The Third Day: The Unabashed Account of Survival on the “New Trail from
Bateman Bridge to Moscow.”
By Andy Hays
It was a glorious sunny and hot day in June when my son Jackson and I
embarked on a trip we thought was going to be a short and easy trip on a
section of the river we like to call “The Cathedral”. Having paddled the Hill
and Dale route the weekend before, I knew it could easily be accomplished
with a few hundred yards or so of pulling our kayaks across sandy bottoms
silted in from previous years’ accumulation. The WRC was not sponsoring
trips in this section as it had become somewhat impassible for most paddlers.
This was no deterrent for us – we have paddled sections of the Wolf
numerous times and were quite familiar with the terrain – or so we thought...
As we began our trek we were mesmerized by the beauty of the trees and
surroundings only to come across our first obstacle within a few hundred
yards of the put in: a smoldering fire on a litter strewn sandbar from which
apparently there had been a party of four wheelers the night before. We were
not impressed with the lingering smell of stale beer and cigarette butts. So we
did what any good conservationist would do: we cleaned it up. Garnering a
new attitude about our adventure we struck out again. All was well through
the meandering channel lined with cypress knees. We came to a nice sandbar
in the midst of the grasslands and decided to take a dip. Ahh... Nice cool
water. Welcome relief to the sweltering heat.
A few nights prior we had spoken to a member of the WRC who told us about
“the New Trail.” When we got to the orange flags leading into the woods to
the north, Jackson became insistent that we pursue this route. I countered that
the route we had chosen was going to be bit of a challenge already and that I
had no familiarity with the flagged route. But adolescent enthusiasm over
ruled adult logic and we pointed our kayaks into the hinterlands. As the river
of green slid unseen beneath the trees, we were absolutely smitten with the
unspoiled passage. But it was not too far into the trees that we found
ourselves in ankle deep water that became impossible to paddle. As we
disembarked our kayaks to walk – I was confronted with the frenzied
flapping of Mister No Shoulders. Fortunately for my trusty lab Minnie – that
was a call to duty. She laid chase to the spastic serpent and it slipped into the
shadows below the spadderdock. Whew...
We found enough open water (if you could call it that...) to continue into
what became one large abysmal swamp. As far as the eye could see there was
nothing but spadderdock, lotus and lilies. A sight to behold! But soon the
flagging ran out. Hmmm... which way do we go? Jackson suddenly had a
triumph of logic and suggested we turn back. But that would likely be more
difficult than pressing on I argued. We pondered our plight and decided to
continue forward. Back and forth we went for a few hundred yards in the
sliver of a channel until it was obvious that there was no trail.
We were now in full on bushwack! “Westward!” I said! We pointed toward a
group of bald cypress and black tupelo – surely that is the channel. I pushed
the loaded kayak up and over the spadderdock. My legs were shredded from
postholing in muck waist deep through saw grass and unknown footings.
They took on a patina that Edward Scissorhands would be proud of.
Fortunately I was breaking trail and Jackson was spared the slashing of the
grass. His spirits waned. So did mine. But we pushed on. “We ain’t no
quitters!” I refrained. I assured him that we would get out of this – but it
might not be so easy. Such is life...
Our resolve was finally rewarded as we entered the shade of the mighty
cypress trees. A trickle of water could be heard. Within minutes we were on
the bank of the channel. Holy moly – WE MADE IT!!! Fist bumps – hugs –
shouts of joy! Jackson even emblazoned his face with war paint from the
muddy embankment. He wore a leaf as emblem of success. AHHH... Now it
was time for a much overdue swim (and bath...) in the cool water.
As we lay soaking in the cool water enjoying our first moment of peace in
hours – two clandestine canoeists slipped up and scared the poop out of us!
“BOO” he said as his paddle traced only a foot from my head. They had
heard us grimacing through the slog in the distance and decided to check on
us. Nice to know others are out there. We regrouped and cleaned up our
muddy and debris strewn kayaks and continued downstream. Now there was
nothing but enjoyment of our surroundings ahead as it only took a slight
effort to move through the swiftly moving waters. Now this is what it is all
about!
Within an hour the air began to change. It got cool and the trees began to
sway as a large dark cloud overtook the sky. Thunder was closing in. I
consulted the weather app to find that a large front was looming. As we came
to the last large group of cypress trees before Moscow – the sky opened up in
a thunderous chorus of rain and lightning. We pulled over and put on our rain
gear. Within minutes a lightning bolt struck a tree not a hundred feet away
and splintered a branch which came crashing into the water. All were
petrified. We waited nervously in hopes the rain would dissipate. It didn’t.
Light began to ebb and we decided we needed to keep moving. As we tried to
get back into the kayaks another bolt of lightning hit close by and we
jettisoned our plan. I became concerned. Soon after I noticed the water
beginning to rise and it was time to go. We managed to avoid the lightning
and paddled furiously through the swaying trees and rain.
Alas - the trees opened up and we could hear cars! Soon the bridge came into
view and we knew we were close to safety. We pulled onto the south side of
the bridge and I retrieved the truck. Though it was still pouring cats and dogs,
we managed to load our gear and make it to the safe confines of the truck.
Exhausted, elated and overjoyed at our accomplishment – we vowed we
would never do that again! I have paddled thousands of miles on rivers from
Wyoming to North Carolina – but never have I had an adventure quite like
this one. As it turns out – I checked the river gage the next day and the water
rose almost 4’ in a matter of hours! Thank goodness I had a crew worthy of
such an undertaking.
So – the new trail... It is certainly beautiful. It is certainly remote. And now
that others have come in and cleared a nice path, it is absolutely worth doing!
Believe me – the odds of that happening again have to be pretty slim. Jackson
told me later that was the best paddling trip he had ever been on – even
though it was by far the most difficult. Hey - why do you think they call it an
adventure! Hope to see you in the spadderdock!!!