Thursday, May 20th

When we got back to Juanita’s place, we put the canoe back in the river and paddled across the rain-swollen stream to the gravel bar we’d left much of our gear on the night before.  All of our stuff was still there.  The tent had collapsed, though, and everything was submerged in six inches of water that was standing in the bottom of the tent.  My cell phone, which I’d left in a pocket of my sleeping bag, was dead–drowned in rainwater.  Ouch.

We wrung out the sleeping bags, drained the water from the rest of the gear, and packed up.  Then we loaded everything into the canoe and made the treacherous trip back across to Juanita’s.  After dragging the gear in the canoe up the stairs into Juanita’s yard, Jerry and I proceeded to load everything into Jerry’s car.  Finally, we strapped the canoe onto the roof and said our goodbyes. 

We drove back up to where we’d left the Xterra, stopping for delicious barbeque sandwiches at a place at the intersection of Highway 59 and Highway 412.  When we got back under the Highway 412 Bridge, we transferred my gear and the canoe to the Xterra and took our leave of each other.  Then we went our separate ways–Jerry back to Texas, and me to South Carolina.  We had a rough go of it on the Illinois River.  It was by far the most physically challenging canoe trip that Jerry and I have yet taken.  But it was certainly an adventure.  Maybe next year we’ll try to find a river that’s not in flood.

Wednesday, May 19th

We paddled steadily and dodged snags for most of the morning.  The sky was beginning to cloud up, but we were making time.  Not long before noon, though, we rounded a bend and came face to face with another big sieve.  There was a huge blockage of downed trees; and in the big middle of it all was a flipped, wrecked boat.  Once again, we were being carried along too swiftly by the strong current to reach either bank before we hit the sieve.  We had to act quickly, or we would be in a world of hurt.

So I jumped out of the canoe and grabbed one of the downed trees at the top end of the sieve with one hand while catching hold of the stern of our boat with the other hand.  But the current was too strong.  I couldn’t hold on.  So I let go of the tree and held onto the canoe.  We were being swiftly carried into the heart of the sieve–and disaster.  Jerry grabbed a limb and slowed us some before he lost his grip.  Then I made a huge effort and grabbed onto another big limb, while keeping hold of the stern of the canoe . . . and this time, I somehow managed to stop the canoe.  Then Jerry and I dragged the boat against the current, working our way out of the sieve limb by limb, until we reached the top again.  Jerry spotted a gap in the fallen trees just wide enough to fit the canoe through.  It took time and effort, but we worked the boat through the narrow channel.  The sides of the canoe scraped as it went through, and Jerry and I had to balance on the tree trunks while guiding the boat.  We managed to get the canoe through into a very narrow and shallow channel between the sieve and the righthand bank.  Finally, we climbed back aboard and got going again. 

After a little while, a heavy rain started to fall.  I could barely see to steer, and Jerry had to constantly bail water out of the boat.  The river was rising again–quickly–and we knew we needed to find some shelter and regroup.  Not long after that, we came in sight of the Chewey Road Bridge.  So we put in on the left bank, covered the canoe with our one remaining tarp, and slogged up under the shelter of the bridge.  On our way to the covered area, I found a pair of pink flip-flops.  They were a tad small, but I managed to jam the left one onto my bare left foot.  It looked damn silly, and felt funny–but it beat the hell out of hobbling around on my bare left foot.  So Jerry and I both had two shoes apiece again.  I dried off under the shelter of the bridge and changed into dry clothes.  Then I put on the poncho that Jerry had given me before we started out on the trip.  Talk about better.

At the first lull in the downpour, Jerry and I headed back down to the canoe and put in.  The river was rising swiftly, and we decided that the time had come to cut our trip short.  Rather than camping another night, we’d paddle straight through to the take-out point.  But we still had a long way to go to get there.  Jerry’s car was all the way down at the Echota Public Access Area just above the Highway 62 Bridge.  We continued on, making great time, and with the weather starting to clear.  The river was moving very fast now.  We passed the Round Hollow Public Access Area and the No Head Public Use Area.  The sun started to shine, and the air warmed.  We took off our ponchos. 

