THE unbiased trip report of the St Mary's River by Bear Ridge........ This was in emails so I figured I would post it on here for everyone's enjoyment......... It is amusing that when you can't make a trip you are the one roasted but what the heck ... I gave everyone else a break from being roasted. :lol:
So here you go , if you can believe it. There is really sad note at the closing on what happen to Clyde ( I believe that was his name , I could be wrong ) at the Outpost.
Chuck..........
*******************************************************************************************************************************************************
The foolish and wicked practice of profane cursing and swearing is a vice so mean and low that every person of sense
and character detests and despises it. George Washington
At the outset let me say how sorry I am that all of you weren't there with us on the St. Mary River the first week of
March. Now for some bullshit.
Chuck set up a fine March paddle on the St. Mary River (drains the Okefenokee and forms the border between Georgia and
Florida). Harry, Ooter, the Dean boys, Vernon, Joe and I showed up on Feb. 28 at a "free" state forest campground a few
hundred yards behind Steve's fish camp/canoe outfitter/rv campground/boat ramp.
I have to drive farther than the others. They sleep late and arrive by 2 p.m. I left at 6 a.m. and got there about 6:30
p.m. My first trip down the St. Mary I drove all the way to Traders Hill (about 10 miles from Steve's) on adrenaline and
the expectation of visiting with Swampy a day early. Funny how 12.5 hours driving is easy the first time you drive
somewhere to meet friends and paddle a fine river. The drive never feels that way again.
That was my first time to camp in the Sunshine State (actually, Traders Hill is on the Georgia side of the river,
but I'll let the lawyers dwell on the small details). I got out my big fella cot, two polartec blankets and curled up to
watch the brilliant night sky.....saw all the Southern constellations, Bear Bryant, R.C. & Moon Pie, the Flatbed
Asteroid and the two brilliant stars known as the Dolly Partons. I didn't even bother to put on a pair of wool socks.
It was much colder than I expected and humid....very humid. I woke up with damp cotton socks and light frost on my
polartec blanket.
Last December I stopped in Waycross, Georgia at a motel (35 miles from the free forest campground where the others camped for that trip). It was 25 degrees that night. I set the thermostat low in a show of solidarity with the other paddlin'
freezer geezers. I got up, ate breakfast and joined them before they broke camp around 8 a.m. I thought about the same
program this time (forecast 31 degrees Sunday night), but I hadn't seen Swampy in a long time. I drove on as the sun set
unexpectedly. I had forgotten about driving across a time zone....dang sun went down an hour sooner than I expected,
hence set up would be in the dark, something I hate. I began to wonder if seeing Swampy was that important. [As it turned out, Swampy never showed.]
I pulled into the campsite an hour or so after dark. There was some mighty hard talk about Chuck. [This was the theme of
the trip.] My feet got cold in my hammock. [Gary's thermometer said 31.] Shitty night's sleep. Next morning we
cursed Chuck while breaking camp and later after we went into Folkston (6 miles) to eat eggs, a copious amount of grits
(some wierdos ordered hash browns) and bacon (some wierdos ordered sausage). With bellies full we drove to the "put in"
(about 25 miles) and unloaded all our gear. Then we left 4-5 geezers (and one geezer in training) with the boats and gear
while four of us drove the vehicles back to Steve's place.
We paid Steve an overly generous fee to take us back to the "put in" and then pick us up at the "take out" which is only
about 7-8 miles from their place. We don't pay them to shuttle boats and gear, just a few paddlers. As we were about
to leave Steve's, someone mentioned that Obama was going to pay everyone $2,500 to go back to school. The old, fat geezer behind the counter (who had driven us to the "put in" on previous trips) said "that's about what they offered me to
quit school". He said that in high school his principal threatened to paddle him. He said "I told him, no sir....you
ain't whippin' me".....and threw the principal out of a second story window. The school later fired the principal, and I
think his formal education came to an abrupt halt. This guy was 81 years old and weighed about 300 pounds. More about him later.
We shoved off around noon with 21 miles of river between us and Thompkins Landing, the "take out". There was water
standing everywhere....in the ditches......a warning of high water. It had rained a few days earlier and the river was
blowing and going. We encountered "blow downs" early on and had to figure out how to get around them.......quickly. Fast water and downed trees make for some dicey decisions. There was one big tree that had a very narrow window of opportunity.
