6/4/23 (Day Eleven)
Launch: 8:35
I slept so well. Maybe it was the full moon. Maybe it was because I knew I was almost done. Maybe because the river had taken care of me every step of the way. She is generous, and I felt so cared for. The morning greeted me with feelings of abundance and gratitude. I wrote down some truths and intentions on a piece of scrap paper, set it on fire in the hollow of a river shell, and sent the ashes downstream. I knew I was leaving this place different. I left a lot of myself out there on the river and was taking a new self with me. The place where I spent the night was called Fortune Ferry on the map which felt aptly named.
I was really uncertain of what to expect out of the day. My maths figured anywhere from 12 to 19 miles left to go which is a wild range of time. I had told my folks I would arrive at the take-out anywhere from noon-3pm with a target time of 2pm. I know I needed to be done by 5pm though. Because that’s when the park closed. Even with the press of time, I launched about an hour and a half later than I was wanting/expecting.
The float started out real flat and smooth and the current seemed slower and harder find than the two days prior. The cypress was in abundance and growing more so while the presence of willows slacked off. The chalk walls the Blueway map foretold I thought would be akin to the white cliffs of the Tombigbee River but were actually pretty dingy and not at all what I expected. The river was very quiet. No bird calls. No turtles. Only distant glimpse of far-off herons. It was unsettling how different the river felt after days of it teeming with signs of life.
Another gator made an appearance, and I braced myself for more as I got closer to Selma. The river kicked up a strong (10mph) headwind which pushed me back upstream if I stopped paddling. It seemed I would have to fight to leave. I was torn. In some ways I wanted to go home. I missed my cat, and I wanted a real meal. But in other ways I never wanted to leave. Wasn’t this also home? The river told me I needed to sort my stuff out before she would let me go. I did. But she still clung to me. I am sorry to have left. At one point a hawk wailed out real plaintive and melodic, and I just started crying. I cried on and off for miles after.
The rowing got hard and long. I hoped to reach the head of the park by one and exit by two. The park is nestled in a massive bend of the Cahaba and it’s three-and-a-half miles from where the river first touches Old Cahawba to where it finally meets the Alabama River.
One thing to know about my momma is that she’s got this ear-splitting whistle that carries long distances. Growing up it was always the signal to come inside from wherever I was roaming, but it’s also been used to help find each other in crowds, and its unmistakable pitch is easily recognizable. I first heard momma’s whistle at 2:30, long before I could see her. By this point I was completely spent and out of drinking water. Not wanting to have to pump and filter yet another jug, I asked for them to throw me down a fresh bottle from the high banks. And they did.
I rowed and cried all the way around the big bend. But then there it was, the Alabama River! I summoned what strength I had left in me and dug in for the final stretch. To much cheering amid my own whoopin’ and hollerin’, I broke the border of the Cahaba and Alabama at 2:54. 11 days. Some 180ish miles. The confluence was completely empty save for me. There was this moment when I sort of sat there on the Alabama like: what now?
I couldn’t get lost in my thoughts too much though or else I’d miss the takeout. And it was so tiny I almost did. My cousin, Anne Marie, stood above me and directed me where to go which was this muddy little ditch. It was so shallow I couldn’t kayak through the opening and so had to roll out and drag it. I immediately sank up to my knees in thick silt. After fighting that headwind, I had barely anything left in me for fighting mud. But when I heard Anne Marie’s voice above me again call out “There’s gators,” I realized I was walking straight into an alligator hatchery brimming with small gators. One side-eyed me before sinking below the murky surface. It was at that very moment in time I barrel rolled back into the yak and didn’t get out again until Anne Marie and her husband Chip, pulled me and the kayak out of the water boat launch.
We all got on with snacks and hugs and joy while I regained my bearings. Random tourists walked up and started taking photos. Anne Marie brought a bottle of champagne, and we all toasted. Momma called up her momma, my Yaya, to make sure I told her personally that I had made it safe and sound.
After a bit, I managed to unload the yak and got it all packed away for the trip back to Birmingham. As we turned out of the park and drove back over the Cahaba, it started to rain, the first real rain we had had in two weeks—a river’s farewell, a whisper to come back.
And that was that.
Miles traveled:18.1
Total Miles: 180
This is something I’ve wanted to do for years now. Such an amazing adventure and story.
I have LOVED reading your journey -- and teared up hearing your Momma's whistle.