It was now after 6:30 p.m., and the river level was dropping steadily and quickly.  So we decided to stop at the first gravel bar or island where we had cell service and check the weather forecast.  It wasn’t long before we sighted a perfect spot on the righthand side.  This particular gravel bar (it actually an island because the river was running so high) had a high flat spot, about six feet above river level, where we could set up the tent if decided to stay on the river.  We figured if the forecast was favorable, we’d spend the night and paddle down to the Highway 62 Bridge in the morning.  Our best guess was that we were still about two hours from the take-out point.

Jerry and I both used our cell phones to check weather reports.  There were more storms coming, but no flash flood warnings.  We should be safe enough, we figured, if we set up our camp atop that rocky outcrop six feet above the current water level.  So we set up the tent, gathered firewood, spread our wet stuff to dry in the late afternoon sun that was shining strong now in a clear and lovely sky.  I cooked up another batch of fish hash, we drank a couple of much-needed and well-deserved beers, and enjoyed the gorgeous sunset that was unfolding over the cliffs to the west.

Just after sundown, though, I heard someone yelling at Jerry and me from atop the bluff on the east side of the river.  There were houses up there; and a woman was standing in her backyard, yelling down at us.  I didn’t see how we could possibly be on private property, but something was obviously the matter.  So I walked as close as I could get to her on the gravel bar/island, and could barely make out what she was saying over the sound of the rushing river.  There were big storms coming, she said; and a flash flood watch had been issued.  I replied that we were six feet above the river level, and that I felt like we should be safe for the night.  I also told her that we had a good deal of river experience, and that I had battened down the tent to weather a big blow.  She graciously said that if we changed our minds, we could use a covered area behind her house for shelter.  I thanked her, and went back to drink another beer.

It was now about 8:30.  Jerry and I both got back on our phones and checked the updated forecast.  Sure enough, the storms were strengthening and a flash flood watch had been issued.  But no warnings had been posted.  I checked the river level.   It was still falling.  The sky was clouding over again, and a light rain began to fall.  Jerry and I, both exhausted from our day on the river, headed for our sleeping bags.  Sleep was not long in coming.

I was awakened by the sound of heavy rain on the tent.  And there was something  else.  Someone was yelling.  This time, there was more than one voice.  I listened hard.  Finally, I made out: “YOU’RE GOING TO DIE.”

As might be expected, this got my attention.  So I pulled on my river shoes, grabbed a flashlight, and walked out into the rain to the spot on the gravel bar/island closest to where the voices were coming from.  There were two men up on the bluff, and the same woman I had talked to earlier.  They said that the storms had continued to develop.  There were tornado watches now, and a flash flood warning had been issued.  They said that if a flash flood came, the gravel bar/island we were on would be completely covered by water.  They said that they had seen this happen multiple times in the past.  They also said we could stow our gear on their property at the top of the bluff, under cover, where it (and we) would be safe.

I went back to tent and woke up Jerry.  I strongly felt that we would  be safe atop our six-foot rock bastion.  But these people lived on the river, and knew its ways.  Jerry and I talked it over, and decided it wasn’t worth the risk staying on the gravel bar/island.  We should gather what gear we could tonight, carry it over in the canoe, and come back tomorrow for the rest. 

We packed up, hurriedly, the stuff we could carry.  The rest we put in the tent, which I battened down even further.  It was incredibly dark, and a heavy rain was falling.  I wasn’t crazy about the idea of crossing that rain-swollen river under these conditions.  The folks across the river said they had a dock that we could use.  If we missed it, though, I knew we’d be carried downstream on the swollen river.  In the dark.  But if these people were right, the alternative seemed worse.  So we pulled the canoe along the gravelly bank as far upstream as we could get.  Then we climbed in and paddled like hell across the dark and swift-moving stream that was lit only by lightning flashes.  The folks on the far side had a dock all right.  But it was flooded, and landing was difficult indeed.  All I had to aim at was a flight of stairs rising out of the river.  They had a flashlight on the stairs.  I took my best guess, and Jerry and I paddled for all we were worth. 

