and it looked to be bountiful in these parts.
The GoPro picked up the journey down to the cave site. Meandering through an extra bit leading down to the restored schoolhouse and general store from the old river town of St. Deroin proved too much for the device though. It decided to nap only a short distance from the cave. A couple of short hikes later, it had recharged enough to make most of the return trip.
Heading south back along the route Google had recommended, just enough battery power remained to capture the long, empty gravel road. The device gasped a final lithium breath in much shorter time, forcing the remainder of the journey to stills.
Historic structures abound in the little river town of Rulo, once an important crossing point of the Missouri River. Some stand firm and well kept, while others appear as though they might be soon swallowed by the landscape. The camp site of the Lewis & Clark Expedition stands pristine at the corner of the highway, just in front of an overgrown brush spot between the trees. I am sure things were quite different this yesterday, 218 years ago.
Avoiding the chaos of the interstate, the old river road invited much more inspiring views. At the confluence of the Big Nemaha River and the Missouri, sparrows dove and soared in a swarm, snacking on the bountiful insect life emerging from all around the waterway.
A little further along, the Point of Beginning of the Public Land Surveys of the Sixth Principal Meridian lingered at the corner of two fields and a dirt road leading towards the river. It was here that someone hammered an iron monument in the ground and began systematically measuring all of Kansas and Nebraska, most of Colorado and Wyoming, and a portion of South Dakota.
Atchison promised a few amusements, though the entire town was readying for Amelia Earhart Days and digging deeper into the distraction did not seem quite as inviting as originally imagined. Avoiding traffic enabled pause for a corner statement, and an opportunity to catalog another historic schoolhouse.
Weston stood as if no rain had ever passed. Old tobacco barns silently decay among rolling hills covered in corn. The day had turned nicely for wandering among the bluffs and fields surrounding the Missouri River.
Cruising southward on a whim, Prairie State Park promised bison wandering about the eastern Missouri prairie. Hiking along Drover's Trail offered the opportunity to scout out that little fact. While it is likely true, only one lone soul drifted across the horizon throughout the journey through the tall grass and wildflowers. It paused a few times, seeming to examine our position, but ultimately headed for the shade of a nearby grove.
Minus that beast, there is not much else to fix eyes on in this landscape. The prairie extends in all directions, rolling and waving over the hills, broken only by the occasional stand of trees, ditch or creek.
Other distractions appear in the foreground with varying intensity, when the greater landscape fails to consume all the attention. While not in abundance, the wildflowers littered the prairie, adding a splash of color here and there, without overstimulating the pallet.
The only other bison acquaintance of the day assured visitors that they would see at least one of the furry critters on their visit. The "Saunter" hosted by the park in May might be the best time to see more and a return trip is planned. Even that could prove a bust though. The ranger on duty said that previous scheduled stomp through the field had turned up nothing after 2 hours. They will be seen when they want to be soon.
It turns out the little town of Walnut Ridge had quite a little interesting history. It had a minor involvement with The Beatles back in 1964, at the height of Beatlemania. The band only appeared in this out of the way spot twice, and performed neither time, but the situation left a lasting impression. They would have been disappointed had they stayed longer anyway. A real breakfast was nowhere to found that morning, making departure more pressing than that of the Fab Four.
A few miles west in Black Rock, Renee's coffee and standard fare slowed the urge to get back down the road. Since the jump from Pensacola had been much longer the day before, the mostly clear day offered up a bit more time to linger here and there The road did not look a lot different from the endless forest of Mississippi, but it remained better than the monotony of the interstate.
Life stands out better on these roads and it is easier to pause and consider the world that came before. In this case, a site associated with a Confederate victory. A junk shop and produce stand of sorts continues to hold the line here at Morgan's Mill, which is otherwise mostly abandoned and forgotten.
