Thirteen years ago I fell in love with Wilderness Lodge at Disney World Orlando, captivated by the perfect fantasy of a simpler America. Here, hospitable folks in checked shirts went huntin', fishin' and shootin' before kickin’ back in log cabins heated by stone fireplaces, surrounded by broad porches where you could sit in rocking chairs and watch the sun go down on landscape unencumbered by humanity. A lot has changed since then. The kid I was dancing with at the Disney hoedown is about to graduate from university, I’ve added 739 fresh stories to this blog, and a little-known spot in the Ozarks has become America’s No. 1 wilderness resort. There's no need to pay Orlando imagineers to craft a fantasy. The real thing exists in my home state.
Big Cedar Lodge sprawls over 4,600 acres on Table Rock Lake, deep in the Missouri Ozarks almost at the Arkansas border. It boasts three lodges built on the picturesque model of the famous National Park hotels of the 1930s, 81 individual cabins, glamping tents and a handful of quirky accommodation for large groups. There are five golf courses and one mini putting option, two marinas, two different wedding chapels, at least four pools (one indoor), a spa, a shooting school, two different entertainment complexes, a museum of local ecology and native American history and 15 different dining options. All this is connected by ubiquitous WiFi and a fleet of transport vans ready to take you anywhere, summoned by a proprietary Uber-style app.
In my youth, the Ozarks meant The Lake of the same name and resorts like the Lodge of the Four Seasons, which I've mentioned in past coverage. I thought about heading back there, but the chorus from St. Louis friends was deafening: Big Cedar was far better. It was also two hours further away, but the corresponding distance in quality, my friends insisted, was vast. So, frankly, was the cost. Accommodation for two people averages between $600 and $800 per day, depending on type. (We split a cabin with friends, so it was a little less.) I'll admit that my perceptions since moving away had not kept up with developments in my home state; I hadn’t thought anything in Missouri could cost that much! The abysmal value of British Sterling didn't help. I kept thinking that for the same price I could be on safari at South Africa's extraordinary Chitwa Chitwa, playing the Japanese aristocrat at Kyoto's Yoshida Sanso, or snorkelling an Indian Ocean reef from my over-water villa at Constance Moofushi. Could a cabin in the Missouri woods possibly deliver a comparable experience to those luxurious blockbusters?
Yes. In its own American country style, Big Cedar has the stunning natural environment, magazine-worthy internal decor, creature comforts, thoughtful extras and magnificent service of all those other places.
The Ozarks are an ancient mountain range, worn by time down to rolling hilltops covered with trees. Copious springs bubble through limestone and hydro-electric projects of the last century have created lakes that spread into long, winding valleys. A seemingly endless canopy of deciduous trees is always beautiful, but being here in October when the hillsides blaze with colour and the waters reflect them back to the skies is perfect. Deer wander across the road and graze on lawns. Canada geese forage for breakfast outside the window in the morning. A chipmunk scurried across the green and took the shortcut hole en route to his den while we were playing putt putt.
Every building on site has been designed with the same care those Disney imagineers give to creating their environments. You’re surrounded by natural materials, earthy colours, rustic but elegant accessories, Western and American Indian patterns. Construction must have kept every taxidermist in middle America busy for years, because animals are everywhere. Our cabin alone featured an antlered deer head, six ducks and a school of prize fish, all preserved at the height of their beauty. Blacksmiths also shine here, with wrought iron gates, fences and light fixtures throughout that incorporate flora and fauna. Comfort reigns supreme, from wide rocking chairs to deep beds to plush loungers by the pools. The staffers who make this work always have a smile on their faces and are quick to engage in conversation.
To really understand this place, though, you have to understand Johnny Morris and his Bass Pro Shops. Local legend tells how Johnny’s dad fretted about him getting a real job back in the late ‘60s. But Johnny didn’t fancy traditional ideas of work. He liked being outdoors, fishing, drinking, and enjoying the world. So Johnny started selling fishing bait out of the back of his father’s liquor stores in nearby Springfield, Missouri. And other things. Lots of them. And then got his own shop. And then lots of them. There’s no better example of someone who’s successful because he did what he loves. Johnny’s now the richest man in Missouri. His bait business became Bass Pro Shops, now with 177 locations, more than 40,000 employees and a reputation as a destination in themselves for their amazing interiors. And the Lodge is his vision made manifest for others to enjoy; he’s personally involved, staff talk to him regularly and we spotted him one night in one of the bars, charisma radiating off him like heat off a bonfire.