We managed to hit the target exactly.  One of the two men on the stairs secured the canoe, and we unloaded our gear.  The two men helped Jerry and I get all our stuff up to the top of the bluff via the stairway, and we stowed it all under cover in the backyard.  Then Jerrry and I hauled up the canoe.  There, we met our river angel.  Her name was Juanita, and we thanked her for all the help.  She said it was nothing, and told us we were welcome to use her property again in the morning to recover our gear–if it wasn’t carried away by the river.  In the meantime, she said, her nephew Mark (one of the men who had helped us dock and get up the stairs) would take us in his truck to get Jerry’s car.  After that, we could find a hotel in Tahlequah where we could spend the rest of the night. 

We found Jerry’s car with only a bit of trouble.  Then we moved our overnight stuff from Mark’s truck to Jerry’s vehicle.  Finally, Jerry and I drove into Tahlequah and checked into the Super Inn.  We unloaded, spread our clothes to dry, showered, and collapsed into our beds.

Tuesday, May 18th

We broke camp slowly, waiting for the sun to climb over the trees.  Then we dried all of the equipment in the strong sunlight, spreading the tarps and the tent and weighting the corners against the breeze with rocks.  We fished while we waited for the sun to do its work, but neither of us had any luck.  The river was running running a bit lower and slower, and seemed clearer than the day before.

We headed downriver at the same brisk clip as yesterday.  We rode past lovely springs in the gray rock walls, on fire with the morning sun as they dripped into the river.  The day was gorgeous.  The sky was clear blue above us; and the towering elms, oaks, sycamores, and cottonwoods that lined the banks were an incredible shade of green.  Many of the sycamores, though, leaned dangerously over the river.  And there were deadfalls in the water–sometimes almost all the way across the main channel–that made navigation difficult.  This was, we realized, definitely not the lazy stream that the guidebooks had described.  The river was running above floodstage.  This was made uncomfortably clear by the water-covered docks we kept passing, and the broken boats and detritus from those flooded docks that littered the banks.

We made our cautious way down the river and started to look for a place to stop for lunch.  But the high water made finding a suitable take-out spot difficult.  Then, a little after noon, we rounded a bend and were faced with the choice of two channels.  This was a pattern we’d seen several times over the course of the morning.  We picked the wider and deeper left channel.  But as we cleared the high ground between the two forks, we saw that two massive trees had fallen across the river, blocking our passage.  Worse, the water was pouring down under one of the massive trunks and up over the other, creating a sieve.  We paddled hard for the left bank, which was about four feet above the water level–but were swept by the strong current into the sieve.  

The canoe flipped, and then I was underwater.  I tried to surface, but something was holding me down.  I realized that I was under the boat, which was pinned slantwise against the fallen trees.  I found the bottom with both feet, bracing myself against the canoe; but the water was too deep for me to stand and reach the surface.  So I fought my way clear of the boat, hauled myself to the surface, and breathed.  Then I looked for Jerry.  He had found a backwater against the bank, where the first tree had fallen.  He hauled me over.  The water was about chest deep, and Jerry and I got busy grabbing gear.  He caught both paddles, and I snagged a couple of yellow waterproof bags which were bobbing and tumbling against the fallen trees like corks.  The canoe was half-submerged, poking out of the water at a crazy angle with the bow up over the massive trunks and the stern buried underwater.  The open side of the canoe faced the current, and the boat was wedged tight against the sieve.  The current kept trying to pull me into the sieve as well, and it took all the strength I had to hold my position.  It didn’t look good.

