River and Bayou

After breakfast, I checked out of the River Inn of Harbortown and walked the mile back to the Marina. My walk was along the popular River Front greenway and there were several joggers and dog-walkers out enjoying the relatively cool air of the morning.

Arrived at the Marina to find my canoe and gear were exactly as I left them. Untouched. There was no sign of anyone working at the Marina, the doors to the office were locked. So I topped off my water tank with water from a dock side hose (I figured it was probably at least semi-potable water as the hose seemed to be connected to an old water filter of some sort) and paddled out. It was shortly after 8 AM and the start of an interesting day.

A short ½ mile paddle out of the harbor and I was in the main current of the river. It was flowing at a nice clip as I paddled beneath both the railroad and Old Bridge. One of the towering support structures of the Old Bridge is suppose to be haunted, but I didn’t stop to investigate. Fueled by a first class breakfast and a good night’s sleep, I was anxious to get downriver and away from the heavy barge traffic and industrial areas in and around Memphis and West Memphis, Arkansas.

Rounding one of the first bends below Memphis, I was paddling along the left bank and failed to cross over to the other side of the river where the faster water of the marked channel was. It was easy to make that mistake. The entire inside bend of President’s and Vice President’s Sandbar/Island (on the bank opposite the marked channel) was nothing but a mile or so of wide open water and what looked like easy paddling. So unknowingly I wandered into that water … which actually proved to be very shallow, often no more than 6 or 8 inches deep. At one point, I had to get out of the canoe and pull it across almost 100 yards of shoal sandy bottom before I found water deep enough to paddle through. At least the bottom was pretty firm sand, and not soft mud, so I was thankful for that.

Back in the channel I paddled for about an hour or so more before deciding to take a break. The sun and heat didn’t seem to be as oppressive as the past couple days – perhaps a nice south wind helped.

Anyway, I found a good spot to land the canoe on a small sandy spit of shoreline, broke out my camp chair, had a bite to eat, and took a short 30 minute power nap beneath the weak shady of a small willow tree. It was just what the doctor ordered. I was charged up and ready to take on an afternoon’s worth of paddling.

Now for most of the morning, the skies had been cloudless. But as I resumed my paddling, I noticed clouds had begun to build all around me. It was 11 AM. The predicted afternoon thunderstorms might just be arriving a few hours early.

And they did. By 1 PM, there was thunder overhead. By 1:15 PM, there was lightning nearby. And by 1:30 PM the rain squalls were just off to the right and looked to be moving past. Then the winds from the thunderstorm hit. Not too strong, but strong enough to make steering the canoe very difficult. You see, the canoe wants to wants to windmill around into the wind, or worse, sail before it. And if the winds are strong enough, no matter how hard I paddle, I just can’t turn the canoe into the direction I want it to go. Now combine that with the strong current of the river – which is moving in a direction different from the wind – and there wasn’t much I could do other than sit back and let God, the water, and the weather take me where it wanted. The best I could hope was to keep from running aground on some mud or sand flat, avoid a channel buoy, or run into some large dead tree stuck in the shoal waters of the river from some previous higher water days.

And then, out of the rain squall, a barge. Yikes! So I paddled for all I was worth, moving well clear of the channel to keep away from that hazard. And then I drifted with the winds and the current until the storm passed. Twenty minutes later, the thunderstorm cleared, the winds abated, and peace and tranquility were restored.

For the next hour, thunder boomed nearby and the occasional bolt of lightning caught my attention. But the winds and rain never came. So I paddled on, looking for a good spot to land the canoe and camp for the night. There weren’t many. Sure, there were large expansive sandbars, but they were exposed and, with more thunderstorms forecast for the night, they were campsites of last resort. There was a few places on several of the islands I passed that looked like they be good places to camp for the night, but often, in order to access them, I would have to cross a hundred yards or more of mud and sand flats. And I didn’t relish having to carry my gear that far across such soft ground.

Finally, just as it started to rain in earnest, I found a nice sandy beach with a few trees for shade and protection, and where I could land the canoe safely on firm sandy bottom and not soft mud. I’ve gotten out of the canoe before and stepped into that soft mud bottom, sinking almost immediately above mid-thigh. Dealing with that mud bottom is one time too many.

Anyway, I moved my gear out of the canoe, pulled it safely up onto the beach, and sat under my small tarp while I waited for the rain to stop before setting up my tent and camp. Then dinner, sunset, and bed.

Aside from the thunderstorms, the shoal waters near President’s Island, and searching for a campsite for the night, it was a good day. I’d paddled over 28 miles and didn’t feel nearly as exhausted as at the end of previous days. Maybe I’m getting used to this stuff. I don’t know. But I do know I’m going to include a midday power nap into my daily routine as often as I can.