5/31/23
Launch: 8:08am
CFS: 525 at Centerville
Water Height: 1.62 ft at Centerville
After hours of fitful sleep, morning came. Something of largeish size rustled through my small clearing several times during the night. I had set up the hammock with the rain fly to try and hold in a little heat, but this also encased me like a sausage. Right when I’d get to the edge of sleep the rustling would start up nearby and sounded close enough to reach out and touch. But every time I unzipped the tent to poke a head out, it froze. We did this several times until my exhaustion won out, and I stopped caring. If it was going to get me, I was going to get gotten. Morning light didn’t bring any answers. There were no tracks, no droppings, no broken twigs or anything to suggest there was an animal of substantial size on that plateau besides myself and the frogs.
I tried to be quick about breaking down camp but was not. I got caught up watching a fuzzy jumping spider shoo off a harvestman to build her web in the sunshine of a sycamore. And while sycamores are my favorite tree, it wasn’t until that moment I realized just how fuzzy the underside of their new-growth leaves are. Seems like a thing I should have known but was delighted to discover in the moment.
When I went to make my morning coffee I decided to boil what I had of my already filtered water since all the equipment was already out. That would at least comfortably get me to the James Bond drop later today when I could make a fresh sanitized batch. My Jetboil made quick work of getting the water to temp, but I had to sit there for a bit to let the water cool enough to put in my water bottle. I sat there for the longest time with the lid on the pot. I thought about taking the lid off to speed things up a bit, but as I packed the campsite and moved about, I didn’t want dust or anything getting into the clean water. Finally, everything was packed except the Jetboil and the water had cooled enough to get a move on. I took the lid off and right as I lifted the pot to pour . . . *plop*
I blinked. Looked hard at the water and even harder at the bird on the branch above me. It was a one-in-a-million shot but daggum if that bird didn’t poop DIRECTLY into my drinking water. My morning brain’s first inclination was just scoop it out, it’ll be fine. Thankfully that thought was immediately cut short by my body viscerally telling me it would NOT be fine. So, I washed out the pot, pumped a new bottle of filtered water from the river, and set off for the day.
It felt a little stressful knowing I needed to put in the miles to get to the James Bond drop spot. The evening before I crossed the fall line coming through Centreville which meant the last of the rocks—a welcome change. Sometime during the morning, it occurred to me that I was getting further south and at some point would end up in alligator territory. So, I texted my sister and asked her to look up what’s the furthest north she could find of evidence of gators on the Cahaba. Her reply was lightning quick:
Centerville.
Dang it. I was *already* in alligator territory, but it was bound to happen at some point. Also around that time my friend Randi (you’ll remember she was the one who originally sent me the link to the grant that funded this whole thing) asked if she could meet up with me at some point. Knowing I was already going to get to the bridge in the noonish hour I gave her the coordinates. She asked if she could bring me anything, and I told her I could go for a cheeseburger.
Other friends reached out too—Ginny wanted to know if I planned to take a “zero paddle day.” Like a whole day without paddling? Rest? Sheepishly I have to say the thought never occurred to me. I didn’t factor any days off in my planning but knew that I had overpacked in calories. Still, I shook off the idea. Nah. Press through. Onward!
The paddling was mostly easy. I was mainly on the lookout for gators and wild hogs. I floated past an abundance of cow pastures and found myself in conversation with a number of bovines hanging out right by the water’s edge. I found the hogs. A momma and her tiny piglets picked their way carefully across a gully. The landscape here changed dramatically. The water flattened out and the banks were soft and sandy alternating between low beaches and high, crumbling drop-offs. Passing one of these drop-offs I heard a strange slapping noise and looked up to catch a turtle flipping dramatically end over end down a steep embankment. It landed upside down, legs failing, unable to flip over. You know I couldn’t just leave it like that and had to pull over and set the little buddy on its way.
Cooper Island was a highlight of the day. I traversed the left fork around the island because the right fork had an extra oxbow that looked like work. Some day I’d like to go back and take the right folk and spend some more time with the island itself. The river has these graceful curves with shallow sandbars, and the current does a good job pushing things along. Though I will say submerged trees became more common and dangerous.
