Escape from New York - Part 3

We pulled into Jasper, Arkansas late one windy night, after driving the 10 or so hours from Chattanooga. Jasper is the kind of small mountain town that you can drive through in less than 2 minutes, and it features not much more than a few shops, which seem to cater mostly to the tourists of the Ozarks. When we arrived, nearly every inch of the town had been shuttered tight hours before.

The main goal of our visit to Arkansas was to visit Horseshoe Canyon Ranch, known in climbing circles for its scores of varied and well-protected sport and mixed routes scattered around the property. In recent years, the annual 24 Hours of Horseshoe Hell has also put the ranch on climbers’ radars. The event dares participants to try their hand at climbing non-stop for 24 hours, and always draws a good turnout of climbers and spectators alike. The ranch sits about 15 minutes outside of Jasper, tucked into a winding mountain road.

In typical fashion, we had neglected to make reservations for our stay at the Ranch. In fact, short of a few haphazardly launched emails, we did not call ahead or really take any steps at all towards securing lodging there. Thus, I suppose our unannounced arrival in the middle of the night deserved the confusion it received. We were told that there was camping available on the hill above the main buildings, but from radio weather reports we had pieced together on the way into town, it seemed like a violent band of storms (hail, tornados, etc) was blowing in, making us hesitant to set up our tent.

After some negotiation, we decided to check in to a bed and breakfast type place we had seen back in Jasper — it was the only place around with a light still on. I managed to catch the owner right as he was locking up, and we got the last available room. The man called it “divine providence.” I would have called it anything to get a nice hot shower and a bed out of the rain.

The next day, we hunkered down and begrudgingly waited out the storm. The hotel featured a kind of décor that was sort of a cross between someone’s grandma’s house and a 1970s swinger’s pad — lots of pastel and porcelain, but with gold plastic trimmings and quite a few mirrors… I remembered that the night before the hotel owner had called our room “Mothers Room,” and sure enough it came complete with a portrait of an old lady I could only assume was ‘Mother’. As soon as I noticed that fact, I immediately tried my best to ignore it.

Thankfully, the next day we awoke to the sun. After partaking in the delicious breakfast special at Ozark Cafe ($2.99!), we headed out to get in a full day at the Ranch. As we warmed up, I was surprised to find a lot of extremely moderate, juggy routes that were very well protected. It was a great place for me to practice my burgeoning leading skills. To keep things interesting, there were plenty of more difficult routes to try our hands at, as well. And, because access is as easy as walking across a field and up to a wall, we got up quite a few routes at several different walls, and altogether had a pretty decent day.

That night, tired of sleeping in Mother’s shadow, we camped in the designated area on the Ranch, which was adequate enough, if not a little cramped. To be fair, our experience probably would have been much more pleasant had it not been for: a) more rain and b) a group of high school kids on spring break who were armed with bongos, tambourines, harmonicas, and guitars and the determination to play them all very loudly and at the same time, though sadly not in unison.