Mac got pinned against it a bit off center. I pulled in just above him, but saw he was going very slow......exactly what he
had to do. I was as concerned for his situation as any I have encountered on that river, but he patiently worked himself
into position and made it through. When we stopped for lunch we cursed Chuck before we ate......kinda like a blessing in
Bizarro World.
The first day it actually got pretty warm. Geezers began to strip down. It was so warm and sunny, we forgot about how
cold it had been Sunday night. [No one gave Chuck credit for this.] The blow downs slowed us, but no one blew out or
became entangled, but we weren't sure how far we had paddled.
River sandbars all look pretty much the same. It was impossible to recognize landmarks giving us some idea of how
far we had gone. Same with the awesome 250 year old live oaks towering over the smaller trees. The water was so high, I am convinced the river was moving a 2 mph, which is pretty fast,
particularly for a river full of trees, shrubs, hooks, trot lines, etc.
Most of us were tired from the cold night, poor sleep and difficult paddling thanks to the blow downs. We pulled over
pretty late for us.....nearly 4 p.m.......due to exhaustion and need for libations. However, once you decide to get off
the river, there are never any good camping spots. frustration, we pulled over at some private campground with a
pavilion, sink with hand pump (don't think it worked) and an old, long unused outhouse. Joe had a problem with
trespassing. I shared his concern, but I was tired and just didn't want to go back and get in my tiny "half assed canoe".
[I hate that midget boat, except when it comes to carrying it.]
We had a large area to spread out. The hammock sleepers (Joe and I) had to go far to find appropriate trees. Joe actually
set up on the bank, which may not have been trespassing.There was a big ranch of some sort next to us and fresh
tractor, trailer and four wheeler tracks came through a very elaborate barbed wire fence from the ranch and circled around on this pasture-like site. However, after some Dago Red these criminal concerns began to fade. We didn't use any of the pre-cut firewood we found there or any of the facilities except the pavilion. Even though Chuck was only with us in spirit, we expected rain. We got it. It wasn't as cold that night.....probably a balmy 39. We cursed Chuck before we
turned in. Our original plan had been to camp two nights at the first camp site. That would have given all the geezers a day to recharge their internal batteries. It was crucial to pick a scenic spot. We failed.....thanks to Chuck. He had all the GPS coordinates in his whizbang. Mac began to call Chuck a "prick". He called him that a lot. In time we called him "Prick"........even convinced ourselves that his middle initial was "P".
Instead of a relaxing a full day and night at the first campsite, we loaded up and wearily wandered on downriver.Gary had a GPS but Chuck didn't offer him the coordinates for the campsites where we have stayed over the past 4-5 years.We cursed Chuck a lot over this cruelty. Mac hates February because he thinks anything under 50 degrees is downright frigid. Chuck knows this, so I presume he knew that Mac would be cursing a blue streak for most of this trip. We cursed Chuck even when the sun was out and the temperature in the low 60's......just so we wouldn't get rusty. [Although none of us believed it, Chuck later told us he had deleted all the coordinates from his whizbang.]
Day two was mostly cloudy, with intermittent sunshine, warm and some sprinkles. Not having had the two day recharge experience, we were tired, and when we pulled off from exhaustion, we did not pick an ideal spot. Joe and I set up our hammocks right next to the river. It was easy. I set up completely unencumbered by the thought process. We were pretty spread out, with a fire down in a gully.....a point of contention later. Smoke was a problem. Not knowing how far we had traveled, and more importantly, how far we had to go, were bigger problems. We cursed Chuck like a sailor, like a redneck. Cursing Chuck in different styles was a simple pleasure we all enjoyed.
After holding hands in a circle around the fire, cursing Chuck, we all ran to get our gear squared away.....just in time. Big rain and big wind hit us. It blew my pee jar into the river and my communist replacement chair (left mine next to the gate by the carport at home) was partly in the water.It was a dark and stormy night, a bit colder than the previous night.....after the rain stopped and the front rolled in. Next morning Gary's thermometer said it was 30 while we were sitting around the turpentine fire the next morning.Cypress seems to have as much oil as pine, and it is just as smoky.
