Red Maple Slough
 by:  Juli Day
Gene Boothe led a paddle on Saturday, March 6th 2010 to Maple Slough.


Tom Montgomery, Steve Deckler, Gene Boothe and I met at the old River Docks launch. Fantastic weather greeted us along with tides being right for a paddle up Conway Creek (with north winds gusting against us) and down into Big Beatte Bayou. I guess we all needed the workout. The colors were beautiful with the new green shoots along the bank(no flowers as of yet) and maples in bloom. We saw quite a few birds, Terns, Gulls, Cormorants, Pelicans, Egrets, Coots, Osprey, Ducks, Blackbirds and more. Disappointment set in when we arrived at our final destination as we found that Maple Slough was impassable. There was a lot of vegetation at this time of the year and that should get a lot thicker as summer nears. We ventured on anyway, but came to a halt when we were met with several trees growing in the path. A hand saw would take care of this though. The water appeared to be clear beyond the trees. Paddling back to the launch was a quick one with the wind behind us.
It was a great paddle, sad to see an old favorite spot inaccessible, great to feel a bit warm on a paddle after a long winter, and to do it with great company.
Paddle Proud.

Old Fort Bayou, Ocean Springs
01/19/10
Juli Day
Out of curiosity and the need to explore, Carol Curren and I headed to Ocean Springs in search of the Old Fort Bayou Blueway TrailL. We knew we in for a great day when we had the pleasure of seeing frozen lobster tails leading into Ocean Springs. We were tempted to stop and gather a few. Oh Well, the water called.

I had heard of the trail, they had a huge grand opening in September, but very little info has been available about the ins and outs of the trail. Unable to locate a map on the web we figured we could get one upon arrival. No such luck with the visitor's center closed due to the holiday. We knew the start of the trail was at Gulf Hills Golf Resort on Paso Rd so we went to the hotel at the resort to get a map and as luck would have it, they were out. But the stop was necessary for all kayakers or canoeists to get permission to access to the launching area. Into the car and around the property to a locked gate, drove down away, hopped the curb and on to the launch. The launch is beautiful with live oaks, and a nice grassy put in and is only available for canoes and kayaks. The locked gate was an issue, we could have called the maintenance guy, but we had already wasted a lot of time looking for a map so we hopped the curb. This needs to be asked about at the hotel when you check in.

We soon discovered that a map is very necessary since we found no signs other than #1. We paddled west toward Biloxi Bay siting several Osprey along the way and found a huge Great Blue Heron rookery along with several Osprey nests at the point of the Old Fort Bayou and the bay. Knowing we would not find the trail in this direction we headed east toward the Ocean Springs bridge. The birding was awesome with a great many Pelicans, Gulls, Comarants, Egrets,(snowy and great), Great Blue Herons, King Fishers, Terns, Killdeer, Ducks, Loons, Black Birds, and more. The area is fantastic, with the grasses and reeds and so many many nooks and crannies to explore. There were some oyster beds which were easy to navigate around . We only saw two motor boats and couple of fishermen.

There were quite a few dead fish so we talked with a local and were told there had been a fish kill due to the freeze, that the fish really froze and people were collecting the fish the morning after the freeze.

All in all this was a great trip, in the three and half hours of exploring and looking for the trail we never found another sign, but we were okay with that. All the more reason to go back.

This is a place worth exploring.

Rice Creek to Jug Lake - Sept 6, 2009

WHAT A GREAT AFTERNOON WITH A GREAT GROUP OF OLD FRIENDS. NORM & JANICE (BLAIRSVILLE GA), JEFF & LAURA (OREGON), HARRIET, FRITZ, TRACY, DAVID, NANCY AND MYSELF. THE RAIN WRECKED HAVOC EARLY IN THE MORNING BUT CHALK IT UP TO GOOD KARMA THE RAIN CEASED AND THE CLOUDS HELD THE SUN AT BAY.WE MET AT THE STAGECOACH AND WERE GREETED BY GENE AND CAROLYN ON THEIR WAY TO VISIT FRIENDS. WE MOVED ON TO THE RICE CREEK LANDING. THE WATER WAS UP AND RUNNING AND ONCE AGAIN WE WERE GIVEN THE RICE CREEK FEEL OF AN ENCHANTED PLACE. LEATHER WOODS, BUTTON BUSHES, EARLY CARDINAL FLOWERS, ASTORS, GLORIES AND MUCH MORE WERE OUT. LOOKED FOR THE WOOD STORKS THAT WE SAW EARLIER IN THE SUMMER IN JUG LAKE, BUT TO NO AVAIL. WE PADDLED AT A LEISURELY PACE OUT TO JUG LAKE PLATFORM. THE CURRENT WAS FLOWING GOOD IN BAYOU JASAMINE AND WE WERE GREETED BY WASPS AT THE PLATFORM. NO PROBLEM. WE HUNG OUT IN OUR BOATS. WE ALL SAW BABY ALLIGATORS AND NORM AND JANICE WATCHED AN OTTER. (THE POSITIVES OF COMING UP IN THE REAR). MOST OF US SAW A STURGEON LEAP OUT OF THE WATER IN TENSAW RIVER. WOW!! THE CURRENT GAVE US A GOOD WORKOUT ON THE WAY BACK TO THE RICE CREEK LANDING AND WE WERE OFF TO ED'S SHED FOR A GREAT DINNER AND BREW. JULI DAY
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Upper Fish River
I have been on this trip twice now since the end of June. It was an absolutely gorgeous day for the 25th of August. About 80 degrees when we launched with the sun out. We went to the take out at Big Daddy's first to leave my truck there and then I got into John's vehicle and rode to Bohemian Park on County Road 48. The first time I took this trip in June, we ran into a couple of log jams. The first we had to get out of our boats and help each other pass them over a big log and the second jam we had to get out and push our boats under a log as there wasn't enough room to sit in the boats and make it under. Recent rains must have broken up some of the log jams because we did not have to get out of our boats at all today unless we wanted to stop to swim.
This part of the river is really pretty with a white sandy bottom and clear, cold water moving with a swift current. We had plenty of obstacles to manuever around and in some places had to make fast switchbacks in order to go thru the places that were clear and sometimes very narrow passages between trees and stumps. You also had to take care that the current didn't send you into the tree limbs hanging over the river. It would be easy to see how this trip could change a lot depending on water level because of the number of obstacles and downed trees. A few inches lower or higher would make some areas not so easy to get thru so I guess we were lucky today.We had a duck that swam and flew ahead of us a large part of the trip. We saw plenty of turtles and some jumping mullet.The water was cold and refreshing. We saw a couple canoeing upriver and said they had seen a water moccasin on the river bank. We never saw any snakes but kept our eyes out. If anyone is adventurous enough this is a fun paddle. It took us around 4 to 4 1/2 hours total with a very casual pace and a couple of swim breaks and a little fishing. I'm guessing it's around 5 or 6 miles? 8/25/09 Patti Street
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Weiss Lake / Alabama Scenic River Trail June 10-13
I joined Alabama Scenic River Trails and I am so glad to have done so. Headed up to Weiss Lake in north east Alabama not knowing a soul but meeting 50 great paddlers. Arrived on Wednesday night and was welcomed into a group of about 12 campers all early arrivers for Thursdays great event. Gathered to register at 9:00 on Thursday and was very surprised to see 50 other like mined people. This was very organized and we were on the water by 10:30. The paddle that day was led by Richard Grove. He is the guy that did the Alabama River Trail in 49 days starting in Georgia and ending at Ft. Morgan. The entire event was orgainzed by Jim Felder. He is the author of a couple of books. This group comprised of very experienced paddlers to novice paddlers out for their first adventure. It was awesome to be in such large water that was fresh. Oh, to feel clean after a day of getting sprayed. The views were fantastic with Alabama mountains all around.We headed out Thursday, cut across the lake to an island with a boat loaded with Subway sandwiches, fruit, water and sodas. A horrific lightning storm came our way, but passed around us. The skies were fantastic. Just a small shower. Back into the water and on our way to the first night camp site at Alabama Belle Resort. No! we did not stay in the resort, just camped on the grounds. We swam, set up camp, visited, located facilities and ate. Due to the chance of bad weather again (which once again never came) we were served in the restaurant. That evening we were given a talk by a professor,geologist, author (can not remember his name) who talked about what would be expected and seen on the Alabama Scenic River Trail trip. We do live in a very wonderful state. We all crashed after this. We were also introduced to the couple to helps with portages around the dams on the Alabma Scenic River Trail. This group is good, I am impressed.
Up Friday to fresh coffee and breakfast, had our trip talk and were on our way. We were broken into two groups, experienced and novice. I chose the slower group since they were taking the scenic route. Wow! I was so glad. the birding was great and we came across a huge!! area of American Lotus just opening. We paddled on to lunch fruit, vegetable trays, homemade cookies and good sandwiches. I am loving it.The wind was kicking to high so all conoes and novice paddlers were shuttled to the next campsite. I joined 8 other paddlers and opted for a paddle across the lake. Winds were at 10 -12 and kicked up to 15 + it was a great workout and once again it was no nice to get sprayed with FRESH water. Yes! I was tired.Came to our campsite, set up tents. how neat to see 40 some odd tents spread out through the woods. Dinner served - bar-b-que(beef, pork and chiken), slaw, beans, cake, fruit, and then entertained by a blues grass band. What a life.Later there were about 5 campfires to wonder back and forth to. Bed around 12:00 up and out by 8:00.
For some reason that Richard Grove thought everyone needed to be awakened every morning at 5:15. could have done without that. On to our short paddle of three miles to the Yellow Falls and dragon boat races. We were in the race and trying to coordinate with 20 others was a blast. We lost. Oh well, we had fun. Had a small lunch and headed out. The fun I had was great and did I mention the cost for all of this was only 35.00 Now! that is a once in a lifetime event. Juli day

