River and Bayou

I don’t think the barges run on Saturday. At least that’s what it seemed like today. I only saw four barges all day and, for the most part, had the river to myself. No barges. No sports fishermen. No one. Today, the river belonged to me. And I took in the expansiveness. You see so much more at 5 mph than you do at 55. As when I road my bicycle across the Great Plains, I could not have conceived of just how huge the river down here is. Only by seeing with my own eyes could I comprehend.

And it’s wild. Not ‘violent’ wild. But wild as in little hindered and unencumbered with civilization and man. There are no towns on the river down here. Nearly all are miles behind the levees. Occasionally, I’ll see a boat ramp. But I seldom see anyone using them. The only sign of man’s infringement on the vast natural land, habitat, and processes that lie between the levees have to do with the ‘river highway.’ An occasional grain or gravel elevator. Buoys. Navigation aids for the barge traffic – like day marks and lights. But that’s about it. I think few people living have seen, or appreciate, what a national treasure the land along the great river is. Just one more reason I’m glad I’m making this trip. The Southern Mississippi, at least the sections I’ve traveled through so far, truly are a wonder.

I stopped paddling from one shore to the other days ago. The river is just too wide for that. Now, the only time I cross the river is at the bends when I ride the current. So when I see a likely spot to land and take a break for lunch or just to stretch my legs, I go for it. Sometimes the spot is a gem – firm sandy bottom, shade, no bugs. Other times it’s not so much. Like today.

I paddled up to small shady ‘beach’ about 11 AM to stretch my legs. As usual, I tested the firmness of the shallow river bottom near shore with my paddle before I get out of the canoe. Was it mud? Was it firm enough to support my weight? When I pushed my paddle into the bottom, it seemed pretty solid. I gingerly stepped one booted foot out of the boat, and all seemed good. So I climbed all the way out and began to pull the canoe ashore so it wouldn’t float away while I sat and enjoyed the shade for while. And then the thick crust of the mud and sand surface broke and I was knee deep in the Big Muddy again. Unexpected and unbalanced, I fell over backwards. Right onto my butt. It might have been funny to watch. Probably was.

So not such a good spot after all. Back into the canoe for me then. At least the canoe was floating in some shade, so I could sit in the boat and enjoy my lunch there. As for stretching my legs, well, I had more than enough of that. That’s when I spotted my first coral snake. Swimming gingerly right alongside the canoe. So maybe spending a few moments ashore wasn’t such a good idea after all! I thought of that scene in the movie, “Apocalypse Now” where the crew chief of the small Navy River Patrol Boat tells everyone, “Don’t go ashore. STAY IN THE BOAT.” Those words rattled around in my brain for more than a few moments.

But I have to get out of the boat sometime, right? But where? Right now, I think a lot of sandbars are in my future. Camping on a sandbar (actually, the river’s bottom when the river is this low) has its perks. Not muddy; firm and sandy. Clean. No mosquitoes. Easy place to land the canoe and pull it up out of the water for the night. It also has it’s disadvantages. Most notably, exposure to the wind and weather. There are no trees at the bottom of the river so the wind really comes whipping across the flat, low bar. And camping on a sand bar means always keeping an eye on the height of the river. The past two nights, I camped no more than six inches or so above river height. If the river rises, I’m literally swamped and my camp is floating away. NOAA has a series of gauges up and down the river they use for river height prediction. And their predictions seem pretty accurate. Still.

And speaking of winds, I had a heck of a time getting around Corregidor Bend this afternoon. The sandbar on the inside of the bend is expansive and low. All sand. No trees. Just some low scrub vegetation here and there. Today’s strong north-northeast winds blew right across the bar and onto the river. Where my little canoe had to deal with them. That wind wanted to push the canoe one way. The current wanted to take it another. And, of course, for four miles and over an hour, I wanted to take it someplace else (most notably, out of the channel and away from one of the few barges I encountered all day.) I know those barges, with all their freeboard, must be more difficult to steer in those winds, too. So the more distance I could keep between myself and the barges, the better. It required some really hard continuous paddling. The hardest I’ve done yet. But at the end of all that effort was a huge payoff – the “Ultra Gang.”

Picnicking on a sandy spot right at the southeastern end of Corregidor Bar was a local family. I spotted their beach umbrella and two beached boats from three miles off. They were the first people, not in a boat, that I’ve seen and spoken too in what seems like weeks. When I worked my way up (again, against the wind and cross current), they had a grill going with burgers and chicken. And they had cold beer. Which they offered and I accepted. (It was a Michelob Ultra, hence the “Ultra Gang.”) I didn’t catch all their names, but didn’t need to. They were friendly, good folk and we chatted a bit about my trip. And they told me about others they met over the years doing the same. After struggling around that bend, It was a reward to meet and talk with them (as was that cold beer.)

So that was today.

Oh, one more thing. I left Arkansas behind. Now Mississippi is on one side of the river and the last state, Louisiana, is on the other.