We began the third day with an acapella curse-o-rama. Mac wanted to stick with "Prick", while some of us felt time
honored, eloquent profanity rolled right off our tongues more easily. We stayed two days at the second campsite. I used
the time to tear down and move all my gear away from the river. Wind seems to blow along the river bed and creates a
kind of "lake effect" frigidity to anyone sleeping close to the bank. While the extra day wasn't spent at a scenic spot, we did all benefit from the belated rest. Mac called Chuck on a cell phone and put some blue streak on him. It went something like this:
Mac: The wind was blowing so hard, we were swept upstream.
Chuck: Ho ho ho....ha ha ha....
Mac: That isn't funny you prick.
Chuck: Ho ho ho....chuckle...ha ha ha
Mac: We are lost and don't know where we are.
Chuck: Ho ho ho.......ha ha ha....
Mac: Is that your side splitting....stop it.....we had strong
wind at night and it blew most of our gear into the river.
Chuck: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha......
Mac: Go get your GPS and give us the coordinates.
Chuck: Ho ho ho.....ha ha ha....I deleted them all.....ha ha
ha ha
Mac: You prick....you didn't....why.....we are lost and have
no idea how far we need to paddle tomorrow.
Chuck: Ha ha ha ha ha.....let me go get a map....ha ha ha
(sound of laughter trailing off and then coming back) Let's
see. You are where?
Mac: I told you we have no idea.....you prick. I'm calling
you for information.
Chuck: Ha ha ha ha......[sniffing like tears are choking him
up]
Mac: We don't have enough food. We are out of ice and running short on rum.
Chuck: Ha ha ha ha....
Mac: You prick......why don't you got get my boat, gas it up
and come out here with more food and drink?
Chuck: Ha ha ha ha ha........
Mac: Quit laughing you prick......this is all your
fault.....you set up a February trip, then you back out
leaving us to freeze and get lost in dangerous high water.
Chuck: Ha ha ha ho ho ho.....[sound of phone dropping]......
Mac: Chuck....Chuck.....you prick, pick up the phone and talk
to me....Chuck.....you bastard, I bet if I told you I had
gangrene, you'd just laugh at that?
Chuck: Ha ha ha.......ho ho ho.......
We all tried to analyze "why" Chuck would delete all the coordinates when even the most primitive GPS units can store a
million or two of them. Some of us felt that was a lie. That he had the coordinates, but wouldn't share the info.....like
that time Humphrey Bogart kept rolling those steel balls in his hands and worrying about who got his strawberries.
No one felt like taking pictures. I think Harry took a few....perhaps Gary took one or two?
We paddled a loooooooooong way the next day. The weather was nice, except for the wind which thankfully wasn't in our faces more than 75% of the time. I presume we paddled so far because those setting the pace feared we had a lot farther to go than it turned out. After a long, tiring day paddling, we pulled over to a decent spot, cursed Chuck and set up. There was much discussion of how far we had to go the last day.This was more important to me than the others because I had a motel reservation in Cordele, Georgia and needed to get on the road by 1 p.m.
While setting up my hammock I realized that I wasn't wearing my glasses. Shit. That was the only set back on the entire
trip that wasn't Chuck's fault. Well, it wasn't Chuck's fault that the crapper was set up right next to Joe's hammock the
first night. Everyone stopped cursing Chuck and followed behind my search, tracing and re-tracing my steps. It was just like on CSI. I had just set up my hammock so my tracks were easily searched. I went inside the hammock three times,
searching. Everyone went around the two trees I tied off to 3 or 4 times. After 30 minutes I called off the search and rescue effort. Less than five minutes later I was whacking some sticker shoots with my two handed machete when I hit one leg of my communist table....destroying another plastic part they add to keep the legs from filling with dirt or sand and preventing the sharp aluminum from scratching a floor. [There was another destroyed plastic leg/cover from the Brazos River trip.]
Suddenly a john boat came by with a fisherman. We asked "how far to Thompkins Landing?" He said "30 minutes". We spent a while discussing problems encountered when one believes a fisherman.....particularly when asking one how far it is to
some destination. As it turned out, it was 30 minutes. We had paddled an hour more than we should have the previous day. However, it was warm and sunny with very little wind....as last days tend to be. Overall the weather was very close to being ideal. If it had only been 2-3 degrees warmer at night and if the wind hadn't blow quite so hard, it would have been incredible. It was in the 60's most days. The foliage hadn't covered up the view of the awesome 500 year old live oaks. The St. Mary also has giant pines which are about three times bigger than the largest pines in our area. We paddled into a big group of giant buzzards in trees and on the bank one day. Some of them not only refused to fly away, but one actually spread his wings (about 4-5 feet) in my direction as if to say "beat it white boy".
