Ozark Overland Adventures

The group came together to discuss potential outcomes. To be honest, turning around, going home with the intention of coming back another day was heavily on the table, however the more we laid out the pathways, the more excitement seemed to begin brewing. An opportunity to drive straight into the unknown. But that’s the kind of challenge that makes overlanding what it is. You don’t always know what’s coming next, but you saddle up and send it anyway.

We decided to run the trail backwards, starting down in Hector, Arkansas, and making our way north. The plan? Knock out some epic miles, hit a few water crossings, and find that perfect campsite under the stars. Simple enough on paper. In reality… the Ozarks had other plans.

Right out of the gate, our Ozark Overland Adventures was tested us. The first few water crossings looked harmless enough—narrow, calm, nothing we hadn’t handled before back home in Georgia. But the second you nose down into that water, you realize just how deceiving it is. These crossings were deep. Deeper than anything we’d seen in the Southeast. Each one left us a little more wide-eyed, tires churning, water pushing hard against the Jeeps.

And then came the washouts.

Arkansas trails don’t mess around when it comes to erosion. After those first crossings we rolled up on a giant washout right in the middle of the trail. Slick mud, steep walls, sharp rocks—it had all the ingredients for a good struggle. One by one, our rigs tried to claw their way through, slipping, spinning, and occasionally getting hung up. It wasn’t pretty, but that’s half the fun.

As daylight started to fade, we rolled up to the first big one: the North Fork water crossing. And man, it was a sight. The river was raging from the storms, water levels high, current ripping. Standing there watching it, we knew instantly—nope. That crossing wasn’t happening. Not tonight, and maybe not for a while.

But sometimes the trail gives you exactly what you need, even if it’s not what you planned. Right there at the edge of the crossing was one of the most epic campsites we could have asked for. Wide open space, tucked into the trees, with the sound of the river roaring beside us. It felt like the kind of spot you couldn’t have found even if you tried.

We pitched camp, fired up the stoves, and ended the night around the fire swapping stories and laughing about the sketchy moments of the day. The sound of rushing water made the perfect backdrop as we finally crawled into our tents.

Day one on the Ozark Overland Adventures Trail didn’t go as planned—but honestly, that’s the beauty of it. Out here, the best moments aren’t always the ones you map out. They’re the ones that surprise you, scare you a little, and leave you with a story worth telling.

The water was still raging from the storms, levels way higher than normal, current ripping like it had a personal vendetta against Jeeps. We stood there for a while just watching it, weighing our options. Eventually we decided: we didn’t drive all the way out here just to camp on one side of a river. So one by one, we sent it.

Crossing that beast was no joke. Water came up high, the current pushed hard, and it took everything the rigs had to crawl to the far bank. When we finally rolled onto dry ground, hearts racing, we thought maybe the hardest part of the day was behind us. But the Ozarks had a different plan.

Once on the trail again, we quickly realized just how much damage those storms left behind. Trees were down everywhere, mud and debris scattered across the trail, and river washouts had reshaped sections into obstacles we never expected. It felt like we were driving through the aftermath of chaos itself. Every mile forward meant picking lines carefully, spotting each other through messes, and pushing deeper into the unknown.

The mission that day wasn’t just trail running—it was also meeting up with a couple more Jeepers who were joining our convoy. We’d dropped them a GPS pin, and eventually, after a few hours of battling the aftermath, we finally saw Stuart and Colleen waiting for us. Just like that, our little crew grew to eight Jeeps strong. More rigs meant more recovery power, but also a longer train of overlanders winding its way through the Ozarks.

With daylight burning, we hit the trail again and aimed for camp. The west side of the Ozark Overland Adventures Trail gave us exactly what we needed—we camped at a spot right on the river, where all eight rigs could set down for the night.

We set up tents, everyone got dinner going, and just let the night settle in. After the chaos of river crossings and storm debris earlier in the day, this camp felt calm, easy, almost like the trail was giving us a break. 

After coffee and packing up camp, we hit the trail. It started off smooth—just some light off-roading through winding Ozark roads. But halfway in, things started to get spicy. Big rocks, deep crevices, and off-camber sections that made you second-guess your line real quick.

Each obstacle got a little harder than the last, until the final section had my Jeep leaning sideways in a way that made everyone’s heart skip a beat. Off-camber enough that I had visions of a slow roll playing out in front of me. Luckily, rubber stayed down, and we clawed our way through. Sketchy, but awesome—that’s what we came for.

