RUBBER DUCKY

Last weekend, Christy and I headed east for a change. We traveled to White Lake, NC, where Christy competed in a Half-Ironman Triathlon. A Half-Ironman requires a 1.2 mile swim, and 56 mile bike ride, and a 13.1 mile run. I may be crazy, but I’m not as crazy as she is!

We left Charlotte early on Friday afternoon, which helped us avoid the worst of the traffic. However, construction in Wadesboro caused a significant delay. Because of that, we ended up making lousy time. We finally reached White Lake around 5:30. I dropped Christy off so she could register for the race, while I went down the road to check into our weekend accommodations.

Christy did this race in 2007, and that year, we had stayed at a hotel in Lumberton. Lumberton is a 45 minute drive from White Lake though, and this year, we were determined to find a place closer to the race. Luckily, the family of a good friend of ours owns a place a mile away. We were able to rent it from him for the weekend, at a fraction of the cost of a hotel in Lumberton.

It turns out their place is in a trailer park. But hey, it’s an upscale trailer park. By upscale, I mean it’s something of a gated community. Well, the gates are up except late at night, and there isn’t always an attendant at the entrance, but a gate is a gate. It wasn’t until much later that I realized that the fences and gates weren’t there to keep the riff-raff out – they were there to keep us in.

My friend Mark had mailed me keys along with a map showing the location of their trailer. The map showed the trailer at the corner of Safe Street and Womack Avenue, and gave the address as #12 Womack. I drove up and down Womack, but I didn’t see an intersection with Safe Street. I gave up on Safe Street, and drove down to #12, which is not on a corner. When I arrived, I got an uneasy feeling. There were about a half-dozen people on the porch there. What if there had been a communication breakdown, and someone else in Mark’s family had rented the place to someone else?

I got out and walked over to the porch. Awkwardly, I asked if it was #12 Womack. It was. I explained that I had rented #12 Womack for the weekend, which came as quite a surprise to everyone there. This included the apparent owner of that particular trailer.

Several phone calls ensued. From Mark’s directions over the phone, it was apparent that #12 wasn’t it. I drove up and down Womack, and even drove over to the community office for assistance. Unfortunately, there was a line there. Finally I got a detailed description of the trailer from Mark. I then cruised Womack again, looking for it.

Finally I spotted a likely candidate at the corner of Womack and Main Street. I went to the back door and tried the lock. The key fit! It was quite a relief seeing that lock turn. After one more call to Mark, we determined that Safe Street must’ve been renamed Main Street. The number was also off, but we guessed that maybe more trailers had been added along Womack, and the units had been renumbered.

I unloaded the car, got the dog situated, and drove back to pick Christy up. I’d been gone an hour, and she was bewildered at what had taken so long. After a lengthy explanation, we headed back to the trailer.

Despite all of the confusion, the trailer was pretty nice. It featured two bedrooms, a deck, and a full kitchen. Christy made Chicken Parmesan for dinner, and we went to bed early. Although we were a mile from the race site, Christy still had to be up by 5:30 to get ready.

The next morning, Christy left early, while I lingered a bit. Sometimes I attempt to watch her races, but they are generally not spectator-friendly. The swimming event tends to be distant, thrashing mass of water, limbs, and brightly colored caps. At this race, the bike ride is a 56-mile loop, meaning I would get to see Christy go by exactly once in 3 hours. Today, I had different plans.

White Lake is a short drive from several of Eastern North Carolina’s nicest canoeing destinations. Although White Lake is developed, it is one of the few natural lakes in the state. Several other nearby lakes, including Jones Lake and Horseshoe Lake, are also natural, and are still largely pristine. Today though, I wanted to paddle a river. On the drive to White Lake, we had crossed both the Lumber and Cape Fear Rivers. My goal was farther east though. In that direction, the South and Black Rivers flow only a few miles apart. I work near Clinton twice a year, and every time I drive there, I can’t help but notice how pretty these rivers are. Christy and I had canoed part of the Black River many years earlier, but I had never paddled the South. Today, I was determined to correct that oversight.

I left fairly early, but spent the next 30 minutes combing the White Lake area in search of a store with bug spray. This part of North Carolina is probably the most mosquito-infected area of the state. You would think everyone would sell it. Finally I claimed the last bottle of “Off” at the gas station at the corner of highways 41 and 53. From there, I drove east on 41 to the river. Unfortunately, this stretch of road was part of the race course. Thanks to my late start, I had to dodge bikers the entire way. Traffic was light, but my progress was still slow, since the road is fairly narrow.

I reached the highway 41 bridge over the South River and scouted my take-out options. There isn’t a developed take-out here, but there is a rough drive leading to the river on the west, upstream side of the bridge. From there, I drove up highway 210, which runs roughly parallel to the river. At highway 701 I turned right, and drove another mile to the put-in, which is west and downstream from the bridge.

