Yesterday’s quick trip to the nearby pond where my canoe lives
the pond basks in silent stillness
darker bands of rock mark the drawing down of water
the cormorant is a surprise, his bill echoing the fading autumn color
tired old oak leaves that just yesterday offered the soft green hope of spring
they have lived a lifetime in the brilliant flash of summer
does the winging osprey sense the coming cold, cling to the still strong sun as I do on this late October morning?
This campground, a wildlife paradise near New Orleans, was the turning around point for my journey.
I left Louisiana this morning, to begin my long journey back to Maine. It was sad. For this “62-plus” solo RVer, St. Bernard State Park was the perfect campground (except for the fire ants). With the senior discount, the cost for my water and electric site was just $14 per night. I also lucked out with a long green space that led back to a busy wetland full of wildlife. There were hot showers, an on-site laundry, and it was an easy 18-mile drive to the French Quarter. The main road near the campground goes straight into New Orleans and becomes Rampart St., with parking readily available.
Best of all was time with friends – Sue and Roy, my camping neighbors from Blythe Island in Georgia, and Al and Ingrid, who I met here in the manner I often do, when Al came over to guide my backing up. I am improving, but I don’t want to get so skilled that I no longer make wonderful friends this way!
Meeting aome intriguing inhabitants of a tributary of the Conecuh River
I love stumbling upon an experience purely by chance. In searching for a laundromat, I noticed a sizable body of water north of Andalusia, Alabama. Certainly, it was more substantial than the tiny, mostly spring-fed sinkhole ponds of the nearby Conecuh (cuh-NECK-uh) National Forest where I was camping. After laundry and worship at the Southside Baptist Church, I found the boat launch and a friendly bass fisherman also launching. “That way, it’s all river,” he pointed out, “just watch out for moccasins. There are plenty of them up that way.”
I calculated the current at about half a mile an hour, upstream first, just the way I like it. The limpkin called my attention with a strange, unfamiliar, piercing call that no one could miss, then segued to the clicking sound while walking. There were also many turtles out in the on again, off again sun.
I’ve been using my Garmin Etrex 30 handheld GPS on these paddles to measure distance. This out and back was a little over four miles total, with an average moving speed of 2.0 mph. I’m naturally a slow paddler who spends a lot of time drifting to look at and photograph my surroundings. For those of you keeping track, I now have about thirty-five miles on my new Oru Lake kayak.
A Civil War battlefield, The Florida National Scenic Trail, and kayaking Ocean Pond among giant cypress
Before sharing about Florida, I have to tell you that I have now astoundingly joined the ranks of DIY travel trailer fixer-uppers. (Although nothing is fixed yet). Much of this cold and rainy Alabama day has been devoted to trying to figure out why my refrigerator is not working. From the simple checks-breakers, fuses and plugs-I moved on to trying to secure a dealership repair appointment (impossible) or a visit from a mobile RV tech.
The closest tech turned out not to be close anymore as he now lives in Arkansas. But Ron was the best of trail angels, spending hours helping me over the phone. There I was with my multimeter, in the land of circuit boards, colored wires, and hidden fuses. Finally, through a Grand Design owners forum, I discovered a blown thermal fuse that I will soon try to repair. What a learning day!
The largest Civil War battle to take place in Florida was fought nearby. The Olustee Battlefield Historic State Park was seven miles from camp. Interpretive panels along a one-mile trail told the story of the evenly matched battle through photographs, primary sources, and a clear narrative. The terrain of open pine woods and palmettos, interspersed with impassable swampy areas, helped me visualize the drama of that tragic day. Just over five thousand soldiers on each side-the Union hoping to cut off food supplies from Florida at the Suwanee River railroad bridge and the Confederates handing them a costly defeat.
Ocean Pond is the roundest body of water I have ever seen. One day, I kayaked around its almost 7-mile shoreline. The shallows near shore are picturesque, with turtles and water lilies among the cypress. I studied one patient great egret who was fishing there, swallowing his catch with bounces of his very long, thin neck. There were patches of pickerel weed, not yet in bloom, and cow lily (spatterdock) just beginning to show its bright yellow, spherical flowers. I love the touches of home to balance out all that is new and unusual.
