Beaver Water District Blog

Weather and work have conspired to keep me off of the water this spring. I can’t do much about the weather, but I vow to rectify the situation regarding work over the next few weeks. But neither weather nor work have kept me from thinking about Beaver Lake and the White River. Back in January, I agreed to make a presentation about Beaver Lake and our water supply at the Pettigrew Days annual pot luck supper and community meeting down toward the headwaters of the White River. I didn’t think much about it at the time. I’d drive to Pettigrew, eat some good country cooking, give the standard presentation and head home. Then I learned that this event had been going on for over 30 years and that the first speaker was one Orval Faubus! Man, now the pressure was on.

While doing some research to update the presentation, I started wondering just why “White River” is “White.” It should have been an easy question. I grabbed my journal and headed down to the U of A library to find the answer. Four hours later I had lots of interesting material, but not a clue as to the origin of the name. So I turned to the source, Susan Young at the Shiloh Museum in Springdale. Susan directed me to the journals of Henry Schoolcraft. From there, a few quick clicks on the computer and I was sitting at the website of the Lower White River Museum where the material was there for the taking.  The story goes way back.

The first European to encounter the White River was the Spaniard Hernando de Soto. De Soto arrived in south Florida in the 1530s supposedly looking for the legendary fountain of youth. After a few years wandering around in the swamps, de Soto turned his thoughts to more practical matters and headed west to find oro, which in Spanish means gold. In 1541, his travels brought him to the banks of the White River just downstream of present day Batesville, Arkansas. The Native Americans living in the region referred to themselves as Casqui. De Soto therefore referred to the river as “Rio de Casqui” or river of the Casqui. While de Soto had taken a fortune in gold from the Inca a decade earlier, he didn’t find the gold he was searching for on this trip. About a year later, he died of a fever someplace in southeast Arkansas or northeast Louisiana.

The Casqui themselves did not refer to the river as “Casqui.” According to the Lower White River Museum, the Native Americans referred to the river as “Niska” or white water.  Today, the term “white water” conjures up a vision of raging rapids challenging rafters and kayakers. The White River is a great place to kayak or raft, but not for the white water. Niska had another meaning. The water of the White River has always been crystal clear, especially as it flowed across the Springfield plateau of Northern Arkansas and Southern Missouri. The water also flows over limestone that has a grayish white color.  So the name Niska actually referred to the color of the river.

Marquette and Joliet explored the Mississippi River for France in 1673. When they arrived in Arkansas, an alliance was formed with the Quapaw marking the start of a hundred years of French dominance. The French trappers and settlers spread out into the region. As they settled, they adopted the Native American name for de Soto’s Rio de Casqui, calling it “Riverie au Blanche” or White River.

In 1803, Napoleon Bonaparte sold French Louisiana to the United States. The White River watershed was a part of the purchase.  Henry Schoolcraft then explored the region in 1818. Schoolcraft made perhaps the first recorded canoe float of the White by a U.S. citizen. However, English-speaking settlers were already in the region. Schoolcraft canoed down the “Great North Fork of the White” out of Missouri. The Great North Fork is now referred to as simply the North Fork River. The Cherokee who lived in the region referred to the river as “Unica,” which also means white water. The white settlers had also adopted the name White River. The name has stuck ever since.  So the name White River goes back at least hundreds if not thousands of years.

The name White River came from an American Indian term, “Niska,” which meant white water. The reference was to crystal clear water flowing over white rocks.

It’s Saturday morning, March 23^rd, and I’m in my red truck headed east on Highway 412 toward Huntsville. The temperature is in the mid-30s, it’s foggy, and a light mist is falling. Winter is making its last stand. The forecast is rain. I’m nursing myself through the last couple of days of a cold. Let’s just say it’s a perfectly miserable day.

The green canoe is still leaning up against the fence in the back yard. Back in “the day,” I would have been headed out to some headwater stream in the Ozark Mountains for a day of whitewater. Not anymore. These days, my speed is a little less energetic. The fact is I’m headed to Huntsville to teach the 2013 crop of Master Naturalists about our water resource. After four years of doing this gig, I have the routine down. Here’s how it goes: We spend half of the day in a classroom, then we have lunch, and then we head out to a local creek to get some hands-on experience. Heaven help me, but I’m secretly praying for the rain to come on in so I can declare inclement weather and forego the afternoon session. No such luck, though. It stays cold and misty.

The Master Naturalists are a special group of people. To start with, they dedicate ten Saturdays in late winter and spring to learning about our ecosystem. Then they each pledge to give 40 hours per year of volunteer service to some environmental cause. The program is not just about water; they cover the gamut of the natural sciences. Classes include astronomy, geology, climatology, herpetology, ichthyology, entomology, ornithology, mycology, hydrology, eco-regions, mammals, tree identification, native plants and wildflowers, and nature journaling. At the end of it all, they can tell you what each of those –ologys are, and they can discuss each in depth. The students range in age from mid-twenties to mid-seventies. They hail from a variety of professions and political persuasions. Overall, they tend to be very knowledgeable people with educational backgrounds from high school graduate to doctoral level.

The morning went well. We discussed the special properties of water, then followed the flow from precipitation down to the watershed into our streams and finally to our lakes. We don’t bother going all the way to the ocean. This is Arkansas after all. I kept looking to the sky hoping for rain. After I finish talking about lakes, Jason Kindall, my co-conspirator in this operation and executive director of the Beaver Watershed Alliance, gives a lesson on stream biology. He focuses on the bugs that live in the stream.

