Thursday at Lake Arrowhead

October 22

The agenda for the day was disc golf and waterfall watching. There are a lot of well-maintained trails at the park, but Ed is not up for too much walking and I didn't care to go too far alone--I have a tendency to get lost, for one thing.

But there seemed to be no point in being at a park with an 18-hole disc golf course if we didn't at least check it out. So off we went, leaving dogs at home.

It was a lovely course with well-groomed fairways and good signage. There were two problems with our game: (1) the wind, and (2) our aim. Luckily I don't throw the discs very far, so they're not all that hard to find, but unluckily I tend to throw them wildly. On either side of the nicely-groomed fairway was low brush and cactus thickets of the sort that make up the landscape of West Texas. Luckily I'd worn hiking sandals instead of flip flops, but tall socks and boots would have been better.

We did the first eight holes and arrived back at the Jeep, so we stopped our game there. Don't ask the score. It was kind of hot and Ed's hip was already hurting him. We headed back to get the dogs and take a road trip to Lucy Park at Wichita Falls.

For reasons I can't explain, I always assumed the waterfall that gave Wichita Falls its name were on the Red River.  And also for reasons I can't explain, I always wanted to see them. And I thought they were real.

And I was mostly wrong. They are on the Wichita River, a tributary of the Red River.
The Texan Santa Fe Expedition* crossed the river in 1841 and found a large Wichita Indian village at the site; the river was later named after the tribe. The falls were originally five-foot tall; they washed away in a flood in 1886. After nearly 100 years of putting up with visitors that wanted see the non-existent falls, the city built an artificial waterfall.  it's 54 feet high and is visible to south-bound traffic on I-44.

To see the falls, you walk a little paved trail along the Wichita river behind the sewage treatment plant. It's best to hold your nose for part of the way. Then you arrive,

climb the 54-feet of stairs, reading the names of people inscribed on the bricks, and get a nice view of the city:

 

 

And if you're a small dog who has experienced a miraculous recovery of his sore legs from the day before, you don't see a bit of all this. But you do experience the delightful smells--

It was a pretty little river, although brownish as my picture shows. But the original falls were shorter than I am! Oh, well. I'd just as soon have seen them as not. Zack did a decent job walking around the trail and up the stairs to to the top of the falls, but on the walk back I carried him. As mentioned before and many times since, I can only stand a few minutes of walking at the speed of Zack.

We returned to a late lunch, a load of dishwashing and Mammoth Home cleanup, and a long dog walk. Molly and I went back to the day use area in hopes of seeing the little blue heron or immature Egret, whichever he was, but only after we'd walked the area twice did we realize that we weren't anywhere near (in walking distance) the boat ramp. It was around a bend in the lake--easy in a car, but confusing as heck at foot speed.

As we walked back, we heard a strange noise--a rhythmic clanking. Following it to its source, we found that the oil pump by the bathroom had turned on. It ran all night--we couldn't hear it from our campsite, but a few yards away, we could. It was lucky we hadn't chosen one of the closer sites.

 

Dinner was easy--we made a pot of rice and warmed up a container of Alton Brown's Shrimp Gumbo, created by me on the Sunday before leaving. I only put in a pound of shrimp--Alton calls for a pound and a half--but I threw in a package of crawfish. I was going to throw in a small can of crabmeat but I forgot. But at least I remembered the file powder this time.

Later we put away all the outside stuff, which only amounted to a dog leash, two pair of shoes, a pair of socks and my camp chair. We knew there was a chance of storms moving through, and sure enough when I did my evening dog walk, I could see a wink or two of lightning in the distance. I should have suggested that Ed take down the satellite dish, but I didn't think of it.

The storms weren't supposed to move in until 11:00pm, but when I went to the bathroom at around ten, I heard a suspicious tapping on the plastic skylight overhead. Rain? or acorns blowing off the nearby tree?

Rain. It sprinkled a little and then stopped, so I was able to go out and watch lightning flash the clouds for a little while. Then I went to bed.

And lay awake for a looonnnnngggggg time. It rained, sprinkled, poured, stopped; lightninged, thundered, flashed and grumbled. From the weather forecast I knew that severe weather wasn't likely, so I had no excuse not to curl up and enjoy the concert. But I didn't. One thing that might have caused trouble, which I didn't find out until next morning, was that someone had set the thermostat on 71--instead of the ice-cold 73 that he usually sets it on.  I was freezing cold all night, except when my tossing and turning brought on a hot flash and I threw the covers off.

When I woke up next morning, he had the heat on.

 
* A little history of the Texan Santa Fe Expedition

The expedition set out from Kenney's Fort near Austin on June 19, 1841. The expedition included 21 ox-drawn wagons carrying merchandise estimated to be worth about $200,000. Among the men were merchants that were promised transportation and protection of their goods during the expedition, as well as commissioners William G. Cooke, Richard F. Brenham, José Antonio Navarro, and George Van Ness. Although officially a trading expedition, the Texas merchants and businessmen were accompanied by a military escort of some 320 men. The military escort was led by Hugh McCleod and included a company of artillery.

The journey to New Mexico during the summer was blighted by poor preparation and organization, sporadic Indian attacks, and a lack of supplies and fresh water. After losing their Mexican guide, the group struggled to find its way, with no one knowing how far away Santa Fe actually was. McCleod was eventually forced to split his force and sent out an advance guard to find a route.

The expedition finally arrived in New Mexico in mid-September 1841. Several of their scouts were captured, including Capt. William G. Lewis. Having expected to be welcomed on their arrival, the expedition was surprised to be met by a detachment from the Mexican Army of about 1500 men sent out by the governor of New Mexico, Manuel Armijo. One of Armijo's relatives who spoke English, probably Manuel Chaves or Mariano Chaves, parleyed with the Texans, with Captain Lewis supporting his statements. Both said that Armijo would give the Texans safe conduct and an escort to the border, and Lewis swore to it "on his Masonic faith".[4] After the Texans' arduous journey, they were in no state to fight a force that outnumbered them so heavily, so they surrendered. The New Mexicans gave them some supplies.

However, the following morning, Armijo arrived with his army, had the Texans bound and treated harshly, and demanded the Texans be killed, putting the matter up to a vote of his officers. That night, the prisoners listened to the council debating the idea. By one vote, the council decided to spare the Texans. The latter were forced to march the 2,000 miles from Santa Fe to Mexico City. Over the winter of 1841–42, they were held as prisoners at the Perote Prison in the state of Veracruz, until United States diplomatic efforts secured their release.[5]

After the surviving Texans were released on June 13, 1842, one of the prisoners, Robert D. Phillips, wrote to his father that: "Many of the men are waiting only for the party of a man named Cook to arrive so they may continue on to Vera Cruz and then to New Orleans.[6] The men found their way to New Orleans on board various ships, among them the Henry Clay, which, according to the ship's manifest, arrived in New Orleans on September 5, 1842, carrying 47 "Volunteers of the Texan Army Santa Fe Prisoners."