DUCK

I returned home from my backpacking trip Tuesday evening. I unpacked, and immediately began packing for our canoeing trip on the Lumber River. We were starting that the next morning, so I didn’t have much time to get organized.

I also had to plan the trip. We had selected the Lumber River because it’s an easy paddle, and it isn’t terribly far from Charlotte. The Lumber is a long river though. I had to decide what part we should do.

I had called and emailed River Bend Outfitters several days earlier about arranging a shuttle. They never responded (we later found out that they are no longer in business), so we had to make other arrangements. We didn’t want to drive 2 cars, with gas at $3.30 a gallon. After some debate, I decided to bring my mountain bike. I could drop Christy, Saucony, the canoe, and the dog off at the put-in, and drive to the take-out (or, as our canoeing friend Dorcas calls it, the put-out). Then I’d ride my mountain bike back to the starting point, where we’d lock it to a tree. What could possibly go wrong with that plan?

I wasn’t really interested in a long bike ride, so I hunted for a 20+ mile section of river with a short stretch of road between them. Finally, after considering multiple options, we decided to paddle from the Matthews Bluff Road bridge down to park headquarters at Princess Ann. That would give us about 21 miles on the river, although it would still leave me with a 12 mile bike ride.

Somehow we got everything packed and were on the road before 8 the next morning. We made the drive east on highway 74 less annoying by taking the Monroe bypass. Near Boardman, we navigated some back roads in search of the put-in. We found Matthews Bluff Road without much trouble, but a sign warning that the road might be closed due to flooding alarmed us. A short distance down the road, we got our first view of the river. Unfortunately, that was because the river had flooded the road. We stopped before reaching the water and considered our options. Could we drive through? It looked like it might be passable, but it was hard to be sure. We’d had a bad experience in a similar situation once before (see https://www.angelfire.com/trek/fungi/Eastern_Carolina/Whiteoak_River_4-03.html).

We got out for a better look, and a local fellow came out of a nearby house. He hailed us, and asked us where we were heading. I explained what we were trying to do and he chuckled. It was hard to make out his eastern Carolina drawl, but I think he said something like, “You’re going to have to change your plans. The river’s up too high to start here”.

“Is the water too high to get under the bridge?”, I asked.

“A duck couldn’t float under that bridge”, was his response.

We thanked him and got back in the car. I looked at Christy. She looked at me. I asked her, “Did he just say a duck couldn’t float under the bridge?”

“Yeah, I think he did”.

“OK, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t imagine that”.

So, we decided to have a look at the next put-in downstream. We drove down Willoughby Road, which wasn’t flooded, and crossed the bridge over the river. At the put-in, the water was maybe 2’ below the bridge. In other words, there was plenty of room for a duck. Maybe even room enough for a canoe, if the paddlers, you know, ducked.

Actually, getting under the bridge wasn’t a concern, because the put-in is downstream from it. What was a concern was the water itself. The river was flooded out of its banks, and the current was surprisingly strong. Normally, the Lumber River is a lazy blackwater stream. That wasn’t the case today though. Just downstream, the river split into braided channels separated by wooded islands. The channels were maybe 20’ wide. With the current as strong as it was, a single fallen tree could present a significant hazard.

We decided to drive down to the park office to ask a ranger for advice. It took about 20 minutes to reach Princess Ann. Unfortunately, the only “ranger” on duty there was a teenage girl that probably had never set foot in a canoe. We asked her if canoeing the river would be safe. She said she thought it would be, and, after consulting a chart, went on to inform us that if we started at the highway 74 bridge, we should expect to arrive at Princess Ann in about 4 hours. I laughed at that. With the current as strong as it was, we’d probably cover the 8 miles in 2 hours, tops.

My guidebook states that the minimum width of the river between highway 74 at Boardman and the next town, Fair Bluff, is 50’. Since the river is wider in that section, we reasoned that the current would be less extreme, and danger from fallen trees would be reduced. We decided to drive up to Boardman and have a look.