Savages Ditch
Bob Andrews had an old friend visit last week. Bob wanted to show him the spring flowers in Savage's Ditch. I met Bob, Julie Day, and the visiting couple (names escape me) at River Docs at 5pm. This time of day was absolutely perfect with just a slight overcast and light north wind. The mile wide crossing of Chocolata (actually named Chacaloochee Bay) was uneventful. Once in Savage's Ditch, we were in a protected winding waterway. Soon it became evident that both the Spider Lilies and the Blue Flag Iris were in a riot! Bob remarked that he'd never in 30 years seen the Blue Flag in such profuse bloom. The Spider Lilies were exploding too. Patches of Spider Lilies were everywhere, sometimes up to an acre. The Blue Flag were often in large banks scattered all along the ditch. Once we came out on Conway Creek, the display was a bit muted but still awesome. Overall, this was one of the most spectacular wildflower blooms I've ever seen in the delta. Up in Big Bateau Bay, Bob took us to a small 40 yds across) lake at the end of a winding little offshoot from Big Bateau. Raucous rails and other waterbirds gave us a piece of their minds. Only Bob would know where this place is. The light turned magic while we were in there with the sun almost setting. The skyline of Mobile became prominent on the west horizon. It emphasized what a real treasure that we have right in our back yard. As Julie remarked, "...and most people don't even know it's there". We stopped a bit to enjoy the show before crossing Chocolata back to River Docs. This is a "DON'T MISS" paddle in the 2nd week of April. Put it on your calendar for this week (before they're gone) or for next year. It will be worth it I promise.I took a bunch of pics and have put them in my on-line gallery. You can look at them at http://gallery.me.com/twmeyer1#100048You'll notice that some photos are the original unaltered shot followed by my "tweaking" of the image. Please indulge my artistic compulsions. I hope you find them pleasant to view.Tom Meyer

Jug Lake Platform
This report has been some 4 years in the writing. As I wrote it I couldn’t help but try to convey more than just the dry facts. That often meant I would get stymied over just what to say, how to get past the “you had to be there” factor for “getting it”. Sometimes it would just come to me faster than I could write it down. Other times, I’d go months without being able find a way to say it. I think the frustration was good in the end because, as you’ll read, it often led me to take risks (from a writing standpoint) that I would have considered self-indulgent otherwise. Yes, I’ll tell you now that I admit to going over the top more than once in this report. That being said, I believe what you’ll read is as close to what I experienced as I could get it. The facts are accurate and my philosophy of making my own magic will be evident. But what you read will be what this paddle has left me with. It’s the kind of thing I try to bring back from every paddle. I’d challenge each of you to make that kind of magic on every paddle. It will be well worth the effort, I promise.

Paddle Report:
Jug Lake Platform, Bartram Canoe Trail
August 21-22, 2004
By:
Tom Meyer

Last week I had gotten wind that there was to be a meeting between representatives of the Ala. State Lands Division, the Mobile Bay Canoe and Kayak Club, and the Sierra Club. Things were starting to fall in place. The meeting was almost sure to mean that the long awaited platforms on the Bartram Canoe Trail were going to be opened to overnight use! I had decided several months ago that I wanted to be among the first to use one of the platforms. I had alerted two close friends, both experienced backpacking and paddling buddies, to be ready to go “on call”.

I didn’t want to put it out to the club as a planned paddle until I actually had a platform reserved. Then I got the call from Bob Andrews. The platforms were available and all I had to do was contact the designated guy at state. There was only one problem, Bob couldn’t find his glasses! He had the contact information right in front of him but he couldn’t tell me. There was much mumbling about “they’re around here somewhere”, and sounds of rustling papers etc. No luck! “I’ll fax it to you first thing in the morning”.

At work the next morning, the fax arrived, the call was made, the response, “sorry, Mr. Smith isn’t in today”. I left voice and e-mails and waited. Early the next morning Cris Smith from the State called and confirmed my request for the Jug Lake Platform for Saturday night. He also sent an e-mail confirmation with a link to a website with maps, rules for use, and good photos of the platforms in place. It’s a great site with room for a little fine tuning. One of my suggestions to them will be to provide GPS coordinates for the platforms and critical points along the routes.

By the way, Cris Smith is a thoroughly pleasant and helpful guy.

I notified my two buds, Richard Keenan from Fairhope and Fred Krause from Slidell (originally Mobile), and sent Julie a “Flash Paddle” announcement. It was now Thursday before we’d go on Saturday and I wasn’t sure how many takers there’d be on such short notice. Besides, I guess you have to really like taking nature on her own terms to think this was a good idea. The short notice and the prospect of August heat/humidity, delta mosquitoes, and a forecast of rain resulted in just the three of us meeting at my house at seven AM. We went up Hwy 225 like a bunch of demented zoo animals escaping through a hole in the fence and sprinting for the tree-line. We hadn’t been out much lately and needed this…… bad.

We had the Rice Creek Landing put-in to ourselves. One of the 2 vehicles parked there was Don Hulgan’s. Those of you who saw the photos of Gary Worob’s Juniper Creek trip posted on a Yahoo link can thank Don. He had e-mailed me at 3AM that his was coming from near Dothan for just a day-trip, had gotten there at 6:30, and was already gone.

Just before we got in the boats, Richard told us he had secured the services of a guide and protector and introduced us to Captain Arrgh! Complete with eye patch and brandishing a cutlass, Cap’n Arrgh! took his place on the bow of Richard’s Loon 16.

As we slipped away into the cool (relatively) shade of Rice Creek all the stress and worries of our real-world lives dribbled off the ends of our paddles into the creek. Within a hundred yards we had completely changed, totally relaxed, senses on “sponge mode”, the boundaries between us and the environment around us dissolving with every paddle stroke. Except of course Capt. Arrgh!, who remained a curmudgeon to the core.

Our planned route would take us down Rice Creek, across Briar Lake, into whatever they call that passage from Briar Lake to Tensaw Lake, down behind Larry Island to the Tensaw River, through Bayou Jessamine to Bottle Creek, and to the Indian Mounds for Lunch. After Lunch we figured there were just too many choices of places to explore so we would just play it by ear and make it to the platform by 5PM. None of us had been to anywhere in this area so it was a real voyage of discovery for us.

Rice Creek truly lives up to its reputation as one of THE classic paddles in the delta. Murmured superlatives catalogued our reactions to the moss draped cypress, the low ceiling dense canopy with occasional skylights, the heron sentinels, and the kingfisher messengers. Back at the landing the air had been heavy and close and we had broken a good sweat just getting loaded and underway. Now, it seemed 10 degrees cooler, the air less dense. Trailing my hands in the water was……. OK….. I know how this sounds….. it was exquisite. Maybe it was just a change of heart, or attitude, or …. Whatever. But wild places tend to do that to me. This place had all the earmarks of a wild place and we weren’t 20 minutes from the landing yet. Rice Creek was like a good satisfying sigh.

Coming into Briar Lake caused a bit of sensory flinch as we again had open sky, bright light, and more than 100 ft of unobstructed view in front of us. Bob had briefed me on some potential points of interest, one of them a half mile off-route to the north up Briar Lake. Up around the bend where the lake narrows, we find the small clean sandbar Bob told me about. This is where I need to tell y’all a little about Richard. Picture a 300 pound 9 year old trapped in a mature, highly intelligent, 45 year old, deeply proficient outdoorsman. Time to play! Simply put, Richard enjoyed the sand bar with gusto. After a half hour of romping exuberance, we retraced our path to the entrance to the exit from the lake.

I think Bob told me there’s a name locals call for this passage* leading from Briar Lake to Tensaw Lake at the north end of Larry Island… but I can’t remember and the map doesn’t call it anything. If this isn’t Rice Creek, it’s a lot like it. Low ceiling, patchy sky, close, cool, intimate. I just realized! No mosquitoes! This was the delta in August, I hadn’t put on any repellent, but I was bite free….so far.

Entering the Tensaw River at Larry Island, the scale goes to wide angle. Tall trees, wide river, high banks on the east, lots of sky. Unconsciously we’ve picked up our pace. What felt like a rush back in the creek feels like crawling against this scale. There’s a fairly stiff headwind. Actually, we find it’s more like a current being funneled down the channel formed by the trees on either side, faster on the outside of the bend, slower on the inside, eddies in the coves. It’s working! We’re beginning to soak up the delta rhythm and go with its flow.

The trick to finding the entrance to Bayou Jessamine is to not wait until you’re past Larry Island and into the Tensaw before you decide where you think it is. While you’re still in the corridor behind the island, only a relatively short stretch of the far bank of the Tensaw is visible. Try to hit the center of that stretch and you’ll cross the Tensaw at the right angle to find the mouth of the bayou. Also, it’s just to the left of Bob’s “big leaning sycamore with the top blown out” landmark. Part skill, part art.

Bayou Jessamine quickly closes around us. Unlike Rice Creek, the banks are higher, just enough above head level to tantalize us with a ground level perspective. There is the feel of open river bottom forest. The relatively sparse under-story suggests we could walk unimpeded by dense brush on relatively firm, if not dry ground. The dense upper canopy has the same low ceiling as Rice Creek. Looking ahead we have impression the bayou flows through a wide low tunnel of muted greens, grays, and browns. Passing the infrequent patch of sunlit water, legions of swirling water boatman beetles create Jackson Pollock art with the ripples of their wakes and the projected shadows on the shallow bottom. The bare olive grey banks are sprinkled liberally with the vivid orange of trumpet vine blooms fallen from unseen clusters on the sunny side of the canopy. Every so often a brilliant deep crimson laser forces my eye to pause. It’s a tall spindly flower with a 4” spike florescence. I think I should know its name. Such personalities are usually a bit famous.

