Hiking the Tallest Mountain in Missouri: Tom Sauk Mountain (Fear of Heights. . . Now?! At Almost Fifty?!)

We could not have asked for a better weekend here in St. Louis. We are all just delirious with joy. We finally cought a break. Temps this weekend were in the seventies and then low eighties. I don't think a photo can really capture what it was like. But I'll try. Here's the happy hikers. Mr. Thyme and I decided to head out and enjoy the almost-too-good-to-be-true seventy degree holiday weekend weather. Well, let me be honest, "I" begged: Please, please can we go for a hike? I had the backpacks, fanny packs and all reserved food stores made and ready to go--how could he deny me my day? As any loving husband would, he promptly helped load the car and we were headed out.

I ordered this wonderful little hiking companion book: 60 Hikes within 60 Miles--the St. Louis edition. Hard to believe the middle of the country could provide such an array of hiking options. I am constantly amazed by the topography of our state. Amazed even more when I find myself exploring some of it first hand.

Which is where I think I'll talk about my love of nature and the outdoors. Some of it anyway. (Large bugs, snakes, scorpions and things of that nature are in the minus column for me). But overall, I DO love being outside. I guess if I absolutely had to live outside, I probably could handle it. For a day. Maybe. Okay, maybe half a day. But I am getting off the point here. What I wanted to write about was how our day became this gigantic excercise in both endurance, will power and marriage testing.

First of all, I am no chicken. Some might even say I can be a little too bull headed in my determination. . . but then we came to the Lookout Tower. I'll talk about that in a second.

While the East Coast has the Appalachian Trail, here in the Midwest, we have the Ozark Trail. The Ozark Trail consists of about 300 miles of completed hiking trails traversing along the Ozark hills and mountains and through various parks, even through some personal property. Eventually, the goal is to have the Ozark Trail linked with the Ozark Highlands making for about 800 miles of hiking terrain. (Which would reach south and west and carry you through into Arkansas. . . to God's country).  

A bit of history will help you here. Five years ago, the Tom Sauk reservoir had a breech and in about twelve minutes, the entire contents of the hydroelectric plant emptied its contents and sent about 1.5 billion gallons of water rushing down its hillside directly into a well-known, much-loved local camping ground: Johnson Shut-ins State Park. In its wake was a path of destruction that looked as if someone had taken about twelve gigantic bulldozers and cleared away every tree and natural speciman in its path. As a result of the damage, the shut-in campground has had a major facelift. Ameren UE, the electric company charged with running the reservoir, was quick to rebuild a more state-of-the-art camping and hiking facility--spending nearly half a billion dollars in the process. All is well. But seeing for yourself the breadth of the damage as it appears today--five years later--is a not-so-subtle reminder that when damns/reservoirs break, bad things happen. The community surrounding Tom Sauk relies heavily on tourism and hiking, camping, etc. So for the past four years, as the remodeling and "fixing" was taking place, much of the tourist crowd found other areas for nature respites. So I opened the paper on Saturday to find the St. Louis Post Dispatch's cover story in the travel section focused on the new park, the wonderful landscape and incredbile hiking--all still alive and well--inviting local nature/granola types like us back into the folds of the park's beauty.

A view of the rolling Ozark trail park area. For many of you--seeing these hills may not bring to mind mountains, but to us, that's exactly what they are. Our Ozark backyard.

So, one of the scenic spots along the way to the entrance for the trail to Tom Sauk mountain was a "lookout tower". We had to be tourists and stopped the car. We were the only car around, it was so quiet--it left me wondering whether or not we had mistakingly parked in someone's back yard. Then, we saw this. The tower. (Doesn't look intimidating to you? Well, you weren't there.) I said to Mr. Thyme, "You mean 'lookout tower' is literally a tower?" To which he had some smart aleck comment back and then proceeded to head right to the steps leading up a couple hundred feet. Me lagging behind, looking around for "people" in the off chance the unthinkable were to happen--like a fall!? I have been to the top of Sears Tower in Chicago, the Arch in St. Louis, the black diamond mountains in Vail, Colorado. In other words, I have been to some high places. And I don't ever recall having a single moment like I had Saturday when I began climbing this monster. I froze at the third stair level up, my heart racing, my legs trembling. Mr. Thyme, diligent and consistent, had almost reached the top by now. I said, "I don't think I can do this"--mostly to myself, with my eyes staring straight at the ground below. I took a deep breath, then said something to myself I say nearly every day: Do something that scares you today. (It sometimes becomes "something that challenges you"--but "scaring" seemed appropriate here. Because I was: scared. For the first time in a very, very long time.) We were still the only people in sight. I had my hiking book in one hand (why I took that with me, I have no idea--was I looking for a way down?) My other hand clenched the railing so tight, I was nearly losing circulation in my hand. I held my breath--unwilling nor wanting to look up or down, I kept my gaze straight ahead. Then finally, met my husband with opened arms at the top. I said, "Okay, that was fun, now please take my friggin' picture so I at least will know I actually made it up here for god's sake!" Then like ten cars arrived. Oh. No. How in the heck am I going to make it down with car loads of the Brady Bunch below? Needless to say, a lot of "Excuse us. . . coming through. . . very, very scared person here. . . please do not touch me or bump into me! Step away from the blonde woman in the yellow top--she must have plenty of space!" Lucky for me there were some very sympathetic looking younger folks and adults, a few of which sided with the idea of staying put as they watched the "youngins" head on up. I finally made it to solid ground. Heart still beating out of my chest. A silly grin on my face as if I was like, "Oh THAT. . . that's nothing. . . seriously, if I can do it. . . anyone can!"

Me at the top. "Okay, did you get that shot? Do I look scared?--I don't want to look like a chicken up here!" My husband had a really good time--this photo will make for a lifetime of laughs.

In the distance from the lookout tower--this is what you see. The Tom Sauk reservoir. Rebuilt. To Mr. Thyme, it looked like a flying saucer had just landed. I have to agree. But seriously, it takes your breath away imagining the water gushing down the side and rushing through the woods tearing down everything in its path.

The whole point in hiking to the top of Tom Sauk is to see the "falls". There is said to be one of the most beautiful waterfalls in the state here. Well. For starters, the "falls" consisted of this trickle--about the width of my husband's hands, and a drop off of about two inches. Whoa. We were just happy to have made it the mile and half up the mountain without killing ourselves. Seriously.

We had a lovely Labor Day weekend. Aside from the panic attack and sort of disappointing waterfall show. But at least now we know we can climb the mountain. And, if I feel up to it, make another trip to the top of lookout tower, perhaps with a little less "white knuckles" next time, during the height of the fall colors--which I can hardly wait for: fall.