Category: Photography

Yesterday started out with mist. From my hotel room, I could see the building that houses the Welk shows, and beyond that, the mists over the river leading away from the Table Rock Dam.

When I got to the Dam, most of it was closed, as it was too early. I found one place that wasn’t closed for security reasons and was able to get a picture of the dam. There wasn’t much water running down the dam–most likely due to the drought, again.

The fog was thick, and oddly layered. I could look down into it and saw, barely, the image of a man fishing, noticable more from his bright orange hat than anything else. Driving further down the road I found a spot where people could park and fish the river below the dam.

I walked down the wooden steps to the beach area, by the overflow stream. Seeing them in the fog was a rather amazing experience. They each had their own space, quietly casting their line, and winding it back, only to re-cast it again.

The trip back was very quiet, and primarily overcast, but no rain, luckily. The only real excitement I had was when I spotted a small turtle crossing the road in front of me. I wasn’t going to run over a turtle, so I slammed on my breaks, hard enough to leave markings on the road and smell burning rubber. I watched in horror as the little guy disappeared underneath the car, but didn’t feel a thump.

I sat there in the road, trying to see if the guy was walking around. I couldn’t leave the car parked in the road so all I could do was inch forward until I could see this small, black turtle shell reflected in my rearview mirror. I stopped again and watched, anxiously, until the turtle extended out its legs and head and took off for the side of the road.

Later, I came over a hill to see a row of fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances, driving slowly along with their lights on. It was a funeral procession, most likely for a fallen firefighter, though I couldn’t find anything in the news. I slowed down, but wasn’t sure what to do. One of the firetrucks pulled out into my lane, which made the decision for me, so I pulled over, as did a couple of cars and a truck behind me. I managed to get a few photos, though none were that good.

I stopped at only one place on the way back: Alley Spring. Unlike my last trip, the trees were in full leaf, and the day was overcast — perfect conditions for photos.

The Mill is run by the federal government, and they provide people who answer questions about the Mill in the Summer. The lady who was on duty when I arrived told me about how the farmer’s would bring in corn or wheat, and dump it on the floor next to the rollers (used for grinding grain). It would drop through to the basement where it would be weighed and the miller take his cut. From there, a conveyor belt with little cups would haul the wheat or corn to the upper story, where filters would sift out the larger wheat from the smaller. From there, the corn would go to the corn roller, and the larger wheat to one machine, the smaller to another.

The corn was ground up for making moonshine, the wheat for flour. It was considered a modern marvel of the time at one point, but it only ran 20 years — the Ozarks in that area aren’t good farming land. Luckily, the State bought the Mill in 1920 to preserve it, and aside from some minor wood replacement, it’s all the original materials. They even run it twice during the day, though not the day when I was there.

The hostess was very friendly, as were all of the people I ran into on the trip. At Hodgson Mill, I ran into a couple from Theodosia (isn’t that a pretty town name) who were out looking at mills. They showed me the water line of the Flood of ’93, and I told them about Bollinger, which still ground grain, after a couple of hundred years.

Of all the mills, Alley Spring is still my favorite. The hostess told me that a bobcat had taken a rabbit drinking from the Spring just a couple of days before, and the week before that, a forest ranger had a big black bear pass in front of his truck. I may yet meet my bear face to face this year, and get a photograph.

A two day trip to the Ozarks can seem like a week, and I mean that in a good way.

Sunday I drove down I44 to 63 and then eventually to a series of back country roads where the only company I had was the ubiquitous white pickups and motorcycle riders. The recent rains have saved the Ozarks and by the rich green color, I think we’ll have a good fall, at least in the hills. And I didn’t kill one creature as I covered the windy, hilly roads, which we can count a good thing.

Sunday ended up being hot and like other Missourians impacted by the high gas prices, I kept the windows down the the air conditioner off. I developed a habit of driving one handed, the other resting on my door, which I think makes me look rather wordly, especially when the wind is blowing through my curls and I’m wearing my Big Sunglasses. Of course I ended up with a truck driver tan–one arm burned a deep brick red, while the other is a pale honey color. Or dead fish, if you prefer.

Fish. Fish was the operative word this weekend, as everywhere I went I talked with people who told me stories or who fished. Can you imagine a better weekend?

I stopped first at Rockbridge Mill, arriving in the early afternoon under 90 degree sun. Few of the pictures came out but I got a couple: one of the mill, and one of a very lucky angler.

The water was low, which wasn’t surprising for this time of year and the drought we’ve had, but it was high enough for the trout to move, and as I got to the falls, a lady who was fishing had just pulled in what looked to be a monster fish. She was kind enough to pose for the picture, which was one of my favorite from the trip.

She said she’d gone out for a relaxing hour or two of fishing, but no sooner had she put her line in then a fish caught it, and she was finished in 10 minutes. She was pleased at catching the fish, but since the river is ‘catch and keep’, she had to stop at the point. I think she was disappointed at having success come too quickly. There are people who fish to catch fish; then there’s the lucky bastards.

From Rockbridge I followed more windy, hilly back country roads to Hodgson Mill. I had read it was under restoration, and was pleasantly surprised to see it fully restored. The sun, though, was just too bright and I really couldn’t get a good picture, and had to settle for a photo of the watercress growing along the spring.

From Hodgson to Dawt, where the place was full of innertubers, but I had a monstrous headache by then, so I didn’t stay long, and headed to 160 to Branson.

I was lucky to have light traffic my entire trip, which was good because 160 is nothing but 35MPH corners, which can be fun to drive, but can also be exhausting at the same time. Happily Branson is odd enough and colorful enough to wake the dead, much less a tired driver.

What can I say about Branson? It is a town that is based on early tourism because of the nearby lakes, such as Table Rock lake. As it grew, though, it morphed into something really different: a town carved into the hillside above the lake, full of hotels and inns all decorated to a theme, full of shows. Each hotel, inn, store, has a videoscreen that displays bits of the shows currently playing. And neon lights, of course. It’s like Vegas, but without gambling.

I got lost twice, because I would be driving along, mouth open as I was blasted by all the videoscreens, and would miss a turn. When I finally got to the hotel where I was staying, Welk Resort, it was late afternoon and just starting to rain.

The hotel clerk was exceptionally nice, and when I told her I was out ‘milling’ she told me about the mill in use at the College of the Ozarks (more on this in a separate post sometime). As we talked, I could hear a tapping against the window and we were both surprised when we found ourselves in a monstrous storm. I quickly unpacked my car and in my room watched as we were hit with hail, and microbursts grabbed the poolside furniture and tossed them about. It was a really nice show.

I walked around downtown Branson for a little while, taking a few pictures. They don’t do the place justice. It is a one of kind place. I wish, though, I had grabbed a picture of the Peace Frogs Cafe. Next trip, it’s on my must see list.

I’ll cover the next day in a separate post.