The river didn’t look nearly as threatening there, but the current was still impressive. We unloaded all of our gear, and ate a quick lunch. I was just getting ready to drive the car down to the revised take-out in Fair Bluff when a ranger pulled into the parking area. We chatted for a few minutes, and I asked him if he thought the river was safe. Initially he said he thought we’d be ok, as long as we were careful. We concluded our conversation, and he drove away, only to return a couple of minutes later.

This time, he told us that he probably should’ve mentioned that the park doesn’t advocate running the river when it’s above flood stage. He then warned us that the river is confined by a bluff just downstream, and we could expect the current to increase significantly there. I could see the color draining from Christy’s face. Sigh. Another canoeing trip derailed.

So we bagged it. Under the circumstances, it was probably wise to be cautious. If we had been with other people, we probably would’ve gone ahead, but since we were alone, the danger would be magnified. Plus, many of our recent canoeing trips have turned into fiascos (see https://www.angelfire.com/trek/fungi/Eastern_Carolina/Uwharrie_2-04.html and https://www.angelfire.com/trek/fungi/Eastern_Carolina/Meherrin_River_11-04.html ). I knew if this one went badly, I’d never get Christy into a canoe again.

We had just driven 3 hours, and had a car full of camping and canoeing gear. I wasn’t about to go home. What to do?

I got out a map, and studied our surroundings. We weren’t terribly far from the White Lake area. White Lake, and several surrounding lakes, are the only natural lakes in the state. White Lake is developed, but several, including Jones Lake, Salter Lake, and Horseshoe Lake, are still primitive. Jones Lake and Salter Lake are protected by Jones Lake State Park, which has a campground. We decided to head that way. We figured we could canoe on the lake, regardless of how badly flooded the surrounding rivers were.

We drove up through Elizabethtown, passing near the town of Butters, NC along the way. Just beyond Elizabethtown, we crossed a bridge over the Cape Fear River. The Cape Fear is dam-controlled, and is a much larger, wider river. From the bridge, the water looked reasonable. Perhaps we could paddle a section of it the next day.

We found one other group at the campground. We selected a nice site sheltered by pines, and set up camp. Afterwards, Christy took a nap, while Saucony and I hiked the park’s trail, which circles Jones Lake.

Initially the trail followed footpaths and sections of sandy service road. Although the trail circles the lake, it stays well back from it for most of its length. The best part of the first section of the trail was passing the occasional longleaf pine. Longleaf pines are native to eastern North Carolina, but there aren’t many left, thanks to rampant logging.

I passed the side trail to Salter Lake, which was closed due to construction. Around the far side of the loop, the hike got more interesting, as we passed through a Cedar forest. The trees were beautiful, and some were festooned with Spanish Moss. Eventually we reached the first of several short side trails leading to the lake.

Jones Lake is lovely. It’s shallow and sandy, and the water is the color of iced tea. There is virtually no development around the lake (with the exception of a couple of park buildings). I enjoyed the view, and Saucony took a swim.

We eventually passed the park’s visitor center, and completed the loop by hiking back to the campground. I’m not sure exactly how far we walked. One of the park maps said the trail was 3 miles, while the other said it was 5. The signs along the trail claimed it was 4 miles. The hike took me less than 2 hours, and I wasn’t hurrying, so I’m guessing 4 miles is accurate.

We built a nice fire, since firewood at the park is provided for free. That night, we grilled steaks that we really hadn’t earned, and washed them down with some alcoholic beverages, in a blatant violation of park rules. Every so often, the park ranger made his rounds in his pickup. We hid our drinks every time he came by. Why is it that drinking beer is so much more fun when it’s forbidden?

CAPE FEAR

We had a leisurely breakfast the following morning, before packing up. I wasn’t ready to head home yet though. We had dragged our canoe halfway across the state, and I wasn’t leaving until we got it wet. Paddling on Jones Lake probably would’ve been nice, but I was hoping for something more exciting. I consulted my guidebook again, and found a couple of sections of the Cape Fear River that looked promising.

We drove back to Elizabethtown, and stopped at the small park by the river. The Cape Fear couldn’t have been more different than the Lumber. There was almost no current to speak of. This part of the river is controlled by a series of locks and dams, which had minimized the effects of the recent heavy rains. This meant that we could paddle the river safely. The bad news is that one of the sections I had considered is 14 miles. With minimal current (and a lengthy bike shuttle), we’d be in for a long day. Instead, we decided to do the next section upstream, which is only 7 miles long. That isn’t much, but it’s a lot better than nothing.

