Chapter 17: A channel of your peace
Stopping on the bridge we watched the brown water boil below us. The St Francis river is not considered a float stream, it is too remote, too fast and too rough. It spills out of its namesake mountains tumbling through the Ozarks scouring the soil down to granite in many places. The upper sections at the old silver mines are used for white water kayaking, the lower sections are not used by anyone.
“You sure about this Jim?” I ask as I watch a tree slide down the river, bobbing up and down, rolling as it hits unseen obstructions below . The leaves on it are green, less than a day ago it was standing proudly on the bank, now it has succumbed to the recent eroding rains. Though Robert and myself are now unemployed we decided to have one more float trip, one more last hurrah on a river. It’s cheap entertainment, jus the gas to get there and a bottle of cheap whiskey.
Jim is the constant optimist, “We’ll be fine” I love that about him, never a worry. We both watch the river for a few more minutes judging its size and strength and figuring our best approach. I hear a horn beep and Andrew who had been following us shoots by and pulls on up ahead. Slamming his car down a gear and forcing the engine to rev he slides it sideways in the road and turns the car around facing the other direction and parking it perfectly. Jim and I both laugh as Andrew’s car rocks to a stop and he hops out ready for the river. I pull forward off the bridge and turn around slowly in the middle of the of the old two lane blacktop to be on the side of the road where a faint path leads down to the water.
Besides Andrew there are the usual suspects, Robert, Jim and myself. We have talked about doing this river for months and finally have the chance. No rain forecast for today, the river is up, finally all the conditions are correct, but all of us are a bit apprehensive. None of us have been here before and the guidebooks barely cover it. The put in and take outs are not publicly owned, aren’t actual boat ramps and I am sure we are trespassing. We might come back to vandalized vehicles, might come back to an angry local with a gun, but these are the risks you take.
At least we are traveling light. We had planned on camping on a gravel bar but last night we had a pow-wow and decided that with the river up there might not be any gravel bars. I pushed for this option worried we might get a spot storm tonight and not knowing the river thought we might have canoes tipping and wet gear. So it is just the basics in the boat, whiskey, food, and a paddle.
Finally we are unloaded and on the river. It is moving fast and if my memory serves me correctly I can recall reading that we will cross some rapids, Class II, nothing I haven’t seen before. Since the river is out of its banks it is sometimes hard to tell if we are on the main channel or going over a gravel bar. Many times we find that we have gone the wrong way and are pushed into trees, the main channel of the river having taken a sharp bend and we were moving too fast and not positioned correctly for that turn.
“According to my map, some guess work and this here GPS, fish trap is around the next bend.” Jim yells over the sound of the front of my canoe slapping the water. “We should get out and look at this before we do it, supposed to be bad, big rocks, tight turns.”
I agree and we pull over into a stand of sapling willows, we are still in 6 inches of water but it is calm enough to walk and we manage to bush whack along the side of a bluff till we begin to hear the roar.
“There she is, the canoe eater.” Jim says as we watch the water spill and turn through the rapids. From the bank we talk about the different lines to run through this.
“If you come out six feet from the far bank, you see that dip in the water?” I ask pointing it out to the group. “If we hit that far dip it will keep us off the rocks, then, paddle hard to the right, keep away from the rollers. “
Walking back up to the canoes Robert and I decide to run it, the rest decide to walk their canoes along the shore and avoid the rapids. Jim looks at the knot he had tied from the bow of his canoe to the tree, the knot is now under water. “I tied this right at the water line just to see if it was coming up or going down” Jim felt around along the tree for his knot. “We have been gone maybe 45 minutes at the most and the water has come up a good 8 inches. I’m wondering how much rain fell upstream, I’ve heard this river drains fast, but this is crazy”
Robert and I both take a few shots of whiskey to get our courage up and head out. The added water in the river is noticeable as we are moving even faster now, I am in front with Robert about 6 canoe lengths behind me, both of us going on the theory that as long as we keep the canoe straight in the water we will be okay. Around the next bend I can hear the roar of the fish trap.
I paddled hard to get the line I wanted, it was clear straight and I couldn’t see any obstructions in the way. My life jacket was at my feet, I am of the frame of mind that while they can save you they can also pin you under or trap you against a tree. On big rivers I wear it, on fast little rivers with lots of trees across them I don’t. It’s a calculated risk.
The canoe does great, holding the line I chose perfectly as I entered the rapids. Paddling hard to avoid what looks like a big rock just to the left of me I see the front of the canoe go under and bounce back up from the rollers. It looks like a lot of water but in reality it is not, maybe a pint or less, just a little bit of sponge work to soak up later. This canoe is a new one to me, I bought it for racing, it is narrow and fast and this is a test run to see how it holds up on a river. Most of my friends use aluminum canoes, bought from defunct outfitters, I have one of those as well. This canoe though is fiberglass. Most people do not think a fiberglass canoe can hold up to the rocks and beating a fast river will hand to it. I realize I might be rebuilding the canoe ever couple of years but the tradeoff is worth it to be the fastest vessel on the water.
Out of the fish trap the water is still moving. I dig in hard with my paddle to swing the canoe around and wait for Robert to come through. He is soon there with a big smile on his face. “That was FUN!” We both paddle to the side of the river and grab onto willow saplings to await the rest showing up. They trickle in one at a time, Robert first and lastly Jim and Andrew.
