It was just turning dark when we reached the river, driving over Arkansas’ Ozark Mountains along a twisting stretch of blacktop road past sprawling homesteads behind which bulbous green hilltops stretched into the sunset. Silver strings of mist lay heavy on the hot asphalt in the twilight, the last tendrils of a summer thunderstorm that had followed us periodically as we drove north from Louisiana. The Ozarks aren’t impressively high, being an older mountain range more or less finished with its geological moving and shaking, but anything higher than south Louisiana’s flat swampland is a welcoming sight for change. By the time we descended into the river valley the sun had set behind an encroaching forest but was still piercing the fading clouds with a few final golden shafts of light. The camp ground was not much more than a meadow attached to a parking lot. A few pockets of colorful tents sat like flowers in the short grass. Beyond that, a thick copse of tall trees bordered the area acting to shroud the river which we could hear, but not see. We found a number of these unmanned campgrounds, choosing this one because it was near enough to where we would begin our paddle the next morning. Under a sky deepening into purple, we built a fire and speculated with hardly contained excitement on the days to come. The Buffalo River is the first national river to be designated in the United States. Originating high up in a portion of the Ozarks we had just crossed, almost its entire 153 miles is managed by a combination of the US Forest Service or the Ozark National Service. This means that the river is completely protected from industrial use, obstructions or anything that would disrupt its natural flow or endanger the flora and fauna in it or on the shores around it. This practice has kept it quiet and pristine, and as we came to discover, floating the Buffalo is a surprisingly delightful disconnect from our all-too-often cacophonous lives. In short, it is possibly the most beautiful river in the southern United States. This is, of course, completely my opinion; however, I’ve paddled a lot of waterways below the Mason Dixon line. Louisiana, specifically, is a vast network of rivers, canals, bayous and marshes. Most are slow-moving muddy channels of warm water our ancestors navigated extensively as maritime highways. In and of themselves they are beautiful, full of rich ecosystems and wildlife, but it isn’t until you reach the Buffalo River where the physical environs of the river system start to change. Multiple outfitters operate in this region. Day or extensive multi-night trips can be arranged for, and outfitters are prepared to rent boats or ferry vehicles for those who bring their own. We settled on a two-night trip that seemed to be a good blend for our group’s varying level of paddle skills, as well as just enough time away from a cell phone signal to enjoy the silence without missing it. It does bear noting that you should be prepared ahead of time for these pre-1995 conditions; have paper maps and good non-phone coordination with everyone in your party. For a tranquil three days we floated through high forested canyons and outcroppings, through mild whitewater and past empty sandbars criss-crossed by animal tracks. Turtles and fish glided below our canoes in the glass-clear water and during the night our firelight danced into the treetops along with our unrestrained laughter. Full of good camp food and cold beer, we slept soundly in our little tents as the river trickled endlessly through the dark. Three days of rope swings and cliff diving seems like a lot, but it never is. The Buffalo is an enchantress, and we were under her spell. Dirty and smelly and tired we piled into our vehicles at the end of the trip and vowed to make an annual return. There are grander rivers and riverscapes out west no doubt, twisting labyrinths through some of our country’s tallest mountains and deepest forests, but for a Southerner who spends his days paddling sluggish coffee-colored thoroughfares, the Buffalo River is without a doubt a jewel in the rough.