Noon came, we ate our peanut butter sandwiches, and … no rain. Then 12:30 came, still no rain so we headed out to Pine Creek in the Madison County Wildlife Refuge for our in-stream session. The temperature was low 40s, light mist. At least there wasn’t a lot of wind.

Pine Creek is a beautiful little Ozark Highlands stream. It’s spring fed so the water is crystal clear and cold. The stream only flows a couple of miles before it joins the flow of Kings River. The spot where we hold the training has a bluff perhaps 50 feet tall and set back from the stream. There are several caves in the area, too.

I pull up in my red truck, park, and get my waders out of the bed. These are the waders that I used when I was doing research on streams back in graduate school. I notice a small waterfall, a couple of feet high, and above that, a slab rock where it is easy to cross the stream. In a couple of steps, I remember why I haven’t been using these waders. Henceforth, they will be referred to as my sieves. My feet are going to get soaking wet. That’s just great, I think. Oh well, at least I had the foresight to wear some good, thick wool socks. The students dutifully follow me across the stream. These guys are hard-core! If only they knew how much I was suffering. (Maybe I’m being a little dramatic here, but it’s my blog and I’ll fuss about leaky waders if I want to!)

Streams are wonderfully complex ecosystems. To fully appreciate stream ecosystems, you have to look past the surface. Then you can see the complexity of the flow creating diverse habitat opportunities. When you look deeply into a stream, you can understand the importance of the bed material and why it is what it is. You start to see the interaction between the stream banks and the stream itself. In short, you see that there is much there besides just water. The objective of the in-stream exercise is to make the students aware of that complexity, to encourage them to think critically about the different aspects of streams and to increase their awareness of the various stream characteristics.

The exercise starts with a discussion of the watershed. We had just driven down from the headwaters and the stream flowed along the road most of the way. Few had noticed the beaver dams. Like I said, the objective is to increase awareness. After discussing the watershed, we lay out a study “reach” two riffles and two pools long, then we walked the stream. The assignment is “notice things.” We look at the different flow conditions: pools, glides, riffles and runs. We look at the condition of the banks, searching for signs of erosion. We look for large woody debris and we look at the bed material. The students are starting to get the idea. They start to point things out themselves. When we finish the walk, I ask the them to take out their journals and draw a sketch of the stream, then to fill in any important data and their thoughts. The point of the exercise is not to make them artists but to increase their awareness of the place. Next, we complete a habitat ranking for the stream. The ranking looks at 20 different characteristics of streams and provides criteria for scoring each characteristic. The scores are then added to give an index of habitat quality. All 20 of the students are now in the water measuring rocks, estimating percentage of riffles versus pools, and so on and so on.

When the habitat assessment is complete, Jason takes over. The class collects samples of the aquatic community by kicking up the gravel and capturing what washes out in a net. (Some folks call this “bug kickin’.) They take their catch to the shore. Then they start sorting bugs by species. The highlight of the day is an immature Ozark salamander. The bugs are sorted out and a score applied based upon the diversity of the community. This year we were overwhelmed with small mayflies. Perhaps we just happened to be there the day they hatched.

The last exercise is to measure the flow in the stream. Flow is the product of the cross-sectional area of the stream and the velocity of the water. Cross sectional area can be measured with a tape measure and a graduated walking stick. To get the velocity of the stream, we have to float oranges downstream over a specified distance. By measuring the time required for the orange to float through the distance, the speed or velocity can be calculated. Several trials have to be done to get an accurate estimate of velocity. My voice is fading rapidly. Thankfully, Angela Danovi from Ozark Water Watch is there to help out.

By 4 o’clock, my voice is gone. We pack up our gear and head for our trucks. The students are talking about how they never realized there was so much to a stream. I pull off my wading sieves, wring out my wool socks, and put on dry socks and shoes. Then I get into my red truck and head back to Springdale. As I head home, the rain starts to fall in earnest. I am now pleased that I didn’t let a little inclement weather spoil a good day in the Ozarks. Aren’t you?

To learn more about the Arkansas Master Naturalist program, go to their website: http://home.arkansasmasternaturalists.org.

Back in the Ozark Mountains, a ways up the road from Pettigrew, there’s a hill. The hill rises up to about 2290 feet above sea level. The top of the hill is a pasture that’s shaped kind of like a potato. A light rain is falling. The water soaks into the earth. Most of the rainwater is eventually sucked back out of the soil by the grass and transpires back into the atmosphere. But a little bit of the water manages to drain on down through the rocks into the ground water. The rest flows slowly downhill through the soil and shallow rocks. In a few hundred yards, the water comes to a small hollow where it seeps back out to the surface. Decades ago, the owner of the hill recognized the value of these seeps and built a dam across the small drainage creating a pond roughly an acre in size. Enough water seeps out of the hillside to keep this pond full. During long hot summers, evaporation from the surface of the pond may get a little ahead of the seeps and the water level in the pond falls a bit, but never enough to cause a shortage. Usually, the seeps win out and water overflows the spillway of the dam.

The water flowing over the dam of the pond flows downhill a few yards into a second pond. This pond is larger than the first, maybe as big as four or five acres. This second pond also receives inflow from seeps below the surface and maintains its level even through the worst of droughts. At the outlet of this pond, there’s a small pipe discharging water into the hollow below. The flow creates a little stream about two feet wide and a couple inches deep. This is the start, or the headwater, of the White River. From here, the river flows 722 miles to its confluence with the Mississippi making it, according to Wikipedia, the 17^th longest river in the United States. Along the way, the river loses roughly 2000 feet in elevation. The average discharge at the confluence with the Mississippi is 34,600 cubic feet per second (also according to Wikipedia).