A little further along, the expedition paused for a morning hike after crossing the state line into Missouri. Grand Gulf State Park had been on the project list for a couple of years. This was the first opportunity to have a look around. Temperatures had not gone too far out of hand, and having recently suffered the humidity of Mississippi, the morning seemed mostly pleasant. The trailhead warned of 40 minutes to cover the Natural Bridge Trail. The density of the foliage blocked most things from view, and danger of tick infestation discouraged attempting to modify the situation, reducing that time to about 20 minutes.
Temperatures rose considerably during the brief hour or so at the park. Slipping back into air conditioned transport proved immensely gratifying. Nothing else remained of the day, except to got on the path of discovery, the preferred recreation for most of the remainder of the day.
Back roads remained the preferred route. The four-lane, and interstate could wait. It would take just as much time to get to navigate to that end and leverage it from this part of Missouri. A pause here and there to admire an old pony truss bridge enabled some amusement, as well as the random road sign confirming the status of the temperature.
The trail crossed into much more familiar territory, after a good lunch at a new spot Lebanon. Some confusion about the name of the last spot visited placed the expedition at the doorstep of The Lunch Box Cafe. They were still 15 minutes from opening, but offered to let us come on in out of the scorching heat and enjoy a little lunch. Appreciating the consideration and enjoying conversation with those locals, it turned out a fortunate series of events to not have remembered Clifton's West Side Cafe.
Drake Harbor in Warsaw was almost the last place to pause and further delay surrendering to the reality of the high-speed four lane return to home base. A plan was then hatched, under the shade of an oak tree, lazily watching the Osage River drift slowly by, to delay that return only a little more. A final stop on the north side of Clinton seemed more interesting. They had locally grown ice cream there.
It was difficult to leave the comfort of the shores of the Gulf behind, but it had to be done. No time remained to linger. Eight and half hours of driving demanded attention to an early departure, with very little time afforded for distractions along the way. Indeed, the first photographic opportunity of the day occurred over 700 km away from the point of beginning, at the Tennessee Welcome Center in Memphis. Focus on reaching the intended destination before dark was that sincere. The interstate proved unavoidable in this quest, but was only offered limited interest.
Perfectly aligned to schedule, dinner at the Blue City Cafe on Beale Street followed shortly thereafter. Ribs and catfish rewarded a growing appetite that had only quieted earlier through small snacks and a couple of light meals. With time on our side, a bit of wandering Beale Street offered a welcome. Littering the district were a variety of guitar replicas from Gibson, each painted by a Memphis artist and signed by a Memphis celebrity, celebrating the unique art and music contributions in the city. It is a trend across the nation these days. The first instance of this from memory were the Kansas City cows, but there might have been some before that. Regardless, it enabled the perfect, if only momentary, distraction from the road.
Only a short hour or so from Memphis., along the southern edge of the Ozark plateau, Walnut Ridge hosted arrangements for the evening. Arrival worked out as planned, with enough remaining light to have a glance around the immediate vicinity. The litter of graffiti that welcomed our crew had peaked a certain level of curiosity, in spite of hours on the road. Eventually, that and the heat that lingered in the air encouraged plush lounging about in quarters for the remainder of the evening.
The hotel has a reputation for determinations such as that. The original purpose was to make the location famous for service and hospitality, offering hot and cold running water, steam heat, electric lights, and two water closets! Completed in 1904, Hotel Rhea became the centerpiece of the town. The original burned to the ground in 1914 and only small remnant stands today, but it continues to honor the original character of the establishment.
The day had no particular plan, with only two objectives. When researching this area of the world for potential exploration, an old military fort presented itself as an intriguing situation. The other goal was nothing more than time on that beach made of sugar, splashing around in the crystal clear water, enjoying a little sun, watching the later fade into starlight.
A quick journey to the Seville Historic District of Pensacola for breakfast found things frozen in time. The architecture mirrored much of what is usually seen in New Orleans, without the appearance or stench of decay. It all appeared rather well maintained. Bodacious Brew lived up to its namesake with a fantastic fare. There was not much time to linger, but a quick glance at a nearby park found a memorial to one of the founding fathers of Pensacola, William Dudley Chipley, squarely in Plaza Ferdinand VII.