Jerry and I both took a minute to make sure we weren’t injured.  Then I grabbed a bag and a paddle, and fought my way upriver to a place on the bank where I could climb out.  I shoved the bag and paddle up onto the bank, and pulled myself up after them.  Then I eased back into the water and went back for more gear.  I got the cooler and the other paddle next.  Miraculously, the cooler had remained sealed.  So we still had all our food and our beer.  After that I made trip after trip, taking more and more of our gear from Jerry (who rescued it from the sieve) and hauling it against the current to the safe spot on the bank.  Once we had everything we could find, I pulled out all of the stuff we’d stowed in the “waterproof” bags and drained the riverwater out of the bags and out of our kitchen stuff.  Next, I wrung out our sleeping bags.  Finally, I made my way barefoot (having lost both of my shoes) through the heavy brush that was laced with poison ivy to the spot on the bank directly above the canoe.  We had to get the boat out of that sieve, or it would soon be beaten to pieces.  Literally.

Jerry handed me up the bowline, and I braced myself to keep from falling into the sieve.  Then I started hauling the canoe out of the river.  It felt like trying to lift a bus.  But Jerry gamely shoved up from the bottom while I pulled from the top, and we got the canoe out of the current.  Then we rolled it to drain out most of the riverwater, and I got the boat up onto the bank.  I drained the rest of the water, then carefully lowered the canoe back down to Jerry.  He helped me angle the canoe back into the river, where it floated just above where Jerry stood.  Finally, I splashed back in just above the boat and hauled it against the current to a sloping spot on the bank above the place where I’d stowed our gear.  Jerry, who had been chest-deep in the river helping out the entire time, made his way to the safe spot on the bank.  Then we both took a minute to catch our breaths.  When we had our wits about us again, we took a rough stock of what we’d managed to save.  We were missing some things besides my shoes.

While Jerry started organizing to get ready to repack what we had left, I headed into the river again to try and find some of the things we’d lost.  I felt around the trees that made the sieve, carefully searching the tree trunks and the riverbottom within reach.  I found one of my lost river shoes (the right one).  Then I climbed up onto the bank, slipped back into the river on the far side of the downed trees, and felt around below the sieve.  Nothing.  After that, I put my river shoe back on and slogged downriver a bit.  But there was nothing more to be found.  I gave up after a while and returned to Jerry.  We made an inventory of all the things the river had taken: one of the waterskins, Jerry’s camp shovel, my left river shoe, the trash bags, and one of the tarps.  We also lost the use of Jerry’s camera.  It had been hanging from a chord around his neck when the boat flipped, and was now full of water.  But neither of us had been injured, and we still had plenty of gear to get us down the river.  We had been damn lucky.

We rebagged everything, despite the fact that it was soaked, and reloaded the canoe.  I took special care to secure our one remaining waterskin.  I thanked Jerry one more time for his quick thinking in saving both our paddles.  Then I dragged the canoe upriver in the backwater near the bank.  When we’d gotten far enough upriver to make it across the current to the right-hand channel, we shoved off.  Then we paddled like hell to to the right bank.  After scouting to make sure the righthand channel was clear, we pulled the boat through the very shallow water until it was deep enough to float the boat.  Finally, we climbed back into the canoe and headed downriver.

We found a wide gravel island and stopped for the day.  Then we unloaded and unbagged everything, and spread it all out to dry.  After watching me limp along over the rocks with my one river shoe, Jerry insisted that I take one of his shoes.  Luckily, we wear the same size.  After a while, Jerry managed to make a kind of shoe out of his fishing bag.  He had to pull on the handle as he stepped, but it worked okay.  He hobbled around with that rig and did some fishing while I gathered firewood.  Despite his fishing-bag-shoe handicap, Jerry actually managed to catch four nice smallmouth bass.  Amazing.  The island we stopped on was about 100 yards long and about thirty yards wide at its widest point.  While Jerry cleaned the fish, I built a campfire.  Then I set up the campstove, which was now dried out, and cooked up a delicious hash with the fish Jerry had caught, some canned diced potatoes, sliced fresh tomatoes, and diced fresh onions.  I sauteed the mixture in olive oil and seasoned it with soy sauce, basil, salt, and pepper.  We washed it down with several much-needed beers.

By the time darkness had started to settle, even our sleeping bags had dried in the sun and the light breeze that had blown all afternoon.  We shut everything down for the night and crawled into our bags.  After all we’d been through, sleep came easy.

