River and Bayou

Every morning, it’s the same. Put on my headlamp. Crawl out of the tent. Sett up my chair and table. Breakout the stove. Make coffee. And watch the sun come up over the river. At times like that, it’s very easy to imagine what living on the river must have been like two or three hundred years ago. Except for maybe the low throb of a passing barge, or the splash of a catfish leaping out of the water, it’s quiet. Tranquil. . If I remember anything from this trip, I’ll remember that peacefulness.

Paddled out shortly after 8:30 AM. An hour later, I was around Rosedale Bend and passing the mouth of the Arkansas River. The 1475 mile long Arkansas River drains all of the Great Plains from Kansas down to the Texas Panhandle, including most of Oklahoma, and everything west to the continental divide of the Colorado and New Mexico Rocky Mountains. It’s the biggest and longest tributary of the Lower Mississippi River (and the largest drainage basin), one of the five largest and longest rivers in the continental United States.

So, when I paddled past, I didn’t know quite what to expect. Would it be like the confluence with the Ohio River way up north with lots of churn and huge eddies? Would two noticeable water masses flow side-by-side for miles before finally blending together into on moving volume of water?

It was none of those things. No eddies. No churn. Maybe it’s because the rivers are so low. I don’t know. What I do know is that the Arkansas gave the Mississippi’s current a noticeable kick. Where before I was gently floating in the 2-3 mph current, now I was flying at maybe 4 mph or so. This may not seem like much, but considering I paddle at about the same pace a person walks, that extra mph makes a world of difference.

And for some reason, there were no barges. I had the big river, the channel, and the current all to my myself. It was nice. Very nice.

Did I say all to myself? Well, not exactly. You see, my mother loved butterflies. And after she passed, I took to habit of saying “Hi, Ma” every time a butterfly flew near. I’ve been saying that a lot on this trip. There are a lot of butterflies. Makes me feel un-alone. Anyway, I wasn’t completely alone in my canoe as I road in that smooth, swift current. A butterfly, for some reason flying out in mid-river a half mile or so from either shore, landed on the bow of my canoe. And calmly sat there for the next two hours. Keeping me company. And when she finally flew off, I said “Bye, Ma. Thanks.” It’s nice to know I’m still being watched over.

I spent the rest of the day paddling. Not stopping once. Around Catfish Point. Past Chcotaw Island. Just enjoying the nice breeze at my back, and the partly cloudy blue skies and less-brutal sun.. And as 4PM approached, when for-whatever-reason the barge traffic seems to be the heaviest, I began to look for that elusive spot to set up camp for the night. Which I didn’t find until shortly after 5PM when I was a mile or so south of Arkansas City, Arkansas. It wasn’t a great spot, but it’ll do in a pinch. And I was tired. I had paddled over 36 miles today. My longest day yet.

I’m now a short day’s paddle from Greenville, Mississippi, where there’s a real campground right on the riverfront. And showers! Can’t wait!

Some extra photos: