Max

Water. I needed water! After a full day of hiking , I found myself on top of Hare Mountain with less than a liter of water.

I was on day four of a two-week, thru-hike of the Ozark Highlands Trail (OHT) in northern Arkansas. Traveling with only the company of my faithful dog, Max, we each carried backpacks, his filled with dog food and mine with everything else.

The unusually warm and dry October conditions left many of the seasonal creeks dry and Max and I were banking on finding water in an old well on the mountaintop.

Nick Cross

The well was part of an old homestead located near the designated campsite on top of Hare Mountain, the highest point on the OHT.

Both Max and I were hot and bone dry as we arrived at the mountaintop camp. I rationed some of our remaining water, hesitant to drink too much before locating the well.

After a short bit of searching, I found the homestead site and its well right where the guidebook said it would be. Eager to set to work pumping water through my portable filter, I walked quickly to the stone-rimmed pit and peered in.

My heart sank as I took in the discouraging sight. The well, about 14 feet deep, was empty except for a very small puddle of slimy liquid on the rocky bottom.

My only alternative for water was to continue hiking to the nearest reliable water source, Herrod's Creek, about six miles away. I decided to put my filter to the test and see what I could get out of the slime pool. Using my bear-hang line, I lowered myself into the well. Dark and cool, the walls of the dank hole were covered with large crickets. I wasn't having any luck filtering the slime and I was beginning to get the creeps. Something about being alone in the woods at the bottom of a well of an abandoned homestead site gave me an unsettling feeling.

After I got out of the well, I headed back to the campsite and took stock of my situation. Both Max and I were very tired, darkness was not far off and we only had about a half-liter of water left.

I figured I could stretch the small amount of water we had in order to make some dinner and still have a swallow or two left for Max and I.

The plan would be to get a super-early start the next morning, covering most of the distance to Herrod's Creek before sun-up. We would stop for breakfast next to the creek where we would have plenty of water.

With dinner finished, my food bag hanging in a tree several hundred feet away and Max curled up in the vestibule, I laid down for bed and my thoughts quickly turned to the gurgling creek I would be enjoying in the morning.

Max seemed a little restless and was quietly growling to himself when he suddenly sprang to his feet and began barking. This was unusual behavior for Max and I tried to calm him down, but something seemed to have him concerned. I figured there was some type of small critter creeping around camp and eventually had to get out of the tent and shout into the darkness a few times in order to satisfy Max's angst. We both fell asleep without further ado.

The 4:30 a.m. alarm of my wristwatch came entirely too early, but I was thirsty, so I got up and began to break camp.

With my bag nearly packed, I sat on the bench of the picnic table that the local hiking group had packed in and I laced my boots. That's when I heard it, a deep slow growl coming from the trees across the campsite. I immediately scanned the tree line with my headlamp, as it was still dark. I saw nothing and after a few moments, the deep slow grumbling sounded again!

I remembered reading something about bears in this area and I knew my best option in an encounter was to stand tall and make lots of noise, hopefully scaring off the beast.

I leapt onto the top of the picnic table, raised my arms high and let out a primordial scream. After a short moment, I stopped and listened….GRRR!! again came from the trees. Half expecting to be charged at any moment, I turned to Max for help warding off our impending doom!

Hoping to combine forces, I figured Max's barking and my screams would be enough to cause our would-be intruder to think twice. I turned to rally my dog, only to find him cowering on the back bench of the picnic table, his ears were low and the only noise he made was a quiet whimper.

A newfound sense of urgency came over me and I think I must have gone crazy for a few minutes. Things were kind of a blur, but I remember screaming and running to the fire pit in the center of the campsite. I began grabbing large rocks and lifting them over my head and slamming them back down over and over again.

I must have been quite a sight, sparks flying as I yelled, slammed and jumped about in the pre-dawn light. After what seemed like an eternity, I stopped and listened. It was silent; everything was still, not even the sound of a breeze in the trees.

I wanted to shoulder my pack and get out of there as quickly as possible, but my food bag was still hanging in its tree. The tree was 100 yards beyond where the growling had come from. I knew I couldn't continue the hike without our food, but I certainly wasn't going to retrieve it before it was light.

Max and I shared a certain uneasiness as we sat at the picnic table listening and waiting for daylight. As we waited, I looked back in my guidebook and discovered that this site on Hare Mountain had a history of problem bears. In fact, it was the site of the first recorded bear attack in Arkansas, when a man, still in his sleeping bag, was dragged from his tent in the early morning hours.

Once daylight arrived, I cautiously approached the bear-hang, lowered the food, threw it in my pack and hit the trail. Moving quickly, and with a fierce thirst, I pondered the morning's events.

It occurred to me that if it had not been for my shortage of water, I would have had no occasion to get such an early start that morning. I could have been lying in my sleeping bag when the bear entered camp, possibly suffering the same fate as the unfortunate victim before me.

I thought back to Max's uncharacteristic restlessness the night before and realized that we were targeted long before I was aware of any threat. I was thankful that I had Max along, despite his poor showing during the standoff. I promised myself that from then on I would pay more attention to his behavior.

Ten days later, Max and I completed the 165-mile Ozark Highlands Trail, overcoming whatever obstacles came our way. We did not have any more bear encounters, but Max was sure to make me aware of all other possible threats: squirrels, chipmunks and armadillos included.