The days are growing longer and the countdown to the launch of my trip is growing shorter—like, real short. And while, for my own safety, I’m not officially announcing my start date online, I promise to tell you just as soon as I get back. In the meantime, in its own way, I’ve sort of already started my exploration . . .
The Cahaba bubbles up out of a spring just north of Clay—almost at the St. Clair County line. From there it grows in strength and size until its first publicly accessible launch spot at Civitan Park in Trussville. Civitan Whites Chapel Moon River Grants Mill are some of the more technical and temperamental segments of the river as they are shallow, rocky, and sensitive to waterflow. Too low and you’re dragging rocks the whole time. Too high and you’re dealing with swift water and some dangerous rapid situations. I want to experience these segments but really don’t want to try and rope them into my big trip with all the extra equipment. So, I asked my buddy Wil Rainer of the Cahaba River Society if he’d run these segments with me for my first time and a couple of weeks ago, we tackled the first of them with the Whites Chapel to Moon River run.
We started the day in the shallows of White’s Chapel—Wil in canoe and me in my kayak. The day was perfection. The temp in full sun was warm but not burning while the water was cool and clear without being frigid. The river gauge clocked-in at 40 CFS which is a little bit low for this run but just high enough that we didn’t get too terribly hung up on rocks along the way. We launched around 12:30 and pulled out at the Moon River location at 6:30 covering a total of 9.5 river miles. We also are the easily distracted sort who marvel at every critter, leaf, and rock along the way; so, it probably took us a little longer than average for our trip, but we were not rushing. It was the nice slow and smooth settling into the surrounding that I like to experience with my adventures.
Right away we were drawn in by the mountain laurel flushing the banks in a profusion of bloom. At the start of April, the native azaleas had been at the peak of their bloom, and there wasn’t a mountain laurel in sight. Three weeks later, the azaleas looked washed out and tired and the riverbanks completely taken with the new whites. Wil and I mused on wondering what makes a particular plant slant one way or the other towards the very white or very pink sort of blossoms. A mass of flowers unfurling all at once inevitably means pollen. The whole place glowed with the accumulation of pollen on the water’s surface. Wil and I left trails through its sheet as the yellow eddied in slow swirls around us.
So many moments felt sacred along the way. The sun would cut through the trees just right to craft the perfect radiant spot after emerging from a dark hug of trees. I don’t have names for how many shades of green we saw. The water alone held so many hues of brown, black, yellow, green, blue, red—it was as if all the colors surrounding us had slipped into the river and settled in striated layers. At times, the water was impossibly clear. We could look down ten to fifteen feet and see every rock and fish on the bottom. We saw so many turtles we couldn’t keep count. Closer to the end, the water became murkier, and it was harder to see into its depths.
The thing about the Cahaba is that it’s about the most windingest river ever as it wiggles out across the Alabama landscape. If you’re not curving one way, you’re about to curve another and can never see too far in front of you. This sort of curvature means the river is always unfolding something new ahead. We saw the biggest spotted gar we’ve both ever seen. Plenty of redhorse fish. And bass, so many varieties of bass and plenty of fish I couldn’t identify. The Cahaba has 135 species of fish in it, and I’m still learning them. At one point Will reached down to retrieve a chunk of Styrofoam and got to witness for the first time a mayfly emerging from its nymphal shuck right there in his hand.
We accidentally startled a wood duck momma who had made a home among the snag of a fallen tree in the middle of the river. At first, we thought she was injured because she flapped her wings splashing across the river while honking. She didn’t take flight though and she started to circle closer to my boat. That’s when we heard the little peeps and looked over to see almost a dozen chicks tumble out of the root ball and scatter across the river. Their peeps echoed back and forth and overlaid one another in the most disorienting way. Their chorus of peeping actually made it very difficult to identify where any one given chick was located. It was one of the coolest and most surprising acts of camouflage.
And, of course, we spent some time gawking at trees. I fell in love with the most magnificent sycamore tree stretched out over the water. It grew parallel from the bank yet sent branches out in ways that counterbalanced its growth. I wish I could witness its underground network of roots to see just how they anchored the tree to the bank. It’s so impressive to me that the tree is capable of such a feat without just flopping directly into the river. The geometry of trees astounds me.
Closer to the end of our trip we passed under a train trestle, and right as I was directly beneath the tracks, a train barreled across. I’ve loved trains my whole life, so this experience was extra awesome and the cherry on top of the whole day.
We finished the day at the Moon River access point which consistently gives me some of my most favorite photos of the river.
Well, that’s all for now. If you’d like to catch hearing some of my poetry in person, I’m honored to join the stage alongside some wonderful Birmingham area wordsmiths at Inspero’s Magic City Storytellers: A Night of Story and Song. Come hang out with us June 8th at the Avon Theatre and be sure to snag your tickets in advance; I’m told they sell out every year.
Thank you, as always, for keeping up with this adventure. Can’t wait to share more with you again real soon!
Gorgeous prose poem.
GREAT writing and story about the Cahaba
THANKS