I’ll finish with a shout out to the federal government for their America the Beautiful Lifetime Senior Pass, available to those 62 and older. For a one-time cost of $80, mine has already paid for itself two times over since I purchased it on January 5th. How grateful I am to be experiencing all these natural wonders at such an affordable price!
A wildlife bonanza and kayaking serendipity right at camp
This campground, part of a park run by Glynn County, was my home for three nights, arriving January 23rd and departing January 26th. After the long excursion to Okefenokee, I decided to stay and enjoy the park on my last day. Chores and writing got accomplished, but I also just relaxed. While my laundry was drying in the laundromat, I walked over to the park’s public marina on the tidal South Brunswick River. The birds, there, oh my, I just couldn’t believe it!
Later that afternoon, I ambled out of my camp chair, assembled the kayak, and plopped it into the water that I could see from my front window. There are two tiny lakes there, but it turns out there is a canal (or stream?) that flows out the far side. Paddling past more egrets and a shy turtle, I followed the current into the narrow passage, past longleaf pine above and rhododendron below. Once, I turned back briefly just to make sure that going against the current would be doable.
Exploring that canal and a couple of dead end turns off of it, I ended up paddling almost three miles. Meanwhile, there was a small problem in paradise. Fires ants! Carrying the kayak down, I had been bitten four times. I recognized that stinging pain right away, but it took a minute to find them under my Teva strap. A day later, my left foot would be swollen and very itchy, with blisters where the bites were and an ugly reddish color to the front half of my foot.
I will spare you a photo of that!
Sometimes the best days happen right at home!
Thrilling encounters with my first alligators while paddling my Oru folding kayak
Some stories need to be told right when they happen! Between North Carolina and here, I spent six nights off-grid in the Brick House campground in South Carolina’s Sumter National Forest. I’ll get back to that sojourn, which featured frigid temperatures, an ailing generator, and hiking the Palmetto Trail, later.
Struggling to back my trailer in just where I wanted it was the perfect way to meet my backyard neighbors at the Blythe Island Regional Park campground in Brunswick, Georgia. Roy came over to quietly advise me and his wife Sue soon followed with information about some canoeing they’d been doing. The water trails at the wildlife refuge were a true discovery, and I knew I had to go explore them. Roy and Sue had seen and heard flocks of sandhill cranes and showed me photos of the Suwannee Canal, which begins at the visitor’s center.
At the visitor’s center, I scooped up some fabulous free stickers for my growing collection and got an orientation to the water trails. As I had to be off the water by 4:30 p.m., I would do the length of the canal and back, around four miles, but would not get to explore any more of the water trail system.
The startling news was that lots of alligators had been seen basking in the sun on this 70-degree day! You think I’ll get to see one? I asked in surprise, as much excited as apprehensive. Oh, there’s no doubt, replied the ranger. He then assured me that alligators are not aggressive, and you can paddle to within fifteen feet to photograph them. Most of the time, in January, alligators are in brumation, a type of torpor where heart rate and metabolism slow down. On warmer days, though, when you start seeing turtles out, snakes and alligators will also be active.
Every sense was on alert as I scanned the banks. In addition to reptiles, I was on the lookout for river otter or the elusive American bittern, both of which had been spotted today. The alligators would be sunning on the banks. I probed the tall dry grass and peered into the water under shrubby brush. Finally, a shape emerged, like jagged teeth…an alligator tail. It was a big one, and looking closely, I could see his body and head, facing away from me. The wind pushed me away, until trees hid his form. I paddled back again and again, not really believing that here I was in my little folding kayak communing with a gator!
In two hours, I spotted eleven, four going out and seven coming back, so perhaps there were repeats. As I learned what to look for and where, they were easier to find. Two acknowledged my presence: a large one that slowly sank until only the top of his head and eyes were visible and a small one that twisted into the water with a big splash when I got too close. That was creepy, to have him somewhere underwater, not too far away!
