Mt Ida; crystals, diamonds...

I had every intention of spending some good time down with some new spots as well as my old favs'. Mt Ida was on the map- A small zinc-mining town, Rush was to be a new spot and I will always consider Diamonds for such a trip. The most exciting part was that I had no time limits- a "be back by Christmas" sort of thing. I came prepared for a week-long excursion- a tent, pocket-stove and bag, four gallons of water, some oatmeal, whatever canned food I could scrounge up, some dry socks and most importantly- a can opener!
I was set for a week and temps were forecasted above mid-twenties with rain for the time. How exciting!

Though stones at Crystal Vista require a bit more work than at the pay sites, They are often recovered in much better conditions than crystals at the privately-owned pay sites in the area. A full, perfect termination is common and clusters are large, clear and lustrous!

Diamond sorting at a Local rock shop. The small store and RV park is located just south of Crater of Diamonds SP on hwy301 in Kimberley, AR. A very friendly man, accompanied by Gizmo the dog, was happy to show me some local collections of Rough Diamonds from the mine. Yellow, brown and clear stones ranging in size from only a few points to several Carats were the highlight of the little rock shop, though he did have some very cool Quartz clusters and some tempting core samples of the famous gem-bearing kimberlite across the street. I didn't buy anything but a hunk of rough jade; Most the diamonds were expensive and a light rain altered the appearance of all of his outside-stuff so that I could not find true colours or textures on the stones. Ive seen rough diamonds priced much cheaper than those in the little shack; I dont know if his stones were priced unreasonably or if they are simply so collectible because of their unusual origins. They were cool, though! 'Not real sure if the road is still called OWLEY RD at this point, about a mile after the pavement ends. Surely it is named some ridiculous combination of the initials of the forest service and an unmemorable multi-digit number, as the majority of roads and trails are back here, 'behind' the little town of Mt Ida, Arkansas. I pulled over MY parking spot, next to the small stack of ashes and blackened remains of the fire that held me only a week ago.

... Started at the familiar trail pretty quick with some unfamiliar weight and I was going to get serious with the fortunate wall that has claimed so many a' pocket knife on the far side of the mine. A large flat-headed screw driver and a heavy hammer promise that gorgeous cluster of crystals that I discovered on my last visit.

A pair of "Leggers," as they're known down here, daddy-longlegs or Harvestmen to most of the rest of the nation. Anyways, the spider-lookin' critters were locked, seemingly frozen together at their faces by a single pair of long red pedipalps. The larger, dull-coloured one stood just slightly higher than the other on the warm sandstone block. Were they mating?
I took few photos on the hike to the mine, another steep mile from the parking area. The walk seems shorter every time I take it and the number of recognizable landmarks is growing. I reached the mine
And THOUGH Ive never found anyone at the area, my crystals had definitely been discovered, and taken, by another. Someone who had visited on a rainy weekday, prepared with some very heavy equipment and no remorse for the disgusting destruction of many feet of the crystal-bearing sandstone that was the wall. I would assume that it was the doing of one or a few of the indigens, but Ive never heard a local person reference Crystal Vista with anything but negative remarks.
I did manage to salvage a pair of hand-sized clusters from the spot. One has only a handful of very large, very clear points- the other is a crowded plate of smaller ones- over eight inches long! The latter assemblage is highlighted by a large, gemmy haystack of lustrous faces and flawless terminations which rest over a fourth of the piece. The jagged, angular pile is an extraordinary ornament that, to anyone's eyes, cannot subtract from the the crystals on which it lies.

The stunning rock grew surprisingly brilliant when I accidentally exposed it to the dimming sunlight that was able to make it through the pines and hardwoods in the shadowy, glade-like setting above the wall. A moment of confusion; I guess I'd been so totally preoccupied with the quartz and sandstone that I did not notice the Ouachita's transforming above and around me. The mountains and all of their colorful pines and rocks and balding trees were now my warm, magnificent environment. It all seemed so ordinary when I arrived only a couple of hours ago.
The rock seemed to glow- it burst into orange. All those gems that had decorated one flat side of my rock were cloudy and smudged with the same pleasant orange-color that defines the Crystal Mountain Range. The clusters were not all drab, as my paragon seemed to be; many crystals had gleaming faces and it was only after a moment of feckless disappointment that I realized my treasures were simply smeared with mud.
There was much more to be done for the wall; more debris and even a small, hopeful spot of virgin clay remained to be examined and worked. It was nearly dusk though, or at least it was heading that way. I wanted to descend in time to gather some wood- 'saw an old, dead pine across the gravel road from the parking area and my camp-to-be.