It’s hard to tell when the ponds were built. The current owner doesn’t know. Full-grown trees line the banks of the dam, and the ponds were already there when I first started roaming the Ozarks in the 1960s. So I suppose it’s safe to say that they are at least 50 years old. Likely the ponds are much older. Likewise, it’s hard to guess the age of the pastures uphill from the ponds. The earliest topographic maps that I can find show the area as cleared. If one wanted to, they could search through the Government Land Office maps developed in the early 1800s to see what was there at that time. I haven’t done that yet, but I suspect the surveyor’s notes would say something like “open hardwood forest.”

After the river emerges from the ponds, it flows a hundred yards or so down a hollow and crosses the trace of an old road. In contrast to Highway 16, which is only a few yards farther down the hollow, the old road trace hugged the hillside. It was also only about 12 to 15 feet wide. Likely when two cars met, one of them had to back up till they found a wide spot to pull out. In some places, the downhill side of the old road was built up with dry laid stones. Stones seem to have been a favorite building material of the civil engineers of the day. Of course, stone was the material at hand.

After the river flows over the old road trace, it goes on down the hill and then enters a pipe culvert under Highway 16. The White River then flows from the headwaters to the west along the south side of Highway 16. Much of the way, the river channel defines the boundary of the Ozark National Forest, with the forest being to the south of the road and private land to the north. A couple of miles downstream, a county road crosses the river on a small concrete bridge.

Fifty years ago, many of the crossings in the headwaters region were wet fords crossing in shallow spots of the river. Today most of the fords have been replaced with low concrete bridges. Even so, those bridges are still subject to flooding during high water. The first real modern bridge is a few miles downstream where the river crosses back to the north side of Highway 16 and into the town of Pettigrew. By my count from Google Earth, there are 50 road crossings of the White River between the headwaters and the Mississippi, counting the pipe culvert mentioned above.

Within a couple of miles of the headwater, the White has taken on the look of an Ozark stream. It is three or four good steps wide and deep enough to get over your boots if you aren’t careful. Near Pettigrew, 6 miles downstream, the White it is recognizable as a river. During high water, a good kayaker could likely paddle the river, It would be a lively float, as the river is still descending about 30 feet per mile. However, unlike the Hailstone portion of the Buffalo or the upper Big Piney, it would not be a wilderness experience. The kayaker would find himself or herself floating through the backyards of the local residents and next to cattle pastures.

In the early 1900s, a railroad was pushed up the valley from Fayetteville all the way to Pettigrew. The main purpose of the railroad was to haul timber out of the area. An entry in the Encyclopedia of Arkansas by Leon Niehues says that in 1919 more lumber was shipped out of Pettigrew than any other place in the world. Years later, after the lumber industry faded, the rails were pulled. Traces of the bed can still be found along the river. While timber is still harvested and shipped out of the region, today cattle farming has largely replaced timber as the main livelihood. “Messing with cattle” is a term you hear a lot in the region. Likely the railroad also provided improved access and encouraged folks to move into the valley and establish the farms that now fill the valley.

This small pond in the Ozark Mountains is the source of the 17^th longest river in the United States, the White River.

The White River just below its source.

Dry-laid stone was a favorite building material of early civil engineers in the White River headwater region.

The White River bridge at Pettigrew is the first modern bridge crossing the river. Highways cross the river 50 times between the headwaters and the confluence with the Mississippi.

Cattle production is the dominant use of pastures along the White River valley as well as along the ridgelines in the area.

When I started this blog back in January of 2012, it was my intent to make at least one trip to Beaver Lake in my canoe each month of the year. Mission accomplished! In my last blog post, I said that I had been out 16 times. Well, I lied. The truth is, after going through my notes and counting one trip in a power boat with my friend Jim Wimberly and one trip hiking the shoreline, I discovered I was on Beaver Lake 20 times during 2012!

Looking back, I can tell you I learned a few things. For one, canoeing solo on a lake in heavy wind is not pleasant. Ergo, this month has conspired to keep me off of the lake. While temperatures have been mild enough, the wind has been howling. And when one weekend did turn out to be suitable for an adventure, I was called out of town on personal business. So I start 2013 by looking back at 2012.

I took my first trip last year on Jan. 21, when I put in at the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission landing below the Highway 45 bridge. Sometimes this landing is lake and sometimes river depending on the surface elevation of Beaver Lake. On this day, it was about a half mile down river to where the lake began. Along the way, I passed the confluence of the White River with Richland Creek. It was cold but bearable, and quiet.

In February, I put my canoe in at a wide spot on Habberton Road and paddled out to the lake at Neill’s Bluff. Traveling down-lake, Neill’s Bluff is likely the first feature that you would recognize as a bluff. I have always liked bluffs. But it was on this trip when I started to realize that bluffs were the defining feature of Beaver Lake.  A bald eagle flying overhead graced the trip as well as a flock of squawking geese. Otherwise it was quiet and cold.