A big sweeping bend to the southwest, eventually brings our prows around to the northwest. As Bob suggested, I have been counting the numbers crudely painted in blue on trees every couple of hundred yards along the left bank. This is private land, hunting club land. The numbers mark drop off points for hunters. I wonder how safe a quiet paddler would be in deer season.

A prominent 4 foot bank divides a fork in the bayou just as we pass “blue number 7”. There is a noticeable current from both forks. Inconspicuous diamond shaped signage announces that the Jug Lake Platform lies up the right fork. We take the left fork in favor of continuing on to Bottle Creek and the Indian Mounds. We’ll have to come back through here to get to the platform this afternoon.

Bayou Jessamine takes on a more winding character in this stretch. A paddle report filed the week before warned of downed trees with thorny vines that may require saws or loppers. We’ve seen none yet. There is obvious evidence that the going would be much harder if not for some serious chainsaw work, probably by the State Lands Division guys. Aside from being shallow, the very frequent underwater stobs and logs would make coming in here with an outboard, even a 12’ aluminum john-boat with a small motor, frustrating at best and prohibitive at worst. I like being able to go where they have to work harder than I do. As it is, the sudden bump and tilt of unseen underwater hazards is frequent enough to discourage inattentiveness. I rolled my boat last year while not paying attention and underestimating the Ninja skills possessed by these diabolical stealth-stobs.

Have you ever noticed how often a downed tree top leaves the only passable route right in the inside crux of a sharp bend so that you have to make at least a 4 point turn to get lined up to get through the slot that’s usually about 4 inches less than the beam of your boat? We found one, and yes it had thorny vines. I let Fred and Richard bull their way through the slot first. I hadn’t brought a saw or loppers but I had a secret weapon. Here’s my recommendation for the most useful and effective bladed tool there is for such situations, a Ghurka Kukiri. It’s essentially a machete on steroids. What it lacks in reach, it more than makes up in cutting efficiency. My vorple blade went sinker snack and I easily passed through .

Bottle Creek took us back to wide angle mode. I notice a curious effect from this. Back in the close quarters of Jessamine, a few paddle strokes sufficed to take you around a bend, change the scenery. Now, in the wide expanse of Bottle Creek, those same paddle strokes seemed to produce only miniscule progress. The scenery crawls by, mired in the illusion of scale. The next bend seems to recede as fast as we approach. Under an open mid-day August sun, a brisk headwind funneled by the deep walls of swamp forest was both boon and curse. Washing across my chest, the breeze sucked the sweat away, the Cool-Max living up to its name. Plowing into the cushion of the breeze and already blinded by the phantasm of proportion, my boat seemed to be pushing thru honey. My shoulders sagged under the delusion of futility. The bright cream of the sand bank marking the trailhead to the Indian Mound seemed frozen in the distance.

Waking suddenly from a daydream, I find myself jockeying with Fred and Richard for a landing spot on narrow sandy beach at the apex of a bend in the Bottle. A steep six foot bank of sand pours abruptly down out of the dense swampy forest through the cool dark doorway of the trailhead. I’m ready for a walk. But first there’s the matter of getting out of my kayak. I can get the bow far enough onto the beach only so that the cockpit is 1 foot shy of the dry sand. A few probes with the paddle reveals two things. First, the bottom drops off quickly to over my head within 8 feet of shore. More ominous, the bottom changes from hard sand to gelatinous bottomless mud within 8 inches from shore. This will not be graceful by any means.

I’ll spare you the gory details but we all three soon stood on hard sand, dry above the thighs but not exactly mudless below the knees. After much hatch popping and bag unstuffing, we equipped ourselves for the near half mile hike into the swamp to the Indian mound. Richard was the only one who’d been there before: “It was a different time of the year; the water was higher; things don’t look the same; that was a while ago.” Each of us is experienced in backcountry off-trail bushwacking, not exactly naïve babes in the woods. This was mid-August, deep delta swamp, on foot and we weren’t any surer about where we were going than “its sort of over there about a half a mile.” We find a message from Don scratched in the sand, verifying he’d been here and telling us he intended to return to Rice Creek via Devil’s Bend on the Tensaw. He later tells of abandoning his trek into the Indian mound due to unbearable torment by yellow flies.

Once away from the creek there would be no moving air. The heat would be oppressive. Sweat loss could be massive. Mosquitoes (bad) and yellow flies (worse) would be relentless, aggressive, and out in force. Poison ivy would likely be a major portion of dense lush, waist high ground cover. Plentiful “wait-a-minute” vines are capable of shredding clothes and inflicting deep punctures and scratches bordering on lacerations. Foot placement may be more by feel than visibility. The success of any step could be compromised by entanglement by roots or vines, entrapment by thigh deep mud, or envenomation by A. piscivorus (cottonmouth). Failure to observe the smallest detail could bring swift punishment. Disorientation could come easily with any lapse of attention to the big picture. Heat exhaustion, dehydration, and bewilderment could quickly compound into a miserable and quite plausibly fatal predicament. Any traveler in these parts would be imprudent in the extreme to come here in August unprepared and unwilling to meet this place on its own terms. I don’t mean to portray the environment as unforgiving; it’s merely indifferent in the extreme.

Actually, the going would be quite better than I have warned. The trail is open and obvious if you pay attention. The mosquitoes were almost a non issue; the yellow flies bothersome but tolerable thanks to DEET. Despite an abundance of poison ivy, we went bare legged and in sandals. The ground was firm and only damp at this water level. The high ground of the natural levee deposited along the river edge dropped only a few feet in the first ten yards to the floor of the river swamp. The tracks of recent flooding are evident in the exposed muddy sand floor and drifts of leaf litter. As we walked, our own tracks were frequently accented with dark purple stains of the many fallen fox grapes crushed underfoot. Tracks of deer, raccoon, possum, and mice were evident everywhere and purple grape seed laden piles of scat told of a bountiful feast by all. The forest canopy towered above us allowing only dappled sun.

My tracker’s eye noticed a subtle change in the canopy ahead and the lighting on the sub-story below it. Fewer flecks of sky were visible through the canopy creating a dark smudge. Below, the angle of shadows changed and lost contrast against a darker background. Both clues suggest a rising slope. Foreground canopy is superimposed against a higher canopy in the background instead of sky. Vegetation remains upright while dense leaf litter tilts with the slope. Swamps are essentially flat. An elevation change of ten feet is rare. Yet the slope ahead was far higher. I think I knew the Indian mound was going to be 50 or 60 feet high. But, I wasn’t prepared for the surprise that a 50 or 60 foot mound in a swamp creates. Actually I was more awestruck than surprised. This was a geographic anomaly for sure. But, a People piled this dirt here with their bare hands. Real people with families, a community, built this place. Knowing that, it looked immense. What were they thinking! I wondered, “how many generations did it take; how many generations used it; was this a refuge from threat; or, had they found a cornucopia”?

The climb to the top was steep and slick. I led. Richard followed at a respectable distance, letting me know he wanted to be far enough behind to get out of the way when I came tumbling down. I told Fred maybe he should double that distance behind Richard. Friends! Such faith and confidence in each other!

On top, a number of 3 foot squares of plywood marked the sites where endangered Red Bellied Turtles had laid their eggs. Signage announced this was part of a research project by the University of South Alabama. The signs didn’t say so but I knew the plywood was to protect the nests from predation, mostly from raccoons. I couldn’t help but smile and chuckle. Up until 2 years ago, my son had been one of the 2 primary “field monkeys” for this project. He’d be pleased to hear the turtles were nesting here. Another chuckle comes as I try to picture these determined clumsy plodders coming up the steep slippery slope, the drive to nest sustaining them through repeated slide-backs until the summit was reached. I began to understand the lesson to be learned from those who built this place and those whose future lay protected beneath these plywood squares.

Lunch on top of the mound was an afternoon delight. Good friends, good place, and, yes, even granola bars and raspberry tea is good food in a place like this. Remember, we actually like nature dictating the terms of the experience.

The trip down the slippery slope was far more troublesome then coming up. Our toes and the balls of our feet were great for finding traction on the way up, hence the sayings, “on your toes” or “get a toe hold”. But coming down we are set “back on our heels”, imbalanced and uncertain. The slope was just steep and slippery enough to make a forward descent perilous, at best, and not so steep as to make an all fours backward crawl down seem as much safe as undignified and humiliating. But hey! Know fear! Courage atrophies from lack of use! Right? Have you ever noticed how squirrelly your voice gets when you’re trying to talk and keep your balance at the same time? “Tom, be careful now.” “OK Fred, I w-eeeh—ahhh-illll!” At the bottom I determined a good swim in bottle creek would be nice. It would be refreshing to wash off the sweat, to cool off, and to get all that mud off my backside, back, and elbows.

We did take that swim. And it was absolutely fine! But remember, the hard sand ended 8 inches from shore. After that, the bottom was like chocolate pudding. The only way to regain the hard ground without ending up looking like a chocolate sundae was to come out on our belly until we could roll over and sit on the hard sand and swing our legs out. We looked like some primordial amphibians pulling their selves out of the ooze to become terrestrial.

Back underway on Bottle Creek, we decide to go out on the Tensaw to check out one of the designated campsites. As the crow flies, we know it’s over there, at about 8 o’clock off our port beam. But something else announces it is waiting. A rumble leaves the three of us frozen in the same pose, paddles still, head cocked, eyes up. Plumes of cumulus clouds sprout above the forest to our left. The breeze becomes fretful, restless. Again, it rumbles, now more to our front. The sky is still sunny and blue but still we drift, ears cocked. Soon, the thunderstorm rears up over the tree line with gathering suddenness. A grey wall of cloud climbs above the trees like a breaking wave. The trees are anxious and restless, a herd of prey with a predator trotting along its flank.