When we got to Thompkins Landing, you are always a bit sad because you realize how short a time you spent with the
paddlin' geezers along the river banks. There is so much time at home....listening to Harley's and other childish thugs.
Someone called Steve. We got some bad news. The old fat geezer who told us about throwing the principal out the window drowned late Tuesday afternoon. That was the cold, rainy afternoon we got off the river just before the rain and high
wind hit us. It was cold that night. The shuttle driver filled us in on the details. He refused to wear a life jacket. He refused to sit on the seat. He sat on the back corner transom. He went out late Tuesday to check some trot lines. When the driver arrived at Steve's around dark, he saw lights on inside the bait shop and presumed the old man was inside. Steve had gone to Jacksonville. Steve arrived about the same time as the driver.
They didn't see the golf cart the old man used to get around....and to get down to the dock where he kept his boat.
They went down there and saw the golf cart, but no boat.They got spotlights and headed out in the icy rain. They
eventually found the boat up in the trees, motor running full speed....tank almost empty. They called 911 and the rescue
people tried to find him, but called off the search because they had little hope that he had survived. They found him the
next day near where they found the boat. He was wearing a lot of heavy clothes, but no shoes. His feet were swelling, so
he'd take his shoes off in the boat.
Gonna miss that old man. Quite a character.
Cursing Chuck wasn't as satisfying after that. Mac will be organizing the 2011 February Mapping Expedition. We will
develop new coordinates and not trust Chuck to store them. My drive home was uneventful, except for that colored woman in the motel lobby in Cordele who I heard whisper "Kenny Rogers".
I knew immediately what she was talking about and looked over at her. She said "you're Kenny Rogers, aren't you". I said
"no maam, I don't know when to hold 'em, nor do I know when to fold 'em. She said "I was going to ask for your autograph."
A colored woman who worked in the local courthouse kept telling me that I looked like Kenny Rogers. I told her that
all old, gray bearded white men looked like Kenny Rogers to them.
I should have just signed "best wishes, Kenny Rogers" and let her friends wonder why Kenny was staying at a cheap motel in
Cordele, Georgia.
b
So here you go , if you can believe it. There is really sad note at the closing on what happen to Clyde ( I believe that was his name , I could be wrong ) at the Outpost.
Chuck..........
*******************************************************************************************************************************************************
The foolish and wicked practice of profane cursing and swearing is a vice so mean and low that every person of sense
and character detests and despises it. George Washington
At the outset let me say how sorry I am that all of you weren't there with us on the St. Mary River the first week of
March. Now for some bullshit.
Chuck set up a fine March paddle on the St. Mary River (drains the Okefenokee and forms the border between Georgia and
Florida). Harry, Ooter, the Dean boys, Vernon, Joe and I showed up on Feb. 28 at a "free" state forest campground a few
hundred yards behind Steve's fish camp/canoe outfitter/rv campground/boat ramp.
I have to drive farther than the others. They sleep late and arrive by 2 p.m. I left at 6 a.m. and got there about 6:30
p.m. My first trip down the St. Mary I drove all the way to Traders Hill (about 10 miles from Steve's) on adrenaline and
the expectation of visiting with Swampy a day early. Funny how 12.5 hours driving is easy the first time you drive
somewhere to meet friends and paddle a fine river. The drive never feels that way again.
That was my first time to camp in the Sunshine State (actually, Traders Hill is on the Georgia side of the river,
but I'll let the lawyers dwell on the small details). I got out my big fella cot, two polartec blankets and curled up to
watch the brilliant night sky.....saw all the Southern constellations, Bear Bryant, R.C. & Moon Pie, the Flatbed
Asteroid and the two brilliant stars known as the Dolly Partons. I didn't even bother to put on a pair of wool socks.
It was much colder than I expected and humid....very humid. I woke up with damp cotton socks and light frost on my
polartec blanket.