Ah spring! That’s when things started happening! During March, a flood mid-month caused the lake elevation to rise to 1126 feet. The water turned yellowish brown from silt and flotsam floated everywhere. March 24 was mild enough that I was able to talk Sharon, my wife, into going along. We put in at the Blue Springs launching ramp and paddled upstream along Cedar Bluff. Wildflower season was just kicking in. Once again, the base of the bluff was where it was happening. These areas are inaccessible to shore side access so wildflowers grow in every little batch of dirt.

We liked it so much that we went out again on the 25th and then I made a solo trip on the 29^th. Boats were becoming more numerous and the birds were raucous. The wildflower show continued through April and into May.

During April we made two trips to the Beav-o-Rama area. Along the towering bluffs across from Beav-o-Rama, we discovered large crevices and spires and even a small natural bridge. It seemed that every flat spot on the bluff above the waterline contained a couple of geese preparing for a family. High up on the bluff, rock cedars hung on to whatever they could. The water was becoming more clear, but still murky.

In May, you might say I went “to the birds” (I’m getting all Ralph Waldo Emerson here). On my trip to the bluffs north of Blue Springs Village, I counted 18 different species including a Baltimore oriole. I spent a good bit of the morning chasing a momma wood duck and five wood ducklings along the base of the bluff. They outran me. It was a blast!

By June, there was no question that we were in for a long dry summer. Temperatures were up and mornings were the time for canoeing. Later in the day, folks on Jet Skis and wake boards ruled the water. The lake was dropping and more shoreline was becoming exposed. Where I had been right next to the shoreline vegetation earlier, I was now five to 10 feet below. Birds were still abundant, but not so raucous. On the 23^rd of June, I explored the War Eagle arm near Hickory Flat. Red headed woodpeckers made the day, and would continue to do so for several weeks. I made two additional trips in June, one from War Eagle marina on the White River arm and another to Hogscald Holler down-lake. It was interesting to note the change in character of the lake from the upper end, where I had been exploring, and the wide open water near Hogscald. Almost every trip we saw deer.

July and August brought more of the same. Since it was hot, we made a point of getting out early. During July, my friends Steve Patterson and Thad Scott went along on a trip to Van Hollow. Later, I made three trips to the Hickory Creek area. Van Hollow is a special place located about mid-lake. The Hobbs Estate State Park and Conservation area protects several miles of shoreline. As you might imagine, local wildlife take full advantage of the solitude.

The bluffs in the Hickory Creek area are, in my opinion, the most spectacular on the lake. Maybe it is because the deeper water puts you right at the face of the bluff. The rock formations make arches overhangs. The colors include grays, whites, orange/yellow and blues. The water level continued to drop. While the water was clearer than earlier in the year, it continued to have a green color.

On Aug. 9, Jim Wimberly and I took his motor boat down lake and then up to the headwaters of Indian Creek. The Nature Conservancy and the Arkansas Natural Heritage Commission recently purchased a track of land here called the Devil’s Eyebrow. The purchase protects about 3 ½ miles of protected shoreline in Indian Creek.

All summer, I had looked forward to fall with anticipation of a burst of color and perfect weather. Maybe it was because of the drought, but the fall color disappointed this year. And I was surprised by the amount of wind. Rain returned to the area briefly.

On Sept. 15, I made a solo trip out from Beav-o-Rama in the rain where I observed two families of beavers going about their business. On Sept. 23, Steve Patterson, Sharon and I paddled into Nelson Hollow, where we explored the rock formations, including a cave that we could paddle into in our 17-foot canoe. Then, we fought the 20 mile-per-hour wind back to the car near Hickory Creek.

In October, the world was quiet. Sharon and I paddled along in the Blue Springs Village area. The wind in November kept me off the lake completely. I did hike to Shaddox Hollow where I observed Langmuir Streaks.

As winter approached, the winds continued and it became necessary to pick trips where the bluffs provided shelter. On Dec. 23, Sharon and I headed out for one last trip to the War Eagle arm, where we hugged the bluff along the south side for protection from the southwest wind. The Eagles were back. Nice.

If there was one thing that surprised me about my year observing Beaver Lake, it was the amount of undeveloped shoreline. I should have known that because I have been on Beaver literally hundreds of times, but I never before took time to get up close and look. I’m glad I did.

Eagles are no longer rare in Arkansas and especially not on Beaver Lake. But seeing two sitting side by side is still a thrilling experience. That is exactly what happened the Sunday before Christmas when Sharon and I made our last visit of the year to Beaver. To make matters even better, just around the bend a third eagle was flying across the lake and was heading in the direction of the first two. Perhaps a great eagle convention was being called or maybe it was just coincidence. At any rate, it made my day.

Two eagles sitting side by side made my day!

Our trip started early, about 9 a.m. As it turned out, we had completed all of the Christmas shopping and decorating, and family wasn’t arriving until Christmas Eve. And it was too early to start cooking. So why not go for a spin on the lake? After all, the canoe was already loaded on the truck! We headed out. Our put-in was on the War Eagle arm of Beaver Lake, at the end of Washington County Road 502, also known as Natural Walk Road. The name refers to a stone feature along War Eagle Creek that resembles a flat sidewalk alongside the stream.

It was cold, but not terribly so. We both bundled up in several layers of polypropylene and fleece. Then we added our PFDs (personal floatation device) and windbreakers over the top. There was a light wind out of the southwest. The wind was predicted to pick up to 10 to 15 miles per hour during the day, but this particular reach of the War Eagle arm has a big bluff along the southwest shore, meaning we would be sheltered. When we arrived, there were several trucks parked alongside the road with boat trailers. From the put-in, we could see several groups of people fishing. Like us, they were likely also taking advantage of the day to get in one last visit to the lake.

