River and Bayou

Today I saw firsthand where people live on a bayou. But, first, what the heck is a bayou?

Well, a bayou is pretty much a slow-moving river within a swampland. If you live in a swamp and your only mode of transportation is a boat, then the bayous are the ‘roads’ used to navigate through it. So, living on a bayou means your home is situated not in some deeply remote and inaccessible swamp, but rather on the marshy low-lying banks of one of those slow-moving rivers. There are dozens and dozens of bayous in the Atchafalya River Basin. And what I saw from the Atchafalaya River today left me with all sorts of questions about what living on a bayou must be like.

Most of the buildings I saw were nothing more than run-down shacks or shanties – though one or two appeared to be far more livable and well-maintained than others. In fact, one fishing or hunting camp I paddled by today actually had a grass lawn. But that was the rare exception. Instead, most of the shacks I saw today left me wondering where and how they got their electrical power, or even if they had any. Or access to potable water. Or schools. And how and where did they buy their groceries or other goods? Or gas for their boats? And, for that matter, how did they get their mail? From what I can tell, if there are any roads at all in part of the Atchafalaya Basin, they’re few and unpaved.

So many questions. But no time to stop for a visit and talk. And to be honest, I think most of the people living on the bayous aren’t all that interested in visits from strangers, anyway. And so I paddled by these small cluster of homes along the Atchafalaya. Past the narrow muddy river banks just beneath the endless trees that line both sides of the river. And I’d think about how the Cajuns living on the bayous managed to eek out a life in a place where I couldn’t even find a spot to pitch a tent and camp overnight. As I said, canoeing past where they lived, it seemed all I gained were far more questions than insights.

And I paddled all day. Nine or ten hours. Not stopping even once to get out of the canoe to stretch my legs. And, to be honest, I couldn’t find someplace to do that even if I wanted to. And, so, as the afternoon wore on into early evening, finding a place to pitch my tent and spend the night became my first and only priority. A few muddy spots I passed looked sort of suitable, but I kept holding out for something better. I had studied the charts and identified one or two places where it looked as if, based on the configuration of how the river current met the land, there might be a sandy beach or dune.

So, when I turned a small bend in the river and saw though my binoculars a sandy little beach a couple miles away across the opening to Six Mile Lake, I was thrilled! A decent spot to spend my last night! I paddled hard across that mile-wide opening. And landed the canoe in not mud, but firm sand. And a very nice spot to camp for the night. No signs of snakes or alligators that I could see. Just the omnipresent horde of blood-sucking mosquitoes and other little flying pests. But they wouldn’t be out until sunset, and I still had an hour before that. So made camp and ate dinner. Then broke out the bar of soap and bathed in the river. And, of course, the bath didn’t take. It’s too hot and humid for that. But, it’s the thought that counts. And I wanted to be as clean and fresh as possible when I meet Gloria for my pick-up in Morgan City tomorrow afternoon.

The end of this adventure is only twenty miles and a wake-up away.

N.B. Saw an alligator today. It was swimming across the river and passed about fifty feet in front of my canoe.