We paddle hard for the sanctuary of Jessamine Bayou. The rumbles have been replaced by loud cracks. We can’t actually see the lightening but there’s that swift flinch in the light, like someone took a flash photo in the room, followed by a two-one thousand crack. Open water is not where we need to be. No sooner than we plunge into the tunnel of Jessamine, the flash and boom become simultaneous and the rain becomes a torrent. Visibility quickly drops to less than 50 feet. The wind is panic-stricken and stampedes among the trees unpredictably. I chance a glance at Richard and Fred. Through the haze of air turned liquid I see both of them grinning ear to ear. Even Cap’n Arrgh! is sneering gleefully, flailing his cutlass at the lightning. This is good. I thought I may be the only one who, instead of fear, felt sheer exhilaration!

Now this is getting good, real good! The rainfall is so heavy that the sheets of water running down the converging limbs combine and become deflected by the trunk to pour into the low space above Jessamine as various spouts and waterfalls. The surface of Jessamine has become a palette of textures. Wind borne water is painting impressionist strokes on a Monet canvas, erasing then repainting, never satisfied.

We push on hard, maybe too hard. Jessamine has become a schizophrenic off her meds and it’s hard to keep up with who she is at any given moment. Exhilaration, more than effort, has me breathing hard. I am seduced, in hot pursuit of pleasure while ignoring the potential for regret. Suddenly, the left side of my boat makes a swift but smooth rise toward my armpit. I’m still upright, but my boat is up, way up, on edge, a crash course in secondary stability. A diabolical barely submerged stob, sensing my inattention and dis-appreciation of danger, has attempted a Ninja move, a gentle unanticipated upward tap against my hull intended to convert my own weight and momentum into catastrophe. More like a flinch than a deliberate action, a high brace counters his move and I’m bottom down again. It’s a Zen-thing.

Fiendish stobs! You underestimate my cat-like reflexes!

Abruptly, it’s over. Jessamine is again languorous and sultry. It’s quiet and still, quiet enough to hear my heart beating too fast, still enough that my rapid breathing seems a rude commotion. Fred and Richard glide up beside me. Each of us is unsure. Without a word, our faces ask each other. Did it happen? Did you see what I saw? After a long moment of silence, spontaneous war hoops announce how we really feel. This was way too much fun!

Soon we make the hard left off Jessamine into the outflow from Jug Lake. The first impression is that Jug Lake is a secret place. Surely, few would, much less could, find their way in here except by lightweight, shallow draft, maneuverable, human propelled craft. There is the sense that William Bartram himself would have known this secret. He wrote of the Mobile River Delta, “What a sylvan scene is here.” Certainly, he could have been talking about Jug Lake. Since Bartram, a century of intense logging has decimated the great bald cypress. But here in Jug Lake, a pantheon of giants lines the banks. Indeed, we passed the State Champion Bald Cypress, a hundred yards from the bank of Jessamine, less than a half-mile from here.

Soon after entering Jug Lake, we pass a great hollow hulk of a stump with a jagged top 20 ft above the water. At the water-line it is at least 10-12 feet across. Eight feet up it was still 8 ft across. A 3 ft wide gap in the foot thick wall of the stump revealed a cavernous interior. Foot thick limbs with lush green foliage grew from the walls. This is unmistakably an elder, a grandfather cypress. Now, even though ravaged by time and weather, it has an air of dignity and wisdom. Fred and Richard paddle on, anxious to reach the platform. But, I am moved to sit a while with this elder. It was an indulgence I felt I owed him, a due respect gladly given. As I steadied myself with my hand laid gently on his knee, I found myself hoping he would tell me of the time when he was a boy and Bartram passed beneath him. But, as with many elderly, it was enough that someone just sat quietly with them for a while, asking nothing of them but their company. After a time, I thanked him for the privilege and moved on, a better man for the encounter.

Jug Lake is a classic oxbow, an old bend in the river, now cut off from the main channel. There is a peaceful grace to its sweeping crescent. Less than a hundred yards at its widest, it tapers at each end. I salute more huge cypress in the mile to the platform than I have on the entire trip since Rice Creek Landing. By now I barely have Fred in sight. He seems to be determined to get to the Jug Lake Platform. His haste is apparently contagious and I find my paddle strokes have taken on an up-tempo cadence. Chuckling to myself, I realize I’m leaning forward as if by doing so I can see further around the bend and spot the platform earlier. Soon enough the far end of the tapering lake seems to be swallowed by a wall of trees. Tucked in the hodgepodge of shadows along the north shore, unmistakably straight lines and hard angles betray the platform.

The state has done a great job with both the design and the location of this platform. As we glide up beside it the first thing we notice is the massive 6 inch posts holding up the roof. The beams and cross members of the roof are no less substantial and are braced by guitar string taut quarter inch steel cables. The platform floats at the end of long metal standoffs attached to a 4 inch steel beam bolted to two cypress trees. This arrangement allows the standoffs to pivot vertically as the water level rises and falls. This thing is built like a tank! It will take a heck of a blow to do it any damage.

Next we encounter a serious disadvantage in the design of the platform. Sitting in my kayak alongside the platform, the surface of the deck is just under my armpit, about 16-18 inches off the water. The 3 of us are relatively experienced at getting out of “tippy” boats (that want to scoot out from under you without notice) and staying dry in the process. Still, it takes a bit of trail and error. The “tippy” part was not that hard, just a matter of keeping your center of gravity directly in line with the center of balance of the boat, a lot like riding a bike. Once you find that zone of vertical stability, it’s pretty easy to stay in it. Now…. Put that same bike on ice. Without the anchor of a dry tire to dry ground, lateral stability is almost impossible. That lateral stability becomes more unreliable as the vertical distance increases. There is an inherent problem in transfer of weight from a kayak to a deck 16 inches higher and a foot to one side of the point where the paddler’s weight bears on the kayak. That problem comes when the weight must move laterally from the vertical balance line with only the friction of the hull on the water as an anchor. It’s an inertia thing. Things at rest want to stay at rest until some force is applied to make them move. Actions that apply force result in equal and opposite reactions. When enough force is applied to push a 200+ pound body laterally, that same force is pushing the kayak in the opposite direction. Without appreciable friction to hold the hull still in the water, the body wins the battle of inertia and the hull moves laterally, not the body. Some of this problem can be mediated by pulling with the arms rather than pushing with the legs. This, of course, requires a fair amount of upper body strength. Not only is the paddler required to lift their body weight by pushing from a mechanically disadvantaged position, but they must convert that lift to a lateral move that results in the upper half of the body ending up on the deck. Any miscalculation, miscoordination, imprudence, or simple bad luck could result in the paddler being dis-boated into an even more difficult, and considerably wetter, position from which to gain the deck.

By now, the reader is probably wondering why I’m blathering on about the pitfalls of getting from boat to platform. No, I’m not trying to lay down an excuse for one or more of us making a wet exit. Actually, with Fred holding my bow firmly against the platform and Richard doing the same with my stern, my boat was stable enough for me to first push up and back so that I was sitting on the hull behind my seat, then pull my upper body onto the deck so I could roll up to a sitting position, voila’. I was then able to lay prone, grabbing Fred’s cockpit rim to stabilize his boat while he exited. We then doubled up to allow Richard to do the same. So, why the long exposition on the razor’s edge of balance, strength, coordination, and disaster?

I’ll grant that the remoteness and locale of this platform are factors likely to select for the fit, experienced paddler and against the casual “let’s rent a canoe” citizen paddler with little or no experience or skills. That will be, in all likelihood, true for the most part, especially in the early going. But once the word spreads, it is all but inevitable that someone will end up in the water during an ill conceived attempt to heave themselves the 16 inches from their canoe or kayak onto the deck. To be honest, that will likely first happen to an experienced boater. There are few of us that haven’t been overboard against our will. In fact, most of us with any sense have done it on purpose, more than once, just to practice self rescue.

There it is, SELF RESCUE! That’s the phrase that provoked me into this tirade. It’s right here at this point that the circumstances are just screaming, watch out! Any pilot will tell you that the most dangerous part of flying is the takeoff and landing. And, so it is getting in and out of tippy boats from precarious perches. Here in this remote place, and without self rescue skills, an inexperienced boater in the water is a recipe for tragedy.

On board the platform, we check out the amenities. The generous roof covers roughly 80% of the big 16 X 20 ft (my guess) deck. There is a 2 ft square diamond plate metal cooking surface on the deck at the rear left. I make a mental note to recommend they elevate the cooking plate. The turned up edges would definitely contain spilled cooking stuff but it’s beggin’ for a stumped toe in the night. Besides, although the platform is spacious, floor real estate would be at a premium with any more than 3-4 people spending the night. Speaking of freeing up floor space, the taut cables that brace the ceiling beams are just right for hanging gear up off the deck.

There are no toilet amenities. Between the three of us, our cumulative time spent in backcountry would surely be measured in years, enough to have to have long ago lost our excretory naiveté. Yet, most of that time has been on terra firma. Different rules apply here in terra aquatica. First, you can’t put a respectable distance between where you stay and where you go (yes, the pun is intended). On the platform, you can’t get further than 20 feet from the opposite corner. Next, you can’t bury it or flush it underground. Truthfully, urine is pretty benign stuff as long as it goes overboard and not on the deck. Guys have the advantage here, being able to stand naturally at the edge and make it happen. Gals, on the other hand, would need to back up, hang on to something, and hang it out there, hardly a demure prospect. It’s sterile and mostly water. The other stuff in it is hardly toxic, especially if diluted. A gallon of urine diluted by Jug Lake would be totally innocuous. Now, number two is a whole different matter. It isn’t sterile, and worst yet, it floats! I’m all about “leave no trace.” But let’s be real. The biomass of creatures capable of “leaving a trace” in the cubic mile that includes this platform, located in this lush bio-diverse delta, may well be measured in tons.

