Steve Horswell
Member
The gripping saga resumes. From time to time I will post additional trials and tribulations...SRH
Tales of the Old Crony---Up The Creek Without A Paddle
So there we were, up a creek without a paddle, again. Actually, our situation might have been better described as up a paddle without a creek. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
It was one of those gorgeous late October days that we see infrequently in the Upper Midwest. We hadn’t quite gotten our fill (or limit) of ducks in the morning so I suggested we float The River in the afternoon. And, to my surprise, he agreed. As I mentioned before, The Old Crony suffers from a low threshold of adventure and a high remembrance of misadventure. Perhaps he was still a little groggy from being out before the crack of dawn.
I had scouted several sections of The River earlier in the week and noted excellent water conditions. Our plan was to use my tandem kayak to float between a couple of public accesses on The River. We would drop his vehicle off at the take-out point and continue on in my vehicle to our put-in spot. I figured it would be a leisurely 3 hour cruise.
We launched uneventfully and headed downstream with The Old Crony in the bow, shotgun at ready. Things were going well---the water was just right for floating and we were urged on by the continual duck talk ahead of us. Finally, as we came around a bend, a surprised a flock of woodies took off. Always a good shot, he dropped a nice drake from the group.
It wasn’t long after that we found ourselves up a paddle without a creek. Coming around a bend, we were surprised to find a very large beaver dam. As we portaged around the beaver dam, it became apparent that the dam was holding back nearly the entire flow of The River. Several feet of water upstream was replaced by mud flats interspersed with trickles downstream. Unfortunately, the spots I had checked earlier in the week had all been upstream of the dam.
Mercifully, time has dulled my memory of the conversation we had but we reached agreement that the point of no return had already been crossed. Unable to turn back, we continued downstream dragging the kayak across the mud bars. The sounds of our trudging alerted any ducks on The River long before we were in range. As we neared the take-out point, I remember looking back upstream in the twilight and seeing three trails on the mud---one from the kayak and two from where our butts had been dragging.
To be continued…
© All rights reserved. Steven R Horswell 2015
Tales of the Old Crony---Up The Creek Without A Paddle
So there we were, up a creek without a paddle, again. Actually, our situation might have been better described as up a paddle without a creek. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
It was one of those gorgeous late October days that we see infrequently in the Upper Midwest. We hadn’t quite gotten our fill (or limit) of ducks in the morning so I suggested we float The River in the afternoon. And, to my surprise, he agreed. As I mentioned before, The Old Crony suffers from a low threshold of adventure and a high remembrance of misadventure. Perhaps he was still a little groggy from being out before the crack of dawn.
I had scouted several sections of The River earlier in the week and noted excellent water conditions. Our plan was to use my tandem kayak to float between a couple of public accesses on The River. We would drop his vehicle off at the take-out point and continue on in my vehicle to our put-in spot. I figured it would be a leisurely 3 hour cruise.
We launched uneventfully and headed downstream with The Old Crony in the bow, shotgun at ready. Things were going well---the water was just right for floating and we were urged on by the continual duck talk ahead of us. Finally, as we came around a bend, a surprised a flock of woodies took off. Always a good shot, he dropped a nice drake from the group.
It wasn’t long after that we found ourselves up a paddle without a creek. Coming around a bend, we were surprised to find a very large beaver dam. As we portaged around the beaver dam, it became apparent that the dam was holding back nearly the entire flow of The River. Several feet of water upstream was replaced by mud flats interspersed with trickles downstream. Unfortunately, the spots I had checked earlier in the week had all been upstream of the dam.
Mercifully, time has dulled my memory of the conversation we had but we reached agreement that the point of no return had already been crossed. Unable to turn back, we continued downstream dragging the kayak across the mud bars. The sounds of our trudging alerted any ducks on The River long before we were in range. As we neared the take-out point, I remember looking back upstream in the twilight and seeing three trails on the mud---one from the kayak and two from where our butts had been dragging.
To be continued…
© All rights reserved. Steven R Horswell 2015