Monday, May 17th

After driving up from Jerry’s place in Central Texas, Jerry and I dropped his car at the Echota Public Access Area on the Illinois just above the Highway 62 Bridge.  Then we drove the Xterra up to the Watts Public Landing Area, which was very difficult to find.  After looking around for a while, and finally asking directions, we parked under the Highway 412 Bridge and unloaded our gear and my trusty green Pelican Colorado canoe.  This is an excellent put-in site with a sloping caliche river access and covered parking under the bridge.  We stowed our gear into waterproof bags, loaded up the canoe, and put it around 5 p.m.  After a couple of days of heavy rain, the river was muddy and swollen and running fast.  We shot downriver past the Redneck Yacht Club and saw a group of kids playing in the shallows.  We  teased the kids about being cold and they teased us back.  Then we were past them, moving quickly along.

We stayed on the river for about an hour and a half, floating past big sycamores and cottonwoods and gravel bars and gray rock banks.  We pulled out on a very nice gravel bar on the left bank of the river.  Actually, with the river running high, it was a small island.  We gathered firewood together, then I built a fire and set up camp while Jerry tried to catch us some fish to eat for dinner.  He caught a nice smallmouth bass, but one fish wouldn’t feed the two of us.  So Jerry gutted the fish and put it into a sealed plastic bag, and we put it on ice for another day. 

We ate turkey sandwiches for dinner, which we washed down with delicious beer.  Then we sat around the fire until pretty late, drinking beer and catching up while we enjoyed the lovely night on the Illinois.  The sky was clear.  The moon was a thin sliver, and the stars were bright.  The only sounds were the river flowing and the frogs and insects.  Perfect.

Thursday, May 21st

Got up early and made coffee.  But it was much warmer this morning than it had been the other mornings on the river, so a fire wasn’t necessary.  We had been toying with the idea of spending another day on the river, and doing the entire seventy-six miles or so of the Wateree River, if we made good enough time.  But since we hadn’t yet hit the 76/378 Bridge—which is the fifty-mile mark—we decided that today would be our last day.  This meant that we could take our sweet time this morning, and enjoy the excellent campsite we’d found.

Fully recovered and raring to fish, Jerry had a fine morning with his fishing.  He caught several nice bass, two of which were definitely keepers—a striper and a largemouth.  Also, Jerry spotted the snaking trail of a freshwater clam in the sand.  We dug him up, and I shucked him, for my trouble getting a handful of firm white meat.  We also found the tracks of a mother turtle that had crawled up out of the river and laid a clutch of eggs in the sandy bank near our camp.  We debated as to whether we’d like to have turtle eggs for breakfast, but decided against it.

We packed up camp, loaded the canoe, and got onto the river a little before 11 a.m.  We paddled through more swamp and past more towering trees and saw not a single campsite below the sandbank we’d been lucky enough to find before dark.  We finally hit the 76/378 Bridge around 1 p.m.  We tied up at the excellent boat dock just above the boat ramp, on the right bank between the two bridges.  I called my lovely wife, Emily, to come and pick us up.  And then we unloaded some of our gear and settled in to feast and drink beer until she arrived.  I took the fish fillets and the clam, sautéed them in olive oil with sausage and tomatoes and garlic and onion and green bell pepper that I’d brought along, then added it to a potful of boiled diced potatoes.  The resulting no-rue gumbo was tasty indeed.  Jerry and I ate our fill, and washed it down with ice-cold beer.  Not a bad way to finish off the trip.

Emily found us just fine, and she took me to get the Xterra back up at the Lake Wateree Dam.  I found Jerry fishing off the dock upon my return, and we unloaded the rest of our gear, took the canoe out of the water, then loaded up and said goodbye to the Wateree River.  It was an excellent river excursion, and I look forward to another next May.

Wednesday, May 20th

Got up early and made a fire and a pot of coffee.  Jerry was able to drink coffee this morning, and even eat a light breakfast.  Afterward, he tried his luck with the fish while I took my time packing up the camp.  Fishing turned out to be a no-go, so we loaded up and got onto the river a little after 10 a.m.

