May 2026 Dauphin Island Trip

Stop 1: Lost Frontier RV PArk and Bar & Grill, Hemphill, TX

We left Belton early on Thursday, May 14, and headed east on Highway 7, purposely choosing the slower backroad route instead of the interstate. It was a good choice as we passed through a string of small Texas communities with old downtown squares, locally owned shops, and beautiful courthouses that reminded us of every festival, parade, and Friday night gathering in our hometown of Hamilton.

Our first stop was Lost Frontier RV Park and Bar near the shores of the Toledo Bend Reservoir. Our site sat right on the reservoir, with the water only a few steps from the RV.

After setting up camp, we walked down to the dock to watch the sunset settle over the lake. Spencer squeezed in a quick swim and a leap from the dock before we headed to our chairs to watch the day end.

As the sun went down, fishermen were casting their last lines from paddle boats. Every so often, the white bellies of massive alligator gar would roll just beneath the surface, flashing so white they looked silver in the fading light.

We started the next morning by watching the sun come up over the lake, followed by a quick walk around the park, then a trip to fill up ($5.44 for diesel) and explore the area.

The causeway between Texas and Louisiana across the Toledo Bend Reservoir on the Sabine River is more than 2 miles long.

Driving across, it felt like we were driving across the middle of the lake. Water stretched out on both sides so far it was hard to tell where Texas ended and Louisiana began. There were boats all around us, we found out later there was a fishing tournament in progress.

The whole surface of the reservoir was calm and still.

When we got back, I spent the day reading by the pool. Spencer tinkered with the trailer lights then came to get me for a drink at the on-site bar before we headed back down to the lake to hang our feet off the dock and count our blessings.

Then to the camper for a dinner of wings and stir-fried vegetables we brought from our garden.

A perfect first stop.

Stop 2: River View RV Park & Resort on the Mississippi River, Vidalia, LA

Saturday morning, we left we left Toledo Bend Reservoir and stayed mostly off the major highways again, taking Highway 6 through western Louisiana before joining Interstate 49. The two-lane stretch felt like a back road compared to our bustling I35. Before long we were back on smaller roads cutting through the countryside along Highways 28 and 84. The scenery slowly shifted from the piney woods near the reservoir to wide open farmland and small communities. We passed weathered barns, old churches, crawfish ponds, and long stretches of fields with clusters of pecan and oak trees. Every so often there’d be a gas station or café that looked like it had been sitting in the same spot for fifty years. One of our favorites was Jonesville- the largest town in Catahoula Parish, Louisiana, which sits at the joining of the Ouachita, Tensas, and Little rivers. The three rivers become the Black River at Jonesville, and it was rolling with recent rains when we passed through.

By the time we reached River View RV Park and Resort, the Mississippi River had replaced the reservoir as a backdrop. The park sits directly along the river, and from our site we watched massive barges slowly pushing their way up and down the water while Natchez rose on the opposite bank.

The campground itself was mostly empty and relaxing. Large shade trees cover much of the property, which made the whole place feel cool. One of the best parts was the pool and hot tub area overlooking the river. Sitting in the hot tub while watching barges drift past on the Mississippi felt surreal. The park also has a walking trail that follows the riverbank under the bridge, and in the evening, we wandered down it just to watch the water, the bridge lights, and the river traffic as the sun started going down.

On Sunday, we woke up early and hit the streets of Natchez. We parked near Main Street and wandered over trails filled with history. We walked the bluff overlooking the Mississippi River, stopping every few feet to read the historical markers along the trail — stories about river trade, steamboats, cotton fortunes, floods, and the complicated history that made Natchez what it is today. The river moved slow and muddy below us, with barges that seemed to be barely moving.

Then we made our way down Silver Street toward the old “Under-the-Hill” district, that was once infamous for gamblers, drifters, riverboat crews, thieves, and just about every other kind of troublemaker moving up and down the Mississippi. Back in the steamboat days, this was the rough edge of town — the place respectable folks pretended not to know about after dark. Travel writer William Richardson wrote about the area in an 1816 account that it was "...without a single exception the most licentious spot that I ever saw."

