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, choosing the slower backroad route instead of the interstate. It was a good choice as we passed through a string of small Texas towns with old downtown squares, locally owned shops, and beautiful courthouses rising above the trees. A few looked straight out of a movie set — red brick, white columns, clock towers, and courthouse lawns 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 begin settling over the lake. Spencer squeezed in a quick swim and a leap from the dock before we headed to our chairs to catch the last of the sunset.

As the sun went down, fishermen were casting their last lines of the day while the water turned shades of orange and blue. Every so often, the white bellies of massive alligator gar would roll just beneath the surface, flashing in the fading light like something prehistoric. The whole place has an easygoing East Texas feel — not polished or fancy, but secluded and serene.

We started the next morning 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 straight out 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. What stood out most, though, was how active it was—boats everywhere. We found out later there was a big fishing tournament in progress.

The whole surface of the reservoir looked busy but calm at the same time. The bridge itself gave us plenty of time to take it in.

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 briefly joining Interstate 49. The two-lane stretch felt serene 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 broken up by 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, serving the same regular customers every morning. One of our favorite was Jonesville- the largest town in Catahoula Parish, Louisiana, which sits at the confluence 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 the 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 clean, mostly empty, and relaxing. Large shade trees cover much of the property, which made the whole place feel cool and quiet. 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 that seemed to carry their history right out in the open. 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, barges easing by like they had all the time in the world.

Then we made our way down Silver Street toward the old “Under-the-Hill” district, 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 tales 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 like the day had been underway for hours.

Nobody seemed rushed, and nobody seemed particularly concerned about the time.

The few folks there were friendly and welcoming in an easy small-town way, quick to strike up a conversation and eager to point out favorite photographs and relics hanging among the thousands covering the walls and ceiling.

The whole place felt layered in stories. Wooden tables had been rubbed so smooth over the years they almost shined, every surface carrying the wear of decades of elbows, spilled beer, and late-night conversations.

One table even had a small gold plaque declaring it “The Godfather’s Table,” though the locals seemed entirely unsure whether the story behind it had grown more true or more exaggerated over time, which only made it better.

Every inch of the saloon seemed to compete for our attention. Old photographs curled at the corners climbed the 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 commanded attention in one of the back rooms, sitting like some inside joke nobody bothered explaining anymore.

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

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

Even in the middle of the morning, the lighting stayed dim and golden, giving the whole place a permanent late-afternoon feeling where time slows down a little. Nothing about it felt polished or manufactured for tourists. It felt lived in — 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 rolled out of 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 like a tunnel. Quiet, remote, and rolling just enough to keep the scenery changing. Small farms appeared here and there between stretches of woods, every pond and tank full from the spring rains, everything impossibly green.

Crossing back into Louisiana on Highway 59 felt like stepping into another rhythm entirely. Tiny country churches sat beside neatly mowed cemeteries dotted with bright flowers, and heavy, well-fed cattle lounged in the fields like they didn’t have a care in the world. 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 and began the interactive exhibits. The buildings themselves are modern, sharp, and immaculate—glass, steel, polished concrete, clean lines everywhere. Everything felt intentional, restrained, almost weightless. And somehow that precision made the stories inside feel even heavier. Nothing distracted from them. There was no clutter, no noise, no attempt to soften what we were experiencing.

What unsettled us most was the silence. Not forced silence, but the kind that settled over us because we were standing inside something important and painful. Throughout the exhibits, museum staff and curators moved quietly through the galleries dressed entirely in formal black, almost blending into the architecture itself. They spoke softly when needed, guided visitors gently, and otherwise seemed to exist as part of the atmosphere of the place—calm, respectful, nearly ghostlike at times.

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 they are the same, but because each forced me into a kind of quiet honesty. These are places that don’t allow much distance between the past and the present. Walking through the exhibits and memorial spaces in Montgomery, I felt that same heaviness settle in: the realization that history cannot remain abstract when you are standing where its consequences are named so plainly.

The contrast stayed with me long after we left: these beautifully designed, almost pristine spaces holding stories that are anything but clean or orderly. It felt haunting in the truest sense—not theatrical, not manipulative, just 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

almost cathedral-like in places, so thick and high above us that the sunlight barely reached the ground directly. Tall hardwoods stretched overhead in layers of green, their branches intertwining until the trail disappeared beneath a living ceiling of leaves. Even in the middle of the afternoon, the woods held a cool dimness.

Our favorite hike was Peavine Falls, which took us from the heavy summer heat into something cooler and older, with a trail that wound steadily downhill through the canopy among sandstone outcroppings, with roots twisted across the path, leaves filtering the sunlight into soft green patterns.

Long before we could see the falls, we could hear them—water echoing faintly through the trees. Near the bottom, we had to leave the path and make a steep scramble down toward the water itself, picking our way carefully over loose dirt, exposed roots, and slick rocks. It felt less like hiking and more like climbing down into a hidden place. But once we reached the bottom, it was worth every careful step.

It wasn’t an enormous waterfall by mountain standards, but tucked into the Alabama woods, it felt hidden and surprisingly wild, the kind of place that 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 home to an entire herd/flock/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, confronted early by massive sandstone outcroppings that rise through the forest in crooked ledges and weathered cliffs, their surfaces cracked and layered like ancient stone staircases pushed up from beneath the earth.

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 as though the forest has been slowly reclaiming the stone for centuries.

The foliage felt dense and alive even in the heat of summer. Towering hardwoods—oak, hickory, maple, and tulip poplar—stretched overhead in thick green layers, while dogwoods and redbuds filled the lower spaces closer to the trails. Ferns spilled across the damp ground near the rocks, and patches of mountain laurel and wild rhododendron appeared tucked into shaded corners along the hillsides.

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

Some looked almost unreal against the dark soil and moss-covered stone, like little pieces of the forest quietly blooming and fading beneath the canopy.

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 haeding in for the night.

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