Georgia and A Day on the Flint River 1996
Where the Flint River flows between highways 36 and 74 - roughly halfway between Macon and Columbus, Georgia - about 20 miles of very scenic, pristine, river can be found. It is not a high adventure river because it is classified as only a class II river with no dangerous rapids. Brother Scott had previously traveled this section of river a couple of times by canoe. Once when it flooding, he and his son Jeff had made the entire trip in about 1 ½ hours. We reasoned that because the water was fairly low and I was not as young and strong as Jeff, the entire trip might require five hours.
We planned to leave home about 5:30 A.M. Scott had returned from work in Atlanta about 9 P.M. the night before, so he had no time to check the boat or trailer. In the morning we found that the left tire was flat. After “fixing” the flat and preparing some sandwiches, we gathered a couple of apples, water, and granola bars. The “fixed” tire again lost air, so we discarded the idea of using the trailer and tied the long canoe in the back of the pickup. Leaving about 6:30 A. M., Scott drove his pickup and I followed in my car for the trip to the Flint River. We left the car at a river access point by a bridge where we expected to end the trip and drove about 20 miles upriver to the launching site.
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| Scott on the Flint River |
We boarded Scott's large, fiberglass canoe about 9 A.M. The air was cool, but I was snug and warm in a light jacket. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and the river was inviting. The electric motor was hooked up to some 12-volt batteries that Scott had salvaged from a desktop computer’s emergency, electrical supply system. The little motor pushed us along at a speed somewhat faster than we could have paddled. Scott remarked that we were not traveling as fast as we could if we had a larger auto battery. But, we had all day - plenty of time for a lazy trip down-river to view wildlife and simply observe new scenes around every bend in the river. Within minutes of entering the river, we observed a couple of river otters cavorting on some logs and diving in the water. Later we observed belted kingfishers, mallard ducks, Canada geese, vultures, and about 20 turkeys. We stopped, walked along the river bank and took in the colors of the autumn leaves. In certain locations on the river, large trees leaned over the river. Gusts of wind blew showers of leaves on us as we passed. In wide, still areas of the river, the water surface became carpeted with leaves. Our canoe left a trail through the leaves behind us.
We also saw two deer. One large buck had apparently been wounded by hunters only to die in the river. It was not a pleasant sight, floating in a brushy log-jam - its once beautiful body now bloated and rotting. Later we heard splashing sounds along the river bank; a 4-point buck charged up out of the water to climb part way up a 10-foot embankment only to fall back into the river. A second and third attempt had the same results. Exhausted, with its tongue hanging from its mouth, it stood on its three good legs in the shallows with its mouth wide open, panting and trembling. Now we were close to the deer in our canoe and could see the deer's problem. Apparently, a bullet had shattered an upper bone in its left front leg which dangled uselessly to the exhausted and frightened deer. Realizing that we were causing, even more, pain to the deer by our closeness, we faced a dilemma. Can we in good conscience leave this deer to slowly die of its wound? If we had a rifle, we could put the deer out of its misery. Of course, if we killed it with a rifle, it would be illegal because we had no hunting license. Could we grab the deer and kill it with a pocket knife? The 4-prong antlers were fairly small but still looked very dangerous.
At the age of 20, we might have attempted such an adventure. At the ages of 55 and 60, our valor and compassion were tempered by caution, common sense, and lower testosterone titers. We paddled on down-river and left the deer to its fate, hoping some hunter would find it and put it out of its misery. Even a macho hunter might be sickened by the sight of this poor deer and wonder whether hunting for sport was still fun or just habit. On the positive side, the deer carcass would provide food for the hungry, black vultures that we observed circling over the river valley. Scott explained that when sick or injured, deer often head to the water. Maybe that is why we saw the two bucks in the river on this beautiful autumn day. But, lead poisoning was probably the ultimate cause.
As we traveled, Scott pointed out interesting features such as a historical river crossing for Indians and wagons at an end of an island in the river. He also heard a flock of turkeys. We left the canoe, climbed the woody embankment as quietly as possible, and observed them slip away through the woods.
After about an hour or two on the river, I quizzed Scott about our location. He replied that we were about halfway to the parking lot and pickup truck. Now the wind was blowing hard into our faces and the water was very low. Several times, it was necessary to leave the canoe so that we could pass over very shallow rocks. Consequently, we were traveling much more slowly than we had planned. At some point, maybe about halfway, the little batteries were drained and the electric motor was worthless dead weight. After passing a second and then a third halfway point, we realized that the day was passing rapidly and that we still had a long way to go. Our ongoing, joke-of-the-day became: Are we half way yet? We both began to paddle more seriously.
We paddled hard for several hours before I “hit the wall” about 5:30. I was nearly exhausted. We may have scraped more rocks in one day than that canoe had hit in its life of traveling Georgia rivers. My respect for the durability of Scott’s canoe increased throughout the day as we subjected it to considerable pounding and scraping. Rapids that normally speed up the trip only slowed us down because we were forced to port the canoe over the shallow areas. Our only major disagreement during the day was caused by my timidity when passing through the boulders and small waterfalls. Knowing the durability of his canoe, Scott’s preference was to ram, full speed ahead, over and between boulders, over small waterfalls, and through shallow areas. Thus, I was sometimes back-paddling to avoid hitting a rock, when Scott was paddling hard forward to ram over the rock. Otherwise, we made a good team.
We watched the sunset, and darkness was descending. Now, when we ported the canoe, the footing on the large, shallow, and slippery rocks was more difficult because we could not see where we were stepping in the near-darkness. The temperature was falling and we were fairly wet. Then, ahead in the river, we saw lights of civilization. As we passed some homes, we could see the dim outline of the bridge where we had left the car in the morning. By now my exhaustion was nearly complete and I was beginning to chill. Leaving the canoe on the bank of the river, we drove back upriver, got the pickup, drove back down-river, and loaded the boat into the pickup. The one-hour trip back to Macon was very difficult as I fought to stay awake. I focused on the tail lights of Scott’s pickup and used my last reserves to energize the small muscles that hold up heavy eyelids. I needed coffee, but the only restaurant that we found was closed. Bed felt very good that night.
What did we learn from this trip? Next time we will take a larger battery and I will take my much-needed, energy-recharging, after lunch, nap.
The river was so pristine and uncrowded that we saw no bridges except for the one at the start and end of the trip. All day we had seen only four people - 2 kids on a motorbike and two fishermen in a canoe. Overall, it had been a great trip on a beautiful river, with good company. I had sore muscles and good memories to prove it.
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