The district is definitely quieter than it was during the steamboat era, but it still feels like it has stories to tell. We wandered into Under-the-Hill Saloon where, at 10:30 in the morning, locals were already perched at the bar sipping longnecks.

Nobody seemed rushed, and they were definitely not at all concerned with the time.

The few folks there were friendly and welcoming. There were eager to visit and couldn't wait to point out favorite photographs and relics hanging among the thousands covering the walls and ceiling.

The whole place seemed to be layered in stories. Wooden tables had been rubbed so smooth over the years they almost shined.

One table even had a small gold plaque declaring it “The Godfather’s Table,” though the locals didn't seem sure whether the story behind it had grown more true or more exaggerated over time.

Every inch of the saloon fought for our attention. Old photographs curled at the corners sat on walls beside rusted signs, faded license plates, river relics, and framed newspaper clippings that looked like they’d been hanging there since the stories were still fresh.

A carved wooden elephant took center stage in one of the back rooms.

Near the bar, I spotted a worn Hemingway novel tucked among the clutter. It didn't look like decoration, and I hoped somebody had actually been reading it between customers.

Steamboat memorabilia covered the walls, a jukebox hummed, and an old cigarette machine stood in the corner, still operational.

Even in the middle of the morning, the lighting was dim and golden, giving the whole place a permanent late-afternoon feeling. Nothing about it felt polished or manufactured for tourists. It felt lived in and it seemed like the kind of place where stories get repeated often enough that nobody worries much anymore about whether they’re true or just contain truths.

We had lunch at the Natchez Brewing Company Taproom and Kitchen, where we met the brewmaster, who had created an

amazing

Da Shiznits Strawberry Dew-Rita Hard Seltzer on tap that I fell in love with. Spencer tried a few of the local brews and we enjoyed brick-oven pizza.

Stop 3: Bay Palms RV Resort, Dauphin Island, Alabama

We left Vidalia before 7 a.m. on Monday, crossed the bridge through Natchez, and picked up Highway 61 South before cutting east on 24 through Woodville and Centreville. We were so happy we chose to forego interstates in favor of "the back way" — miles of narrow two-lane country roads with no shoulders and thick trees arching overhead. It was remote and quiet, and small farms appeared between stretches of woods. Every pond and tank full from the spring rains, and everything was lush and green.

When we crossed back into Louisiana on Highway 59, everything felt different. Tiny country churches sat beside neatly mowed cemeteries full of bright flowers. There weren’t many towns along the way — just long stretches of rural backroads and good music rolling through the speakers. We had the Red Clay Strays, Jamestown Revival, and Riley Green soundtrack going strong, a perfect backdrop to the slideshow rolling outside our windows.

Somewhere around Greensburg, we pulled over for a bag of hot, fresh boiled peanuts at a tiny gas station because apparently that’s just who we are now — fully committed to living our best Cajun-road-trip life.

Eventually we hit Interstate 10 near Pascagoula, birthplace of Jimmy Buffett, crossed into Alabama, and finally rolled into Dauphin Island to meet up with our I Know a Guy friends at Bay Palms RV Resort.

I Know a Guy RV Repair Company Conference 2026

We met at Bay Palms RV Resort for our Second Annual I know a Guy RV Repair Company Conference, May 18-25. Please click HERE to access the Conference Blog, Minutes, Activities and Photos.

Stop 4: Birmingham South RV Park, Pelham, Alabama

On Memorial Day, we left Dauphin Island bright and early and took I65 to Montgomery where we planned a quick run through the Legacy Sites. However, the exhibits in the museum literally stopped us in our tracks.

The Legacy Sites in Montgomery struck us as different before we ever entered. The buildings and grounds are modern and immaculate, constructed of glass, steel, and polished concrete. Everything felt intentional and restrained, which somehow made the stories inside feel heavier. Nothing distracted from the exhibits. There was no attempt to soften what we were experiencing.

What unsettled us most was the silence. It was a silence that settled over us because we were standing inside something important and painful. Throughout the exhibits, museum staff and curators moved quietly dressed entirely in formal black, almost blending into the architecture itself. They spoke softly when needed, but mostly served as part of the atmosphere of the place, which I would describe as—calm, respectful, and sort of ghost-like. Definitely spiritual, but not in an uplifting way.