Just south of Cooper I spotted two cow pelvises. And because there’s some ancient crow-brain calling in the back of my noggin, I strapped them to the kayak and took them with me. They were heavy—waterlogged and around 40 extra pounds total. Normally the additional weight wouldn’t be something I’d go for. Buuuuut Randi WAS on her way to me, and I was betting I could ask her to take them back to Birmingham. What I haven’t told you is that I was also traveling with the snapping turtle skull I found back on day 5. It was still . . . uh . . . juicy. And there’s something about turtle stink that is particularly vile. That buddy was firmly stowed away in a wet/dry sack and clipped to the back of the yak as far away from myself and my belongings as I could make it. It half-dragged in the water at times, but I dreaded the idea of putting it in the heat of the dry well where it could contaminate my food. I trusted the dry bag but not that much.
My body tensed up the closer I got to the drop spot. I was thirsty but would rather have a fresh sterilized bottle of water to drink from than another just straight filtered round. And then, the bridge was in sight. As I approached, I scanned the shore for the Dollar General bag. But the shoreline was just rock—no familiar bright yellow in sight.
My stomach sank. The anxious whispers had been right. I got out of the kayak and walked up on shore and held my phone so the photo from the evening before aligned with the landscape. There was the bridge. There was the rock. And there—where the bag should be—nothing. I wandered all around. Maybe someone had picked it up seen what it was and abandoned it. Maybe an animal had dragged it off the rock.
Still nothing.
I collapsed in a heap back beside my boat and stared off into the water. I still had to wait here for Randi. The sun was high, and I was hot. Of my entire trip, this was the lowest I ever felt. Just then, a bit of trash in the water caught my eye—a yellow Dollar General bag. It couldn’t be. Could it? I tried not to get my hopes up. Even if it were what I was looking for, the chances of it not having water damage were slim to none. After all, that’s what happened to the last one.
I fished out the bag and opened it up. A puddle poured out. There were the batteries: soaking wet and who knows for how long. Inside the second bag the Steripen box was only damp on one corner. Inside, the unit itself was dry. This left me with a peculiar problem of having a working unit but questionable way of powering it. Adam assured me the batteries would still be functional. Internet searches cautioned against trying such a thing citing explosions, fire, and battery acid. But when you’re thirsty you do what you do. The batteries worked, and I resolved to take them out of the unit after every use and store them away from important things just in case they went sideways. James Bond Drop—Mission Complete!
I didn’t have to wait long before Randi showed up. Sitting under the Harrisburg Bridge I heard a set of tires echo overhead, and then there she was like an angel with the best burger I’ve ever had in my whole entire life (which came special delivery directly from the award-winning J & J Grocery in McCalla). As I woofed the burger down I started crying. I didn’t mean to. The tears just sort of slipped out. I was so grateful to see her and kiddos. I don’t know if you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting Randi Pink, but she’s got this gracious and loving spirit that’s very tangible just sitting in her presence.
It was a short visit. She had to get back to Birmingham, and I had to get back to the water. But it was enough to cheer me up. Before she left, I asked if she would take the bones back and leave them on my doorstep. She readily agreed, and my sister says this whole thing was just “swapping cow for cow.”
I managed to put in a few more miles. I was deep into the Talladega National Forest and far away from any signs of humans. This stretch felt so remote. By 2 pm the air had turned fragrant, and clouds built in the sky above me though radar said I wasn’t due for rain. I asked the river for a sign—some place to lay my head. Wouldn’t you know but the sky opened up to let a single ray of sun down on this little green island ahead. It glowed. Alright, I thought, that looks like a sign if there ever was one.
I kayaked around it the island. It looked safe. Walking up on it, I found a beaver skeleton and was even more certain this was the place. Ginny’s words started to creep up on me again, and Randi had also urged me to rest. When I took off my shoes and saw the condition of my feet, I knew I needed to listen. I decided to set up here for two nights. Relief washed over my body with that decision, and I knew it was a good choice. I made camp and walked all over the small island feeling out its borders. It felt comfortable, like a friend. Tomorrow, I told myself I would get to know it even more. But for now, sleep. Sleep and the nighttime howls of coyotes.
Miles traveled: 14
Total Miles: 106.6
Take out time: 3:30pm
Your camp looks peaceful and beautiful! Best place to spend two nights out of entire trip so far it seems!
The bird plop is too funny!
Your storytelling is so fluid; it mimics the flow of the river. Thank you for sharing such detailed accounts of your days. Can't wait for the day 8!