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From: <gpwecho_at_juno.com>
subject: Re: [Paddlewise] A little water...a trip report
Date: Fri, 1 Dec 2000 13:46:02 -0600
PaddleWisers...
This past week has been BUSY here in bayou land.  Daughter 1of3 and
husband are moving from Texas to California but have stayed in Louisiana
for a bit to help prepare for and attend to daughter 3of3's wedding,
which was sandwiched in with daughter 2of3's completion of graduate work
at university about 30 miles west.  Got that ?  Pay attention, now, there
will be a test at the end of all this...  8-)

Between the humanity, the in-humanity, the in-laws, the out-laws, the
friends, the family, and all the other visitors eating 6 meals a day at
all hours of the day and night at my house, and fighting over bathrooms,
towels, and places to wash hair, places to sleep, and the lost items in
the clothes dryer, and who's next for the washing machine, and who left
wet clothes on the foyer floor, and the threatening, rainy weather for an
outside wedding, and the constant arguing over good-bad scrabble words,
winning poker hands and smart backgammon plays, and the mis-interpreted
messages, and cell phones that don't cell, and deadlines, and vegetarian
versus non-vegetarian diet debates, and Democratic versus Republican
debates and vote counts-and-recounts, and a CONSTANTLY ringing telephone,
and...

Man, STOP THE WORLD AND LET ME OFF !  My head began to feel like I had
been riding a monster roller coaster for way too long.  What I needed was
a couple hours off.  Just a couple hours of sliding smoothly, quietly
through some bright fall colors on a ribbon of clear water to anywhere. 
I decide to make a paddle right through town.  I don't paddle this
stretch of river anymore since I am allergic to AND dangerous to   ...
jet-skiers.  I could put-in at the old Country Club landing at the north
side of town, just below Tupawek Bayou, and maybe make Lazarre's Point, a
COE landing south of town in a big double Ess bend, before turning back. 
It's only about 2 1/2 one-way river miles, and less drive than that from
my house.  I could go and be back before anyone notices I am gone ...or
even wakes up for that matter ! 

The dark, pre-dawn sky is thick and puffy with low lying rain clouds.  A
stiff pulsing northerly breeze rattles the used leaves of a large
sycamore at the put-in.  Temperature is high 40's and it is raining in
patches, small patches.  An early morning rain angles down hard for
several minutes and then seems to stop.  Then, after the same interval it
starts up again.  The Ouachita, 400+ yards wide through here, is choppy
and unsettled.  Small wind waves march due south in unorderly fashion
down a long straight stretch of river toward the first of four bridges I
will sneak under; 3 for cars, and 1 for trains.  There is very little
current at this time of year with the river being well below pool stage. 
No one else will be out today.  I may see a barge tow, but probably will
not.  I paddle only a short distance out from the put-in.  A solid
patchwork of small and large trees line the natural riverbank right and
are heavy and wet.  Their lower limbs sag, almost touching the ruffled
shag-carpet of water that I drift on.  I let the wind carry me, straight
downstream for a while, then a slow turn sideways to backwards as I spoon
the wind with my paddleblade.  The wind flips up the brim of my hat and
spatters rain against my cheek and forehead with a slight stinging
sensation.  I ease the boat around to place the wind at my back.  Across
the river I can barely make out the shapes of parked houseboats docked
bow to stern, bow to stern, repeating itself in a long blurry line. 
There will be no sunrise this morning.  The sky turns from dark black to
several shades of dark gray.  The fiery, vibrant colors of autumn are
absent.  The orange and rust of several type oaks, the red of summac and
cypress, the yellow of gum, pecan, and hickory are muted and smeared this
morning.  Even the occasional green splotch of live oak, pine, cedar, or
magnolia seem sloppily painted.  I paddle sweep enough only to keep the
wind at my back and the rain out of my face.  The rain is now a steady 
shower.  All the local lakes, bayous, rivers, ponds, and I are trying to
soak up every much needed droplet of water that falls.  Folks who gripe
about the rain ?  ...they're not paddlers !  There has been no lightning,
no thunder, the main front moved thru late last night.  It is a
wonderful, blustery, invigorating morning to have a kayak paddle in your
hand.

An earthen levee gives way to a concrete seawall for the run through
town.  Several old double deck crew boats and quarter boats tug at their
moorings as I slide past.  Large, flat-topped work barges sit low in the
water with rusty crane booms and gibs rising upward.  Thick, gnarly steel
cables, badly spooled with bitterends everywhere, spike, fray, and twist
in neglected patterns of disarray.  Everything is the same drab burnt
orange color of oxygen slowly at work.  I decide not to catch an eddy at
one of the bridge pilings.  Even though this bridge was built in 1935 it
is still referred to locally as the "New" bridge.  There isn't noticeable
current, but between these pilings there is always some swirl and boil to
the water.  I think back to earlier days when I capsized along here in a
canoe sailing rig.  It was a mid-February mild day-cold water kind of
thing, and I was foolishly anxious to test out a winter shop project.  I
should have at least "read" the book on sailing.  I got a good dose of
experience that day and I learned 2 things:  (1)  NEVER tieoff the sheet
of a lateen-rigged sailing canoe, and (2) how well new leather boots will
form-fit to your feet after you swim 100 yards with them on, walk about a
mile with them on, and once they EVER dry out !

By the time I zone-back-in the Interstate highway bridge is noisily
gliding over me far above.  I guess the traffic racket finally caught my
attention.  The "Old" bridge, an ancient turn-table 2 lane contraption
that the barge tows love to hit,  and the equally ancient train bridge
are well behind me.  The rain is still coming down steadily, but the wind
has slacked.  I am less than a half-mile from my destination.  I can see
the green COE navigation marker for the tight turn right that begins the
big Ess just ahead.  The river is wide and both banks are open here. 
Early 1900's style houses, some nicely restored and some desperately
needing restoring, mix together on river-right on the high ground behind
and above a grass covered tall levee; the parish courthouse and modern
river-plaza on river left behind lots of concrete.  Steps, sidewalks, and
obseration decks all lie wet and unused today.  The butt-ugly, rundown
backsides of old brick buildings stand like loitering bums  hanging out
at the river.  They look just as ugly from the street side as well.  The
thought crosses my mind that we should take better care of our rivers.  

I decide to stop at the main concrete boat ramp facilities.  The parking
lot here is empty too.  There is a nice large sandy beach area with some
fine tall river willows just around the bend.    But, this area has come
under scrutiny by the city.  Tricky currents, carelessness, and alcohol
cause a drowning or two each year here.  Sad.  The "city powers" decided
to stop the drownings by prohibiting the swimming.  Even sadder.  Well,
technically one can still swim if they come in by boat or jet ski, but
they cannot swim if they drive, walk, or bike in.  Well, they could swim,
but they'd probably get a ticket.  Makes sense, non ?   

After a short walk-around I head back upriver at a comfortable pace,
pushing just a little.   The wind is gone and the rain is no more than a
fine soft mist in the air, almost fog-like.  I maintain a steady paddling
cadence all the way back.  It is only minutes to load the boat and reach
my house.  The newspaper is still lying in the driveway.  Coffee is
brewing before I change clothes.  My noise rouses the GoodWife who asks
if it is still raining.  She also pronounces me "crazy" for being out.   
  
 
I am tired, but refreshed; calmed, yet excited; content, but anxious. 
And, yes, maybe even a bit crazy  ...all for a little water.

...adieu  ...Peyton (Louisiana)

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