Visiting the Legacy Sites in Montgomery stayed with me in the same way places like Dachau Concentration Camp Memorial Site in Munich and Arlington National Cemetery have stayed with me—not because of similarities, but because each shortens the distance between the past and the present. Walking through the exhibits and memorial spaces in Montgomery, I felt that same heaviness settle in, and Spencer and I both came to the realization that history cannot remain abstract when you are standing where its consequences are displayed so plainly.

The place was haunting in the truest sense—deeply human and impossible to move through casually.

No photos or videos are allowed inside the museum, but I highly encourage you to visit the website and plan a several-day visit to all of the Legacy Sites in Montgomery. It is worth the trip and I am still, days later, wishing we had allotted more time there.

We spent the rest of Memorial Day settling in at Birmingham South RV Park in Pelham, Alabama, where we had a beautiful site right on a creek.

On Tuesday we hiked several trails in nearby Oak Mountain State Park, where the canopy felt

like a cathedral because it was so thick and high above us that the sunlight barely reached the ground. Tall hardwood trees stretched overhead with their branches intertwining to create a ceiling of leaves that made it feel like we were inside, even in the middel of the afternoon.

Our favorite hike was Peavine Falls, which took us straight from the heavy summer heat into coolness. It was a trail that wound steadily downhill through the canopy among sandstone outcroppings, with roots twisted across the path.

Long before we could see the falls, we could hear them. Near the bottom, we had to leave the path and make a steep scramble down, picking our way carefully over loose dirt, exposed roots, and slick rocks. But once we reached the bottom, it was worth every careful step.

It wasn’t an enormous waterfall by mountain standards, but it felt hidden and wild, and it made us want to be silent and take it all in.

We spent a good part of the day climbing around the falls and playing in the stream.

Stop 5: Tishomingo State Park, Tishomingo, Mississippi

On Wednesday we drove through Birmingham with the camper in tow, hoping to visit more Civil Rights sites and The Vulcan Statue, conceived as Birmingham’s centerpiece for the 1904 Louisiana Purchase Exposition in St. Louis. It was cast from local iron ore mined directly from the area's Red Mountain and is the largest cast iron statue in the world. However, we hit some very narrow streets with tight turns in the downtown area and Spencer said Coddywomple and Cat were not going there, so we found our way to the Interstate and headed back into Mississippi in search of Tishomingo State Park, proclaimed home to the best hiking in the state.

We landed at site 59, overlooking the lake, surrounded by trees, and were greeted by an entiretire gaggle? of geese to keep us company.

We spent the first afternoon driving the park, strolling across the swinging bridge, and scouting trails. Then we opened a bottle of wine and played some Sequence while we watched the sun go down. After dark, Spencer made us a quick dinner of hamburgers with fresh green beans while I worked on the blog.

What makes Tishomingo State Park feel so different from much of Mississippi is the way the landscape suddenly turns rugged.

On Thursday, we hiked the CCC Camp Trail Look in the morning. As soon as we hit the trail, we came face to face with massive sandstone outcroppings, their surfaces cracked and layered like ancient stone staircases.

We had fun traipsing through narrow passages formed by the huge outcroppings, and enjoyed imagining who could set up camp in the shaded overhangs and caves carpeted with moss.

Everywhere, tree roots twisted themselves through the cracks, making it look like the forest was trying to reclaim the stone.

The foliage was cool and dense. Towering oak, hickory, maple, and poplar stretched overhead , and the lower spaces close to where we hiked were filled with dogwoods and redbuds and ferns and mountain laurel and wild rhododendron.

Even the forest floor was full of detail We were fascinated by the variety of mushrooms, and Spencer took time to capture one of each variety we came across.

Some looked like dropped toys against the dark soil and moss-covered stone.

Walking through Tishomingo felt like wandering through an old Appalachian woodland that somehow drifted into northern Mississippi.

In the afternoon, we hiked the short trail around the lake, then Spencer made us a beautiful picnic to celebrate our last day camping. We sat out late to catch the moon rising through the trees before heading in for the night.

The next morning, we left early for a 12-hour trip back to Texas, eager to catch up on our garden and check on the chickens.