Table Rock Lake

Table Rock Lake, in Southwest Missouri, is the magnate that attracts all the points of interests, shows, and commerce of Branson.  It would be a great paddling destination.  The lake has a 745-mile long shoreline at normal levels, covers 43,100 acres of surface, and a depth of 200-feet.  Even in a brutal year like this one, I'm told that there is so much water that it doesn't freeze unless you venture up into one of the fine fingers.  It takes such a lake to support the use of a vessel like the Paddle-wheel Showboat Branson Belle.

The landing is recreated from a hundred years ago, and McAdoo Boatworks sets the stage for you to step aboard a paddle-wheeler just as Mark Twain would have done.

McAdoo's Boatworks and Landing

We were lucky to catch the last of the autumn foliage.

An island in mid-lake.

Paddle-Wheeler Branson Belle

The Showboat Branson Belle as seen from her wharf.

 

If you’re looking for a good use for that tax return that you won’t regret, I’d like to offer a visit to Branson, Mo, and the Showboat Branson Belle. This, of course, assumes you’re one of the lucky ones that gets a return. The ladies will love the fancy dining and show, but being a life-long water rat, I loved the steamboat. I tried to be sociable, but since Jean had her brother and sister-in-law to socialize with, I found myself occasionally venturing off to explore the ship. Here, I can now share what I learned on my trips around the decks.



The Belle's stern and paddle-wheels through some fall foliage.

 

The Branson Belle is the largest showboat operated on the nation’s inland waters. She is 278-feet long, 78-feet of beam, 112-feet high to the top of the stacks, draws 7.5-feet, and weighs in at 1,250-tons. The Belle was built right on the shore of Table Rock Lake, at what they locally call White River Landing. Launched on August 12, 1995, the vessel was then christened and put in service April 13, 1995. One of the more interesting aspects of her introduction surrounds her launch. Normally the launching slipways that slide a ship into the water are greased. Originally tallow or whale oil were used, but then petroleum greases were employed. Not wanting to pollute a pristine inland lake, they ordered many cases of biodegradable bananas to mash and spread over the slipways. The banana lubricant provided a 9-second slide that reached 14-mph, a speed greater than she would attain under her own power.

 

Branson Belle's wheelhouse, bridge wing, and stacks.

Seeing the archival pictures below will show clearly

why steamboat stacks were always so tall.

 

The showboat is propelled by twin paddle wheels that are 16-feet wide and an impressive 24-feet in diameter. A really nice feature is that they can be operated independently, one forward, and one in reverse, to help maneuver on and off the wharf or augment the rudders.

While the Branson Belle was able to fly at 14mph on the slipways, its normal cruising speed is 6-mph. Full speed is 11-mph, but during trials they wanted to see what she was capable of, and called for full-ahead, or flank speed. They were doing over 12-mph, but the paddle wheels were creating such a rooster-tail, that water was being flung up so high it was drenching the top deck.



 

A steady flow of white water left by the paddle-wheels.

 

The ship’s helm is of solid maple, and 10-feet 2-inches in diameter. Before the age of hydraulics, ships’ wheels had to be huge to generate enough torque to control the ship through adverse winds and currents. Because of their size, wheels were normally set in a well in the deck of the wheelhouse, or even through the deck. The Branson Belle’s wheel is a real trophy that was recovered from the Steamboat C. C. Slider and restored. The Slider was an interesting vessel in its own right.



Capt. Bobby Clifton at the helm of Branson Belle.  Blogger

is having a tantrum and not allowing me to enlarge the pictures,

but you can do the same by clicking the image.

 

The C.C. Slider was built in 1928 by the Midland Barge Company, of Midland, PA. It is unique in that it was a paddle-wheel push-boat. It was built for E. T. Slider, Inc., of Louisville, KY, for operation primarily on the Ohio River. and named for Chester C. Slider, E.T.’s son. She was obviously a much revered vessel, for the original master, Captain Ed Hauser, of Jeffersonville, was on her from her launch in 1928 until his death in 1941, and she had only one other master according to the record. She was eventually broken up in 1952.


