 | |||||
 |
Journal Entry: August 22, 1998 I didn't count the number of times that I woke up, looked out through the netting of the tent and saw the stars -- nope, not morning yet! At one point an unknown critter made an incredibly pathetic series of cries outside -- The Wife shined a light out onto the hanging bag o' food to see if it was trying to pinch our goodies, then moved the light over to the right which shut the thing up. I'd never heard anything like that noise before, so I don't know what kind of animal was making those screeches -- sure sounded like the poor thing was dying.
When we finished breakfast, The Wife crawled back into the tent for a nap -- she was cold, too, and wanted the sleeping bag's warmth -- while I wrote in the journal. About 9 a.m. we began to pack up; we had to get to the Cox Chapel pick-up point by 2 p.m. As we were packing, a ranger-type drove into the meadow in a truck. He emptied the trash cans as Jessie barked at him. Between barks, he asked us if we'd seen any wildlife and we told him about the deer and the heron. It was just a slight struggle to get the OldDog into the canoe this time, and then we were off. The air was still and the river was like glass. We glided past the rocky cliffs on the riverbank and gazed at our beautiful surroundings. That day was "Wildlife Day" for us on the New: we saw another deer wade across the river a hundred yards or so in front of us, a couple more herons, a big wild turkey walking on the bank, ducks, crows, hawks, and other birds. We got hung up momentarily in our first set of rapids (deja vu! -- and not the last time it would happen that day). There seemed to be many more rapids to run on this section of the New, including two Class II series at the end of our trip. Before that, though, we'd been told there was a dam to portage past. Shortly after leaving the Alleghany site we passed under the bridge for VA State Road 93, and read a sign: DAM 1 MILE AHEAD. PORTAGE ON LEFT.
We saw what looked like a spot where others had stopped to pull out of the river -- a worn riverbank and a trail heading off into the brush. We eased into the bank and The Wife hopped off the canoe and into the muck. She and Jessie went off to scout the trail and returned in a moment, reporting that the trail simply ran to a nearby road. This didn't seem to be the spot for the portage. There didn't appear to be any other obvious place to stop as we got closer and closer to the dam. We hugged the overgrown left bank and with every length of the canoe that went downstream, The Wife became more and more nervous. We could hear the water roaring over the dam. I told The Wife that, at worst, we'd hit the concrete structure that extended out into the water and we could get ourselves and the canoe out there -- she didn't have to worry that we'd go over the dam. I'm not sure she believed me.
It wasn't long before we re-packed the canoe and headed back down the river, but it was one o' clock and we were due for shuttle pickup at the Cox Chapel road bridge at two. I wasn't sure just how far we had to go, so we didn't relax and float with the river current -- we had our paddles in the water nearly the whole time. In some places there was just enough water to clear the keel, even scraping by; in others, the water was so deep we could neither see nor touch the river bottom. We went through a lengthy stretch of rapids -- mainly Class I with a good Class II in the middle -- which we didn't get through cleanly. There were a couple of rocks that grabbed us for a bit, but nothing serious. It was exciting and fun. I expected to see the Cox Chapel bridge around each bend in the river. It was 1:30 or so, and I still had no clear idea of the distance that lay ahead of us. We kept paddling. Finally we could see the bridge ahead, and we had a choice to make: to the left was a narrow, calm channel that led to a flat area on the riverbank; to our right was a tumbling, rock-strewn Class II rapid. We took the rapids, cutting hard right into what looked to be the correct line. It was, and we sliced perfectly through the rocks and turbulent water, changing direction on the fly as needed. It was a great way to end the trip, and the right place to end it, too. Barely legible on the bridge were yellow painted warnings of the "Treacherous Water Ahead," which we weren't about to try with a canoe novice and a dog! We pulled the canoe out of the river and up the ramp and waited for the shuttle -- we were five minutes early! The Wife wants to come back to the New in a couple of months when the leaves are changing and the air is cooler -- I don't have any problems with that! THE END outside || previous
|
|
|||
 | |||||
ell, we tried to sleep, anyway. Our sunburned bods didn't make the sleeping bags any too comfy. For the very first time I decided to roll the rainfly off the back portion of this tent when we set it up. I usually seem to have a black raincloud following me around on any hiking or camping trip I take. For years, I tried to blame my brother Eem or even The Wife, but it would appear that I am actually the Rainmaker. But not this time. Oh, I was all set to get up in the middle of the night as the thunderstorms swept vengefully in, the Rain Gods punishing me for daring to take the rainfly off, but I didn't have to. The stars were out, there was a gentle breeze, and the temperature was pleasant. Which was a good thing, because with the noises that Jessie was making scratching and moving around in the tent's vestibule, the cheeping and chirping of the critters outside, and the general uncomfiness of our burns, the night seemed to last forever.
