I love taking back roads. There is something relaxing, peaceful and remote about the drive that simply puts you in the right mood. Getting out into good country is freeing and you often get a good chance at seeing and experiencing things others miss. The back roads of the river are no different. I’m talking about water no one else takes the time to commit to or dares to exert the effort to reach. There is something within me that when I see a well warn path, pavement or otherwise, I know instinctively it wasn’t carved out for me. Whatever the reason I prefer making my own path. You do sacrifice a few things to enjoy the rewards of it. So if you avoid sweating or value your comfort it would be understandable why you may not connect with back roads as I do. No adventure has ever begun with the word comfortable. And if you like easy the hard work of getting there has probably also escaped you. You can discover easy on the couch. But I’ve learned adventures usually start with a few key ingredients.
Recent trips to the water had me thinking on this. Not but a week or so ago I found myself sweating at the brow in an effort to reach some of the river’s back roads. I was in a place that had zero footing on an embankment that dropped off sharply into the river. I stood next to my 11 ft kayak. I held it back like a dog on the hunt ready go. It was loaded with gear pointed nose (bow) down resting on the plateau of a steep angle. Everything after this hurtle of death was pristine virgin smallmouth country that awaited me. I wanted to go there. Standing on the edge looking down the logical person within me swallowed dry spit and cried out in a cracking voice, "Nope not for me. Are you really going do this?" and the adventurer in me screamed above him drowning out the voice of the other more practical me; "Do it. It will be crazy fun and exciting!" Before I could consult with the logical me I found myself thrown over by the other guy. Suddenly I was below the edge of the cliff skidding downhill surfing dry loose dirt like a crashing wave. The kayak was like a giant sled on hard packed snow screaming downhill. I half thought at this speed it just might make sense to jump in the boat and let it do all the work and land us both in the water in one fast move. I quickly laughed the thought off as I realized just how much momentum my Coosa was gaining. I leaned back pulling on the paracord I had in hand which was gripping the yak by a small "not for climbing" carbineer. The small attachment was no doubt already laboring past its designed work load. Not yet halfway down I'm holding on to the paracord from behind the kayak like I'm on the last leg of the Iditarod. At this point I know things might not end well where my current path meets the river. The adventurer reassures me, “You got this.” I wasn’t convinced, at best this was going to be a controlled crash. Mere feet before the earth meets water the kayak suddenly stops. I had no time to wonder how or why? There was no stopping for me. My feet were no longer in my control. I continued on surfing the loose dirt as if I were trying to gain footing on a bed of marbles. From the stern to the bow and beyond I swiftly passed my braking kayak. I asked myself, “now what . . . what do you do now?” I only maintained. There was no time to answer the question.
With a hope that held no trust in the thought I held tight to the paracord hoping when the length of it pulled tight it would be short enough to keep me from spilling in the water and above all else that it would hold. My hand turned white from the grip. The line snapped taught. The boat and I both coming to a stop seconds apart with only the bottom of my feet sinking in soft mud at the edge of water. I earned an extra strong rhythm in my heartbeat and a band of sweat on my brow for the exciting effort. I had not yet even began my venture of hunting for fish and one adventure came to a quick close. What saved me was that I had my paddle attached to the side of the kayak by a bungee and it turns out a tree limb that was sticking out over the cliff had wrapped up in between the paddle and the boat. This stroke of luck saved me from a not so graceful entry into the river.
Afterward the river opened up to me and I enjoyed the float just like I would if I were taking a drive on a good stretch of country back road. My company was a few good smallmouth, wildlife and another adventure I wasn’t sure many would have started. This is my recipe. It’s got all my favorite ingredients. Your recipe might be a bit different but whatever adventure you have planned I doubt it will be satisfying without a few of the main ingredients above. I hope to hear of a few good adventure stories on the water from OGF’ers as summer continues to fight its way into the calendar.
Recent trips to the water had me thinking on this. Not but a week or so ago I found myself sweating at the brow in an effort to reach some of the river’s back roads. I was in a place that had zero footing on an embankment that dropped off sharply into the river. I stood next to my 11 ft kayak. I held it back like a dog on the hunt ready go. It was loaded with gear pointed nose (bow) down resting on the plateau of a steep angle. Everything after this hurtle of death was pristine virgin smallmouth country that awaited me. I wanted to go there. Standing on the edge looking down the logical person within me swallowed dry spit and cried out in a cracking voice, "Nope not for me. Are you really going do this?" and the adventurer in me screamed above him drowning out the voice of the other more practical me; "Do it. It will be crazy fun and exciting!" Before I could consult with the logical me I found myself thrown over by the other guy. Suddenly I was below the edge of the cliff skidding downhill surfing dry loose dirt like a crashing wave. The kayak was like a giant sled on hard packed snow screaming downhill. I half thought at this speed it just might make sense to jump in the boat and let it do all the work and land us both in the water in one fast move. I quickly laughed the thought off as I realized just how much momentum my Coosa was gaining. I leaned back pulling on the paracord I had in hand which was gripping the yak by a small "not for climbing" carbineer. The small attachment was no doubt already laboring past its designed work load. Not yet halfway down I'm holding on to the paracord from behind the kayak like I'm on the last leg of the Iditarod. At this point I know things might not end well where my current path meets the river. The adventurer reassures me, “You got this.” I wasn’t convinced, at best this was going to be a controlled crash. Mere feet before the earth meets water the kayak suddenly stops. I had no time to wonder how or why? There was no stopping for me. My feet were no longer in my control. I continued on surfing the loose dirt as if I were trying to gain footing on a bed of marbles. From the stern to the bow and beyond I swiftly passed my braking kayak. I asked myself, “now what . . . what do you do now?” I only maintained. There was no time to answer the question.
With a hope that held no trust in the thought I held tight to the paracord hoping when the length of it pulled tight it would be short enough to keep me from spilling in the water and above all else that it would hold. My hand turned white from the grip. The line snapped taught. The boat and I both coming to a stop seconds apart with only the bottom of my feet sinking in soft mud at the edge of water. I earned an extra strong rhythm in my heartbeat and a band of sweat on my brow for the exciting effort. I had not yet even began my venture of hunting for fish and one adventure came to a quick close. What saved me was that I had my paddle attached to the side of the kayak by a bungee and it turns out a tree limb that was sticking out over the cliff had wrapped up in between the paddle and the boat. This stroke of luck saved me from a not so graceful entry into the river.
Afterward the river opened up to me and I enjoyed the float just like I would if I were taking a drive on a good stretch of country back road. My company was a few good smallmouth, wildlife and another adventure I wasn’t sure many would have started. This is my recipe. It’s got all my favorite ingredients. Your recipe might be a bit different but whatever adventure you have planned I doubt it will be satisfying without a few of the main ingredients above. I hope to hear of a few good adventure stories on the water from OGF’ers as summer continues to fight its way into the calendar.