I gathered some things and an armful of my favorite finds and turned from the wall and the bright horizon behind it. The marbled, peach colored sky lost it's brilliance soon after I stepped off the other side of the mine area.

There is a trail, or a road that cuts off of the main trail to and from the mine- goes to the south up to one of the taller "false summits" of Gardner. Its been almost every visit to the mountain that Ive noticed the trail. The curious thing was probably the first landmark I became familiar with some two years ago. Ive never been up the trail, which climbs for a few hundred feet though an oak-rich section of the mountain before mysteriously disappearing behind the hill or maybe into nothing at all? Perhaps this is the trail that leads to the scenic view Ive read about. Its smothered in inches of crispy, brown leaves now, but there are no serious obstacles to stop anyone from using it. I took a more than brief moment to rest. Actually I just needed a moment to decide if the temptation was strong enough to overcome the bout of tire and laziness I seemed to be suffering from. And that it was; 'set my valuables gently on the bed of leaf-litter and committed with a single large step towards the highest point of the trail. I got up and the disappeared trail was in fact hiding on the far-side of the small peak. I was not committed to anything but the top of the trail and having reached my destination and satisfied that dire curiosity which prompted the side trip, I turned to find my camp. A "Clink, clink, clack.."

A soft, but definite sound rang from the basin to my left. I could not help but to identify the noise as that of a rock hammer. I heard it again and reinforced my assumption, though nothing stuck out from the woods when I skimmed over the vista. The main trail would travel in that direction.

I retrieved my rocks and pack and such and headed down the old mine's road. With the little bit of effort I put into locating the source of the clinking, I found nothing else.

Firewood came easy and the flames thrived. A big white pickup rolled past, announced by the pops and cracks of any gravel road.

The parking lot is a big open square- The edges are a dense forest and Crystal Vista is accessed by a trail that leads from the back of the lot, behind my truck now. It takes only moments for the black night to grow to that rural dark. The fire was bright and flashes and flickers of warm colors showed on the trunks of two close trees and reflected off of the surface of the light road on the other side of the flames from me.

Dusk was gone and the peaceful mountains were left to me. I constantly noticed the ebony sky and the unfamiliar dark wasted my confidence. Suddenly the horizon- the same one that became darkened first only three hours ago- began to glow. It was as powerful as a good city, but the light was white and not pink. I suspected the moon, but minutes passed and the glow seemed fixed. Had I not noticed it before? I spent a few minutes setting up the tent and moved on to heat up some unlabeled tin can that appeared to hold a soup. Smelled like chicken.

The small stove seemed to scream from the back of the truck- I know that it is not loud, but there is no other noise here to balance it 'cept for the purring fire which I have allowed to dim. The Moon popped over the ridge above me and lit up the parking lot like a disco ball. The white light shot through whatever branches it could and sprinkled the ground with all sorts of isolated blobs- The tops of the trees on the road-side of the lot were stuck and the light was no weaker than a good sunrise.The moon tonight is full, and is in the "perigee" extreme of it's orbit. It is genuinely larger and brighter than any other Full moon this year- just 221,560 miles away- a distance last achieved in '93, and will appear 14%larger and about 30% brighter than all others this year-

I had my chicken something; couldn't help but wonder what hungry bears or pigs were going to take advantage of my leftovers with tonight's bright moon. A bear was recently discovered on the far side of town. The moon got higher and I grew sleepy- 'found the tent and let the short puddle of embers take care of themselves.

It was several hours before even the moon was going to hit the horizon again and my chilly tent was laid down by a sudden, violent gust of wind. I woke up with the freak and only a light breeze
persisted- even this, though, was unusual considering the stillness that put me to sleep. Morning approached and the winds only grew stronger. No bears came and I watched for any signs of daylight. Winter solstice is just around the corner and the nights remain irritatingly long.