I don’t believe there is an official limit to how many people can spend the night on a platform. I’ve heard a suggested limit of 8-10 people. I suppose 8-10 people, maybe a few more, could lie down and sleep on the deck without anybody being out from under the roof. My guess is that they wouldn’t say they had much fun if that many people were to do that. For one thing, without a lot of cooperation, even choreography, things could get real chaotic. However, the main limitation would likely come from another factor. In this environment, except in the coolest times, it would be foolish to expect anything like an enjoyable, restful night’s sleep without some kind of netting to keep the mosquitoes away from your face. Sure, slathering on toxic levels of DEET might keep you from being bitten, maybe. But, I guarantee you won’t be happy.

So some kind of netting cover is a must. The hard deck would make anything but a freestanding tent impractical. Tents in general would lack enough ventilation for comfort in the summer. A military surplus mosquito net hung from the cables would be ideal, and probably cover 2 people; 2 good friends. That’s what Richard has and he’s good to go in short order.

Fred and I each have our secret weapon, the perfect sleeping accommodation for such a place. It’s called a Hennessy Hammock. Sea Kayak Magazine’s readers chose the Hennessy for the “Best Camping Shelter” award. It’s gained a wide following among adventure racers (15 ounces including fly and cords), long-trail through-hikers, and regular folks like us. Its design is revolutionary with a self sealing entry/exit slit in the bottom. In no other hammock could you sleep on your stomach! Without the fly deployed, I soon have a totally ventilated, netting protected capsule of comfort suspended between 2 of the massive uprights of the platform. I’m serious. Check it out at hennessyhammock.com. It deserves the good reviews, but I agree with one reviewer’s gripe about it. It’s hard to fish out of. Otherwise, it’s perfect. Instead of a sleeping bag, I’ve got a Silk Cocoon bag liner, perfect for August delta nights.

Since there are only 3 of us, I’m able to haul my kayak up on the deck across the back corner so it doesn’t take up much space. It also lets me keep gear stowed in the hatches and gives me a place to sit; much handier and much tidier than pulling everything out and piling it around. Things I want to keep out, like my cooking gear, food, and clothes, are hung out of the way on the taut overhead cables.

Within 20 minutes, we’ve set up camp. The platform has become downright homey. A light rain begins to fall. The coffee’s on. Things are starting to get sublime.

There’s something special about quiet time in a wild place with friends. I suspect it taps into a very deep source of human satisfaction, part of the primal residue caught in the filter of our experience as a species. It shouldn’t be surprising, what with our history as hunter gatherers. For far more of our past than not, we have been sustained by the company of a few close associates while under the spell of the soothing background hum of wildness and nothing left to do but talk to each other.

The long afternoon unfolds in acts, like a play. The talk ebbs and flows with the rain, mostly tall tales, some retold and heard again for the hundredth time. Like the rain, conversation adopts a rhythm. A sprinkle builds to a pour then tapers to a drop-drop-hush. The swamp joins in with its own contributions, upping the tempo when a flock of boat tailed grackles spills along the swamp floor like a rolling wave of blown black leaves emitting a staccato crackle of grackling. Corvids! A garrulous[*] lot!

It’s suddenly twilight and I realize I’d taken a coma….. errr, a nap. As I slide from the slit in my Hennessy Hammock it occurs to me that I’m like a moth emerging from a chrysalis, a changeling. A season has turned during my sleep and all that remains to complete my metamorphosis is a long slow stretch and a deep drink of stillness. I’m here to tell you that twilight on Jug Lake in August is a very satisfying vintage of that wine.

With a complex profile that seems to belie its approachable personality, this delta twilight, is a very attractive wine. The aromas are particularly intricate, with fruit notes showing elements of ripe palmetto shoots and also tropical fronds, along with prominent mineral notes and other little nuances that develop with a bit of airing. The flavor and finish are dry but not austere, with an impression of ripe delta sweetness but not of overt residual dank. The dusky damask in the finish is very well integrated with the swamp, and the whole package is altogether serene.

Soon the stillness dissolves into the putz and putter of cooking supper. Ahh, the indulgences afforded by short trips in a touring kayak. Buoyancy is a great equalizer to gravity and, compared to the constraints of even an expedition backpack, food cargo capacity in a touring kayak is cavernous.

There’s no reason for survival rations. Instead, think: Pan seared marinated chicken breast; wild rice with mushrooms and pine nuts; fresh sliced stir fried bell peppers, zucchini, and green onions with Cajun seasoning; a nice crusty neo-Tuscan bread; topped off with a Kendall-Jackson merlot in lexan stem-ware. Hint: When rice is cooked and chicken is seared, pour a glass of merlot, drink a third of it, and dump the rest in the chicken pan to deglaze the chicken goodie into the wine. Reduce but not too much because you’ll want to pour most of it over the rice and save a little to add a little extra zest to the stir fry. Meanwhile, make up for lost wine with another glass of merlot. Pre-wash the cooking pots and pans by sopping the residue out with chunks of neo-Tuscan.

After dinner conversation in the dark in a wild place among friends with full bellies is like a fine liqueur. I prefer Drambui. It’s sweet and strong, subtle and epiphanous. It’s best when engaged infrequently in small amounts, savored slowly over time in contemplation. The tongue should be disciplined, holding itself while cupping the thought, inhaling; waiting while the vapors infuse. If there can be a parallel universe, there was a door to it that night on Jug Lake. Tell Doug Adams he was wrong. It’s 57.

Morning starts early on Jug Lake. The night shift reports off while settling down. The day shift must get on with the business of diurnalism. Making coffee comes first. I had left the pot with water in it and the stove ready under an upside down empty pot. One click from the piezo ignition on my Snow Peak Giga-Power produces a pale blue blossom of flame and a muffled roar. In less than 2 minutes all are sprawled within reach of a pour.

I have a theory that morning coffee is more of a meme than an activity. It’s an idea that acts in it’s own self interest to perpetuate it’s kind. It’s like the song that gets in your head and won’t be satisfied unless you hum it incessantly. It doesn’t matter that you hum it well or that the sound you make is pleasing. What matters is that you hum it, follow its bidding, and pretend you know the lyrics. I think what I’m trying to say is that morning coffee is more ritual than sustenance. Actually I know it for a fact. After you’ve squatted under a poncho in the rain and brewed coffee in a greasy potted meat can over a burning pine cone and thought is was the best damn coffee you ever tasted, you realize it’s about the ritual, not the coffee.

Breakfast, unlike supper, is relatively simple fare. Breakfast is mostly about getting down some calories and fluid without making a mess so you can break camp and get gone. But each of us has been here many times. One thing eating a lot of meals in the wild will teach you is how to embellish simple fare simply. Even back in Fred and my Special Forces days, we carried Tabasco, peanut butter, and a bota full of wine (for cooking only). Today on the jug lake platform I embellish my instant cream of wheat with a packet of Lipton’s French Onion Cup-A-Soup. Fred does cheese grits and potted ham. Richard shares both. Dishes are easy. A little hot water sluiced around and you’ve got a swallow or two of broth. Rinse with a little clean water, wipe with a bandana, and you’re done.
Stowing the stove and stacking the pots sets off a flurry of activity. In ten minutes, we’ve broken camp with ritual efficiency. Everything other than us was back in our boats. We hang out for a while, reluctant to leave. After indulging in near absolute stillness for at least one good day dream, we get to the business of getting underway without getting wet. I’m determined that it won’t be me no matter how hard I try.

Fred and I held Richard’s boat fore and aft while he got in. Fred needed less help and it was easy for me to steady his boat while he slipped in. In the belief that you have to make your own magic, I had decided that I wouldn’t need help. The problem is to transfer weight from the platform into a boat. It seemed that if you were already in the boat, you’d have more control while sliding off the platform than trying to hold the boat still while you shift your weight a foot off and nearly 2 feet lower into a scooty boat. I checked for a spot I thought was deep enough and without snags. I then pulled the boat onto the platform so the stern was pointed at the desired entry point. If you have a rudder, the stern can’t be the last part leaving the edge. The only choice was a rear seal entry. I admit I thought twice, but if worse came to worse, it’s just getting wet in August. If I pull it off, I’m gold. If I don’t, those two will be merciless in their ridicule. The hardest part was getting the boat at the exact point where I could get in with solid floor support but then easily tip the balance backward so the boat slides backward off the edge.

Once initiated. This entry is as easy as taking a big step. If you take a big step, the trick is to make it one move. Try stopping mid step with one foot in the air and your center of gravity not over your other foot. You don’t want a rear seal entry to stop mid entry. Your bow will be a narrow edge of contact that exponentially increases the “tippy index”. If you stop mid entry, say if the stern hits mud or a snag, you will likely be outside your envelope of ability to recover. But if there’s no pause, the entry is surprisingly stable and smooth and leaves you wondering what the fuss was about.

I didn’t tell either of them what I intended to try. I just told them no when they asked to help me get in my boat. It didn’t take long for them to figure it out and you can believe they relished the prospect of me dumping myself off the platform. There was much grinning between them but they were silent. I just grinned gliding backwards from a successful rear seal entry. One of these days ...but hey!

Jug Lake deserves a long goodbye. This is the Bartram at its best; truly a sylvan scene is this. The jug is an oxbow, in geography speak. It’s a long sweeping arc that was once a big bend in a waterway. I guess the word crescent fits. Many oxbows are isolated from navigable water access. On the map, the Jug appears to nearly reach back to the main river at its northeast far end. That short passage is choked with cattails, preventing our going very far. But water from the main river definitely comes through. The jug drains from the southwest end through a short channel back to Jessamine.