Last December I stopped in Waycross, Georgia at a motel (35 miles from the free forest campground where the others camped for that trip). It was 25 degrees that night. I set the thermostat low in a show of solidarity with the other paddlin'
freezer geezers. I got up, ate breakfast and joined them before they broke camp around 8 a.m. I thought about the same
program this time (forecast 31 degrees Sunday night), but I hadn't seen Swampy in a long time. I drove on as the sun set
unexpectedly. I had forgotten about driving across a time zone....dang sun went down an hour sooner than I expected,
hence set up would be in the dark, something I hate. I began to wonder if seeing Swampy was that important. [As it turned out, Swampy never showed.]
I pulled into the campsite an hour or so after dark. There was some mighty hard talk about Chuck. [This was the theme of
the trip.] My feet got cold in my hammock. [Gary's thermometer said 31.] Shitty night's sleep. Next morning we
cursed Chuck while breaking camp and later after we went into Folkston (6 miles) to eat eggs, a copious amount of grits
(some wierdos ordered hash browns) and bacon (some wierdos ordered sausage). With bellies full we drove to the "put in"
(about 25 miles) and unloaded all our gear. Then we left 4-5 geezers (and one geezer in training) with the boats and gear
while four of us drove the vehicles back to Steve's place.
We paid Steve an overly generous fee to take us back to the "put in" and then pick us up at the "take out" which is only
about 7-8 miles from their place. We don't pay them to shuttle boats and gear, just a few paddlers. As we were about
to leave Steve's, someone mentioned that Obama was going to pay everyone $2,500 to go back to school. The old, fat geezer behind the counter (who had driven us to the "put in" on previous trips) said "that's about what they offered me to
quit school". He said that in high school his principal threatened to paddle him. He said "I told him, no sir....you
ain't whippin' me".....and threw the principal out of a second story window. The school later fired the principal, and I
think his formal education came to an abrupt halt. This guy was 81 years old and weighed about 300 pounds. More about him later.
We shoved off around noon with 21 miles of river between us and Thompkins Landing, the "take out". There was water
standing everywhere....in the ditches......a warning of high water. It had rained a few days earlier and the river was
blowing and going. We encountered "blow downs" early on and had to figure out how to get around them.......quickly. Fast water and downed trees make for some dicey decisions. There was one big tree that had a very narrow window of opportunity.
Mac got pinned against it a bit off center. I pulled in just above him, but saw he was going very slow......exactly what he
had to do. I was as concerned for his situation as any I have encountered on that river, but he patiently worked himself
into position and made it through. When we stopped for lunch we cursed Chuck before we ate......kinda like a blessing in
Bizarro World.
The first day it actually got pretty warm. Geezers began to strip down. It was so warm and sunny, we forgot about how
cold it had been Sunday night. [No one gave Chuck credit for this.] The blow downs slowed us, but no one blew out or
became entangled, but we weren't sure how far we had paddled.
River sandbars all look pretty much the same. It was impossible to recognize landmarks giving us some idea of how
far we had gone. Same with the awesome 250 year old live oaks towering over the smaller trees. The water was so high, I am convinced the river was moving a 2 mph, which is pretty fast,
particularly for a river full of trees, shrubs, hooks, trot lines, etc.
Most of us were tired from the cold night, poor sleep and difficult paddling thanks to the blow downs. We pulled over
pretty late for us.....nearly 4 p.m.......due to exhaustion and need for libations. However, once you decide to get off
the river, there are never any good camping spots. frustration, we pulled over at some private campground with a
pavilion, sink with hand pump (don't think it worked) and an old, long unused outhouse. Joe had a problem with
trespassing. I shared his concern, but I was tired and just didn't want to go back and get in my tiny "half assed canoe".
[I hate that midget boat, except when it comes to carrying it.]
We had a large area to spread out. The hammock sleepers (Joe and I) had to go far to find appropriate trees. Joe actually
set up on the bank, which may not have been trespassing.There was a big ranch of some sort next to us and fresh
tractor, trailer and four wheeler tracks came through a very elaborate barbed wire fence from the ranch and circled around on this pasture-like site. However, after some Dago Red these criminal concerns began to fade. We didn't use any of the pre-cut firewood we found there or any of the facilities except the pavilion. Even though Chuck was only with us in spirit, we expected rain. We got it. It wasn't as cold that night.....probably a balmy 39. We cursed Chuck before we
turned in. Our original plan had been to camp two nights at the first camp site. That would have given all the geezers a day to recharge their internal batteries. It was crucial to pick a scenic spot. We failed.....thanks to Chuck. He had all the GPS coordinates in his whizbang. Mac began to call Chuck a "prick". He called him that a lot. In time we called him "Prick"........even convinced ourselves that his middle initial was "P".