The dark again grew frustrating and I entertained myself with another fire. the ashes from last night were still hot enough to burn me.
Impatience got the best of me and I packed for the mountain. The fire died out and a bit of heavy sand and clay was enough to kill the risk of the wind carrying any burning material. I ascended with the earliest evidence of light; several times I doubted that the dimmest light was even that of the sun. Passed the old trail that I explored yesterday; Felt a sort of satisfaction when I saw it and knew what was on the other side of the small hill.

The ground in the sandy areas on the trail and mine- once you near the top of the hill- glitters with tiny points and shards left by the commercial era of the mine. Until the area got some significant light, I spent my time gathering jars and baggies of the smallest points. Perfection is easier to find in the miniatures; the few minutes I spent here produced fine examples of all sorts of clusters and 'singles'; wands, tabbies, haystacks all are clear and magnificent. I collected handfuls of them- what I choose not to keep will surely make an appreciated gift for folks not lucky enough to experience the mountain for themselves. Serious collectors dont seem to find the tiny ones worth while, but hobbyists like myself and jewelry makers back in the city especially value them.

I fiddled around with the old tailings piles that have been set around the edges of the mine and continued on to the orange-pink wall that I dug on yesterday. Sunrise ensued and a creamy, yellow band ran the length of the eastern horizon until the sky turned all-grey. A miserably cloudy morning seemed like it was here for a while.

The ground was cold, and the air-surprisingly warm. Perhaps its the wind that brought the warmth- it wasnt like this before a breeze picked up. The rocks felt cold- the mud wasnt pleasant, either. Thank 'clink-ing" noise that I noticed yesterday was back- it flew over me with a small, round silhouette. It looked similar to a nuthatch- shared that awkward, jerky flight.
Fortunately, whatever unrepentant group of rockhounds robbed my spot was not the most observant... I cleared the thin ledge of the last exploded debris from the heist and probed deeper into the buried mass of greasy red clay- another pocket!

The filled hole was small- slimy clay dug out with only a few scoops of my hand. I took the loose crystals that were in each handful of material until I'd emptied the sharp cavity. Unlike the two larger crystal-caves that sat on top of it a week ago, this one had no floor. Its walls widened and then tapered so that it sat vertical and oblong. The patches of smaller points on every side of it seemed not worth tearing it apart. Not for the effort, though, but for the sake of the growing crevasse itself. I filled the thing with the finest dark clay that I removed from it, minus the treasures- maybe this one will keep growing? I covered up some other damaged areas below the fall and said my goodbyes- the one covey-hole has given my crystals for two years. Ive spent days on it and shed many red pints for it's wealth. How lucky am I to have discovered such a thing!?

Another few hours blew by with the intense wind. It was cool, almost cold now and strong enough to sway the small pry-bar on my waist- make my eyes water.

My pack to grew to a satisfying weight and I had to give the grown, 4-acre clearing a last look before I bid the mountain goodbye. Ive taken a lot from it- almost twenty pounds just this trip.

The pines grow like cedars here- I'm sure that the twenty-footers around are all less than a decade old. Camp packed up in minutes. Im sure that it is where I will stay tonight, but I dont feel too comfortable leaving the things that I rely on. I left the Crystal Vista area. Windswept, a little cold and totally satisfied with what I'd recovered from the raid. Maybe I would go find a meal in town- I would love to visit a working mine to dig.

I caught up to the pavement and waved to the small mule-gator vehicle that can always be found on this stretch of the road with it's two red-capped passengers. The driver waved back; he took a good look at me, too. He removed the scarf from his eyes and gave a long glance- Im sure he recognises the truck by now.

Before I knew it I was passing the Arrowhead mine sign. This mine, which is said to produce some of the most lustrous specimens of the area, is closed every time Ive noticed it. Not this time. I had to give it a shot- the mine has been the basis for too much curiosity and many a daydream!

A dogleg to the left and I was rolling down a long, rough driveway. I pulled up on the road above the construction area and called "Matt" from a number posted next to an old oak. A woman answered and instructed me to pull into the mine area and find matt's red pickup.

'Down one last stretch of rough road; a skinny man approached the truck. Brian is the manager for the mine. Gave me some simple instructions and took my signature and a twenty. Brian seemed knowledgeable, but not friendly- maybe it was just a false first impression. A firm hand pointed me to a GIANT pile of tailing material- leftovers from the heaviest mining operations. He warned me to stay away from 'the pit' and told me to dig; "Not enough people listen to me and dig- theres far too much surface collecting goin' on and I' seen some good stuff collected when people start t' dig!" I pledged to break the surface and Brian returned to his work in the giant hole to the side of the pile.