A grey squirrel forages for nuts along the rocky shoreline.

The eagles were actually just around the corner from the put-in. I was watching a grey squirrel forage for nuts along a rocky shoreline when I heard this strange squeaking noise overhead. Looking up at the top of the bluff, there was a tree sticking out over the water. The two eagles were sitting roughly 50 feet over our heads. Had the squirrel looked up, he likely would have scurried for cover quickly. After snapping a few photos, we paddled on, heading upwind in order to have an easy return trip.

The thing that makes Beaver Lake unique is the many rock features at the shoreline. In the upper end of the lake, there is a sheer bluff on almost every bend. The lake comes right up against these bluffs. The interaction of water and rocks is always fascinating. At times, water spouts when larger boat wakes hit holes in the rocks. Most of the bluffs are various shades of grey. Some are very tall. Along this reach of the War Eagle arm, the bluffs are not as high, but they are rugged and colorful.

A layer of shale at the waterline along the War Eagle Arm of Beaver lake is strikingly jet black in color. Then, layering (likely from minerals) creates oranges and even reds.

A layer of shale at the waterline is strikingly jet black in color. From there, the layering becomes more complex, exposing minerals, likely iron, that leach out creating oranges and even reds. On this day, the slopes above the bluffs were covered with deep green vegetation that turned out to be chickweed. The combination of color and ruggedness made for some stunning scenes.

During 2012, I was able to make 16 trips to Beaver Lake in the canoe. My trips covered most of the lake, from the headwaters near Goshen to Friendship Creek north of the Hickory Creek Marina plus a couple of trips down lake. In all, I paddled about 60 miles, or just over 10 percent of the shoreline, but there’s lots left to explore. Stay tuned in here.

The Friday morning after Thanksgiving was clear, cold and calm. While the weatherman had promised 10 to 15 mile-per-hour winds out of the northwest, the dogs and I noticed none of the expected gusts during our regular walk. The canoe was already loaded on the truck; so I decided to take a chance and hit the lake. I made a sandwich from yesterday’s leftovers, grabbed some warm clothes, my camera and field book, and headed out. I did notice the leaves on our maple tree quivering a bit as I left but nothing to be concerned about. My destination was the two islands on Beaver Lake east of Rogers and north of the Arkansas Highway 12 bridge over Beaver, or “The Bridge” as we called it when I was in high school.

As far as I know, these islands don’t have a name, at least not on any maps I’ve ever seen. Anyway, they were the site of some of my earliest explorations of the lake. Back in the early 1960s, Beaver was just filling for the first time. I had started expressing interest in fishing. Dad and I began driving out to what was to become the islands on weekend afternoons. At that time, when the lake was still low, you could drive there. Dad’s version of fishing was to find a rock by the water in the sun and sit there dunking minnows until the fish came by. The bluff along the south side of the southern island made lots of opportunities for sunny rocks. Once in a while, we’d catch enough for supper. That’s when I would come home just beaming because I was putting dinner on the table! What an accomplishment for a 10-year-old!

Dad really wasn’t a serious fisherman. He was more interested in spending time with his kids. A few years later, when I could drive myself, he didn’t seem all that disappointed when I went fishing with the guys instead of him. He and I did spend lots of good Saturday afternoons sitting on those rocks though.

It takes about 30 minutes to drive from home in Springdale to “The Bridge.” When I reached Rogers, the flags were standing out straight. By the time I reached “The Bridge,” the promised 15 mph wind was howling. I stopped at the boat ramp and got out. Perhaps if I had come with another strong paddler or if I was in a less wind resistant craft, such as a kayak, I would have launched. But to me, being solo with a 17-foot canoe it didn’t look too promising. Canoeing would have to be put off for another day. Since I already had a sandwich, I decided to drive on over to Hobbs State Park and do a little hiking. Hobbs touches the lake in several locations. The Shaddox Hollow trail goes down to the lake off of State Highway 303. That is where I headed.

The trail travels downhill to the west from the trailhead. It was a mixed hardwood forest with some scattered pines. One particular tree was covered in red berries. It turned out to be a dogwood giving a second show of the year. There were several more like it as I descended. Eventually, the trail dropped down through the limestone ledge and came out to a small stream. From there it followed the stream down into the Shaddox Hollow arm of Beaver. From car to lake was roughly a half mile.

Shaddox Hollow is one of the areas of Beaver where the Corps of Engineers chose to not remove the trees when they were building the lake. The cove looked like a flooded ghost forest. There were dozens, if not hundreds, of dead tree trunks sticking up 10 to 15 feet from the water. The shore was steep and gravely. Down the eastern shore a couple hundred yards, a large rock protruded into the water. I proceeded along the trail and eventually came out to the rock. Somebody had made a really neat campsite on top of the rock and had even left some firewood stacked by a fire ring. The rock was 10 to 12 feet high and stuck out 15 or 20 feet from the shore.

The parallel lines in the water in this photograph are known as Langmuir streaks.

The water was murky. Trunks of the ghost trees disappeared only a couple feet below the surface. On the surface of the water were long parallel lines of white foam. Darby Nelson mentioned these lines in his book, “For the Love of Lakes.” I made a mental note to look it up at home.

