The Sweet Smell of Sulfur: Chickasaw Nat'l Recreation Area 5/1/13

It all sounds so inviting on its face....waders and fishermen, shaded streams and swimming holes, wildlife calling you home for that much-needed escape. A relaxing ride aboard a mighty sailboat, or even a long walk through dense, endless forest. None of that appeals to us, needless to say, but in theory, such things could provide an afternoon of fun. And while one might associate cookouts, beer, and the roar of engines with weekends, summer, or any number of holidays, they should never be anywhere near a National Park. Indeed, there's a certain reverence whenever we see that arrowhead insignia; the assumption that one is not only on sacred ground, but that the standard for acceptance is so high, the NPS faithful are willing to ruffle a few feathers to keep out the rabble. And so we have the National Recreation Area - the admission that while one is technically inside a protected realm, it's okay to scream, wander with drunken abandon, and not really take anything seriously. No reflection and introspection required, just whooping and hollering in the face of dams, man-made lakes, and the sort of silliness usually found at the local level. And if this is the last one of these damn things we have to visit, so much the better. Maybe someone with authority will kick them back to the states at last and the leave the NPS to the worthy and the worthwhile.

Curiously, Chickasaw National Recreation Area, located an hour or so south of Oklahoma City, was once a mighty National Park, declared in 1906 in honor of some now unknown Senator who never even visited the damn place. It was also part of some deal with the Chickasaw and Choctaw nations, who wanted the land - and all of their mineral springs - protected from development and exploitation. Lucky us. And while the New Deal-era Civilian Conservation Corps built pavilions, roads, trails, and waterfalls in the decades following designation, the Park was eventually merged with the Arbuckle Recreation Area in 1976, creating what we see today. Which isn't much. But we had to come, and come we did. On a gray, cool day when the nearby casino would have been a far better bet. You see, Chickasaw just isn't worth it - not the drive, not the effort, and certainly not the review. Hell, I might not even finish. NRAs just piss us off to no end, and in all honesty, we wouldn't set foot within 100 miles of this place were it not for the passport stamp, magnet, and opportunity to poke fun at its limitations. I guess it's attractive in some twisted way, but mineral springs I've seen, and it sure seems beneath one of the government's most respected agencies to protect the smell of rotten eggs and the occasional picnic table.

After exiting the interstate and driving through the sad, broken down town of Sulphur, one enters the park with fear and loathing at the prospect of little reward. Pulling up to the Travertine Nature Center just after opening, we were greeted with a locked door and lights out. Of course. Fortunately, a ranger was just getting into his car at that time. Walking briskly to confront him about the outrage of denying us a stamp, I was met with a man either completely mute, or someone moonlighting as a mime. He shrugged and mugged and embarrased himself, but dammit all, he found someone to open the doors. Needless to say, the female ranger had been on the phone, and you know how them Sooner women love to gossip. Stamp secured, we watched the brief introductory film, which said little and educated even less. Still, we pretty much came for the shoddy taxidermy, and there's plenty of that in spades. The nature center also has a few turtles and snakes for the kiddies, but I wasn't leaving without a magnet. To no one's surprise, this all but took an act of Congress to accomplish, as the two layabout rangers in the back office had no idea how to work the cash register. What they were doing back there is beyond me, but it sure as hell wasn't anything resembling work. Such is life at a National Recreation Area.

Leaving with what we came for, we knew we had to drive around a bit to legitimately claim we had visited the site, even if nothing beckoned. The Platt Historic District had some charm, but the site's claim to fame, the waterfalls, weren't falling. Hell, they weren't even dripping. So yeah, all we had to look at were dry-as-a-bone creek beds and some wild growth. All we were left with, then, were the springs - Pavilion, Hillside, Black Sulphur, Antelope, and Buffalo - but any of their former glory was left to one's imagination. The area once hosted the wealthy and the damned, all seeking the healing waters of Oklahoma (!), but now it just stinks to high heaven, and any closer view requires stepping over animal dung and pounds of unsightly moss. I get that people ancient and otherwise thought this water cured disease, but surely common sense would tell you that if that same substance has a similar odor to your Grandpa Charlie's recliner, it's unlikely to accomplish anything restorative. So we walked, stared, rolled our eyes, and drove away. Maybe the lake would salvage the trip.

Before confronting the mighty Lake of the Arbuckles, did we mention the Bison Viewpoint with no actual bison? Not even the beasts of the wild had the energy to feign excitement. It's fitting, as the lake itself is, well, just a lake. And lakes we've seen. A lot of 'em. All over, in fact, without the added pretense. A few boats were about, but the day was so dark and depressing that all we could hope for was some dude on a Sea-Doo crashing into the pier. Hell, we didn't even catch sight of any of the area's "wonders", whether roadrunner, wild turkey, bobcat, or hawk. We saw a dozen or so armadillos, but they were all dead and decidedly roadside. Oh well. At least Chickasaw has a history, and even a story to tell, unlike that similar NRA atrocity in upper Texas, to this day the most worthless patch of earth the NPS has seen fit to protect. No one with sense or love would ever defend Chickasaw, but at least it isn't Lake Meredith. Yes, I'm damning this place with the faintest of faint praise, but it's all I can do to stay in the fight.

 

FINAL RATING

2/10