The put-in was deserted. I unloaded my gear, and inflated my boat. The boat I was planning to use is my friend Dave’s inflatable “kayak”. I call it a rubber ducky, but whatever name you use, it’s a handy little vessel. Since it’s inflatable, it’s easy to transport. It’s also quite durable, which came in quite handy on this trip.

I was almost ready to launch when a car pulled in. The driver, Steve, got out and introduced himself. He was meeting a friend there to run a shuttle. They were planning on doing the next section upstream. I felt a little better knowing that there would be someone else on the river, even if they were 10 miles or so farther upstream. Paddling an unfamiliar river solo, in a rubber boat, is probably not advisable. After all, river paddling is a bit different from hiking, in that if a hike goes badly, you can always turn around and go back. That generally doesn’t work when paddling. Once you start, you’re pretty much committed. However, I knew that highway 210 runs less than a mile away from the river. If I ran into a problem, I could always hike out to the road.

Steve gave me a push off, and I joined the current. From the very beginning, the river was gorgeous. The water was the color of iced tea, as it rolled lazily beneath a dense canopy of overhanging Cypress trees. Spanish Moss hung from the branches, and at times it seemed as though I was paddling through curtains of it. The paddling started out easy, as I passed between low banks and occasional stretches of swamp. Initially, the only challenge was negotiating the many twists and turns of the river.

It wasn’t long before I reached my first difficulty. A fallen tree blocked most of the river, but it looked like I could bypass it around the far right side. Doing so would require maneuvering through some branches though. Hey, I was bushwhacking in a rubber boat! What could go wrong?

I made it through without much difficulty, but in passing, I dislodged a GIANT spider from one of those branches. It fell, and landed right in my lap. After some panicky swatting, it skittered down my leg, into the bottom of the boat. Where did it go?? I hunted around for it, but it wasn’t to be seen. Did it crawl up the leg of my shorts?!? I thrashed around a bit more, but there was no sign of it. I decided that it must’ve crawled into the dark storage compartment behind me, in the stern of the boat. I forced thoughts of that huge spider from my mind, and tried to avoid thinking about it biting me in the ass.

A few minutes later, I reached a tree blocking the river that I couldn’t get around. Oh goody. My only option was to portage. Fortunately, there was a fairly easy place to get out, although it did require me to walk in thigh-deep, black, potentially alligator infested water. Dragging the boat around through the woods proved easier than expected. The biggest challenge was warding off the swarms of mosquitoes. I didn’t encounter any bugs when I was actually on the water, but they were thick back in the trees. I was glad I’d gone to the trouble to get the bug spray that morning.

Three more portages ensued. The water level on this day was actually a little higher than normal. Alas, if it had been just a little higher, I probably could have paddled around two of the blockages. On the other hand, if it had been a little lower, more problems would’ve presented themselves. Two of the portages were quite easy (one involved dragging the boat directly over the log blocking the river). One was nasty though, with a long drag through tangles of thorns. Why is it that most of my adventures seem to involve briars?

At one point, I was floating peacefully downstream along a straight stretch. I paused to take a drink of water, and when I looked back up, I was about to hit a stick protruding up out of the water. Where had that come from? Nearly submerged sticks and logs can be a hazard, because they can be hard to see. Although it’s unlikely, a sharp stick could poke a hole in the bottom of a rubber boat. I made a quick maneuver, and swung slightly to the right to pass alongside it. My paddle (and therefore my hand) was about 2 feet from the stick when it stuck out its tongue at me and wiggled. Yikes!

This was unusual behavior for a stick. The stick was, in fact, a snake. Judging from the banded pattern it was sporting, and the fact that it was floating in the middle of a river, I’d guess it was either a water snake or a Cottonmouth. The two are virtually indistinguishable to a casual observer. Then again, there was nothing casual about my observation. I was well within striking distance. In a panic, I made a quick backpaddle, which caused the boat to swing to the left, directly over the snake. Problem solved.

After I passed, I scanned the water behind me, but there was no sign of it. As my pulse gradually returned to normal, it occurred to me that at least it hadn’t somehow landed in the boat with me. You know, like how that giant spider had earlier.

Aside from giant spiders and potentially venomous snakes, I saw the usual assortment of critters. There were a handful of turtles, and an impressive assortment of birds. Wood ducks were common as usual, although I didn’t see any Great Blue Herons. I did see one bright red bird that was entirely too large to be a Cardinal. I have no idea what it was. The most thrilling sighting of the day though was when a small bird dove from a branch and snatched something out of the river. That little scene unfolded right in front of me as I floated down the otherwise peaceful river.