It turns out that the parallel lines in the water are called Langmuir streaks. They are named after Dr. Irving Langmuir who studied them in the 1920s. Those of you who studied chemistry know Dr. Langmuir from the Langmuir isotherm. On windy days, alternating clockwise and counter clockwise currents are set up in the water perpendicular to the wind. The lines form where the two currents meet on the surface.

The spacing of the Langmuir streaks is dependent upon the depth of the water. Deeper water creates wider spacing. During the summer, the depth of the thermocline determines the spacing instead of the total depth of the lake. If you dive down into a lake on a hot summer day, you will notice the thermocline. It is the point where the water suddenly becomes colder. The foam itself is a mixture of water and air. Organic compounds from decaying algae, tree trunks, and other matter reduce the surface tension of the water and permit bubbles to form. This foam is not necessarily an indication of water pollution. All lakes contain some form of organic matter.

On the south side of the rock I found a ledge just far enough down to be sheltered from the wind and in the sun. I stepped down and proceeded to eat my sandwich. That’s when I wished that I had a bucket of minnows and a fishing rod.

Back in January I committed myself to making a trip to Beaver Lake at least once per month for the full year. That isn’t exactly an unpleasant task. But October was difficult. To start with, evenings get short during October, making after work trips problematic. Then there were the previous commitments on weekends. Plus, the weather hasn’t cooperated well at all. Either it was cold and rainy, or the wind was howling. Wind is the element most difficult to deal with in a canoe.

Finally, on Halloween, everything worked out! The weather was nice, kind of cool but calm. The sky was clear and I was on vacation. All I had to do was complete the pergola and I was free to go. At 1:37 in the afternoon, the last screw was screwed. I snapped a couple of pics of my work, and we were on our way. By 1:55 p.m., Sharon and I were on the road, canoe securely attached to the pickup, his and hers paddles, his and hers canoe seats, his and her PFDs (personal flotation devices) and one unified goal — to enjoy the afternoon. Time was short, so we just headed out to the Doc Roufa landing near the highway 412 bridge. Although it was Halloween, I resisted the urge to wear my Captain Jack Sparrow costume. It was a tough decision. (You’re supposed to be chuckling now.)

We took off paddling into the wind. It was easy. I noticed the water was murky with a yellowish tint. Transparency was about 18 inches. There was a light breeze out of the north, and the water surface was barely rippled. We soon discovered the source of the yellow water. The eastern half of the lake was a huge mudflat! The water was barely a half paddle length deep. Even a light wind would stir up the loose sediment. I edged the canoe back out into deeper water.

North of the highway 412 bridge, a large mud island had exposed itself above the water. Several dozen Canada Geese and one Great Blue Heron occupied the island. We moved on to the northeast along the eastern shoreline, comprised mostly of private boat docks belonging to homes in Blue Springs Village. I noticed a guy fishing from one of the docks. He asked if we knew where the fish had gone. I suppose fishing was slow.

Soon we moved around the bend and out of earshot from the bridge. All was quiet. Something special happens on every trip to the lake. On this day it was the quiet. Hardly even a bird song broke the silence. After about an hour, we turned and headed back toward the truck.

Lab Plays Fetch

When we got back to the launch, we noticed a man and his wife playing with their Labrador. The husband would throw a large stick as far out into the lake as he could. The dutiful Lab chased it again and again. Sometimes I think Labrador Retrievers should be reclassified as aquatic mammals. It was getting dark. I loaded the canoe on the truck and we headed home.

It was raining when I woke on the morning of September 15th. That has been an odd occurrence in Arkansas this summer, but up here in Northwest Arkansas, we actually did have some rain from late August through September. My thought when I noticed the rain was, “Whoopie, no yard work today, I am headed to the lake!”

I dutifully asked Sharon if she wanted to go along. After getting my full dose of Billingsgate, I told her to go on back to sleep and I would see her when I got in. Okay, I knew I was crazy, and I always figured that I was a bit of a fool, but she didn’t have to call me old. That kind of hurt.

So I grabbed my Gore-Tex^®, threw a couple of granola bars in the dry bag, and headed out to my red truck. Did you know that the way rain runs down a windshield is fascinating? It never runs in a straight line. Instead it twists and turns. Little rivulets form and join into streams. It is kind of a mini-watershed all its own. It seemed odd that the canoe wasn’t blocking the rain. Oh, yeah, the canoe!

So I got out of the truck, walked down to the shed, got the canoe, and hauled it up to the truck. Along the way, I picked up a couple paddles. I always take two paddles in case one breaks. In a couple of minutes, the canoe was loaded and I was on my way, green canoe on red truck, Gore-Tex^® jacket on, two granola bars in the dry bag, ready for a great day in the rain. I headed out to the Beav-O-Rama launching ramp.

Beav-O-Rama has been the starting point for a couple of trips this year. On those trips, I was headed upstream though. Today I was going downstream to complete paddling the reach of lake from Hwy. 45 to Hwy. 412. The water level was about 15 feet lower than my last trip out here. In May, the ramp was in the lake. Now, it was about a 100-yard carry from the ramp down to the lake. Forty-five years ago this would have been prized bottomland pasture. Today it is just a mudflat. It is surprising, though, how quickly these mudflats become vegetated when the water goes down. Much of the vegetation is Late Boneset, a two- to three-foot tall flower with multiple white blooms.

The “lake” now looked like a wide river. The water was a bit murky. My paddle blade was barely visible when fully submerged. That means that transparency is about 18 or so inches. The water was warm and had a greenish tint. It was raining, but warm with a little wind. Because of the low water, I was paddling along the very bases of the bluffs.