We paddled all day.  I figured that we would reach the Highway 76/378 Bridge by 6 p.m., but it didn’t happen.  The river had receded a great deal since the high water mark on the first night of our trip, and the current was much reduced.  But despite all the paddling, we had a really nice day.  We saw bald eagles and great blue herons and a plethora of bird species.  We saw deer and turkeys.  We saw turtles and even a couple of alligators.  One of the gators was at least twelve feet long.  He scrambled into the water as we approached, and it was a little disconcerting sharing the river with him.  But he left us alone—and we were happy to reciprocate.

We stopped for lunch on a nice sandbank where I took a much-needed bath in the river while Jerry fished.  The bath felt fantastic.  The river ran clear and strong and cool around the bend that held the sandbank, and I swam for a while and had fun fighting the strong current after I was done getting clean.  I dove deep near the middle, and the water was cold and clear-green all the way to the bottom.

We spent the afternoon paddling and drinking beer.  There are not many places to camp along this stretch of the river.  The banks are steep and wooded, and very muddy.  The occasional low, sloping bank is silty black mud.  But finally, around 8 p.m., we came across a perfect sandbank.  We immediately took out and set up camp.  And even though we were tired, we made a fire and spent some time taking in the quiet, lovely evening beside the river.  Then we hit the sleeping bags, and slept the sleep of the truly exhausted.

Tuesday, May 19th

We emerged from the tent into the roar of fast-moving traffic on the freeway overhead.  It was surprisingly chilly for mid-May.  So I gathered more wood, lit a fire, and made a pot of coffee.  Much of our stuff had gotten wet in yesterday’s fracas at the rapids.  So as I drank coffee, I unpacked the wet clothes and camping gear and spread it dry.  As the sun rose, it combined with the morning breeze to dry the riverwater out of our clothes.  As I alternated between coffee-drinking and breaking down camp, Jerry picked up his fishing gear and tried his luck.  I could hear him whooping over the sounds of the traffic, so I figured he was having a run of luck.  But I had no idea just how big a run.  It turns out he caught nineteen fish in all—a mix of striped bass, largemouth bass, and redeye bass.  Unfortunately, none of them were of a size to fillet.

We got onto the river late, around 11 a.m.  Jerry wasn’t feeling particularly well, so we decided to take it very easy.  I paddled and drank a couple of early beers while Jerry rested a bit in the front.  We passed towering—truly amazing—trees of the same varieties as yesterday, as well as many I didn’t recognize.  I’d forgotten how different the view is from Southern rivers, as opposed to rivers out West where the vegetation tends to be sparser.  We stopped for lunch on a sandbar below a big river house, but Jerry couldn’t eat anything and couldn’t even keep water down.  So I downed a turkey sandwich and some chips, and we headed on downriver into the Betty Neck Swamp.

The current slowed and the river bent and meandered through thick vegetation on both sides.  We saw great blue herons and bald eagles and an amazing variety of birdlife, but Jerry was in no shape to enjoy it.  Around 4 p.m., I spotted a perfect campsite on a sandy slope on the left side of the river, about six feet above water level.  So we pulled the canoe out of the river, and I set up a nice comfortable camp in the shelter of a lovely stand of sycamores and willows.  I set the tent up first, and Jerry lay down for what we hoped would be a healing sleep.  The campsite overlooked a bend in the river.  The Wateree ran clear over a sandy bottom.  A big riverhouse occupied the opposite bank, a little upriver; however, the stand of trees blocked the house from our view.  The sandy bank ran about a quarter mile, backed by the swamp.  There was plenty of firewood for the taking, and I laid in enough for a true bonfire in hopes that Jerry would recover enough to share it with me.

Sure enough, a little before sunset, Jerry awoke feeling better.  He immediately hydrated—he hadn’t had any water since early morning—and that helped even more.  So we were able to spend some time enjoying the fire and the perfect evening with a sky full of stars. 