Instead of a relaxing a full day and night at the first campsite, we loaded up and wearily wandered on downriver.Gary had a GPS but Chuck didn't offer him the coordinates for the campsites where we have stayed over the past 4-5 years.We cursed Chuck a lot over this cruelty. Mac hates February because he thinks anything under 50 degrees is downright frigid. Chuck knows this, so I presume he knew that Mac would be cursing a blue streak for most of this trip. We cursed Chuck even when the sun was out and the temperature in the low 60's......just so we wouldn't get rusty. [Although none of us believed it, Chuck later told us he had deleted all the coordinates from his whizbang.]
Day two was mostly cloudy, with intermittent sunshine, warm and some sprinkles. Not having had the two day recharge experience, we were tired, and when we pulled off from exhaustion, we did not pick an ideal spot. Joe and I set up our hammocks right next to the river. It was easy. I set up completely unencumbered by the thought process. We were pretty spread out, with a fire down in a gully.....a point of contention later. Smoke was a problem. Not knowing how far we had traveled, and more importantly, how far we had to go, were bigger problems. We cursed Chuck like a sailor, like a redneck. Cursing Chuck in different styles was a simple pleasure we all enjoyed.
After holding hands in a circle around the fire, cursing Chuck, we all ran to get our gear squared away.....just in time. Big rain and big wind hit us. It blew my pee jar into the river and my communist replacement chair (left mine next to the gate by the carport at home) was partly in the water.It was a dark and stormy night, a bit colder than the previous night.....after the rain stopped and the front rolled in. Next morning Gary's thermometer said it was 30 while we were sitting around the turpentine fire the next morning.Cypress seems to have as much oil as pine, and it is just as smoky.
We began the third day with an acapella curse-o-rama. Mac wanted to stick with "Prick", while some of us felt time
honored, eloquent profanity rolled right off our tongues more easily. We stayed two days at the second campsite. I used
the time to tear down and move all my gear away from the river. Wind seems to blow along the river bed and creates a
kind of "lake effect" frigidity to anyone sleeping close to the bank. While the extra day wasn't spent at a scenic spot, we did all benefit from the belated rest. Mac called Chuck on a cell phone and put some blue streak on him. It went something like this:
Mac: The wind was blowing so hard, we were swept upstream.
Chuck: Ho ho ho....ha ha ha....
Mac: That isn't funny you prick.
Chuck: Ho ho ho....chuckle...ha ha ha
Mac: We are lost and don't know where we are.
Chuck: Ho ho ho.......ha ha ha....
Mac: Is that your side splitting....stop it.....we had strong
wind at night and it blew most of our gear into the river.
Chuck: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha......
Mac: Go get your GPS and give us the coordinates.
Chuck: Ho ho ho.....ha ha ha....I deleted them all.....ha ha
ha ha
Mac: You prick....you didn't....why.....we are lost and have
no idea how far we need to paddle tomorrow.
Chuck: Ha ha ha ha ha.....let me go get a map....ha ha ha
(sound of laughter trailing off and then coming back) Let's
see. You are where?
Mac: I told you we have no idea.....you prick. I'm calling
you for information.
Chuck: Ha ha ha ha......[sniffing like tears are choking him
up]
Mac: We don't have enough food. We are out of ice and running short on rum.
Chuck: Ha ha ha ha....
Mac: You prick......why don't you got get my boat, gas it up
and come out here with more food and drink?
Chuck: Ha ha ha ha ha........
Mac: Quit laughing you prick......this is all your
fault.....you set up a February trip, then you back out
leaving us to freeze and get lost in dangerous high water.
Chuck: Ha ha ha ho ho ho.....[sound of phone dropping]......
Mac: Chuck....Chuck.....you prick, pick up the phone and talk
to me....Chuck.....you bastard, I bet if I told you I had
gangrene, you'd just laugh at that?
Chuck: Ha ha ha.......ho ho ho.......
We all tried to analyze "why" Chuck would delete all the coordinates when even the most primitive GPS units can store a
million or two of them. Some of us felt that was a lie. That he had the coordinates, but wouldn't share the info.....like
that time Humphrey Bogart kept rolling those steel balls in his hands and worrying about who got his strawberries.