Goldenrod clinging to a bluff along Beaver Lake.

Fall wildflowers were just starting to bloom in mid-September. My favorite fall flower is the goldenrod. Goldenrod is one of those nouns that doesn’t have a plural. It is just “the goldenrod.” Back in town, there are fields full of goldenrod in the Lake Fayetteville Park. It makes a blanket of yellow over the ground. But around Beaver Lake, you only see small patches clinging to nooks and crannies in the bluffs. Maybe there are eight or 10 plants in a patch. The plants around the lake are also smaller. Most are only about a foot and a half tall.

After about a half hour, the bluff line switched from river right to river left. I switched over too. I guess I just like bluffs. As far as I can tell, this bluff doesn’t have a name. I am going to call it “Beaver” bluff because that is who was living there, four of them. The first one was swimming out from behind a rock when I saw him. I tried to slip up and get a photo but about the time I reached for the camera, kerplunk, he slapped his tail on the water and disappeared. Around the corner, the other three were huddled on a ledge. One by one, they slipped into the water and swam off.

One of the Beavers of “Beaver Bluff.”

Several years ago while paddling the Buffalo River on a quiet fall day, I encountered a river otter. Otters are curious fellows. This one seemed to engage me in a game of hide-and-seek. He would pop out from behind a log and stare at me until I made a move; then he would dive and move off to repeat the process. Another time many years ago, I actually had one swim out and scratch the bottom of my canoe. In contrast, beavers are all business. These fellows had things to do, and I was keeping them from doing them. So I snapped a couple of photos and moved on down the bluff.

As a water treatment professional, I have a love-hate relationship with beavers. Beavers are pretty cool to see swimming around in the lake. But beaver fecal matter is one of the main sources of the protozoa cryptosporidium and giardia, both of which are pathogenic to humans (pathogenic simply means they cause us to get diseases). Luckily, these guys were several miles from the water supply intake and beavers don’t seem to be very abundant on Beaver Lake.

At the end of the bluff line, I could see Cedar Bluff which extends up to the Blue Spring area on the lake. That meant that I was at the point where I had turned around on my trip uplake from the Blue Spring launch. So my mission was complete. I had a granola bar, watched some gulls fish for a bit, and then headed back to the truck. The round trip was roughly three and a half miles. It was still raining.

Every summer the water level in Beaver Lake drops as water is released from Beaver Dam to generate electricity, or withdrawn for water supply, or it simply evaporates. Occasionally, the level falls low enough that Coin Harvey’s “Pyramids” at Monte Ne become exposed. Then everyone in the region is obligated to make a trip out to Monte Ne to marvel at the ruins and at how low the lake has become. On Aug. 19th, Sharon and I made our sojourn there. We decided to take the canoe and explore the cove while we were out. The lake surface elevation was around 1113 feet.

The structure we see in Beaver Lake now is not really the pyramid. Mr. Harvey never got around to building the pyramid. What we see instead is an amphitheater that was to sit in front of the proposed pyramid. But for as long as I can remember, the area was just called the pyramids.

Monte Ne Cove

When I was a kid living in Rogers, I would take Sunday afternoon trips out to Monte Ne to visit the pyramids before Beaver Lake existed. There were several tiers of concrete seats and alcoves that we could run around and climb on. At the base there was a pool. It seemed large at the time, but I was just 10 years-old. Everything seems big when you’re 10! In the middle of the pool there was a concrete stage. I don’t know if the stage was ever actually used for anything. I do know that historical collections in area museums show photographs of women in long white dresses and men in coats and bow ties standing around the amphitheater and riding in long rowboats on the stream below.

The water at the pyramids was really cold. We would try to catch small fish in paper cups and marvel at how the water striders could walk on water. When the lake filled after Beaver Dam was completed in the early 1960s, we thought we would never see the pyramids again. But we were wrong.

Monte Ne cove is out Highway 94 just a few miles east of Rogers. The confluence of the cove with the main body of Beaver Lake is about 27 miles downstream from the headwaters of the lake at Highway 45 east of Fayetteville. The cove itself is roughly 2 miles long. At its mouth, the cove is almost a quarter of a mile wide. The lake at this point is acting more like a lake than further upstream where it acts more like a river. The lake is wide and deep.

Because of the proximity of Monte Ne to Rogers, the shoreline around the cove and the west side of the lake itself are well populated. Almost anywhere on the cove, if you look hard enough, you will see a house just up the hill. There also are several private boat docks along the shoreline. In contrast, on the east side of Beaver across from Monte Ne cove, it is a difficult drive out from either Rogers or Springdale. That side of the lake is thinly populated and still has undeveloped shoreline.

Our trip out on the cove was uneventful. The water was glassy smooth. We paddled along slowly looking at the occasional bird. We stopped and talked briefly with a fisherman. He had gone out early to beat the crowd and enjoy a bit of cool air. He didn’t mention whether or not he had caught any fish. That didn’t seem to be his main purpose for being there.

When we got to the mouth of the cove and looked out over the main body of the lake, a good-sized ski boat came along pulling some wake boarders. We decided not to fight the wakes and turned back into the protection of the cove, where we saw a tree full of swallows. I found that strange because I usually see swallows around cliffs. We chased a Green Heron for a bit trying to get a good picture, but he eluded us. Then three red headed woodpeckers entertained us for a few minutes. Finally, we paddled up the cove to see the “pyramids.”