We drove to the Tar Heel Ferry Bridge, which is just outside the “town” of Tar Heel. I removed the front wheel of my bike, and locked the rest of it to a tree back in the woods. Then we drove up to the put-in at the Huske Lock and Dam. Unfortunately, the drive was 11 miles, which meant that I’d be spending almost as much time on my bike as in the canoe. Oh well, I guess I could use the exercise.

There’s a sign near the put-in that says that pets are not allowed. Fortunately, Saucony can’t read. We loaded the canoe (including my bike tire – it would’ve been bad to forget that), and shoved off.

The trip was quite pleasant. We drifted downstream on the chocolate water, squeezed between densely forested riverbanks that were a shade of green that’s only possible early in the spring. Along the way, we spotted an assortment of wildlife. Birds, including Great Blue Herons, Egrets, and Wood Ducks, were the most noticeable critters. We also saw quite a few turtles, and I caught a quick glimpse of what was either an otter or a Muskrat.

At one point, we heard a loud splash behind us. Startled, Christy turned and exclaimed, “What was that”!

“It was a rabid alligator. Either that, or Robert De Niro is swimming along behind us. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about”, I explained.

The only real challenge we had during the trip was keeping Saucony still. She would sit looking off to one side, before suddenly realizing that she was missing all kinds of great stuff on the opposite side. Then she’d move to the other side, rocking the boat and sending us off course. She did this a couple of dozen times before Christy managed to get her to sit in the bow in front of her. That solved the problem, as there wasn’t enough room at the very front for her to move around.

We started shortly before noon, and spent most of the trip looking for a reasonable lunch spot. Unfortunately, the water level had dropped a bit, and the only likely areas were muddy. Eventually we just drifted up along the shore, and ate lunch in the boat. This was a little disappointing, but I was just glad to be on a river.

After eating, we continued paddling downstream. Since there was very little current, we resisted the urge to just drift along. It turns out that we probably could have. 20 minutes after eating lunch, we rounded a bend and saw the bridge ahead of us. That’s the funny thing about canoeing – it can be hard to tell what kind of time you’re making until you’re there.

We pulled into a likely take-out spot shortly before the bridge. The access path was muddy though, and getting out there didn’t look like fun. Saucony jumped out and climbed the bank, but we backed out into the river. This disturbed her, as she must’ve thought we were leaving her behind. She began running along the bank, parallel to us. Eventually the bank steepened though, and suddenly she was doing a belly slide through the mud and into the river. This was exceptionally entertaining! She swam along behind us, as we pulled into the official take-out at a boat ramp. The ramp was muddy, too, but not as bad as the first path we had seen.

I unlocked and reassembled my mountain bike for my 11-mile ride. I was ready to head for home, so I decided to see how fast I could do it. First, I found a shortcut. The access road to the put-in runs parallel to, but below, the road crossing the bridge. Rather than ride an extra mile out of the way, I hoisted the bike and climbed the steep bank between the roads. Once on the main road, I rode my bike like it was stolen. Only 1 red light, some annoying cross winds, and section of sandy washboard road near the put-in slowed me down. Riding along highway 87 with speeding traffic wasn’t much fun, but the road is 4 lanes, and most drivers were courteous enough to move to the left lane when they went by me. I reached the car in 35 minutes, and made the quick drive back to the put-in. I was at least 30 minutes earlier than Christy had expected me, and I woke her from a nap when I pulled into the parking area.

Our canoeing trip had been short, but pleasant. For two hours, we saw nothing but brown water, green leaves, and blue sky. There is almost no development along that stretch of river, and only the occasional sound of traffic in the distance spoiled the illusion of wilderness. Although the Cape Fear isn’t the most exciting river to canoe, I might consider doing more of it in the future. A section farther downstream, where the Black River enters it, looks appealing. By at least one standard, that area is the largest wilderness in North Carolina, as it is the farthest point from an open road in the state.

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