TheBanyanTree: Way Down Yonder on the Chattahoochee - Part III

[B Drummond]

Ever spend a night alone, completely alone, in deep woods, with  
virtually all your surroundings unfamiliar?

Chances are you'll come to know things about yourself that you may  
not have known before . . .  or remember things that you may have  
glossed over, or drowned out, or shoved way back into the recesses of  
your mind, for years possibly.  Yes, a night alone (except for  
yourself and your imagination) camping along an unfamiliar stretch of  
river, in my opinion, an integral part of a complete education.

After passing through the first true difficult shoals,  I paddled  
without resting down the river, looking for a sand bar or section of  
flat land to pitch the tent and set up camp.  To my chagrin, on that  
part of the river there were none.  I paddled until dark and the  
moon, full that night, rose over the river and I thought, no problem,  
I've got plenty of light to see by so I'll paddle on until I come  
upon a decent camp site.

That was until I heard faintly in the distance that now disheartening  
sound akin, at first, to a small fan running in the distance.  The  
closer I got, the more, disgustingly,  I was certain of it.  Yep,  
another set of shoals lay directly ahead of me.  After my last  
experience I decided against using the light of the moon, which  
occasionally was obscured with clouds scudding over its face,  as a  
means of judging where to enter and pass through the shoals.  Nope, I  
thought.  I'll not chance it.  I had to stop upstream from the shoals  
and camp wherever I could and tackle the shoals in the morning.

The only place I could find (without risking accidentally being  
pulled by the current into the shoals in darkness) was a bluff that  
sat on the left side of the river.  It was a crummy place to camp but  
it was all I had shy of backtracking by paddling upstream against  
heavy currents and trying for better.  Crummy place was too kind a  
description really . . .  rat hole would be more appropriate.

I had flashlights, a propane-powered Coleman lantern even,  and they  
mainly served me two-fold.  One, they showed me where not to step and  
two, they shed enough light on my little dock on the river to depress  
the heck outta' me.  My dock, or landing site,  was a small cove made  
from a motley collection of driftwood, mud, garbage and river  
sludge.  And everything was coated with a muddy brownwash.

My campsite to be seemed to be directly overhead up a steep bank  
paved with river sludge and sand, stuff of slips and slides and bust  
your butt falls. Somehow I made it up that bank repeatedly for the  
next 1/2 hour or so carrying tent, supplies, bedding, until I had  
established a dry place to stay for the night.  I had to set up camp  
over much less than ideal conditions but somehow I managed without  
falling, burning myself with the scalding hot lantern or breaking any  
bones.  I was soaking wet from previous rain so I changed clothes and  
put in to spend the night on the bluff.

One of the problems I noted with the location was that it was right  
on a game trail of some kind and I expected visitors during the  
night.  After dosing the lights, except for one citronella candle in  
a can that I set up outside the tent and right in the middle of the  
game trail, I settled in for a night's sleep on what felt like a rock  
bed complete with lumps.

The katydids and night creatures were so loud that I had trouble  
drifting off to sleep but eventually I did doze off.  My sleep  
pattern could be described as 15 to 20 minutes of sleep followed by  
raising up and checking the sounds and sights outside the tent,  
turning over and trying to find a comfortable enough position, one  
that had the lumps of granite underneath me pressed on different  
parts of the body that previously were aggravated and made painfully  
sore in the brief period of sleep before,  and then finally,  
mercifully,  I dozed off again.

Around 11:30 I awoke to a sound of something moving in the heavy  
brush that surrounded the tent.  I unconsciously reached over and  
slipped my hand around a hatchet that I had brought into the tent.    
Something came slowly and steadily within a few yards of the tent and  
then stopped suddenly, running off like its tail was on fire in  
another direction.

About 3:30 in the morning the bugs had taken to resting their lungs  
and the place was enveloped in utter silence,  No sounds whatsoever  
could be heard with the exception of  the water over the shoals in  
the distance and an occasional fish jumping in the river below.   
Other than my imagination that was the extent of worrisome events of  
the night.

Oddly, I found more comfort in that citronella candle that burned  
faithfully all night outside the tent than anything else.  There  
wasn't a hint of a breeze during the night,  the air was thick with  
humidity from the previous rain, and the flame danced and waved at me  
without fail outside the tent.   I paid about 3 bucks for it before I  
went on the trip and that night I don't think I would have taken a  
hundred for it.  I found myself almost wanting to say out loud that  
morning as I arose, "Thanks, old friend, for your help."



End of Part III



   bd
     ----