Fort Pickens area of Gulf Islands National Seashore loomed as the primary mission of the day. In the climbing temperatures, the excursion encouraged an early start. It proved an impressive tour through the history of this particular end of the barrier island, Santa Rosa Island. While defenses at this fortification are certainly impressive, nature is winning the war, gently and quietly reclaiming land and relocating everything else.
Reservations for sunset reservations on the beach rendered just enough time to run back to East Hill and pick up another of our crew that had stayed in for the day. Traffic lights enabled one chance to capture The Crystal Ice House, a vintage ice station from 1932. With a green light, it faded into the rearview mirror as the urgency grew to collect fare for the evening and escort the food truck prize quickly back to the beach.
The daylight held on long enough to stake a solid claim on a relatively empty stretch of beach. Some color remained and lingered quite a good while. One by one, stars arrived on duty, slowly cascading into the darkening sky, and the galaxy slowly swam into view. It is no wonder so many abandon themselves to life near the surf.
It took very little effort to achieve the intended goal for the day. Skies were clear, then stormy, then clear again; typical coastal weather for this time of year. It was still hot, but Gulf breezes began to push some of that away. The journey proved mostly uneventful through the billion acre forest of Mississippi, then Alabama to Mobile.
Mobile offered up the George Wallace Tunnel for amusement, diving 12 meters under the Mobile River, emerging nearly 1,000 meters on Blakeley Island. Opened in 1973, it is named after the infamous Democratic senator from Alabama, a staunch segregationist, populist politician and two time presidential contender. A new name has not yet been chosen for the tunnel, but given his record and the state of affairs, it is likely in the works.
Señor GoPro unknowingly went on break just before the Alabama/Florida line, likely out of boredom induced by the interstate monotony. Traffic crawled in west bound lanes, as the beaches emptied from the revelry of the 4th of July. East bound proved to be the usual interstate game of push or be pushed down the road.
Arriving in Pensacola in no time at all, Señor GoPro rose from his siesta in time to catch the Bay Bridge crossing and down to accommodations for the next several days and nights. Google completely mucked up the directions though, believing it more interesting to scale a 10 meter wall to access Gulf Coast Inn than to simply enter off the parkway. It all worked out, with a little meandering, and the little roadside spot proved an excellent find for this occasion.
Connecting with friends, sustenance became the first order of business and they quickly identified the ideal location. Shaggy's served up a delicious fare. Had there not been a hurricane a few years ago, the original location in Christian Pass might have been our first encounter, but this was just as well, and well worth the wait.
A full belly sent us further east along the beach in search of less populated areas. As luck would have it, the first stop proved to be the perfect location for lounging about and catching up further with friends. Toes were dipped, sand was put under construction and a good time had by all.
A need for relief led back to the parking lot, at some point. This led to the discovery of of something the Chinese first noted in the 9th century. Marco Polo also reference the phenomenon in his crossing of the Gobi Desert, indicating the dunes filled the air "with the sounds of all kinds of musical instruments ... ," In these times, the best label society can conjure is "squeaky sand."
The conversation continued from there, listening and watching the gentle surf along the eastern end of Pensacola Beach. The wind lightly made it s presence known every so often and the sun sank lower and lower on the horizon behind us.
The position of things, along with other necessities, prompted another visit to view that horizon on the other side of the dunes. One of our posse passed around between the dunes, to capture the view without interference, while the position among the tall grass seemed sufficient for this particular evening.
As if on queue, the wind kicked up a steady pace, and the surrounding world turned blue. Conversation continued on into the darkness for a moment or three. Weird tiny biting bugs came out to play on the beach, and earlier memories of random crabs popping out of holes encouraged departure before long.
The last moments of the day were s pent enjoying a fire. At first, it seemed a little ridiculous in the 32°C temperatures. Someone explained the effectiveness of its chasing away mosquitoes though, and suddenly, the proposition did not seem all that preposterous after all. It had been an eventful day, and their company stood undesirable.