Monday, May 18th

After a bit of trouble finding the put-in place just north of Camden, we finally go onto the river at the Lugoff Public Landing just below Lake Wateree Dam.  Although it’s difficult to find, the put-in site at the Lugoff Public Landing is excellent.  There is a cement boat ramp for easy river access, and plenty of convenient parking.  We loaded up the canoe with our waterproof-bagged supplies and got onto the river at 5 p.m.  After a couple of days of heavy rain on the watershed, the river was running very high and fast, and they started releasing water from the dam again just as put in.  No sooner had we started to paddle in the already-swift-moving stream, than we heard the warning sirens start blaring.  The current started to pick up even more, and we had to deal with two to three-foot waves that washed riverwater into the boat.

About a half-hour downriver, we hit a Class II rapid that normally wouldn’t have been a problem.  But the current was so strong, we were swept onto a rock and got stuck there.  Immediately, the canoe started to roll over.  So I hopped out of the boat, found footing, braced myself against the strength of the water sweeping by, and steadied the boat.  But I couldn’t shove the canoe off the rock.  The problems wasn’t that I was incapable—rather, just as we were hitting the rapid, two very inconsiderate gentlemen in a johnboat anchored at the bottom of the only passage through, and started fishing.  To top it off, one of them got a strike.  So Jerry and I very considerately waited for the very inconsiderate fisherman to reel in his very small striper before I shoved us off and hopped back into the boat.  We narrowly missed colliding with the johnboat as we paddled through the rest of the rapid and made our exit.

After that, we had more problems with the big waves, but there were no more real rapids.  It was fastmoving flatwater for the rest of the day.  We passed underneath the Hwy 601 Bridge and started looking for a campsite.  But although there were big beautiful trees on both banks—sycamores, cottonwoods, sweet gums, water oaks, elms, and pines—there were no places to set up camp.  Finally, we hit the I-20 Bridge and pulled out.  There was a campable site on the left bank, almost directly beneath the eastbound lane, and we headed for it.  The traffic noise was awful, and the bridge infrastructure was less than scenic.  But darkness was falling fast, and we had to take what we could get. 

Jerry helped set up camp, then tried to catch a fish for dinner.  I finished setting up camp, then gathered more firewood and got a fire roaring not far from the tent.  Jerry not having caught any keepers, I made sandwiches and cracked open a couple of delicious beers, and we sat by the fire and relaxed as much as possible under the circumstances.  But it wasn’t long before we noticed that the river was rising again.  It was hard to tell how fast.  So we set up a line of sticks between the river’s edge and the tent, and waited with our beers beside the fire to see what would happen.  Gradually, the river swallowed the line of sticks one by one until it was too close to the tent to wait and watch any longer.  So we pulled up the stakes and dragged the tent through the grass uphill to another relatively flat spot.  Then we reset the stakes and moved the rest of our gear uphill next to the tent.  After that, it was time to collapse into our sleeping bags and hope a wall of water wouldn’t wake us in the night.

Friday, May 23rd

We woke early, to the sound of a turkey serenade from the far side of the alluvial plain.  Jerry took this to be a good omen, since our Colorado River trip also started on Day 4 with a turkey serenade, and immediately headed down to the riverbank to try and catch a trophy fish.   What follows may be thought by some to be merely a fish story.  However, having witnessed these events myself, I am able to vouch for their absolute veracity. 

As I was alternately striking camp and drinking coffee, I heard a strange gurgling/choking noise from the direction of the river.  I looked over to see Jerry’s fishing rod literally bent in half, and Jerry charging into the river to relieve the tension on his line.  Naturally, I paused in my camp-striking and gave myself wholly over to coffee-drinking and spectatorship.  I watched Jerry fight the fish he’d hooked, masterfully playing the big striper up close enough so that Jerry could scoop him out of the water.  It was one hell of a fish, the biggest striper I’ve ever seen caught without the aid of a boat and fishfinder.  I watched Jerry catch hold of the fish and start to remove the hook, which apparently was on the verge of coming out of the fish’s cavern of a mouth.  But just as the hook came free, I saw the striper give a giant tailflop . . . and splash back into the river at Jerry’s feet.  Again, for those to whom Jerry may have already told this story, I must testify to its complete veracity.  But the story isn’t over.  Rather than quitting (as I would’ve done, quite probably never to fish again), Jerry shrugged off his loss, and soon caught a strapping big catfish that we filleted and pan-fried with garlic and onions for a delicious last-day-on-the-river breakfast.