The wheel on the bridge of the C.C. Slider

Credit: New Albany-Floyd Co. Public Library

 

I’m much indebted to Ms Nancy Strictland, of the Stuart B. Wrege Indiana History Room of the New Albany-Floyd County Public Library. They hold the archival copyrights to the C.C. Slider pictures, and she granted me permission to use the Slider wheel photo. I didn’t wish to inconvenience her further, but if you access or cut and paste the link below, you can see a number of pictures of the Slider in its glory. Click any of the photos to enlarge. The C.C. Slider is unique, and a vital part of history, and seeing her work huge rafts of loaded coal barges is more than impressive.



http://nafclibrary.pastperfect-online.com/40020cgi/mweb.exe?request=record&id=EC2D0F36-DBD4-4838-B449-456612640835&type=102





Paddle/Camping Photo

Buddy, my 14-ft. ultra-lite Hornbeck, on the shore

of Lake Watonga, Roman Nose State Park.

Glass Mountains Revisited

We had family visiting from the East Coast, and we served as tour guides for a few local sights.  Perhaps you will also enjoy some of the vistas.  If nothing else, they will help you understand why I have to travel so bloody far to go paddling.

This is red dirt country, parched, cracked, and unforgiving.

You have to have respect for those able to survive here.

 

Here is what has to be one of the best justifications for good penmanship, the Glass Mountains. Located about six miles west of Orienta, on Hwy. 412, (NW Oklahoma) they’re really not mountains at all, but mesas or buttes that rise 150 to 200 feet above the prairie floor. This is arid country where hawks glide overhead during the day, and coyotes prowl at night. Almost anytime, the rattle or scurry in the brush is a rattlesnake. Except for the small state park next to the highway, the deep arroyos are devoid of humanity even today except for an occasional cattleman or gas and oil field worker. The solitude of the mesas made them ideal hideouts for outlaws that stole horses and hijacked travelers and wagons.



Vegetation that struggles through the drought.

 

Gen. Phil Sheridan established a semi-permanent camp here during the Indian conflicts of 1870, which became known as Sheridan’s Roost. Nathan Boone, Daniel Boone’s son, worked as an explorer and surveyor of the new Louisiana Purchase for the federal government and described the buttes. In 1873, T.H. Barrett was working with a survey party camped near the hills. He stepped from his tent to view the rising sun sparkling off the selenite crystals in the mesas and wrote in his journal that they looked like glass mountains, and so they were named in the resulting maps. Two years later a new map came out of the federal land office with them labeled Gloss Mountains because the draftsman thought the ‘a’ looked more like an ‘o’. So, you can drive down the road and see a sign for the Glass Mountains, followed by a sign for the Gloss Mountains. You’ll pick up a tourist brochure for the Glass Mountains, or maybe the Gloss Mountains. Poor penmanship has led to a disagreement of what to call these hills for nearly 140 years.

Looking out across the prairie from atop a butte.

 

As I mentioned above, this has always been a great hideout for outlaws, and that hasn't changed.  Two prisoners had escaped from the Ft. Supply prison, and had been working their way across the prairie for a week.  Both were captured on the day of our visit.  We had seen helicopters flying around, and we had stopped near a thicket to take some pictures.  From the description given of where the apprehension was made, one was captured right where we had stopped.  It's certainly not a place you'd expect to find someone watching you from the brush.

Here you can see the harder white gypsum plate on the top of the butte.

Paddle Cart Tire Liners

This story starts on a bike rather than in a canoe, since that’s how I learned this little trick. I’ve always ridden bikes---a lot. One time while we were kids, my brother and I both got a beating after riding about 25 miles up into Pennsylvania to get a sundae at Pennsupreme Dairy. Having been AWOL all day, when we finally got home in time for dinner, Mom greeted us with a warmer reception than anticipated. My brother, of course, even after I had paid for his sundae, reported that the whole trip was my idea, for which I was justly rewarded.