Another two miners inside the hole- on the opposite side from a large track hoe. "HIGHWALL" read a sign staked at the edge of the pit- orange flagging warned of the sudden drop on the edge of THE PIT.

An old, grey car and a big white pickup were in the lot, but I saw nobody on the small red hill that I was supposed to dig in.. I knew what to do and carried a large tin, a shovel and a screwdriver to a boulder on the truck-face of the mound, about two-thirds up. An hour or two went by- I collected some great stuff from a deepening hole next to the boulder. My hands will be red for a while, my tools are also sealed with the clay. I peeled the mound apart- a sticky blob of clay at a time. Some of the clay was yellowish and another handful could be grey- the colours were a surprised.

"OOh's" and "Aww's" and a "Holy Crap!" from the other side of the hill and a fast plastic bucket launched from the broken view of the opposite face of the hill. It careened towards the parked cars-propelled by the wind and perhaps fleeing the dumpy woman who stumbled down the hill in hot pursuit.

I took another shovel-full of heavy material from the hole. An exciting hand-sized crystal smeared from the clay. It was beautiful; I examined the long thing for several moments before wrapping it in a handkerchief and adding it to the tin- the metal barrel was almost half full! Hours passed and I took a break- 'Sat on the boulder beside me and needed to check up on the giant- It is not a very clear point- a thick, almost opaque layer of rust coats most of the surface. The quality, though, was not what made this one so valuable. I set it on top of the others in the bucket- most of my stuff was too crusty and muddy to appear worthwhile, but there were a few eye-catching faces where I had rubbed a surface clean of any clouding mud.

The surface of the mound did not glitter, but not because the crystals were not there; they simply did not show like I would expect them to at the National forest site.

Here, surface collecting would be hard; the muddy stones could not easily be told from any other piece of the monotone mountain. It took only seconds, though, to adjust to these strange-looking points and collecting from the exposed gravels became as easy as the rain-washed crystals of Crystal Vista. I filled the bucket to three quarters before Brian approached me at the tin. "We're gonna' be doin some blastin here in while. 'Going to have to ask ya' to move your vehicles to the top a'the hill there." he pointed to the road that led from the mine and glanced over to a digging man on the side of the hill. Brian went on to explain the run-and-hide procedure that was to be adopted when "Fire in the hole" sounded.

Myself and the other visitors went about our business through the afternoon- the clouds disappeared and crystals were abound!

I spoke to a visiting man from Murfreesboro, a couple from New Jersey and a Conway trio who celebrated a thirtieth birthday. Everyone enjoyed themselves, though the New Jersey folks appeared disappointed and frustrated with their finds, or lack of.

One of the drunken Arkansans stumbled onto my stash and sounded a loud "wow!" Her accomplices soon showed and echoed the woman's expression. One woman offered a short, wandering story to whomever listened "... it's just like fishin" she said- Another warned LOOK, but dont touch.

Other comments surfaced between them and some for the whole group of us. Most refered to me as the quiet one and an exaggerated description of my largest find was made by the woman's hands spread far apart. She would be carrying a bucket of rocks, crushed cans and empty bottles from the mine.

Found an online journal of a 2003 visit to Crystal Vista- In the photos, the area looks bare compared to what it is now! I dont know if it has anything to do with the burnt bark on the base of some of the pies on the mountain?? A quote, too, advertised by one of the local quartz mines...
http://home.att.net/~mshofstall/springbreak2003.html

"Crystals grew inside rock like arithmetic flowers. They lengthened and spread, added plane to plane in an awed and perfect obedience to an absolute geometry that even stones -- maybe only the stones -- understood." Annie Dillard

The remaining portion of my excursion was well-spent with a day-trip to the kimberlite near Murfreesboro on a diamond hunt, a quick stop at Larry's crystal shop for instruction and a nerve-racking race with a nasty line of Missouri's best storms !
Kimberley's rainy Kimberlite, a huge vertical pipe of volcanic upchuck, was formed with it's diamonds about 100M years ago. The greenish-grey material that is currently mined within the state park is estimated to be about one-third the age of the surrounding Ouchitas. Diamonds were first discovered by the man who farmed the land in 1906 and were made available to tourists after a few failed commercial attempts before the 1950's. On a wintry day like my visit, the mine is occupied by a portion of the most enthusiastic local crowd. Part-time miners operate their arsenals of equipment in an almost business-like manner. Most people seem to keep to themselves; they will sell their finds through some of the local shops by consignment.

