#3: [06-Jun-10]

#2: [15-Mar-06]

#1: [13-Jan-01]

13-Dec-2024 --

I'd been looking forward to visiting 34N 98W for a while — a great excuse to go explore a large riverbed and stand in a rare slice of Oklahoma on the wrong side of the Red River (I'm sure my preference in the Red River Rivalry is obvious to any college football fans). Certainly seemed an interesting point, just from a cursory glance of the map! I enjoy how confluences occasionally fall in very particular and/or spatially limited environments like roads and riverbeds; the coordinate gridlines just happen to align there instead of seemingly "more likely" farm fields and forests that often constitute most of a given area. Previous visit reports and satellite imagery further intrigued me, putting 34N 98W high on the priority list in my confluence queue. So when a convenient Friday afternoon opened up, Jack and I hit the road enroute to some unsuspecting sand and shrubs by the Oklahoma/Texas border.

We headed south via US 81 and passed through a smattering of southwest Oklahoma towns between and including Chickasha and Waurika (much like Joseph Kerski did on his way to 34N 98W 14 years ago). Not much happened along the way but it's always cool seeing how various towns decorate for the holidays; in particular we thought Marlow and Duncan were very nice. From Waurika we turned southwest and crossed into Texas — in the absence of a raft, this Oklahoma confluence can only be accessed by driving about 25 miles in a neighboring state. The speed limit immediately rose to 75 mph (120 kmh) on crossing the Red River; I'll give it to Texas, I do enjoy their speedy roads. Antipication built as we turned off the highway and followed a couple of empty roads southeast of Byers, eventually spotting the sign for 98th Meridian Road (great name). This was a dead-end dirt/gravel road with a couple driveways and no signs of human activity on that dreary December afternoon, a fine spot to pull over upon reaching a gate at its northern terminus.

From where we parked, it was to be about a mile (1.6 km) walk to 34N 98W (and a mile back, of course). It was just after 4 PM and we had about 80 minutes until sunset — probably not the wisest time to start, but something that was very doable. We set off into a grassy field with scattered shrubs/trees and narrow paths that sometimes winded through gaps too short for a person (presumably used by the area's fauna). This gently rolling landscape constitued the first of three distinct environments we'd ultimately traverse along the hike. Having just started, we were feeling adventerous and it was great to leave the beaten path for a bit.

Our upbeat spirits quickly diminished at the sight of an unwelcome surprise — no more than a few minutes after beginning our northward stroll, a wild hog darted across our intended path (the first time either of us had ever seen one). It didn't want anything to do with us and scrambled off, but this was an immediate wake-up call: while not human, there were indeed local residents to worry about (and it wasn't to be the only one we'd see). Compared to slow and less aggressive cows, we recognized that the relatively fast feral hogs posed a non-negligible risk to us — a few hasty Google searches were in order! Still about 0.8 miles (1.3 km) from the confluence, we pondered whether to continue toward the moderately denser vegetation on the floodplain's edge — a wild hog ambush didn't really sound like a nice way to wind down after the week. The internet suggested they don't usually attack people unless provoked in some way, so we made the decision to cautiously carry on with our heads on a swivel.

All was well for the remainder of the pre-riverbed segment as we half-jokingly discussed what we'd do if we had an unfriendly encounter with a hog (and acquired a small fallen branch as a last resort defense). We weren't focusing on the landscape too much at that point, although we took a moment to admire a very red pond before arriving at the final downward slope into the river valley. We'd veered about 200 meters east of the 98W fenceline by the time we arrived at this point, and luckily the trees and shrubs were quite spread out here: better visibility for any potential animals that lay ahead. Only spotting some white-tailed deer out in the valley, we descended into the second segment of the walk — a flat grassy plain with plenty of thorny shrubs and stickers.

It was around this point that I spotted a group of 8 or 10 hogs (including their children) in the distance off to our east. They were pretty far away and not an immediate risk, but proved that the first guy wasn't a one-off. Maybe the evening of Friday the 13th wasn't the best day to go do this? Seeing as we'd already veered east and needed to proceed northwest to the confluence (away from the pack), we carried on with our ears still peeled for any pig sounds. The thorny vegetation wasn't ideal but long pants (and good socks) minimized the leg pricking somewhat, and the flat terrain kept us moving quickly. Closer to our improvised path we saw another deer, which seemed like a good sign: the prey animals felt safe on our side of the field.

Underlying grass started to give way to sand as we approached the confluence's dried up section of the riverbed (the third segment of our walk), an area where the river must've flowed semi-recently (on a geological timescale anyway). The vegetation out here didn't look very pretty or healthy, probably dormant for winter. It didn't seem like it'd be very appealing for the hogs either, so we relaxed a bit as we made the final several hundred meter stroll to our target. During this stretch, I noticed I'd gotten a couple of cuts somewhere earlier along the way. Not a big deal, but easily preventable. A word to the wise, lifted straight from Joseph Kerski's 2010 visit to this spot: wear long sleeves and gloves. I had taken care to pack gloves in my bag but never actually remembered to put them on — lesson learned.

The latitude/longitude decimals began to dwindle and we soon arrived at 34N 98W — time: 4:50 PM, about 30 minutes until sunset. The weather was inoffensive, with the temperature hovering in the upper 50s (15°C) under overcast skies and only an occasional light breeze. I zeroed out the GPS and got the directional photos, trying to take in the surroundings (although it wasn't a very lively looking place as the photos hopefully illustrate). This spot is probably better looking in the spring and summer when the plants are alive. Initially I'd hoped to go a bit further north to see the active part of the Red River, but by now we were on a time crunch. After about 5 minutes on-site, we began our southward retreat.

The cloudy skies weren't doing us any favors as far as daylight was concerned, so we moved rapidly back through the third (sandy riverbed) and second (flat, shrubby floodplain) sections, this time going due south along the meridian. Another lone hog crossed our path through some shrubs as we got closer to the river valley's edge. With not much time to waste, we hurried on and found a narrow path up the valley's edge through some tighter vegetation. Not the most desirable route, but beggars can't be choosers. There was plenty of ducking and weaving around low branches as we hustled up this forested incline, but we thankfully arrived in an open field after no more than 100 meters.

Back on the gently rolling non-riverbed terrain, we were greeted by less concerning company — a group of cows behind a barbed fence, much preferred and more familiar to us. The remainder of our walk back to the vehicle was uneventful (i.e., no more wild hog sightings or avoidable abrasions). We got back to the vehicle around 5:20 PM, just as the sun set (behind the clouds). 34N 98W's appearance might not have been too interesting, but the hike to/from that arbitrary point in the sand certainly had been. Objective completed, we got back on the road (and made an obligatory Braum's stop in Duncan, of course).

In the bed of Red River.