The trail dumped us out perfectly at our lunch stop: the famous Oark Café.

If you’ve run the Ozark Overland Adventures Trail, you know about this spot. It’s a tiny, historic little café that’s become a landmark for off-roaders and overlanders. The outside walls are covered in stickers from rigs and adventurers who’ve come before, and of course I had to throw the Road Rash Off Road sticker up there to leave my mark.

Lunch was everything we needed after a tough morning—big, juicy burgers loaded with mushrooms and onions, the kind of meal that tastes even better because you earned it. Out front, there’s a single old-school gas pump, and trust me, it’s one of the only places you’re gonna want to fuel up in that part of the Ozarks. We topped off the tanks and pointed the rigs toward our next stop.

The next trail led us through a few river crossings (finally—been missing those today) and eventually delivered us to Bub’s Cabin. This place is incredible. Bub owns the property and keeps it open for folks like us to explore, almost like a living museum of what life looked like in the early 1900s.

We walked through the cabin, barns, and storm shelter, taking in all the old photos and artifacts that told the story of families who once lived and worked there. It’s one thing to drive trails and camp in the woods, but to see how people actually lived out here generations ago—it hits different. Definitely a highlight of the day.

From Bub’s Cabin we rolled into another must-see spot: Car Wash Falls. True to its name, it’s a natural waterfall that pours straight over the road, creating a free car wash as you drive underneath. Crawling through with water splashing across the hood of the Jeep was just plain fun.

Not far past the falls was the campsite I’d been eyeing on the map. Big open spot, right on the river—and when we rolled in, it was wide open. Perfect. We claimed it quick, set up camp, and I gave a little walkaround tour of my Jeep and Anthony’s rig so people could see what our setups look like when we’re packed out for trips like this.

That evening, we joined up with the other Jeepers for a little birthday celebration for Sarah. Steak over the fire, plenty of laughs, and what has to be the smallest deck of UNO cards I’ve ever seen. It was simple, fun, and exactly what you want out of a night on the trail.

I ended the night climbing into my tent, throwing on a movie, and letting the sound of the river lull me to sleep. Explosions in the distance or not, this was the kind of day that makes you grateful for every mile of the adventure.

Day 3 was one for the books. And the Ozarks still weren’t done with us yet.

Our first stop of the morning set the tone in the best way possible. We pulled up to Haw Creek Falls, and wow—what a sight. The water was this piercing bluish-green, so clear and cold it practically begged you to jump in. If it hadn’t been freezing, I would’ve grabbed my swimsuit and sent it. Even standing on the bank, it felt like one of those spots you’d never forget.

After soaking in the falls, we hit dirt again. The trail gave us a few fun sections of moderate rock crawling—nothing crazy, just enough to get the rigs flexing and keep the adrenaline flowing. It was the kind of trail that makes you grin the whole way through.

A little further down, we stumbled onto one of the most epic campsites I’ve ever seen. Perched on top of a mountain peak, it gave us full 360-degree views of rolling Ozark hills. It was the kind of place you instantly save on OnX, knowing you’ll come back one day just to watch the sunrise from that ridge. For now, it made the perfect lunch spot.

Coming down off the mountain, we splashed through a series of light river crossings—refreshing, scenic, and exactly the kind of reminder you want of why you’re out here. But the forest wasn’t about to let us forget the storm damage. Downed trees blocked the path, so it was chainsaw time again. There’s nothing like a convoy of Jeeps and a couple saws to turn a blocked trail into a passable one.

An island sat in the middle of the crossing, piled high with downed trees and debris. The only way through was to clear it. So I grabbed the chainsaw and went first, hopping over to the island to cut a path wide enough for the rest of the crew. Everything went smoothly—at least at first.

Then Anthony pulled in behind me. What none of us realized was that he’d left his tailgate open after handing me his chainsaw. As soon as he hit the current, the river rushed straight into his Jeep, sweeping his gear—including his refrigerator—right out the back and down the river. Total chaos.

That plan lasted all of five seconds.

Halfway across, the tree snapped. I went down hard, seven feet into the river, slamming my ankle onto the rocks below. The pain was instant, sharp, and brutal. By the time I pulled myself up, my ankle had already ballooned to the size of a baseball. It didn’t take long to realize—I was in trouble.

We eventually got Anthony’s Jeep sorted and cleared the crossing, but I was completely useless at that point. The crew rallied around me, and we limped our way into camp. Once tents were up, I hobbled down to the river and dunked my ankle into the icy water, trying to get the swelling down. My trauma kit came in clutch for wrapping it, and one of the guys even made me a walking staff so I could at least shuffle around camp.