No one felt like taking pictures. I think Harry took a few....perhaps Gary took one or two?
We paddled a loooooooooong way the next day. The weather was nice, except for the wind which thankfully wasn't in our faces more than 75% of the time. I presume we paddled so far because those setting the pace feared we had a lot farther to go than it turned out. After a long, tiring day paddling, we pulled over to a decent spot, cursed Chuck and set up. There was much discussion of how far we had to go the last day.This was more important to me than the others because I had a motel reservation in Cordele, Georgia and needed to get on the road by 1 p.m.
While setting up my hammock I realized that I wasn't wearing my glasses. Shit. That was the only set back on the entire
trip that wasn't Chuck's fault. Well, it wasn't Chuck's fault that the crapper was set up right next to Joe's hammock the
first night. Everyone stopped cursing Chuck and followed behind my search, tracing and re-tracing my steps. It was just like on CSI. I had just set up my hammock so my tracks were easily searched. I went inside the hammock three times,
searching. Everyone went around the two trees I tied off to 3 or 4 times. After 30 minutes I called off the search and rescue effort. Less than five minutes later I was whacking some sticker shoots with my two handed machete when I hit one leg of my communist table....destroying another plastic part they add to keep the legs from filling with dirt or sand and preventing the sharp aluminum from scratching a floor. [There was another destroyed plastic leg/cover from the Brazos River trip.]
Suddenly a john boat came by with a fisherman. We asked "how far to Thompkins Landing?" He said "30 minutes". We spent a while discussing problems encountered when one believes a fisherman.....particularly when asking one how far it is to
some destination. As it turned out, it was 30 minutes. We had paddled an hour more than we should have the previous day. However, it was warm and sunny with very little wind....as last days tend to be. Overall the weather was very close to being ideal. If it had only been 2-3 degrees warmer at night and if the wind hadn't blow quite so hard, it would have been incredible. It was in the 60's most days. The foliage hadn't covered up the view of the awesome 500 year old live oaks. The St. Mary also has giant pines which are about three times bigger than the largest pines in our area. We paddled into a big group of giant buzzards in trees and on the bank one day. Some of them not only refused to fly away, but one actually spread his wings (about 4-5 feet) in my direction as if to say "beat it white boy".
When we got to Thompkins Landing, you are always a bit sad because you realize how short a time you spent with the
paddlin' geezers along the river banks. There is so much time at home....listening to Harley's and other childish thugs.
Someone called Steve. We got some bad news. The old fat geezer who told us about throwing the principal out the window drowned late Tuesday afternoon. That was the cold, rainy afternoon we got off the river just before the rain and high
wind hit us. It was cold that night. The shuttle driver filled us in on the details. He refused to wear a life jacket. He refused to sit on the seat. He sat on the back corner transom. He went out late Tuesday to check some trot lines. When the driver arrived at Steve's around dark, he saw lights on inside the bait shop and presumed the old man was inside. Steve had gone to Jacksonville. Steve arrived about the same time as the driver.
They didn't see the golf cart the old man used to get around....and to get down to the dock where he kept his boat.
They went down there and saw the golf cart, but no boat.They got spotlights and headed out in the icy rain. They
eventually found the boat up in the trees, motor running full speed....tank almost empty. They called 911 and the rescue
people tried to find him, but called off the search because they had little hope that he had survived. They found him the
next day near where they found the boat. He was wearing a lot of heavy clothes, but no shoes. His feet were swelling, so
he'd take his shoes off in the boat.
Gonna miss that old man. Quite a character.
Cursing Chuck wasn't as satisfying after that. Mac will be organizing the 2011 February Mapping Expedition. We will
develop new coordinates and not trust Chuck to store them. My drive home was uneventful, except for that colored woman in the motel lobby in Cordele who I heard whisper "Kenny Rogers".
I knew immediately what she was talking about and looked over at her. She said "you're Kenny Rogers, aren't you". I said
"no maam, I don't know when to hold 'em, nor do I know when to fold 'em. She said "I was going to ask for your autograph."
A colored woman who worked in the local courthouse kept telling me that I looked like Kenny Rogers. I told her that
all old, gray bearded white men looked like Kenny Rogers to them.
I should have just signed "best wishes, Kenny Rogers" and let her friends wonder why Kenny was staying at a cheap motel in
Cordele, Georgia.
b