Paddlewisers... The Dorcheat meanders through mostly hardwood bottomland with pine becoming more noticeable as it nears Lake Bistineau. Below the lake the tea colored water changes color and finally mingles with "The Red" midway between the cities of Shreveport and Natchitoches. This weekend we will be far above the lake in a moonscape setting that I like to paddle and camp. The area is a large abandoned gravel quarry which the bayou overflow has long ago reclaimed. Vegetation has made a comeback against the clawing steel buckets, the massive steel washing screens, and other rusted heavy iron-steel reminders of economic litter that can be found on this unusual terrain. For the most part the Dorcheat is fairly unremarkable. Long stretches of slow moving water that move lazily past open pasture and cultivated farmlands make for something nice, but not spectacular. Cows and horses slake their thirst with great gulps of the clear, dark water. As do the doves on their evening flight before roost. Rope swings tied to high limbs in large oaks lean out over the bayou to mark several swimmin' holes. Fishing is a slow cadenced, but productive pastime here year round. Bass, white perch, catfish, or bream can make their way onto the evening menu. But, in some sections the Dorcheat changes character. It becomes more restricted and braided. Small sand islands with wonderful willow shade mask the deeper water channels. During periods of heavy rain runoff the current picks up and makes for a fun ride. At very high levels it becomes quite dangerous when it spills out of its banks and creates complex drowning strainers with huge trees torn loose and laid logjam fashion across the channel as the water recedes. Numerous half-hidden cuts in the bank mark where water found its way into the abandoned quarry many years ago. A strong starboard sweep, a forward tuck to dodge the low hanging branches, and the change is sudden, and quite dramatic. Gone are the half-submerged half-rotten fallen logs covered with turtles parked like trucks in gridlock. Gone is the dark tea water stained by percolated oak leaves. Gone are the thick brushy covered banks of briars, brambles, blackberries, huckleberries, and honeysuckle. The scenery that now quickly unfolds is of numerous small irregular shaped islands that seem to float on blue-green water with passages spiderwebbing everywhere. Sand bars and sand banks beckon for a rest stop. Willows wave gently in the wind and seem to create open avenues underneath and into themselves. Tall evergreen pines stand like sentinels filtering the breezes with a smooth rushing comforting sound. There is no distinct main channel anywhere. In the quarry there is only a meandering magic carpet of blue-green that supports your kayak, and goes in 5, or 7 different directions from any point you try to take a bearing. You can't get "lost", but for most of the trip you will not know "where" you are. Topo maps look like the layout of a carnival come to town. Many thin strips of land intermixed with many thin strips of water. From your boat on the water your line of sight is about 200 yards at most, and usuually a lot less. Dead end lagoons, irregular shaped islands, along with irregular openwater pools with full sun that lead mysteriously back under a canopy arbor of vegetation into the full shade of a flooded forest can provide hours of interested isolated cruising. The only way to leave this place is to bear due west at every opportunity. Even then you will probably dead-end once or twice before this magical place loosens its grip on you. The small islands jut up steep sided, and rise quickly 30 to 40 feet in some places from the water's surface. A large fist-sized piece of smooth gravel rock sits perfectly atop a smooth-sided inverted cone of dirt several feet tall. The rock appears to have been balanced there in "op art" fashion by some unseen sculptor. There are hundreds of these formations here creating a moonscape impression. Harsh erosion in some places is now halted by the incessant green. Chlorophyl struggles to hold onto its tenuous grasp of the steep pressure-washed earth. The erosion continues in other spots so devoid of nutrients that only sun, wind, and water seem at work there. Odd and interesting sights are everywhere. The water must filter itself somehow through the massive quantities of sand that remain here. Hydraulic pressures I can only imagine must somehow create the numerous springs and recirulations that change this water drastically not only in color, but also in temperature. This water is always much cooler than that back in the main bayou. Most of the water is quite deep in the quarry. In many places a strong swimmer can never seem to find bottom. After several attempts your lips turn blue and your muscles shiver slightly. The water on the surface feels like warm bath water in contrast. Most of the smooth sand beaches provide an easy time of launching and landing your boat, but hide drastic dropoffs only a few feet out from the waterline. Stern paddlers beware on straight-in landings. Better to bring your boat in parallel to the bank providing secure footing for all. We camp atop an old spoil bank that resembles a small plateau. Three large shade trees provide a sun shelter and the ground is carpeted with a thick layer of pine needles where we make camp. There is a fresh and constant breeze blowing under the pines that feels good after a day's paddling. Just a short walk down the ridgeline we have an unobstructed view of the sky for some nighttime "star-arguing" and it is much too cool for mosquitos to be a problem. After supper we decide to take a sundown paddle. Caution here, for as confusing as this place is in full daylight, it becomes 100 times more cluttered at night. We hang a candle lantern out from our landing and pledge to keep it in sight. We later modify that plan to be turn left, turn right, turn left, turn right ...TURN AROUND ! All goes well and we are lazily floating at our landing just as the last light of day fades the color completely from our entire surroundings. We paddle and scull in lazy circles and talk about nothing as evening gathers. Someone tells a joke and nobody laughs. Someone else reminds everyone of another time, another trip, and everyone laughs. Two boats lightly bump and make a resounding clunk in the night. The crickets continue. Fireflys gather and begin to advertise. By the time we decide to land it is full dark and a golden moon is beginning to peek over some distant tree line. Great ...I can go to bed early tonight without an extended star watch interfering with my beauty rest ! ...adieu, mes amies ...Peyton (Louisiana) *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - All postings copyright the author and not to be reproduced outside PaddleWise without author's permission Submissions: paddlewise_at_lists.intelenet.net Subscriptions: paddlewise-request_at_lists.intelenet.net Website: http://www.paddlewise.net/ ***************************************************************************Received on Wed Apr 26 2000 - 13:28:57 PDT
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