It was late, the Ozarks were dark, and the thought of trying to navigate out alone—crossing rivers and unknown trails—just didn’t feel safe. So I made the call to stay put for the night and reassess in the morning. The reality was, I might need to cut the trip short and head home.

We gathered around the fire like we always do, but for me, it was a different vibe. I propped my foot up, tried to keep my head in the game, and ended the night watching a movie from my tent with my leg elevated above my heart.

Day 4 had already been physically brutal, but that message shifted everything. The adventure was no longer just about the trails—it was about whether or not I’d even be able to stay out there.

Not long after, we rolled up on our first stop—Falling Water Falls. This one looked like something out of a travel magazine. The water was this surreal, piercing blue that begged you to dive in and cool off. If my ankle wasn’t shot, I probably would’ve been the first one swimming. Instead, I stood back, taking it all in and locking the memory into my mind.

From there, we made our way to another Ozark classic—Six Finger Falls. Just as stunning, though with my ankle the way it was, I couldn’t make the hike down to the base. I hated having to watch from a distance, but that’s the reality of adventuring—sometimes your body makes the call for you.

Back on the trail, we pushed through a few more crossings before hitting the one that stopped me cold. By far the deepest water crossing I’ve ever driven through. The current was strong, the waterline climbed higher and higher, and then it started pouring inside the Jeep. It was up to my knees while sitting in the driver’s seat.

If it hadn’t been for the snorkel I had installed from RealTruck, I don’t think I would’ve even considered attempting it. Knowing the intake was safe gave me just enough confidence to send it across. Still, I’ll be honest—when that water started sloshing in, I panicked for a second.

Not long after conquering that crossing, we caught the scent of something we didn’t want to smell—diff fluid. We pulled over, crawled under the rigs, and sure enough, my rear diff cover bolts had loosened up. Fluid was seeping out. Not ideal. Luckily, we had the tools to snug everything back down, but it was a reminder: the Ozarks take their toll on both man and machine. I made a mental note to tear it apart as soon as I got home.

The NARS (From Afar)

Our final major stop of the day was the NARS, a narrow ridgeline with the Buffalo River on one side and the lower valley on the other. Normally, this hike is a must-do, but with my ankle swollen and extremely painful, there was no way I could make it up. The rest of the group went ahead, took photos and videos, and came back to relay the view. Even from a distance, hearing their stories of the scenery made me feel like I’d been there.

By late afternoon, we finally rolled into our final destination: the Buffalo River. The river was wild—swollen, angry, and moving faster than anything we had seen all trip. The plan was to cross, but one look at the water and we knew it wasn’t going to be simple.

Our buddy Stuart decided to test it out. He threw on his bathing suit, grabbed a tow strap, and waded into the current to check depth and flow. Watching him fight against that water told us everything we needed to know. It was too deep, too fast, and flat-out dangerous. As a group, we made the call: the trail ended here.

It stung a little to turn around without crossing, but the truth was clear—the Buffalo River had the final word. The Ozarks had beaten us.

Home and Heart 

We filmed our last shots, said our goodbyes to the trail, and turned back. It wasn’t the ending we imagined, but in a way, it was fitting. The Ozarks tested us in every possible way—weather, trails, water, injuries, mechanicals, and even the emotional weight of news from home.

That night, I drove ten hours straight through the dark to get back home. My ankle was throbbing, my Jeep was battered, but my heart was full. The Ozarks had taken their shot—and I was already thinking about when I’d come back for a rematch.

A huge thank you to Matt with Ozark Overland Adventures for creating this route and posting it online for everyone to enjoy.

When I made it home, I learned the ICU stay this time was different. The doctors told us there was nothing more they could do, giving him a maximum of twelve days to live. My wife and I stayed by his side in the ICU for the next three days.

Those three days were precious. We reminisced about childhood stories, loved on him as the incredible father he had always been, prayed together, and played his favorite worship songs along with John Denver on the guitar. We held him close, cherishing every moment.

Three days later, my father Gene Morehead passed peacefully.

This trip, with all its challenges—the rivers, the trails, the injuries—was a reminder that life is unpredictable, fragile, and beautiful. Adventure teaches you to push forward, but family teaches you why it matters. The Ozarks may have tested me physically and mentally, but the lessons from home were even deeper.