This morning it is absolutely still, August in the delta. The low angle of the light creates a dark backdrop for bright backlit highlights. A curled dried leaf on the water seems to float in space, glowing at the edge of shadow and substance. Curtains of Spanish moss turn neon when all around is still in shadow. The pantheons of giants, those big old cypresses, are the first to get full sun. While they bask in the business of a sunlit world, we paddle in a world not yet quite done with night. On the way in yesterday, we wanted to get to the platform. So we paddled right down the middle. Today we find ourselves moving along the shoreline, poking into the nooks. Fred is across from me, moving across the base of a large cluster of big cypresses on the edge of the lake. His 16-foot kayak’s silhouette was several times unable to span the waterline diameter of the giants. Ahead a hundred yards or so the dark lake is mottled with various floating assemblages, sticks, reeds, leaves, scum, and the like. A bit of flotsam moves from right to left in the stillness. A 3-4 foot alligator is on the move; likely in response to 3 alien forms flailing sticks and being so rude as to disturb the peace in this staggeringly peaceful place. It’s easy to indulge in the delusion that this place is a secret only you could know. The Jug can do that.

All too soon we are spit out of the Jug into the passage to Jessamine. There is a nice current thanks to a falling tide. This area of the delta has complex intertwined waterways. Currents may appear to flow counterintuitive to expectations. It stays behind us in Jessamine on the way back to the River. But then it’s in our face as the sun and the breeze catch us in the open. Thankfully the breeze is from behind but the faster I go, the less cooling I get from it. So I dawdle. The lazy pace provides plenty of air-time for day dreams.

It was that kind of trip back. We even stopped on a sand bar near the mouth of Rice Creek. I think Keenan would have cried if we hadn’t. This is Briar Lake. The Tensaw River has diverged from the Mobile River in the western half of the delta and runs diagonal to the southeast splitting off Middle River before it turns south along the eastern edge of the delta. The triangle to the east of the Tensaw’s southeastern transit of the delta is crisscrossed by a tangle of interlocking old river courses. Since they no longer channel large portions of the upstate watershed, they are now referred to as Lakes. There are 2 lakes between the Tensaw and Rice Creek Landing. Tensaw Lake Joins the Tensaw River at Larry Island. We have come out of Jessamine Bayou, crossed the Tensaw, followed Tensaw Lake north up the east side of Larry Island, come east though an unnamed bayou into Briar Lake, and crossed east to the Mouth of Rice Creek and back to the landing.

At the landing, we are treated to a gift from the outgoing tide. The delta is draining so the huge upstate watershed’s sediment laden effluent stay’s with the Mobile’s, the Middle’s, and the Tensaw’s flow while leaving these “lakes” full of relatively clean local water. In the case of Rice Creek, this must involve significant volume from springs. We can see bottom easily in the small basin in front of the launch. Most delicious though was that the water was 10 degrees cooler than back at Briar Lake. A few hours from now the tepid delta flow would again reach the landing. But for now, mid-day in August with boats to load, our timing is perfect.

Fred and Richard ground their boats and set about the return to life without buoyancy. Not me. Not yet ready for weight bearing, I opt instead for lollygagging. By lying back in my cockpit I can drape my legs over the sides so the soles of my feet are just in the water…cold water…deliciously cold water. It’s fitting that I end here.
[*] Given to excessive and often trivial or rambling talk; tiresomely talkative.

Gunnison Creek, Jan 31, 2009

See the full report with pictures here.

Launch: Steele Creek Park in Satsuma, AL
Cost: Free.
Distance: Approx 6 miles
Route: Up Gunnison Creek to just past Interstate 65 and back.
Pace: Leisurely.
Average Speed: 2.7 mph.
Weather: Sunny, 55-60 degrees, calm conditions.

Today I led a kayak club paddle up Gunnison Creek and had the pleasure of padding with Ryan, her mom Randi, and Kristen, all three from Bay Minette, and Tom, and John. Hope I’m spelling names right.

Kristen and Ryan take the lead up Gunnison Creek in ideal kayaking conditions. John and Tom look at a small paddle wheel boat.

Everyone was enjoying a pleasant deep blue sky day. It didn’t look like there were very many homes on this creek based on looking at Google. Must have been an old image – there were a lot of homes along Gunnison Creek.

Randi looks at another paddle wheel boat – we saw 3 on this trip. Kristen eyes the creek banks for wildlife which we didn’t see much of except for a few turtles. The water had a slight green tint to it and I was surprised how clear it was. We also noticed that there were Red Maples starting to put out color.

The cow on the creek bank seemed a little startled as it watched all the colorful kayaks going by. I couldn’t tell if the cow was watching only the red kayaks or not. Not far after crossing under I-65 we stopped for a short break at our turn around point. There we saw timbers of the old bridge crossing for old US Highway 43. I was thinking this might be a great place for launching a kayak but it is private property according to Probate Court records. On the other side of the creek is a swimming hole diving platform about 20-30 feet in the air.

A couple of shortcuts were taken on the way back. Gunnison Creek has a several splits in it, some leading quickly to dead ends, others merely loops. One thing I didn’t anticipate was for the water to be so low. It was a long drop from the dock to the water surface today as compared to other times meaning everyone had to use the concrete boat ramp to launch.

Thankfully no one went swimming today. Rising air temperatures can promote kayaking in t-shirts or other light clothing. It is important though, to remember the water temperature doesn’t change rapidly like air temperature. A boater drowned in the Tensaw River today. Be careful out there!

Bay Minette Creek, Jan 17 2009

See the full report with pictures here.

Launch: Buzbees
Cost: $3
Distance: 6 miles
Route: Up Bay Minette Creek for about an hour and back.
Pace: Leisurely.
Average Speed: 3 mph.
Weather: Mostly cloudy, 49 degrees, light winds out of the south.

Buzbees–perfect for launching kayaks. Today I led a club kayaking trip and two hardy individuals decided to brave the cold and enjoy another day on the water. Joe started pushing a 4 mph pace and left me behind. Joe can paddle that canoe fast!

Joe, Tom and I enjoyed the almost slick waters and the reflection of the puffy clouds on the water. At one point, Tom found the hidden water falls. We also stopped several times to observe ducks and osprey eagles. We all wished we had binoculars with us.

It was nice on the way back until we reached the wider section which is where the winds picked up. That 49 degrees now felt a bit colder. Tom who came out dressed for the weather was leading us in his bright yellow Current Designs kayak on the way back.

Drat! Heavy clouds on the horizon hid the sun’s expected colorful disappearance. Despite the lack of a colorful sunset, this was a enjoyable paddle among good company.

Red Hill Creek/Proctor Creek Jan. 8, 2009
I decided to head out today and put in at Hubbard's Landing for a trip up to Red Hill Creek. After driving up, unloading the kayak and getting it loaded, I took my first stroke about 10am. There was a breeze blowing from the north which was a little bit of a challenge to get through but once I got up past the last floating camp, the wind died out and I had an easier time. Once I got past Proctor Creek I went over to the left bank and paddled up that way exploring some of the smaller inlets. You couldn't go up very far in these, but it was fun checking them out. After about an hour and a half I reached the first trail sign for Red Hill Creek. The water was very calm and it was very quiet. A welcome retreat from the noise of living in mid-town Mobile. Unfortunately, I was not able to go very far up as there was a log in the water, but I did get a good ways up there. It was getting pretty shallow and I was paddling in some vegetation that was growing in the water.

So, I turned around and headed back south taking my time. I figured I would have the wind at my back but actually had another headwind. This one didn't last very long. Saw quite a few Blue Herons and lots of turtles sunning themselves on the logs. At one point I heard a large splash and looked over to just see the end of the splash. Not sure what it was. I don't think it was a turtle. It hit the water with a slapping sound.

I paddled across Tensaw Lake to get to the side where Proctor Creek came in and headed up that way. It was a lot different that the Red Hill Creek, more open and I was able to go back up in there a little bit further. I did have to negotiate some blowdowns and wished I had brought my saw. Eventually, I got to one that I couldn't get across and had to turn back.

Headed across the lake and back to te landing. All in all, the trip took a little over 3 hours. I took lots of pictures which you can see in the photo gallery at yahoogroups.

John Kennedy

Fish River Launching from Big Daddy's Aug 17
Six people besides myself launched from Big Daddy's. We had no problem doing so. We still need to make sure to keep our cars away from the entrance to Big Daddy's. We were far enough back that we didn't block customers. If the place is more crowded we may have to move the cars even further---to spots near the road. It's easy to dodge that yellow rope (made to block power boats) when you launch a kayak or canoe. The weather had looked slightly threatening earlier in the day but was basically O.K. at 1:30 pm. We heard one rumble of thunder but continued on. Two of our folks turned back early. They had another commitment in the evening. We continued further upstream until another rumble of thunder made the rest of us turn around. The boat traffic on Fish River wasn't a problem. We encountered a couple small wakes made by power boats but, they weren't a problem. Big Daddy's is slightly south of Highway 32. The further upstream you go the less houses and boats there are. The area is really very pretty. There's also a cutoff almost across from Big Daddy's that takes you into an undeveloped area with flowers and birds. I hope to go further up stream in the future. On the way back we encountered another two club members who were late and had launched at another spot. That made the day's total eight plus myself---nine in all. We arrived back at Big Daddy's and put our boats away. Then we enjoyed food and drink and listened to John Reno's performance. The two with another commitment had their meal and left early. The rest of us stayed until 7 pm to hear the rest of the show. It didn't start raining until just about the time we were paying our checks. The streets were much wetter by my house. My neighborhood (and maybe Fairhope itself) probably got a lot more rain than Fish River did on 8/17. Nancy Ward

