Slept in until about ten this morning because we just couldn’t bring ourselves to get out of the nice warm tent in the frigid drizzle.
Paddling conditions today brought log dams, remnants of old bridges (complete with cement blocks and boat-stabbing rebar), weird eddies, and an assortment of barbed and electric wire fence lines dangling dangerously close to our faces. (WHAT is WITH this state and hanging fences over waterways?!) There have been points where the riverbank is made entirely of old demo derby cars, which looks super cool but doesn’t bode well if we need to pull ashore without getting tetanus. Crazy tight oxbows led to some close calls with sweepers and boulders, and there were a few moments where the boat wasn’t exactly pointed downriver. We dealt with several sketchy portages through knots of downed trees and mud, all while getting dumped on with borderline freezing rain. Occasionally a tight turn spun us around a bend and into a fishing hole surrounded by locals, and we yelled our apologies as we were swept downstream.
We had stopped for a late lunch at the edge of a willow swamp just before a massive downed tree completely blocked our passage when we heard the first echoes of thunder. We had planned on paddling another ten miles or so, but we were both more wet than dry and my toes were going numb. I turned to Steve and asked what he wanted to do; he was staring vacantly at the willow sweeper blocking the river while fumbling with his jacket zipper and said he didn’t know.
Folks, when Steven Plichta doesn’t have an opinion, something has gone horribly wrong.
I went into “aggressive crew leader” mode and twenty minutes later we had camp set up for the night. Fortunately a set of dry clothes, a warm tent, and a big pot of bacon mac and cheese with some instant mashies dumped in for good measure restored function in our extremities and Steve’s mental acuity did a full 180.
Hypothermia’s a sneaky bastard, but at least we find it funny.