In the Rough
In a crater in Murfreesboro, a chance to find a girl's best friend
Some ninety-odd million years ago, when your ancestors and mine were still scampering away from dinosaurs, a volcano in what would very, very eventually become southwest Arkansas erupted. On its way through the earth’s crust, the magma flow picked up some diamonds—casually, like Zsa Zsa Gabor—before bursting onto the landscape in a bright, fiery plume, again like Zsa Zsa Gabor. There the diamonds lay as the continents shifted. Meanwhile, monkeys started walking upright, using tools, and valuing shiny things they found.
In 1906, farmer John Huddleston found two “crystals”—and a short month later, had sold options on the land to a Little Rock business consortium. Despite an optimistic “diamond boom” in nearby Murfreesboro the next year and a prominent diamond shape on the state’s flag designed in 1912, exploration over the following decades proved that Huddleston had found that most unlikely of things: an unprofitable diamond mine. There were lots of diamonds on the land compared to most places in the world, but not compared to the most profitable diamond mines in places like South Africa. Additionally, erosion patterns had concentrated the diamonds on the top layers of the land—diamond density (and therefore profit) decreased the deeper you went.
But … still, there were diamonds. By the early 1950s the “Crater of Diamonds” had become a tourist attraction, drawing rockhounds, thrillseekers, and cheap grooms-to-be to root around in the soil to look for diamonds that had been missed by earlier efforts—or that had tumbled through the wide mesh of pre-war sieves. The state of Arkansas bought the site in 1971, and since then Crater of Diamonds State Park has welcomed optimists to try their hand at finding some sparklers.
[Read about Chris Turner-Neal's experience at Slidell's lone nudist campground, here.]
Some real gems have indeed turned up at the park. Uncle Sam, the largest diamond ever found in the United States, popped up here in 1924, weighing in at a finger-straining forty carats. In 1990, Shirley Strawn pulled up Arkansas’s first “perfect” diamond, a one-in-a-billion example with no visible tints or flaws. The Amarillo Starlight, the Bleeding Heart, the Esperanza—the list of notable diamonds reads like train routes or country songs. Fortunately, I won’t have the pressure of thinking of a name for a diamond anytime soon. On a recent road trip through Arkansas, my boyfriend and I hit the crater and were woefully unprepared, though we did have a great time.
But … still, there were diamonds. By the early 1950s the “Crater of Diamonds” had become a tourist attraction, drawing rockhounds, thrillseekers, and cheap grooms-to-be to root around in the soil to look for diamonds that had been missed by earlier efforts—or that had tumbled through the wide mesh of pre-war sieves.
Ten dollars gets you all-day access to the crater; you can also take away a certain amount of sifted gravel to pore over from the comfort of wherever you keep your gravel in your own home. You can rent trowels and sieves—the place you do this is directly under the gift shop and entry area, and so we didn’t notice it until we were dusty and ready to go look for chicken fried steak on the way to our next stop.
When we went, there was a good mix of casual diggers and kitted-out enthusiasts; the most intense gem hunters have lockers to store equipment. One lonely tree, apparently planted to create shade, stands in the middle of the mine; the field is regularly plowed to bring new potentially diamond-bearing material to the surface. We went to Canary Hill (“hill” is an extremely strong word), a section of the park that throws out the occasional amethyst.
“Is this purple or brown?” They were brown, all of them, but we convinced ourselves that a couple of them might be purple. Frankie found a tiny crystal, brown like some of the diamonds at the park are, and gave it the poor man’s diamond test: seeing if it scratched other rocks. It did. I knew of another easy test:
“Don’t put that in your mouth.”
I ignored him. The little brown rectangle didn’t feel cool on my tongue.
“I think it’s just a piece of beer bottle.”
“Stop putting things you find in your mouth.”
We found a solid handful of pretty rocks, but nothing else worth tasting. After a silly couple of hours digging in the loose, fine soil and asking each other if what we found was “a plain rock” or not, we cooled off with a turn around an adjacent shady nature trail—it’s only about a mile around and well worth spending some time among trees. If you find anything you think is worth identifying, there’s an “identifier” on site—a park ranger whose job is to break the news that you haven’t found anything valuable or unusual. Presumably they get to give good news too, but not while we were there—it was, in fact, a piece of beer bottle I put in my mouth.
If You Go:
The site is exposed, so hats, sunscreen, or even a portable shade tent are important. Nearby Murfreesboro has several hotels; we stayed at the pretty, cozy, and affordable Queen of Diamonds Inn, steps from the town square and five minutes (if that) from the Crater of Diamonds. Southern Dine had excellent steak and a wide variety of flavors of homemade hand pie, including one with apricot that I would buy by the gross. One shared breakfast plate from The Crusted Loaf fueled two stocky adult men through a morning of diamond exploration—and it was good, too. It’s worth noting that Crater of Diamonds State Park is much larger than the crater itself and offers trails, camping, and fishing in the Little Missouri River.