The Bass Pro website embraces his reputation as the Walt Disney of the natural world, and the association won’t be lost on anyone who enters a store through a three-story log-built atrium lit by glass and iron pendant lights that would meet Frank Lloyd Wright’s approval. An enormous fireplace welcomes you with the distinctive scents of burning wood and offers a place to sit on rocking chairs before it, while the chimney breast rising above you turns into a rocky, outdoor tableau. Full-sized taxidermised deer clamber up the slopes. A canoe on another wall overflows with equipment. Falling water forms a soundtrack. It’s not here, but at the other end of the store, where another wildlife tableau features more deer and wildcats as water cascades down a rock face into an enormous aquarium full of enormous bass and trout. A whole flock of ducks flies between that scene and the entry tower. Over by the gun section, it’s Canada geese on the wing. A mother bear and her cub keep people in line at the check out desk. A wild turkey in radiant plumage taunts bow hunters shopping for their kit. The Las Vegas branch even has an aquarium with mermaids because, well, it’s Vegas…
Bass Pro isn’t a nature show but a retail emporium, of course, and ultimately people are here to buy their outdoor gear. Lots of it. There are vast clothing departments strong on comfort, quality and “American made” labels. The variety of rods, reels, guns, bows and nets for the pursuit of your own dinner is staggering. The variety of ammunition somewhat concerning. (Certainly nobody needs exploding bullets to bag their Thanksgiving Turkey?) Even if you consider camping to be a hotel that doesn’t provide toiletries, you’ll be intrigued by the ingenuity of the kit for outdoor living.
There isn’t a better place to shop for patriotic American stuff, whether for everyday wear or your 4th of July table. I’m delighted with my new tee shirt depicting three Labrador retrievers at attention before the waving Stars and Stripes, looking like they’re about to bark out the pledge of allegiance while the words “Proud American” top and tail the scene. I was tempted by the edgy comedy value (in the UK) of a politically incorrect doormat, but space limitations stopped me.
By this point something is disturbing my British readers. Aren’t these Trump people? The ones who ban abortion, reject gun control and actually embrace religion, that out-dated opiate of the people?
This is a culture blog, not a political one, and I’m not going to comment on the validity of anyone’s beliefs. But I can tell you that each one of those attributes has far more complexity than is reported in the British press, and that there are arguments for another side that can be introduced into thoughtful debate. (Not that much of that happens any more.) There are well educated, affluent, caring and thoughtful people in each of those categories. And plenty of them have seen the wider world. Ironically, we probably met more people who’d been to England on this vacation in rural Missouri than on other American holidays, since levels of military service are much higher in the countryside. Many people we spoke to had been posted to bases near us, and took the opportunity to explore when they were overseas.
As I have argued from the day I first moved to the UK, you simply cannot understand America without spending time between the Appalachians and the Rockies. (The aberration that is Las Vegas doesn’t count, even if it does have a Bass Pro Shop.) This is a different America to the one exported in mass media or portrayed by foreign reporters. It’s the America most Europeans just fly over. The bit they dismiss. But it’s just as valid as the more familiar culture of the coasts and I’ll bet you a Bass Pro Shop baseball cap that if you’re in proper trouble, these people are going to take you in and look after you a lot faster than most of their coastal brethren.
Of course, there’s another truth to be confronted when you consider the world Johnny Morris has built. While Big Cedar Lodge might be full of good folk from flyover country, at an average cost per day that can easily hit $600 per person once you add in food and drink, the clientele are self-selecting. When the boys ran out of beer and left the resort to re-stock at Wild Bill’s, they found a lot less charm, a lot more grunge and people who appeared to be living much harder lives. I suspect Bill’s patrons would still help you out in a crisis, but they’d seem a lot more alien than the guys who’d just come off the golf course to quaff premium bourbon at the Buffalo Bar’s sunset ceremony. Even if those golfers did vote for Trump.
In this way, Big Cedar may be as much of a fantasy as Disney’s Wilderness Lodge. And that’s a big part of how it earns its luxury price tag. In my next article on the resort I’ll talk about activities and dining.
No comments:
Post a Comment