In our canoe, we didn’t have to worry about breaking our prop so we could paddle right over the amphitheater. Only the tips of the very top tier of seats were exposed. The water was kind of murky, but we could see down to the next tier. It was, and always is, eerie to look down into the water and see this submerged place where I used to run around as a kid. Hopefully, rain will return to the Ozarks this fall, the lake level will rise, and the amphitheater will go back into hiding for several more years.

Back in May, Steve Patterson and I were working on a project to construct floating wetland islands in Lake Fayetteville. Steve is a restoration ecologist from Poteau, Oklahoma. We have a lot in common because Steve conducts the source water protection program for the Poteau Valley Industrial Authority on Lake Wister near Poteau. Steve had a copy of the University of Arkansas’ Graduate Discovery magazine that had on the cover a photo of a cove in Beaver Lake surrounded by bluffs. He wondered if I knew where the photo was taken. I replied that I didn’t know for sure, but had a few ideas. Thus began the search for the photo. June 30 we visited Hogscald hollow. Hogscald was spectacular, but it wasn’t the site of the photo. My second guess of the locale was Van Hollow so we scheduled a trip.

Thad Scott, a limnologist or lake scientist, also joined us on the trip to Van Hollow. Most of my outings to Beaver Lake are either by myself, or with my wife, Sharon, so this trip was special. I was excited to have the chance to listen to two experts discuss the lake. We met at my house 6 a.m. so we could get an early start. The boats were loaded and we were on the road at 6:15 a.m. By 7:10 a.m., we were at the put in ready to go. A lone canoe was paddling up the lake toward the launch. He pulled in and started loading his canoe on his truck. I guess early is a relative term.

Van Hollow on Beaver Lake is a land of cracks, crevices and caves. This is a good example of Karst terrain.

Van Hollow is mid-lake so this trip was out of my regular routine of working down lake from the headwaters. The Hobbs Estate State Park and Conservation Area surrounds the hollow. Van Hollow is named for Peter Van Winkle who moved into the hollow in 1851 and started a sawmill. According to the Friends of Hobbs website, Roscoe Hobbs and his Ozark Land and Lumber Company acquired 12,500 acres from the Van Winkle family in 1912. Mr. Hobbs’ goal was to use the second growth timber on the property to make railroad ties. Through several iterations of the lumber company, Hobbs conducted timber operations on the property into the 1960s. He was, according to the report on the website, a good steward of the land. In the 1970s, the Hobbs’ property became available for purchase. A consortium of 22 Northwest Arkansas banks and The Nature Conservancy came together to purchase the land and put it into a trust until the State of Arkansas could put together finances to complete the purchase. In 1979, the Hobbs Estate State Park and Conservation Area was formed. Thus we are blessed with several miles of protected shoreline along Beaver Lake.

Van Hollow on Beaver Lake is a land of cracks, crevices and caves. This is a good example of Karst terrain.

Thad, Steve, Sharon and I took off down lake. The water was very clear. The water surface elevation was 1114.7, almost 12 feet down from its high for 2012. Although the day was predicted to be hot, the morning temperature was low enough that Sharon donned her jacket for a while. The conversation quickly turned to periphyton, phytoplankton, zooplankton, nutrient uptake, assimilation, internal nutrient loading, nitrogen fixation and such. I commented that the lake water felt warm. We paddled on, Steve and Thad delving deeper and deeper into lake process, Sharon and I watching out for submerged logs.

During the morning, we explored several coves. Van Hollow is a land of cracks and crevices. Rocks and low bluffs surrounded each hollow. Caves were numerous. At one cave, we found point G on the Aquatics Trail. I wondered where points A through F were. With the lake so low, it was difficult to identify birds and plants. I heard Pileated and Red Headed Woodpeckers, Chickadees, Indigo Buntings, and a Red Tail Hawk. At one point, two King Fishers came out of the forest making a racket. One of them left while the other returned to the same spot in the forest. At another point in the back of a cove, the air was full of bird song, most of which I did not know. We couldn’t get close enough to make visual identification.

At 10 a.m., we were nearing the mouth of Van Hollow. It was starting to get hot. We decided to head for the truck. As we started up the cove, we heard a boat approaching from down lake. It was a fairly large ski boat, the kind with speakers the size of a suitcase on a bar overhead. There were five people in the boat and two wake boarders being towed behind. As they passed, we turned the bow of our canoes into the wake to prevent being capsized. These were the biggest waves that I have had to deal with on Beaver. They were bigger than the largest standing waves on the Buffalo River. Our boats bobbed for a couple of minutes and we headed on. Then the ski boat turned around.

A rational mind can be annoying at times. I was really irritated at the boat for disturbing our peaceful outing and making such a big wake. And I wanted to hang on to my irritation. Then as I stewed, I thought that here was a family, together, on an outing, enjoying Beaver Lake. We all have our ways to appreciate lakes. There are 27,000 acres in Beaver Lake. That is plenty of room to share. Besides, skiers rarely get on the lake before 10 a.m. so there is plenty of time to enjoy the lake before they get up.

At 11 a.m. we arrived back at our truck. We were on the lake just shy of four hours. Google Earth says we paddled about 7 miles. Almost all of it was within the state park. We didn’t find the photo spot. I guess that means more trips.

Governor Beebe has declared July to be “Lake Appreciation Month” in Arkansas. To celebrate, I pledge to make at least one more trip to Beaver during July.