Point Aux Barques Paddle Report, August 31, 2008

My son Tom and I (Jerry Inman)launched our kayaks at the base of the break wall pier at Port Austin on Lake Huron taken August 31. We had driven form my Tom’s Cottage located on M-25 just 8 miles southwest of Port Austin. Our paddling destination being the shoreline caves that Tom had seen in a movie highlighting remote scenic places in Michigan.
The Lake was flat nearly undisturbed by the light wind from the north east. The only chop experienced, were wakes from boats leaving and entering the Port Austin Harbor. As we paddled out along the break wall Tom mentioned that we may be headed in the wrong direction, that the caves may be to the South and not North. We agreed that it would be a good paddle even if we didn’t see any caves. In the distance we could see the Port Austin Lighthouse that marked the end of the Port Austin reef and the mouth of Saginaw Bay to the south. The Reef was about two miles off and we hoped that we could find a way through without having to paddle out and around the end. Fortunately we did, and that cut off an extra mile of paddling. Once to the north of the reef, we were encouraged by high shoreline cliffs that came into view and were likely to support caves. In only a few minutes a first shallow cave came into view. Soon thereafter, others were seen, with some deep enough to paddle within. The caves were formed from the eroding action of the waves against the soft sandstone and shale that make up this section of the Lake Huron and Saginaw Bay eastern shoreline. The view and geography reminded us of the Pictured Rocks at Munising in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.
We hung around this area for a while paddling in and around the caves. Tom, while positioning his kayak in one of the caves for a photo opportunity commented about some frogs sitting on a ledge. Looking further, he was startled by a large snake positioned close by and ready for a frog lunch. With our picture taking complete, we paddled out and around a cliff face and made another discovery.
The rock shape ahead was somewhat familiar as it has adorned postcards depicting the thumb shoreline area and is sketched as a logo on the front page of an area weekly newspaper. We had discovered “Turnip Rock” that stands alone, 30 yards out from the shoreline and stands about 35 feet high, 40 wide. Continuing on, we discovered a series of cement and stone pilings that at one time supported a pier or break water that extended at least 500’ out from a road ending.
This mile section of the Saginaw Bay Shoreline remains remote and inaccessible from the land, as the property is privately owned, gated, and guarded. The only access is by water and even that can be difficult, as 100 yards out from the shore the water is rock laden and very shallow.
The time had come for our return paddle, and as we approached the Port Austin Reef we could see water extending between the shoreline and high parts of the reef. If we could paddle through there we would cut off significant distance and paddle time. With slow and careful maneuvering we were able to pick our way through into the deeper waters on the southern side of the reef. Not more than three more long scratches were added to the bottom of my kayak. As Tom says, “a scratched kayak is a loved kayak”.
As we paddled the two miles back to the Port Austin Harbor we made a third discovery. Through the clear water we saw the remnants of a shipwreck. The main beam timbers were clearly visible as were many other planks. We took a couple of pictures, marked it with our GPS and then paddled on. We would save the exploration of the shipwreck for another time.

Okatoma Creek Paddle

My nephew Keaton and I headed to Seminary, Mississippi (just north of Hattiesburg on Hwy 49) on Monday, July 14th to check out the Okatoma. We rented the sit on top kayaks and launched about 2:00 in the afternoon. For the most part, the creek is very well covered by the canopy of trees so I never really felt any discomfort from the heat at all. The only time I got really hot was when I first got in the kayak and the kayak was hot from being in the sun. Needless to say, we decided to dunk ourselves in the water right away to cool off. Next time I’ll know to cool the boat off first!

Being a weekday, the traffic on the creek was almost nonexistent which gave us the opportunity to quietly approach more wildlife. The turtles we saw sunning on many different logs were simply too many to count. Sometimes there were as many as three or four in groups and in all sizes including babies. Where the water was shallow we could see fish swimming. I don’t know what they were but had the shape of a mullet and darted around very quickly. We also saw a few bream. After we had covered the better part of our course I commented to Keaton that we had seen a lot of wildlife but not so many birds. I had hardly got the words out of my mouth when he spotted a very large buzzard of some sort in a tree right overhead just as we made the next bend! I guess I spoke too soon. It appeared to be as startled as we were and took off abruptly.

The creek winds around a lot and over the seven miles or so that we covered offers quite a variety of scenery. There were sections of sand and gravel and then dark muddy muck. We saw some really pretty purple flowering plants. For the entire trip we only saw about three houses along the creek and a couple of cabins so it is largely undeveloped along the banks. The water was actually a little on the low side but I only had to portage once because I wound up on the wrong side of a log jam. There were a few times the bottom of my kayak scraped on the rocks and got hung up but I was able to scoot my way off. If the water was much lower you would have to portage more often in places. If you were careful about picking your way, there was usually a spot deep enough to go thru.

There are plenty of sandy banks along the way to stop and take breaks to swim in a hole or have a picnic. The water has a current to it and also several places with rapids and a few drops. If the water was higher this could be a lot more intense but we had no trouble going thru. We had just enough to give us a little thrill and grab our attention but we paddled enough to get a good workout. We arrived at our takeout point about 5:30. I would say that this creek is more suited for a shorter boat because you need to have the ability to maneuver quickly. The Okatoma Outdoor Post looks like a neat place to camp out as well. We intend to come back and camp out the next time.

I’m basically new to the club and have just purchased a Pungo 120 so you should be seeing me more often. I just bought it yesterday. Patti Street

Sunday, July 13th Pelican Point
We again cheated the weather, or, maybe the weather was good to us, and we were just barely able to have a paddle. I almost cancelled everything when it was raining and thundering at 3 pm. I got a call from folks who lived near the launch site. They said the weather seemed to be clearing. As I promised I went to the launch site. There were dark clouds in a couple directions and thunder could be heard. It wasn't raining and two groups of people who were packing up power boats said the clouds were moving away from us---hugging the eastern shore of Mobile Bay and heading south. There was a cloud of concern over the eastern side of the Fish River Bridge. Three people showed up. I made #4. The situation kept getting better so we launched a bit late---maybe 4:20 pm. We paddled on very smooth waters up the western shore of Weeks Bay. A bit past Camp Beckwith we didn't like a cloud that was coming toward Weeks Bay so we decided to turn around. If the weather held we could do other things. The weather stayed O.K. We paddled up a tidal creek on the west coast of Weeks Bay just north of the houses near the launch site. We saw fiddler crabs and thousands of little snails on the mud. They climb the grass stalks during high tide. There were also lots of birds. The tidal creek got very narrow. When we finally decided to turn around I had to back up quite a ways before I could turn my 13 1/2 ft tampico. We paddled past our launch site and went bearly into Mobile Bay and floated. Someone said they'd never seen the Bay so calm. Usually you're bounced around by waves at that spot. We ended the paddle about 7 pm. Nancy Ward

July 6th, Sunday Pelican Point
We actually had a paddle. Lots of folks who'd planned to come chickened out. I can't blame them. I heard reports of rain and storms in Spanish Fort, Pensacola, and maybe even Fairhope. I took a chance and drove through sprinkes from my house to Pelican Point. By the time I arrived the weather had cleared. In future, even if the weather is questionable, I'll go to the launch site and have my cell phone turned on so people can contact me at the last minute. I could have reassurred them. Poor Sherry left Pensacola way early but got tied up in bumper to bumper traffic on I10. She got off early but got into more bumper to bumper in Foley and wasn't able to make it. Jan took a chance and came from Spanish Fort. Phil came all the way from Baton Rouge, LA. He's been reading our website and decided to spend a few days in the area. The three of us paddled past Camp Beckwith and made it to Weeks Bay Reserve before returning. Lots of tiny fish were jumping. We saw a ray of some kind flying/swimming through the water. We didn't see any dolphins. Maybe next time we will. I'm trying again 7/13/08. We returned to the launch site before dusk. Nancy Ward

Sunday, June 8 Upper Magnolia River
Led by Nancy Ward
Three people told me I was crazy to schedule a paddle in the afternoon, but seven people showed up. One was new to kayaking and two had new boats they wanted to try out. Everyone appreciated a very relaxing paddle and chance to just fool around plus they agreed that you're much cooler on the water than on land. When we arrived at Rock Street put in at about 1:45 pm there were several cars, people, and boats about. Many were coming in after earlier morning paddles. A grumpy man seemed to be taking pictures via his cell phone and asked one of our group where we were from. We wondered if he was a neighbor who objected to people launching at Rock Street. That IS a public put in. The road leading down to it is on no one's property plus only a canoe or kayak could launch beside that tree. We got onto the water and paddled up stream past the usual big boats at the cold hole. We continued up stream as the river got narrower and narrower; turning around when we could go no further. At our play in the water spot we noticed three kittens in the bushes and gave them part of our snacks. One was bigger and fatter than the others and almost looked eight weeks old. Was he outcompeting for food? The other two were skin and bones and looked to be maybe six weeks old. They were active however. One climbed partway up a tree. We decided we couldn't leave them and put them in our boats. Mr (or Ms) bigger was all over the cockpit of his host kayak. He really had to be watched. His sibling wasn't as lively but moved around. I took a runt I called Mouse into my kayak. Despite being skin and bones it moved and climbed (including up me) until it got onto my dry pack and was able to see over the cockpit. Others said it looked cute to see that little head sticking up watching the river and boaters. It later went behind my seat then went into the bow where it curled up in my pfd and slept for about 1/2 hour. Probably the first time it felt safe in a long while. A woman got hold of her vet via cell phone and was given instructions regarding special food to purchase. Dispite our extra passengers we continued down river until the boundry where boats can make wake. We returned to Rock Street and let the kittens walk up the trail with us to the cars. We hoped they'd get their pooping over with before being put into the back of a car. The woman went to the nearby home of another paddler and borrowed an animal carrier. She planned to take the kittens to her vet's office the next day. I think he's involved with rescue efforts. Pending determination of gender the kittens were named Magnolia, Tampico, and Santee. Nancy Ward

