Day Five

the most difficult day yet

5/29/23 (Day Five)
Launch: 8:05
CFS: 200
Water Height: 1.79ft at Helena
Water Temp: 71 degrees

Day Five greeted me with 54 degrees and a frozen butt. I had spent the night swinging between a sycamore and an oak with a lot of dead-air space beneath me. All that empty air can suck the warmth right out of you and cause what hammockers call “cold butt syndrome.” This can be remedied with an underquilt. But what had I skipped over bringing to cut down on weight and because oh I don’t need that, I’ll be fine? Yeah.

I scurried up the bank and found enough cell service to put my underquilt and an extra layer on the list for my equipment drop later that day. If I had to do much more of this overnight cold, I wasn’t gonna make it. However, I didn’t have much time this morning for wallowing about. Today had a specific time goal. I was aiming to make it to the Cahaba Wildlife Refuge in West Blocton by Noon—give or take a half-an-hour.

The coffee was extra good today. Even though I was traveling with instant, Café Bustello makes a lovely and flavorful instant coffee, and making it every morning was one of the joys of the trip. It warmed me up from the inside out while I put on every stitch of clothing I brought. I moved about getting things packed away, but my mind kept turning to the river ahead. The Blueway Map indicated some difficulties and hazards in the next stretch, and my anxiety churned a bit in the unknowing of it all.

For months before the trip I had sat down and read through every section of the Blueway Map like it was the Bible. It lays out every launch spot along the Cahaba River and gives a detailed description of each river segment to help you map out your float plan. Well, I had every segment of the Blueway Map alongside its milage and river description in a note on my phone. More than that, just in case something happened to my cell phone, I had printed the whole thing out. And there was one spot that always bothered me when I read about it. Today would be the day I got to the bothersome spot:

At mile 5.9 you will encounter old stone bridge supports with several small drops on the right and a single chute near the left support with a drop of about 2 ft. In higher water, there is a powerful eddy behind the foundation of the left-side support, so take care to this area during such times. The bridge that stood at this location was 1,200 feet long and 110 feet high over the Cahaba and was on the railroad line connecting Blocton with Birmingham. On December 27, 1896, a tragic train accident occurred here.

I don’t know if it was the mention of the train accident or the “powerful eddy” or the 2ft drop that had me concerned but something wasn’t sitting right in my gut, and I wasn’t sure what to do to settle it beyond getting out on the river and facing it head on.

I launched and quickly found myself among a maze of shoals, drops, and rocky outcrops while fighting a headwind. The water levels—which were already coming down after the last flood—were dropping fast and the water was about 25% less murky than the day previous. While this made for an even clearer water experience, I was getting up close and personal with the rocks. Too close. Too personal. This entire stretch required all my attention and active paddling. Every bit of myself had to tune into the river’s course.

Even still, I found myself getting out of the kayak regularly to pull the boat free over, sideways, and around so many obstructions. The frequency of which was destroying my body and my wherewithal. This kayak was narrower than my usual one and getting in and out raked the sides and back of my legs. I didn’t have to see, I could feel the bruises forming. My legs felt like raw hamburger meat, and at one point I swamped the kayak just enough to be annoying. There came a moment when I had to shift my mindset of frustration with the challenge and lean into it. So, instead of seeing these instances of getting caught on the rocks as setbacks, I used them as a chance to capture the beauty of the moment.

As a result, I have hundreds of photos of the Cahaba rushing over rocky shoals and every single one of them is a point in time where I choose to take a deep breath and take in my surroundings. And even in the goal I had set for reaching the wildlife refuge on time, I didn’t want to rush myself through this experience. I felt I needed to observe every bit of interaction with the river instead of just trying to get from location to location. These moments of “stuck” allowed me to pull out my camera and take a picture with less of a risk of dropping the thing in the water while juggling the paddle and ducking downed trees

The longer the day wore on the more people I started seeing. Folks were on the bank fishing, kayakers were out in number, and I ran across a group of paddlers who were breaking down camp. Odd for a Monday, I thought. Finally, the moment came when I rounded the bend and the 100ft high railroad trestle loomed over me. And then, with little fanfare and one brief water-splashed toe-curling moment, I was past it. All of those days spent worried about this one spot, and it was over in a dozen breaths. More gratefully though, the refuge was just beyond.

I pulled up around 12:30pm. My friends Adam and Kevin were there to greet me and Sara and her son, Luke, pulled up shortly after loaded down with kayaks and my equipment drop. Resupplies included: 5 apples, 3 oranges, a box of Lärabars, a small bottle of lotion, my underquilt, a fleece jacket, and a new pair of sunglasses with floaters. Sara pulled a “char-fruitery” tray out of the truck, and I immediately tore into it. Luke also handed me two cans of Barq’s Root Beers to take with me. I didn’t think I really had the space for them but took them anyway. They’re his favorite drink and was his way of contributing to the adventure. After almost two hours of laughter and rest, we put kayaks in the water and floated the mile-and-a-half stretch of lilies together

.

When I first planned this trip, I didn’t think it would coincide with the lily bloom. They only bloom for two weeks out of the whole year in the window between Mother’s Day to Father’s Day. The fact that the trip aligned perfectly not only with the bloom but also with the weather was beyond any sort of planning power I could have orchestrated. And what a blessing it was.

However, there was one thing I had overlooked.

During lily season the Cahaba Wildlife Preserve is covered-up with visitors on the weekend. Everyone wants to experience the boom—and anyone who has the opportunity should absolutely go for a visit. But I was coming through on a Monday in the middle of the day when everyone was going to be back at work, right? Wrong. Because the semester had already wrapped up, I had forgotten things like Memorial Day exists.

What I had thought was going to be a quiet float through the lilies was a day swarming with humanity. At least that what it felt like after 4 days of almost total solitude. Plus, with the low water levels and the rockiness of the area, this isn’t exactly a graceful float. We had an entire audience on shore as we struggled through the shoals and dodged people walking out among the flowers. After that chaotic mile, we parted ways, and I was once again on my own.

Past the Refuge, the area quieted down. I only saw one more canoe, but they turned around and paddled back upstream leaving me to Hargrove Shoals all by myself. I was exhausted and felt my body giving out. I moored myself up on a rock and let myself drift in and out of awareness—not quite napping but not fully awake. The sun cracked out of the clouds and I felt the warmth of its rays lift my spirits some. I looked around at the jovial swath of lilies and was reminded of Wordsworth’s “jocund company” of daffodils.

This is what I was here for after all. These lilies are the gem of the Cahaba. A symbol of its diversity and an emblem for the river’s conservation. We must tend to the lilies because they are delicate. But also, look what it means to keep company with them.

The Refuge also marked the farthest south I had ever been on the river. After this, it was entirely unknown territory. It felt like kayaking off into the dark spaces on the map with the only thing to guide my way being the Blueway guide. After today, I didn’t have any sense of landmarks, towns, or road names not until I reached Selma. There also was only one more city ahead of me: Centerville.

Weary and ready for rest I asked the river for a place to put-in for the night. I beached at the next little island and found a massive snapping turtle skull. That seemed like a good sign and a good a place as any to settle down. So, I pitched my tent among red and yellow striped lubbers and completely sacked out. It was a difficult day but the challenges ahead were about to get interesting and more complex . . .

Miles traveled: 12.1
Total Miles: 79.1
Take out time: 5:21