After breakfast, we loaded up the canoe and headed downriver toward the take-out point.  There were signs of habitation on both banks; cows and fences to begin, then later houses and finally cars on a highway we couldn’t quite see but could hear quite plainly.  We hit the Highway 180 Bridge a little after 11 a.m., and took the canoe out of the water. 

There was a giant dead gar lying swollen on the bank that lent a pungent aroma to the entire take-out process.  We loaded up Jerry’s truck with a bit more alacrity than we might otherwise have done, and headed into the town of Palo Pinto to eat a barbeque lunch.  We both had  brisket sandwiches that were tender and delicious.  After lunch, we drove back up to the Highway 16 Bridge, traded out our gear, and switched the canoe to the Xterra.  Then we said our goodbyes and headed off in separate directions. 

All in all, it was a fine trip.  The Brazos was a bit too low for easy canoeing, and the south wind made paddling a necessity for a sizeable chunk of our time on the river.  But the scenery was lovely, and the company was excellent.  They’ve named that stretch of river “The John Graves Scenic Waterway.”  It seems appropriate.  I hope to be able to say hello to that bit of West Texas again.

Thursday, May 22nd

We struck camp slowly, drinking a pot of coffee and eating bran muffins.  The wind had actually slacked off quite a bit as the sun rose, and things were looking up for our morning trip.  On another positive note, Jerry and I agreed to go ahead and use the icewater from our cooler to replenish the water supply that had run low in our five-gallon container due to the extreme heat and exertion of the day before.  I always keep a clean-ice cooler on a river trip (carefully bagging all food items in sealed containers); so the icewater was not only fit to drink, it added welcome freshness to the plasticky water from the big jug.

We got on the river around 9:30 and headed against a much-dimished headwind for most of the rest of the morning.  We passed a couple of lovely houses, one atop a bluff and the over just above river level (complete with a COMING ONTO THIS PROPERTY IS NOT WORTH GETTING SHOT sign at the top of the stairs that led up onto the big front porch).  We stopped for lunch on a rocky outcrop on the righthand bank.  There was some walking over the course of the morning, as the river had fallen about another three inches overnight.  But the broken cloudcover provided a welcome relief from the heat of the day before, and the beer we had with lunch was cold and delicious.

After lunch (and a second beer apiece), we continued on downriver.  We passed the ten-mile take-out sign for Rochelle’s Canoe Rental and kept paddling hard against the headwind that was stiffening now.  There were many more shallow spots in the afternoon that required Jerry and me to do a good bit of river-strolling.  The bottom, though, is gravel-covered and easy to walk on.  And the scenery is spectacular.  This section of the river is truly incredible.  Giant strangely-shaped boulders litter the grass-covered banks beneath towering bluffs.  We saw kingfishers, cardinals, a painted bunting, and lots of fat black cattle. 

Around 6 p.m., we found what I rate to be the best river campsite I’ve ever had the good fortune to come upon.  The site is a broad alluvial plain that is covered with gravel ranging from pea-sized up through big river-smoothed hunks of rock.  The variety of rock types is amazing.  At least a quarter-mile wide at its broadest spot, the plain is bordered with dead trees on the far side from the river that make gathering firewood quick and easy.  And the fishing is excellent.  Jerry caught several bass and a catfish; none of them big enough to pan-fry, but certainly well worth the effort.  Even I (not being much of a fisherman) was tempted to join in.  But I contented myself with cooking up the last of the sausage and setting up a bonfire for later.  We ate a delicious dinner, and sat around the blazing fire drinking several of the wide selection of beers we each brought for the trip.  The stars were low and lovely, and the wind died almost completely with the setting sun.  It was a perfect night.