The scenery remained fantastic for most of the journey. The dense canopy provided plenty of shade, and there were few signs of civilization. I did pass a few houses and cabins, and on a couple of occasions, I could just make out the sound of traffic on the nearest road. Otherwise, it was just me and the river for three hours on a sunny Saturday morning.

I had a brief lunch on a small sandbar, before resuming the journey. I didn’t linger long though, as I still had hopes of catching the end of Christy’s race. 45 minutes after lunch, the highway 41 bridge loomed ahead. I got out on river right, and the biggest challenge of my trip began.

First, I deflated the ducky and stashed it and my gear out of sight behind a tree. Then I changed into my running shoes. The biggest problem with solo paddling is it makes running a shuttle rather difficult. In this instance, I was really going to run the shuttle. I had measure the road distance from the take-out to the put-in at 6.5 miles. That was farther than I wanted to run, so I walked the first 15 minutes. By the time my warm-up was over, I was a fair distance down highway 210. I then ran for 40 minutes, covering perhaps 5 miles. This wasn’t much fun, as it was a hot, sunny day, and there was no shade along the road. Fortunately traffic was light, and I was delighted when I saw the stop sign indicating the intersection with highway 701. 10 more minutes of walking brought me back to the put-in, and the car.

From there, all I had to do was drive back to the take-out to collect my gear. Everything was still there when I returned. Unfortunately, it was already 2pm. Christy would be done with her race, unless it went badly.

I drove back to the trailer to check on the dog before heading down to pick Christy up. I was in the process of unlocking the back door, when I fumbled the key. I watched helplessly as it tumbled through the 1” crack between the porch and the trailer. Why is it that I can’t perform the simplest tasks without something like this going wrong?

The base of the porch was lined with lattice work. I attempted to retrieve the key with a long stick, but of course that didn’t work. Eventually I had to push the lattice work aside (luckily it was loose) and crawl under the porch. Well, what was the worst thing I could possibly encounter down there? Snakes and spiders? Been there, done that. I eventually found the key, but after rolling around in the wet sand, I was filthy.

I walked the dog, took a shower, and then headed over to the race site to pick up Christy. I grabbed a burger and fries for her on the way, knowing she’d be famished. I eventually found her amid the throngs of spandex-clad athletes. She had finished the race, but it hadn’t gone well. She had injured her calf a month ago, and today, severe cramps in her calf had left her unable to run. She finished the swimming and biking without much trouble, but ended up walking most of the final 13 miles.

We returned to the trailer park that evening. We grilled steaks and corn on the cob on the back porch, while keeping a wary eye on the locals. At this particular trailer park, virtually everyone has a golf cart. Most people there seem to spend the bulk of their time cruising the neighborhood on the infernal things. This included scores of teenagers, and even younger children. Christy and I enjoying hanging out on the porch, watching the cruisers and hoping for a serious crash. In the end we were disappointed, as there was one near miss, but no collisions.

We slept in the next morning, before indulging in a big breakfast. Afterwards, Christy returned to the race site, to watch some friends compete in a shorter race. While she was gone, I went for a 4-mile run through the “town” of White Lake. White Lake features lots of lake homes and hotels, along with a few little restaurants and a sad looking grocery store. There’s even an amusement park of sorts. White Lake kind of reminded me of a miniature version of Myrtle Beach, but with a lot less traffic and fewer strip clubs. Actually, White Lake is the family-friendly place that Myrtle Beach likes to claim to be. I wish I’d known about it 20 years ago. I think I would’ve enjoyed it a lot then, based on the number of teenage girls that were running around!

Later that morning, we visited the beach for a couple of hours. The trailer park backs up to a nice stretch of tree-lined sand that features a pier and an arcade. We relaxed in the sun for a couple of hours, before returning to the trailer to pack the car. We headed for home later that afternoon, having enjoyed our first real visit to White Lake. We’ll probably be back next year, and hopefully we’ll be able to stay in the same place, now that we know where it is. If we do return, I hope to do another paddling trip. There are many other sections of the South River, and the nearby Black River beckons, as well.

Trip Details:

The South River - section 8 in Ferguson’s guide to Paddling Eastern North Carolina.

Put-in: Highway 701 bridge (good parking and access downstream of the bridge, on the west side of the river)

Take-out: Highway 41 bridge (minimal parking, but fairly easy access upstream from the bridge, on the west side of the river)

Miles: 8.6

Time: 3 hours

Water: 505 CFS, which was just above average , and about 200 CFS above the estimated minimum. (All data is actually per a gauge on the nearby Black River. There is no gauge on the South River).

Weather: Sunny, temperatures in the 80’s, occasionally windy.

Portages necessary: 4

Potentially venomous snakes: 1 (that I know of)

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