SOUTHERN STATES
A last blast of fall colors in Arkansas
PETIT JEAN STATE PARK, Ark. -- "CAUTION," read the warning in my rented cabin nestled among the autumn-painted leaves of
Now that's a cool cabin. It's also a very Arkansas cabin. Here, in what they call "The Natural State," they let their high cliff areas be high cliff areas. No fences required. If you take a tumble, well, there was a sign affixed to the kitchen wall.
Sure enough, mere feet beyond my wood- and stone-walled cabin, I peeked over a 90-degree angle and found a straight drop into the craggy rocks below and still more trees turned red and yellow by the season. Such ruggedness is what makes Arkansas such a worthy destination.
"It's called 'The Natural State' for a reason," said Sarah Jones, a 31-year-old Petit Jean park ranger with a smile on her face and a gun at her hip. "If you like nature, this is the place to come."
That's especially true in November, when the state's notorious mosquito, chigger and tick populations recede. The weather turns dry and short-sleeve friendly. And dozens of tree species, crowded together for miles and miles, turn a vast palette of earthy hues -- burnt orange, yellow, rust, brown and red alongside the conifers' evergreen.
Looking for a burst of Northern-like autumn within a day's drive, I ventured to central Arkansas' low, rolling mountains for a colorful beauty that doesn't peak until early November.
Finished in 1938, Petit Jean was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps, a program established by President
"It's so durable what they've done," said Mitchell Musgrove, 53, a firefighter from a suburb of Dallas, between snapping pre-dusk photos with wife Debbi. "It was built out of the rock and natural materials, and it'll just be here forever, basically."
The park offers just 20 miles of hiking trails, but there are several options for diverse views. You can take in the color from above on an easy walk around the rim of a small, tree-filled canyon, or you can take in much of the park on the 12-mile Boy Scout trail loop.
The most popular trek is the park's signature Cedar Falls Trail, which drops 200 feet into the canyon -- and all that pretty color -- before ending up at the bottom of a 95-foot waterfall. The Musgroves, who have visited Petit Jean annually for half a dozen years, have hiked just about all of the trails.
"This is the whole package," Mitchell Musgrove said. "The color, the hiking, the hills."
In case you were wondering, it's pronounced "Petty John." Try some fancy French pronunciation and the locals will snicker.
Petit Jean is home to one of the Arkansas state park system's four lodges, and it's one of the most rustic, with sort of an aging summer camp feel. The restaurant, which closes at 8 p.m., doesn't offer much of a gourmet experience: fake plants, a plastic bottle of mayonnaise on every table and instant mashed potatoes. But it's cheap -- $2.99 for a grilled cheese.
And, anyway, it's not about the food. It's about getting down into that blessed canyon and looking up at the backlit leaves in late afternoon. Or carrying your lunch to the foot of the waterfall and eating in a peace you can only dream of the rest of the year.
"I just love this terrain," said Barbara O'Keefe, 71, a retired nature photographer from Houston, who walked in the canyon with her husband, daughter and grandsons. "It's so varied with the trees and the cliffs."
Mt. Magazine State Park
Next it was off to Mt. Magazine State Park, 50 miles west and home to the state's newest lodge, a modern beauty, and the park's highest peak, at 2,753 feet. Petit Jean was long on walkers and people wading into nature. Perhaps because Mt. Magazine's park is so modern and comfortable, it attracts an older, more sedate crowd.
But the good news is the trails are lightly populated.
In three hikes, none terribly strenuous and each grabbing a different vantage of the color, the only people I saw were science club students from nearby Lamar, Ark. Their teacher wore a polo shirt with the words, "Science is awesome" stitched on his chest.
So is having hiking trails to yourself. In the silence, you think heavy thoughts about fall colors, and they are this: Leaves are supposed to be green. But for a tiny window there is this counterintuitive, otherworldly payoff that seems unnatural but is, in fact, wholly natural. It is the pretty face of death.
I recommend the rim trails, which get north and south views from the mountaintop, especially at dusk, when the colors are bronzed into an even deeper beauty. I also recommend against tiptoeing through the woods because there are black bears up there, and it is best not to surprise them. About 54 percent of me wanted to see a bear, and 46 percent wanted nothing to do with one. Forty-six percent won. Probably best.
The heart of that mountaintop, though, is the lodge, a $32 million project that generated some local opposition to such expenditure. But the result is awfully handsome and comfortable: four stories, 60 rooms (all with a view of the colors), an indoor swimming pool with a water slide and a high-ceiling restaurant with splendid views.
The rooms are affordable, clean and spacious; mine had a small refrigerator, a hot tub, a balcony with a fantastic view. Shortly after sunrise, following an overnight rain, was a particularly good time on the balcony. The trees, the peaks, the clouds were all tinged pink, and the smell of fresh, wet lumber filled the air. Atop that mountain, we were actually above the clouds that slowly skirted by.
When a group of three couples who live in Hot Springs Village, a retirement community north of Hot Springs, complained that the fall color was already gone, I didn't have the heart to tell them that walking half a mile would have won them stunning views. It was true: If you just looked out the front door, there wasn't much to see, but a short walk, especially at sunset, turned the trees 100 feet below impossible colors. But the couples had nary a complaint about their stay at the lodge.
"This place would change people's minds about Arkansas," said Varon Cook, 60. "The people here are so nice. It's lovely."
Lake Ouachita State Park
After a lovely, looping ride south down Arkansas Highway 7, the state's first scenic byway, I stopped at Lake Ouachita State Park, about 20 miles north of Hot Springs.
I went without expectation. If uninspired, I would have driven away and continued to Hot Springs. Instead, the map of the park implored me to explore. The park essentially is a peninsula jutting west into Lake Ouachita. Its primary hiking trek, the Caddo Bend Trail, is a 4-mile loop that mostly hugs the peninsula's shore.
When it comes to hiking, I'm a sucker for two things: loops (perpetual forward movement always seems better than backtracking) and water (it's just pretty). It was, therefore, a perfect hike. Four beautiful, rolling and well-marked miles of enough up and down to get the heart pumping without being needlessly strenuous. The trees were a handsome mix of reds, yellows and green, and I didn't see another person. I did see miles of shoreline, distant islands planted in the lake, and a tarantula. Yes, a tarantula in Arkansas.
The little bugger shocked the heck out of me about a mile in as it crossed my path (or did I cross its path?). I stopped, took a few photos and wondered what he was, figuring there were no tarantulas in Arkansas. I showed the photos to the naturalist on duty at the visitor's center. Sure enough, she said, it was a tarantula. Two or three hikers report seeing one each month. I felt lucky.
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