My only regret was that I couldn’t stay longer and explore more. The refuge is home to flocks of white ibis and wood storks, as well at the sandhill cranes that Sue and Roy witnessed. Fifteen species of turtles make their home here. Perhaps someday I will return, to paddle farther and hike some of the trails as well.
How my new origami kayak performed in some small coves on a very large lake
Before jumping into the report of kayaking Badin Lake in my new boat, I want to share that life out here is not always rosy. I’m in South Carolina now, and last night was cold, lonely, and edgy. A true test of camping totally off-grid in frigid conditions. I wanted to try this, and I’m discovering that a lot of effort goes into cleanliness (laundry and even showers, as the camper is still winterized) and maintaining enough battery power to have light and warmth. This morning, I woke to an outside temperature of 13, after a night in which I had to switch propane tanks at 2 a.m. and then lost battery power at 4:30 a.m., an hour and a half before generator use is allowed. But it’s warm and cheery in here now!
In asking for questions, it’s evident you want to know how the boat handles. My first two significant outings were on 5,350-acre Badin Lake, launching from the Cove Boat Ramp adjacent to my campground. After tying a line onto a bow strap, I stepped in from the dock. From the first moment, the boat felt very stable. A huge positive, along with its compact folded size, light weight, and portability. A boat that’s easy to get ready gets used more.
A friend has likened it to paddling a box, and in some respects, he is not far from the mark. I went out twice and found that my paddling technique improved with experience, as I adjusted to a much shorter, less dynamic craft, where I am not up on a seat. Even in small, choppy waves, I felt secure and angled into them as I would have in my canoe.
Another drawback is comfort, or should I say discomfort? After a couple of hours on the thinly padded seat, I found myself wiggling and stretching to try to get comfortable. Loosening or tightening the side straps to adjust the angle of the seat’s back rest helps, but not enough. There is also no foot rest or bar to brace against. My back and bottom were very stiff when I clambered out onto the dock after the longer three-hour excursion.
Most of all, it just felt wonderful to be back out on the water. I saw lots of wildlife, including a painted turtle sunning in January, belted kingfisher, buffleheads, cormorants, herons, downy woodpecker, and a large dark hawk I could not identify. There were moments when the cadence of the paddle felt just like old times. Somehow, this seemed rather miraculous in this unique boat.
To read more about the sights on Badin Lake, look for my March column in the Northwoods Sporting Journal. Issues become available on the NSJ website shortly after publication.
A deer whooshed and crashed away through the woods as I loaded my canoe at Kimball Deadwater in the Seboeis parcel of Katahdin Woods and Waters National Monument. Continuing north two miles on the American Thread Road, I parked at the sign for Twin Ponds, on the left. I would just take a look today and perhaps return with the canoe tomorrow.
My feet fell silently on the soft path as I cautiously approached the small oval pond. The far shore rose high enough to support a narrow strip of spruce and other conifers. Gradually, most of the perimeter came into view, and there was a cow moose feeding contentedly in the shallows at the south end. I watched her, alert for any sign of a calf or two, for it was that time of year. Sure enough, she soon climbed on shore, and a light brown calf emerged, fuzzy in the morning sun.
I planned to return the next morning to see if I could get through to the even tinier twin pond that lies behind this one. And so I did.
A loon was diving for breakfast, and I watched him swallow more than one silvery minnow. Paddling toward the southwest corner, the connecting stream materialized from what had looked like solid shore. I scrambled out of the boat to lift over a narrow bridge of land and continued on.
The second pond was quite shallow and perhaps a third the size of the first. Along the eastern shore was a colorful bog, its palette rich with reds and greens. Later, checking out the Maine Natural Areas Program categories, I believe it would be classified as a Mossy Bog Mat. Purple pitcher plant (Sarracenia purpurea) flowers poked above the sphagnum mosses, and there were a few scattered trees and clumps of sheep laurel. Walking just far enough for a couple of photos, the spongy ground gave and shifted underfoot.
That afternoon, my friend Chris Gill commented on my last blog post, saying he missed the days when he’d had to identify the plants for me. I said, “You only need to ask,” with a photo of the little orchid below. Chris identified it, of course, then also suggested that next time I look closely in the moss for carnivorous sundews as well. Horned bladderwort, a third carnivorous species with yellow flowers, might also be present, according to MNAP.