May 6, 2008 paddle on Fish River from County Road 48 to Cowpen Creek
Frank Laraway led this paddle. He phoned me and one other paddler, Dave Owen, to go along. Dave has canoe paddling experience. Dave says Larry McDuff gave Dave his introduction to kayak paddling. We put in at Frank's house. If you want, you could put in at the county park called Bohemian park, on Fish River near C.R. 48 and Langford Road. But Frank has been eager about this paddle since last year when a government grant paid a contracted crew to clear the tree falls on Fish River. Development up stream has been going on for some time. Frank has lived on this river over 30 years and only in the past few years has he had problems with flooding. For a while, after the clearing work, the river was clear. The flood the week before deposited a new jam down stream, but I'm getting ahead of myself.The river flow was pretty good for our paddle. The river gauge at the intersection of Fish River and C.R. 104 reported a river height of 1.7 feet. To check on any gauge go to :http://www.srh.noaa.gov/mob/hydro.shtml We put in about 8 a.m. The air was a little cool and the water was really cool and tea colored. Paddling downstream we hit the first chute between sunken logs which squirted us to the left and the riverbank went to the right. Wheee. A double switchback and the first obstacle was in the way: a newly fallen pine tree. I used the butt skootch method to cross this obstacle. The other two had paddled ahead of me so I was doing catchup when they reached the first logjam, a very impressive construction of logs to a height of five feet above the river and connecting both banks. An inflatable blue and white raft was hanging from the third log up. We would be seeing more of those. Frank nosed his boat into the right side of the river and a length upstream of the jam. He clambered up the bank quickly and found a trail had already been cut through the trees for a portage. One by one he helped us pull the boats up on top of the bank and we dragged them single file through the trees down the path to the river below the log jam. The river is narrow here and the banks are steep. The trees in the log jam were cracked and smelled of cedar.On the other side, our put in was a small bar on the inside of the curve. Frank was the first to get underway and he promptly snagged a branch overhead and rolled over. He surfaced saying, "That is the sort of thing I tried to warn you about, Dave." Dave said, "I didn't see it." I said, "Do it again." We worked together to dewater Frank's boat and once again we set out in quick current between high steep banks decorated with titi, white cedar, pine (Name That Pine!), and the ever present privet which are in bloom.We paddled a little ways and stopped at another tree fall, a large cedar that trapped some smaller limbs. Frank was first to climb out of his boat and stand on the tree. He put his boat over and tied it off then helped Dave and then me to cross. Short branches could have impaled any one of us had we fallen on one of them.The river flowed mainly south, but switchbacks appeared often enough to give us some variety. The next obstacle was a treefall in a wider, shallower reach of river; the leafy top of a tree was in the river collecting bits of flotsam. The portage was extremely easy over the right sandy bank. From here on down we were free and clear to navigate. We were also leaving the wilderness for the beginnings of development near Red Barn Road. I do not own the Silverhill topographic quadrangle map so I was still waiting for some navigational fix to place us on the Magnolia Springs Quadrangle map on my boat deck. A series of four switch backs seemed to fit the squiggles on the map. Then Clay City homes showed up; Wow have they upgraded after the hurricanes. Then the Leatherwood home showed up where the club stopped one afternoon to take shelter during a thunderstorm. Polecat Creek enters Fish River and formed an island, but someone had to blow up a bit of land and change the course of the water. We explored two inlets on the right, below the juncture of Polecat Creek. The first inlet was a dead end for a home. The second was Horseshoe Pond which we followed all the way around and came out the other end which had enough water to float us over and back into Fish River.Now we really were in the thick of developed land and we followed the river to Cowpen Creek and entered that to go to our takeout. The creek water became clearer as we proceeded upstream. We took out at a residence and loaded the boats in Frank's truck. The time was 12 noon when we went out the gate.

Kayaking February 10, Upper Tensaw River Delta Paddle to Indian Mounds

Harriet Ingram, Pres. of the MBCAKC, organized and led this paddle in farewell to Mareike & Andre' who will soon be leaving the U.S.. This is a paddle I learned about last year and hoped that I would be able to participate in at some time. So this was a special full day event for me. I left the condo at 6:50 am for Stockton where the paddlers were to meet in the Stagecoach parking lot on the corner of 225 and 59. Fifteen enthusiastic paddlers showed up ready to paddle. We caravaned to the Rice Creek Landing to the north and west of Stockton. From the creek launch point we paddled west on Rice Creek then to Bayou Jessamine leading to the Tensaw River. Russ led with a machete though some sections of the Creek hacking back brushy tree tips from windfalls that blocked our way. We continued on through the Bayou connecting to the Bottle River finally reaching the trail head leading to the Indian Mounds. The Mounds are located on the north of Mound Island off Bottle Creek. The Island, to the north and west of Stockton is labeled on Google Earth. More information on the mounds can be found at: http://www.usouthal.edu/archaeology/bc-bottle%20creek.htm. The hike to the mounds was a quarter mile led again by Russ who was wielding his machete once in a while to open a wider path through jungle like foliage along the water laden path. The trail extending through a swampy cypress forest was generally prominent but without fresh signs of human traffic. We had hiked about a quarter mile when the mounds appeared on our left as low hills covered by trees and low brush. A steep path led us to the flat top of the first mound that stood 45 foot high. We were greeted by a sign from the Alabama State Historical Commission warning us that the mounds could not be disturbed in any way without prosecution. There were many additional mounds, all with lesser elevations. The 15 mapped mounds served for hundreds of years, as safe platforms for the Indian encampments, houses and temples. We marched around in awe of how the surrounding soil could be gathered by hand and piled so high. After our tour we hiked back to the trail head and enjoyed our sack lunches before starting back.
On the return paddle we pulled off the Bayou to visit a monstrous native cypress tree. A tree that would stand taller and have a larger girth than the Monarch White Pine that stands in Hartwick Pines State Park North of Grayling, Michigan. From this point we paddled nonstop to our take out place on Rice Creek and headed home. I arrived back to the Condo at 5:30 pm. This paddle was one of the best and most interesting in which I have participated over the two years coming to Alabama. 15 paddlers, and per GPS 13 miles, Max. Sp. 6.2 mph, Avg. 2.0 mph, Time moving 3:Hrs. 12 min. Keep on paddling, Jerry Inman

Mardi Gras/Meeting Paddle REPORT - Feb 5, 2008

Awoke to a day of wind and threatening clouds. After consultation with multiple weather readers, decided our window of paddling opportunity was there, so we headed on - and a wonderful day it was.

10 boats, 11 kayakers ventured onto Soldier Creek. Turned out to be a brilliant day - stiff and strong wind from the south-southeast - however, it pushed us up the creek (more on the return home against the 15 mph wind). We had 9 solo boats and 1 tandem. Our youngest paddler was an energetic 7 (or 8), who led us with enthusiasm and eagerness (Laura Brown will soon be moving into her own boat - she is the next generation of paddler, believe me!).

To add a new diminsion to paddling, I introduced kayaking-football. If you are interested in signing up for a league team, just contact me (but remember, the first team on this newly formed league has already had one day of practice). Try throwing - not to mention catching - a football from your kayak. I can imagine we will have some wet paddlers as spring arrives, the weather and water warms, and practice becomes frequent (by the way, doesn't have to be a football, can be a soccer ball, volley ball, tennis ball (I don't recommend a bowling ball), even a frisbee. BUT, what a fantastic way to practice balancing skill in your kayak - not to mention having a good laugh at yourself and your fellow paddlers. AND, as the weather warms, what a pleasant way to practice rolls or re-entry skills - something every paddlers needs to know and practice!

A bald Eagle was spotted (and photographed, I believe), a wonderful gator was caught lounging in the sun on the bank - we tried to sneak by without disturbing it, but she slipped into the water, abundance of turtles sunning themselves on logs. Much wildlife was evident and enjoyed.

Anyone know Alec Thigpen???? Well, if you do, ask him if he will (1) carry his own kayak bilge pump (instead of sharing one with his wife, who happened to be seperated from him when he needed it), (2) carry a change of clothes and a towel with him. You guessed it, he took a spill - and NOT while trying to catch the football - it can happen to any of us at any time - always come prepared........ because those car seats don't take kindly to having a wet body sit upon them for a drive home.

The return home........always be aware that the turn-around point is only halfway throught the paddle - watch the wind, tides, weather. We were all keenly aware of the wind today, but every one of us felt the last mile of 15 mph headwind..........no problems, but a good lesson is always learned - know your limits.

This was the meeting paddle (due to Mardi Gras tonight)- lots planned for the spring. Next meeting will be March 4th. Stay tuned to the website for updates. Don't miss an opportunity to paddle and enjoy the bounty that our area offers. Upcoming various paddles: Camp Rapahope fundraiser on March 16, Bayou La Fouche the end of March, Grandman Triathlon the end of May, a spring trip to Boiling Creek will be posted soon (have you purchased your pass?), and much more before, during, and in-between - there's always someone on the water - take advantage of their knowledge and learn our water-ways.

Paddle on......
Harriet

Pelican Point Paddle 10/14/07
Nancy Ward, Leader
Eleven of us met at 2 pm for a leisurely afternoon of paddling. The wind was coming rather briskly from the east so we quickly crossed the channel and wound our way through a salt marsh. The path through the vegetation was extremely twisty and turny. We saw an osprey nest plus a great egret and a great blue heron. The water became extremely shallow in places and paddles dipped into deep muck. We soon decided to turn around. Shallow water over sand can be a bother; especially if you have to get out. Attempting to get out in deep muck might be a real problem. After coming back into Weeks Bay we decided to paddle along the eastern shore in order to be sheltered from the wind. Fritz’ daughter, Rachel, paddled a sea kayak for the first time. The number of pelicans on pier posts was incredible. One former pier hosted at least 20. People gradually turned around when they needed to leave. They were experienced enough paddlers that I did not worry. Those who remained went into the Magnolia River and paddled upstream for a bit before they too turned around. The last of us finished about 5:30 pm.