As Jim and Andrew paddle up Jim yells. “Where I was walking through with Robert and his canoe is now under water. This river has come up at least 3 feet since we stopped to look at the fish trap. “We all knew we were lucky not to have tried to camp tonight, another storm could come along and our campsite could be underwater. No one wants to deal with that in the middle of the night.
Continuing down the river I start to get scared. Where once it was moving fast and something of a challenge it is now roaring and wider. While we were in the narrow valley the channel was easy to find, now in a wider area the river has spread out with many islands and false channels. These false channels were once the true channel, but floods move the main channel, shifting the gravel bars, the river is always looking for the shortest route downhill. Normally we would know where the true channel was but with large islands and blind river bends we take or are taken by the current into many old ox bows.
After a few times of paddling the canoe through tops of tree I got caught by the current and taken over a small willow. I hit the tree dead straight and can feel the branches and leaves scraping at my feet as I slide over it till I stop. Hung in the middle of the water, centered on a bent over tree and the current moving fast , the aft end of the canoe comes around on me and I hit another willow tree. Slowly the tree bends and the canoe leans over with it. Six inches more and the gunwales will be in the water. I lean against the rising side, trying to hold the canoe steady. I think I have it and catch glimpse of a log coming barreling down the river straight at me. I hold tight as it hits and know as soon as it does that this game is over. The canoe rolls with the impact and water pours in, gallons and gallons pulling the canoes gunwales ever deeper till in a matter of heartbeats I am tipped and in the drink.
Damn, no life jacket. It must have wa
shed away along with my whiskey bottle. Okay, no problem, Jim and Andrew are coming along behind me, I just have to wait till they get here and they can help me right the boat and I will be on my way. I cant touch bottom but I have the trees to hold onto and the canoe is on its top with air holding it up.
The canoe slowly swings out, catches the current and I am off again, straddling the back of it, as I climb higher on the canoe trying to ride this out the air inside the boat shifts and I just hang on as it puts me in the water. Deeper and deeper I can feel the pressure on my ears build. Then I remember, this is a racing canoe, it has no floatation, I am being taken to the bottom of the river.
I let go and resurface. I am not sure how long I have been under but I am back in white water. Each time I try and catch my breath I hit a roller. In comes the air and water, out I cough water and air. Something bumps me from below and then the canoe barely makes it to the surface, still on its back with a tiny bit of air trapped inside to keep it buoyant. Crap, survival training, swim with the water, don’t fight it. Keep your head above the rollers, don’t struggle, don’t panic. All this races through my mind as I watch the bank shoot by, a few feet away is safety. I catch another roller in the face as I was trying to breath. Well this is it, I think to myself, I bit off more than I can chew and am going to have to pay the price. I have gotten closer to shore though, I see a limb hanging down and do my best to jump out of the water and grab it. Miss! Under I go again, then back up , more rollers but I see them and don’t take more water into my lungs. There is another tree branch hanging down, nothing more than a twig but it is green and has leaves so it should be strong enough.
I grab it and it holds, I swing around in the current and the tree pulls me out of the main channel into shallow water where I can touch. I walk up the bank to dry ground and cough up some water. Stopping to think about what I just went through I watch the river and see Jim coming down it, without a canoe. He has his life jacket on and is bobbing through the water; crazy smile on his face.
“Jim!” I yell as he goes past but he can’t hear me. I take off through the woods down river, he is already out of my site but I have a fifty fifty chance he will get out on my side of the river. If he doesn’t I might never see him and run right by him as the underbrush is thick. Up over another fence, back into the weeds and I keep going. Up ahead I can see a mobile home through the trees.
Two hunters in camo with shotguns under their arms are standing in the driveway of the trailer, a strange look on their face. They see me and the look gets even stranger. “You lose a boat on the river or sumpin?” The taller one asks.
I explain the situation, canoe gone, buddy of mine floating down the river. The shorter hunter goes and beats on the door of the trailer and an older guy comes out, maybe 60. He accesses the situation and starts shouting orders. He will retrieve Jim and whoever else he finds. The hunters are to take me to my truck. I watch the old man run down to a jon boat with a big outboard motor, he has it started and is heading off down the river before we have even thought about getting in the hunters trucks.
“One question” the younger hunter says to me “Were them clothes ripped up before you got in the water or did the river do that to you?” I look down and see that indeed my shorts are ripped and I am bleeding from scratches that I had not noticed. I must look like something like Jonah after the wale spit him up.
“I don’t know if this was the river or the run through the woods. I wasn’t this bad off when I started though” They both laugh and tell me I and everyone I know must be crazy to be on that river, that it eats canoes and people and livestock. We head out in their truck down a winding private lane. After about a half a mile we come to a locked metal gate, access to a public road.
“You guys don’t want anyone sneaking up on you!” I mention as they relock the gate after exiting onto the dirt road.
“Oh, we don’t live down here, that’s my sisters husband. He don’t want nobody bothering his home business. He’s cooking meth.” I then realized how far and remote I was. The guns they carried weren’t only for hunting, but also for personal protection. In these parts bodies could go missing and outsiders were not to be trusted.
As we pulled up to my truck I offered to pay them for their time and effort. They refused so I left all the cash I had sitting on the back seat of their truck were I had been riding. I followed them back to the trailer and saw that everyone was there. Robert had picked up Andrew, who had been swept downstream with Jim. Robert had gone a different route than me, had gotten holed up in some trees so he had come in last, picking up gear and people. Jim had been rescued from the water (he swore he didn’t need rescuing) but the old man had got him and brought him back. We all laughed about it, a canoe was gone but we had all lived through something amazing.