We spent all our time on our bikes, and yet, in my first 60 years of riding, I think I only had one flat tire. When we moved to Oklahoma, Jean and I had three flats in our first month here---two on my bike and one on hers. The culprit here is sand burrs, carpet upon carpet of them, everywhere. I went to The Bike Shop in Enid, the best supplier of biking gear in the Northwest part of the state. Micah, the shop owner, recommended using tire liners along with the new tubes. We’ve used them ever since, going on eight years, and have not had another problem.

One of the most valuable pieces of paddling gear, especially for expedition paddling, is a good boat cart. I got my PaddleCart from paddlecart.com. They are made for kayaks or canoes, and come with either single or dual wheels (4-wheels). The cart is of little value, however, if you can’t avoid flats, and having a flat on a long portage with a 70-pound canoe and 150-pounds of gear and provisions can put you in a real jam. Since many of the areas where we launch and retrieve are likely spots for finding burrs, briars, broken glass, nails, tacks, and other debris, tire liners in the paddle cart tires are just as important.

I’ve used two brands, Mr. Tuffy and Stop Flats2. Other than the brand name, I can’t tell them apart. They consist of two layers of tough rubber that you put inside the tire between the tire and tube. They should last forever, and indeed come with a lifetime guarantee.

The tire liners come in an assortment of sizes to match different tires. For my paddlecart, I just used the same size I use on my mountain bike, and they seem to be working perfectly. The ends of the liner should overlap a good bit, so while my liners are for 26” bike tires, I cut them in half, and they still overlap nicely, and do two of my 12 ½” cart tires.

They come wound in a tight roll, and especially in cold weather, are like working with spring steel. To make them much more user-friendly, roll them up in the opposite direction and put a rubberband around the roll. Let them set awhile in the warmth of the house, or in the sun, and they will straighten out considerably. Remove the tube stem valve to deflate the tube, and remove the tube and tire from the rim. If you’ve had a flat, especially if it’s something hard to find, like burrs, turn the tire partly inside-out and lightly rub the inside of the tire with soft cotton cloth, cotton balls, or even dryer lint, which will catch on the projections inside the tire and make them easier to find. Using finger tips will help find only the larger ones, but requires a bit more antiseptic.

Roll the liner into the tire. Put a little light oil on the stem valve, which Micah also suggested will make them seat better and prevent stem leaks. Put the tire back on one-half of the wheel rim. Reinstall the tube valves and put just a couple pounds of air in the tube to give it shape. Stuff it inside the tire, making sure the liner stays in positioin against the tire. Start with the stem first, as getting it in place keeps the tube aligned with the rim and prevents wrinkles in the tube, which will lead to tube failures. I know most of this is old hat for people accustomed to changing bike tires, but when putting the tire the rest of the way on the rim, whether using an iron or two wide-blade screwdrivers, be certain not to pinch the tube against the rim, as this will likely cut the tube. Put a few more pounds of air in, and bounce the wheel a number of times on the workbench or floor, helping to work out any remaining partial twists or wrinkles in the tube. Then, inflate the tire to its recommended pressure. With the job done, you should fear little in the way of flats on your paddlecart, making for much happier paddling.

Red Sky In Mourning

Jacket Illus. Credit: goodreads.com

 

“Red Sky in Mourning: A True Story of Love, Loss and Survival at Sea” by Tami Oldham Ascraft with Susea McGearhart (pub. 2002 by Hyperion, 240pp. Including glossary)

It’s a play on words, but I guess most of you know that “red sky in the morning,” is a sailor’s memory tickler or adage that goes back over 2,000 years to help him remember clues for weather forecasting. The whole verse is: Red sky at morning, sailor take warning; red sky at night, sailor’s delight. There’s also a version that pre-dates Christ where you simply replace sailor with shepherd. The play on words here (replacing morning with mourning) just tells you in advance that a storm is coming that will take a life.

The library lending program suspends the mailing of books during the holidays. I suppose it may be to avoid overloading an already taxed postal system, but more than likely stems from the obvious increase in the likelihood of books getting lost in the Christmas postal rush. Our librarians took pity on me, knowing that my paddling book flow was about to be turned off, and pulled a couple ocean sailing books to tide my over. “Red Sky in Mourning” was one of those.

