1. The narrator escapes from the city on a weekend getaway to Possum Kingdom Lake in Palo Pinto County, Texas. Upon arriving at The Hideaway Inn, the friendly owner Connie provides suggestions for hiking trails and activities around the lake. 2. The narrator hikes the trail to Johnson's Peak overlook, taking in views of Hell's Gate, a famous rock formation in the middle of the lake. He later stops at Boondock's Bar and Grill, where he meets a local named Bill who shares stories about his life and travels. 3. The narrator reflects on his relaxing weekend escaping the city for nature and small town charm at Possum Kingdom Lake.

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PossumKingdom: A Texas Homeland Retreat
By Anthony Peck
I glanced outside my office window, wanting to see an endless canvas of the great outdoors, not
the colorless, concrete gridiron of the city. It was only Tuesday, and I was yearning for a dance
with mother-nature, free from the choke hold of my nine-to-five drudgery. Voices in my head
taunted, calling me to run away and bask in a wilderness of tranquility.
When Friday finally arrived, I rushed home from work and Googled a quick weekend getaway.
After stuffing some clothes in a bag, I was out the door with eyes on the road, no thoughts of
looking back.
I headed west about one-hundred miles from Dallas north of Fort Worth, to Possum Kingdom
Lake in Palo Pinto County. Cruising with the windows down on Route 16, ten miles from the
home stretch, I could already feel the cool aquatic breeze whisk across my face as it fused with
the aroma of cedar and red oaks that carpeted the rolling hills.
My GPS led me to The Hideaway Inn, where I was to check into my cabin for the night. Inside,
the lobby was brimming in western appeal. The auburn colored walls were stacked in polished
timber and garnished with mounted deer heads, while naturally crafted décor favored the

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mannerisms of southern living. Country music could be heard faintly, while conversations from
the lounge echoed in the back hallway. Behind the front desk came a soft, quivery voice.
“Hello young man, can I help you with something?”
I recognized that friendly voice from a call I had made earlier. Her name was Connie Bradbury.
She had a vibrant smile that touched her rosy cheeks, and fluffy white hair that complemented
her glossy pearl necklace.
“I came here to unwind, but I have no idea what I’m doing,” I said with a snicker.
After fifteen minutes of conversation with Connie, I could imagine a journey around the
kingdom like the blueprint of a gypsy’s soul. She shared some background history and strongly
suggested a trip up to Johnson’s Peak, then sent me on my way with a map and guide to popular
activities at the lake.
I hopped back in the car and drifted down a dirt road that led to my cabin. The small, one-
bedroom cottage had a rustic appearance, crafted from aged, burgundy pine. An old wooden
rocking chair sat on the front porch facing a waterfront view, and a patio overlooked the
woodlands in the back.
To the right of my cabin just down Redbird Road was a small white chapel named “Saint Peters
by the Lake.” It was lined in a blue trim that ran along the doors, windows and rooftop, likening
an18th century church school, complete with a large bronze bell below the steeple, and a picket
sign spiked into the back lawn that read “Thou Shalt Not Parketh Here.”

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I studied the map briefly before heading to a beaten path just off the main road. An information
post marked an entry point, highlighting the many species of wildlife and foliage that was likely
to be seen. As I paced forward, the soft mud trail became steeper and folded left and right as it
winded through the hedges. Light could barely break through the layer of thick cedars and
junipers above. The scent of pine masked the air, the wind was still, and the only sound was the
crunching of leaves under my boots and the occasional clacking of a roadrunner in the brush.
Weathered arrow signs pointed in the direction of Johnson’s Peak overlook, now just two miles
away.
Following the strenuous ascent, I could start to see holes where the light pierced through the
ferns, and amidst a break of the wood line I could see the sun resting on a small blanket of clouds
across the clear blue sky.
I looked down over the edge to survey the landscape below. The first thing I noticed was a
majestic cliff formation in the middle of the lake. Its peak reminded me of the opening scene in
The Lion King, rising eight stories above the lake’s surface, forming an island on one side with a
large channel-like gate of water in between. That must be the “Hell’s Gate” that Connie had
mentioned, a well-known icon in Possum Kingdom. The isle was surrounded by three-hundred
miles of timberlands and sandy shores that twisted around the crystal-clear water, the clearest
lake water in Texas, according to the map.
The guide mentioned Hell’s gate as gaining fame in recent years by hosting an annual cliff diving
competition, sponsored by Red Bull. It said that in June, professional divers from around the
world come to compete and entertain thousands of spectators.

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After soaking in the view of the summit, I took another trail back down the hillside. Soon into
the descent, the dense ferns began to wither into ashy skeletons. The smell of scorched timber
coated the wind, as the shades of green gradually faded into a wasteland of stale gray. Silence
now crept over the dusty sticks like an eerie graveyard. Connie had mentioned a fire that
destroyed hundreds of thousands of acres back in 2011.
Facing east beyond the clearing of the trail, the sun had fallen just below the dusk, while shades
of red and pink dissolved to purple across the horizon. A building shaped to look like a wooden
smoke shack appeared in the distance. A tall, crooked sign in the shape of an arrow read:
“Boondock’s Bar and Grill.” It stood alone in a gravel lot, only a bait and tackle shop about 300
yards away. A blue motorcycle rumbled in from down the road and parked between two pick-up
trucks. I felt the urge for an ice-cold refreshment, so I made a pit-stop.
The saloon doors creaked as they opened outwards. Western music and the clanking of cue balls
harmonized with conversations and laughter. Mounted animal plaques lined the walls and neon
beer logos hung sporadically. A stuffed possum wearing sunglasses was posed on two feet
between a bottle of Jack Daniels and Southern Comfort.
A man was sitting alone at the bar, sipping from a can of Natural Light, caressing his course
white beard. I motioned to the bartender for a drink and ignited a conversation.
“Dallas, huh. Well, it’s a lot more laid back out here. I bet your spirit be hurtin’ after a while
around all that,” he said.
His name was Bill. His voice was raspy yet reserved, his skin hardened like a working man. He
sported a black leather vest, studded in trinkets and biker patches.

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Bill reminisced about the days in the Army as a tanker, and how he wished he had stayed in until
retirement. He talked about life as a dock welder, and stories covering the miles he had traveled
on his soft cab Harley Davidson roadster, parked out front.
After an hour or so, Bill hinted that it was time to finish a six-pack he had waiting for him at
home. I thanked him for the experience, mapped a short cut to my cabin, and was boots off and
in the bed by midnight. As I lied there satisfied, I wondered over the curiosities tomorrow would
bring.
Facts
 Possum Kingdom Lake is located in Palo Pinto County North of Fort Worth and about 2.5 hours
from Dallas.
 Adults pay $4 to enter the camping site and children under 12 get in free.
 Busy season is March through October on weekends and June through August all week.
 The lake is a manmade reservoir made by damming the Brazos River in 1938 and has been open
to the public since 1950. The lake covers approx. 17,000 acres and 310 miles of shoreline.
 The elevation is 925 feet
 The lake welcomes many recreational activities such as fishing, boating, hiking, camping, water
skiing, scuba diving, cliff diving and hunting.
 The drinking water is currently not potable due to a high salt content.
 The average temperature in July is 94 degrees and the wettest month is April.