I fooled around in the mine only long enough to stuff my jacket with colourful jaspers- lost my hope for finding a gem on my last visit to the park. I washed the mud from below my waiste and shot back to mount ida in time to catch a break from the weather there.

The grim forecast for the area was not as bad as the one given for Kansas City. Days of rain for the Ouchitas and an ice storm for back home. The storm would hit sometime tonight.

Larry brought out a few flats of his favorite crystals to show me. HE scrambled abound the little shop like an overly-excited child to bring me all sorts of wonderful things. I announced early that I was visiting to ask about a few local spots, but I dont think that he was trying to sell me anything, either.

He placed a few crystallized Orpiment specimens delicately on the counter between us and explained the process which I should take to collect rare Wavellite on county property as legally as possible. "The Mayor.." he said. Thats who I should visit to get permission. Larry's gorgeous was beautiful; he offered to let me copy down the supplier's information and told me to contact here to go collect it in the tiny private mine in Nowhere, Nevada. He wrapped the crystals up quickly and ran to the back to retrieve another flat(s) that he Had to show me.

Both were of local quartz points, but much more. One was stacked high with large, loose points. The crystals in this shallow box were a colour that I can describe to you only as 'piss-yellow.' The colour was strong, and somehow beautiful. Larry went on to explain that the flat was one of only two like it offered to dealers in the region- he was so proud to have it! Another flat was filled with smaller, brilliant points similar to the ones I'd come to collect. "jewelry points"

All of the points in this container were also special; A vivid green blob- defined like a tall storm cloud and coloured like a dull lime- came from the base of each. "green phantom's.. goin' out to collect some with the man next week!"

Id never hear of such a thing, but I'd not heard of the surprisingly appealing piss-quartz either. A bought a trio of the green guys- larry gave me a good price after all that braggin' he did about how much he'd sold them for in the past. A long, clear rod, "wand," that is no longer than an inch, but it's got a beautiful phantom running right through the center and a shorter, wider one with a similar growth. I took a small cluster, too, of many tiny green wands. Larry through a pink tourmaline crystal that I found on the floor of the shop and went on to draw a map to his favorite fee-collecting spot. One of the Coleman brother's mines up just a little way's north.

I thanked larry and got to the toughest part of my trip. I wanted to stay. My tent was soggy from last night's scattered storms, but I could do with the rain. Ice, though, scares me.

. I decided to split- leave the little mining town and make it home before I should have to deal with any nasty conditions. Larry waved me off.

It clouded up again- soon after I passed Dardanelle and it's gigantic nuclear tower. By Bentonville it wanted to spit and in Jane, near the border, I found myself breathing the thick, beautiful smell of a severe T-storm. Gusts here would test me and I got out of the strongest bouts of wind before they got too bad.

THE AIR WAS COLD- almost bitter on the back-side of Jane's storm. It simply changed from rain to slow and I feared that I might be driving into the catastrophe that I intended to avoid. the snow turned into ice and windsheild-wipers couldnt win. It all stopped though, only an hour after it began it stopped.

A woman at whatever gas station I stopped at warned of a huge ice storm that would be in by morning. It was dark- 'had been since Jane, but it was still only 6 or somethin'.

The weather was back before too long- It wasnt playin' this time. Sleet came every few minutes harder that Ive ever seen it in my life. It served only to blast the frozen rain from my windshield and turn the road slick. Everything was white- almost instantly! The roads went empty and the semi's lined up at the top of each ramp. Im sure they were laughing at me.

The ice only got worse- I had to pull over to convince myself that that the roads were in better shape than they appeared- I put on the breaks and and got a shot of adrenaline.

Archie was like a lightshow. Greens and blues and even some whites- Every second or so meant another blown transformer. I began to regret heading home and with only shattered confidence now, I considered pulling over for the night.

The snow-plows were like a miracle! I followed them for the first glance of exposed pavement in many miles. A few slips and slides later, and past a few dozen car wrecks and I was home. A neon thermometer across the highway read 8 degrees and it the news made the storm even more terrifying than I'd found it to be!