The shaded shore is always the place to back the canoe in and watch for wildlife. It just so happened that the spot I chose offered up a new orchid. “New” meaning that I don’t remember having identified it before, although I well could have. A rose pogonia (Pogonia ophioglossoides), just a single specimen.
From Twin Ponds, the road continued north to the intersection with Grondin Road. Turning right, another three miles brought me back to Route 159. This would conclude my time in the national monument for now.
That evening, my parents and I took a drive to fill our water jugs at a local spring. On a typical whim, we turned into the gravel road to the Shin Brook Falls trail, happily bumping and bouncing along. On the way out, I was perched in the middle of the back seat. Looking ahead to the crest of the slope, there was a bear, smack in the middle of the road. Right size and shape, ebony black, and gone too quickly, before anyone else could see it.
When you rise at four, nature rewards you. Rain was forecast, and I was on the road by five. A porcupine waddled surprisingly quickly along the shoulder of the road, then vanished into the woods. I entered the Seboeis parcel of Katahdin Woods and Waters National Monument on the American Thread Road. Since yesterday’s drive, I’d been pondering that name.
At first, I envisioned the historic site of a mill that manufactured sewing thread. Not so, although I was on the right track. The American Thread Company also produced wooden spools to hold its thread. When the supply of birch was exhausted in one area, a new spool mill would be built elsewhere. The last, in Milo, Maine, was in operation from 1902 to 1975.
At the short Kimball Deadwater trail, I unloaded my canoe and carried it down to the water. The telltale wake of a cruising beaver cut across the wide water, and I spotted a sleek brown head gliding along. I savored the short paddle, drifting close to photograph sheep laurel and blue flag iris.
Of course, the true barometer of success would be spotting a moose. I spent an hour quietly waiting. A strong wind had risen ahead of the rain and it washed over me, keeping the mosquitoes at bay. Delicate heads of marsh grass bowed low, and the red-winged blackbirds moved with restless energy, flashes of color bright in the cloudy sky. From near and far came the twang of bullfrogs.
Before giving up, I paddled the length of the deadwater a second time, 15 minutes for the round trip. It isn’t large. Near a patch of spatterdock, I saw the beaver again, or another one. After I was well gone up the trail came an emphatic tail slap that said, “Good riddance.”
“I sent my book to the editor yesterday!”
How long (twenty-one months) I have waited to say those simple words! For a couple of weeks, someone else will meticulously read and reread the manuscript – moving commas, detecting typos, and double-checking the spelling of Caucomgomoc, Seboeis, and Wassataquoik. Meanwhile, I can do the fun stuff, like finalizing the photos.
Taking off from my house up north, I spent my first day of freedom exploring. Snow still clung to the high peaks. At the greenhouse in Patten, buying cages for the peonies I’ve uncovered in my wild, untamed garden, I asked about the recent freezing temperatures. Local wisdom, it turns out, says frost can be expected until the first full moon of June. For 2020, that will be on June 5th.
The descent to nearby Shin Brook Falls is made possible by an indispensable system of ropes beside the steep trail. Climbing above the main 30-foot drop, the trail follows the tumbling stream past a succession of smaller cascades, equally lovely.
My goals for the day included: (1) finally hiking a portion of the Seboeis River Trail, (2) visiting the Christianson family at Matagamon Wilderness, to see how they were faring amid the cautious reopening, and (3) spotting a moose, of course.
The moose spotting took the longest. Pleasantly weary from hiking and pleasantly full from cheeseburger-eating, I drove up to the Francis D. Dunn Wildlife Management Area. So far, I’d seen moose tracks and moose poop, not to mention bear poop, a ruffed grouse, and a garter snake. The marshy Sawtelle Deadwater that comprises this state WMA has always looked moose-y to me and that afternoon it was. A small bull with fuzzy antlers emerging was accompanied by two cows, all looking shaggy and scruffy. Only one caw was brave enough to continue feeding while I watched from afar (too afar for a photo) through my binoculars.
My first day of liberty had been well rewarded.
Laurie Apgar Chandler 