Ozark Trail: Middle Fork Section Hike
Let's go back in time
The first time Honey and I stepped foot on the Ozark Trail together was at the beginning of October 2019. A few weeks prior, I had taken a beginner backpacking class at the local REI and felt mostly prepared for the trip. My pack was appropriately heavy for one night in the backcountry, and I knew that after all of our practice hikes, my legs were up to the task. It also wasn’t my first time sleeping outside in a tent on the trail, but we were attempting something that would definitely push our limits: our first twenty-mile day.
I remember standing at the start of the Middle Fork section trailhead, rain dribbling from the clouds and splashing onto both of us while we stood looking at the map on the information board. 22 miles total, plenty of creek crossings, a gentle walk in the woods with rolling inclines. “We can do this,” I said with Honey by my side, painting nervously. My faith in this black shelter dog was unwavering. She stuck to me like glue, and in return, I looked into her eyes and promised to have her back no matter what.
I didn’t know it then, but that day was the start of a multi-year journey of exploration and self-discovery. We were not only at the precipice of our Ozark Trail section hiking adventure. It was the start of our relationship and the beginning of a bond that could never be broken.
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For context and background information, I had adopted Honey a few months before this trip. By then, she had settled nicely into my little family and immediately started showing promise as a solid hiking dog. At this point, her reactivity was showing, but I was mostly in denial about it. I remember having some rough moments while out on day hikes in the St. Louis area whenever we encountered other dogs. However, I brushed it off as typical fearful dog behavior, even though it was starting to really test my patience.
I was also planning on us doing an Appalachian Trail thru-hike set for 2020. As I have mentioned before, those plans got crushed because of the Covid pandemic. This section hike was our first backpacking overnight together, and I had high expectations because I wanted us to be well-prepared for the AT. In my highly ambitious brain, I figured we would be knocking out twenty-mile days left and right during the beginning of our thru-hike. If we had any chance of living up to that type of mileage so early on in a thru-hike, we needed to get a few of these overnights done as practice.
Oh, to be young, naive, and stubborn…Okay, maybe I still am.
To hike the entire Middle Fork section, I hired a shuttle service. It was an expensive move, but necessary since I didn’t have anyone who could pick me up the next day. The plan was for the shuttle person to drive my truck to the endpoint and leave it there. I had two sets of keys, so I left one set underneath the backseat floor mat and walked away from my truck, unlocked. This was certainly a little nerve-racking and bold. As I did it, I remember biting my tongue and just hoping that no one would steal my only source of transportation. While I had a handful of friends in St. Louis, my entire family was hundreds of miles away in Kentucky. I couldn’t afford to get screwed over.
Into the wilderness we go
Despite my worries, we pressed on and started our hike at a moderately quick pace. Honey was an absolute beast on this trip. Since she was only adopted a few months prior, we were still figuring each other out. However, she surprised me thoroughly as the rain storm accelerated into a mighty drizzle and she boldly led the way like a hiking pro. At each water crossing, she didn’t hesitate and trampled through the creeks with ease. Even after a few miles were under our belt for the day, Honey wasn’t showing any signs of fatigue or reluctance to continue.
Halfway through, I remember slamming down my pack and sitting on a damp fallen tree for lunch. The rain was relentlessly pouring down my face as I took bites of my soggy tuna tortilla wrap. Honey plopped down beside me and had this look on her face like “You sprung me out of the shelter for this?” Her coat with completely soaked and her drenched eyebrows were furled together. “Look, this isn’t really fun for me either,” I said as the log’s wet bark saturated my leggings and then eventually my underwear. “But this is the reality of backpacking. We are tough. We can do this.”
As we pushed onward down the trail, I kept repeating those words mentally back to myself. For years, I had read books about backpacking, camping, and thru-hiking. I ravenously consumed the words of various outdoor enthusiasts pursuing long-distance trails. Memoirs upon memoirs about Appalachian Trail adventures, record setting attempts, and stories of the backcountry. While driving, I listened to podcasts about thru-hiking culture and daydreamed about my future hikes. I wanted to be a backpacker so badly. And the only way to get there was to go through the sucky moments.
We could handle the rain. We could handle the miles. We could handle anything thrown our direction. I believed so much in us that there was no way we couldn’t possibly meet our goals. I had given up so much when I moved to Missouri; it felt like hiking and backpacking was a way for me to finally reclaim myself. Honey, having suffered abuse at the hands of her previous owners, was also out here with me to find herself again. We were both on a journey, physically and metaphorically, to get our lives back.
It was this confidence that helped us get through the day. We hiked all the way until almost dark and when we finally hit 20 miles, I immediately threw my pack down in exhaustion to hug Honey tight. We were both cold and soaked to the bone, but we had accomplished what we set out to do. My legs ached, my skin resembled a raisin, and Honey’s tail was hanging low, but we were full of that euphoric pride and giddiness that is so commonly felt after surviving a hard day on the trail.
After tying Honey to a tree, I set up our tent as fast as I could. We both burrowed deep inside the nylon fabric, grateful to be out of the rain. With me wrapped in a sleeping bag, Honey curled up against the synthetic material at my feet and started to snooze instantly. Once we had inhaled our dinners, we were fast asleep to the sound of the whippoorwills and the slow pitter-patter of droplets against our tent’s ceiling.
The next morning, Honey and I woke up before dawn to night hike the last two miles of the section. In typical ambitious Callie fashion, I had work that day as an outfitter at my local gear shop. Because I had to be there promptly at 10 am, and we had a two-hour drive back to St. Louis, that meant breaking camp at around 5 am. It didn’t take us long at all to hike the remaining miles. Since the world was dark, I remember following the reflective glow of the Ozark Trail markers on the trees as a guide.
We made it to the end just as the sun was coming up over the rural Missouri farmland. Cows were mooing in the distance as we crossed the road and walked down a gravel path to the small trailhead. Thankfully, my truck wasn’t stolen and it was parked exactly where the shuttle driver said it would be. I gingerly set my pack in the front seat while Honey hopped in her backseat dog hammock. I think we were ahead of schedule and even stopped for two Egg McMuffins on the way home. We must have looked so disheveled to the drive-thru worker, but I wore my wet hair and stinky clothes as a badge of honor. After all, we had just completed our first Ozark Trail section. Together, as a team.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this little flashback story!
See you out on the trail!