The book tells the author’s story of how she was introduced to sailing, met the dashing young man of her dreams, Richard, and cruised the Pacific islands with him to Tahiti. There they are offered a lucrative yacht delivery job back to San Diego during the tropical storm season. They gambled and lost, encountering Typhoon Raymond. The reader is taken through their efforts to avoid the storm, but they are overtaken. Tami is locked below decks, and Richard is tethered on deck when the yacht is rolled. Richard’s harness fails, and he is swept away and lost. The main part of the book is about Tami’s trials for survival, her struggle to come to terms with his loss, and her rescue and introduction back into the world where she must deal with Richard’s family and the yacht’s owners, and also how to pick up her life where she left off. For anyone who goes to sea, or on the water period, the book is a fast read that deals with some of the “what-if” scenarios that we are wise to grapple with in advance.

Paddling in Circles

Thanks to Sean Morley, I’ve come on a great discovery this morning. It is his on-line book about his 4,500-mile, 183 day paddle around Great Britain. It is called “Paddling in Circles: UK and Ireland Circumnavigation.” I’ve just taken a peek at it so far, but very much look forward to reading it through, and thought you may enjoy it as well. Here’s the link.
http://www.riverandocean.com/?page_id=359

Also, I seem to be coming on well with getting all our paddling friends moved to the new Facebook page.  I appreciate your patience in helping with that.  Best wisihes for a great day, and enjoy the reading.  Cheers, jim

Jean's Blog

One of the reasons for getting Jean set up with a new Facebook page was to also help her get started with her own blog.  It's called Mud-N-Feathers, and deals mainly with her years growing up in New Jersey, how she grew to love water, beginning with the Delaware River, life on the farm, our years sailing, and much more.  The link follows, and it will also appear in 'Favorite Blogs' section in the right margin for easy access.
http://thistle25.wordpress.com/author/thistle25/

Wallace Nutting on the Canoe

A Wallace Nutting Painting

Credit: google images

 

Wallace Nutting is one of Jean’s favorite artists. She was reading his “Maine Beautiful: A Pictorial Record Covering All The Counties of Maine,” (Pub. 1924 by Bonanza Books, New York, 296pp), when she came upon several pages of Nutting stressing his love and admiration of the canoe. Here are the highlights.

“It is natural to suppose that Maine, a state of waters, would develop the finest form of the canoe.--- The shape of this canoe is closely modeled on the lines of the Indian canoe of bark, with a round bottom rather flattened, and with the ends coming together in a quick, sharp, graceful curve. The shape is the embodiment of an Indian dream. We may think that the horns of the moon and the curves of the graceful birch tree, and the crescent beaches of the Maine lakes gave the suggestion. The result at least is perfection. The canoe combines more than any other human creation the practical and the ideal, reminding us of ‘the perfect woman, nobly planned.’ For lightness, for grace, for mobility, for its perfect adaptation to its purpose, no device of man has ever equaled the canoe. It is the home of the woodsman for the greater part of the year. Even at night he draws it on shore and, upturning it, has a roof above him. It is his home and companion. More than any other inanimate thing, it is lovable and beloved. We stroke its curves as we pet a fine horse. It is not without good reason that the canoe has appealed, in picture, song, and story, to the minds of those who discovered it full-grown and beautiful, in the hands of the adept Indian, who evolved it. To be at once a thing of perfect beauty and perfect adabtability to use, is true of few human creations.”

It is highly significant that the old guide gains an affection for his canoe, and thinks it, despite all the battering it has received, better than a new one. Never mind. After a few deft repairs---, the voyageur launches forth again, happier than before, because his own feeling and skill have entered into the craft that bears him. It is a monument to his ability as a boatman, and every scar is a kind of notch-stick history of his experiences in the rapids, from season to season. Like a child, none too perfect, it is the best for him because it is his. In winter he renews it, and the other three seasons he paddles it. It is at once his living and his life. It combines poetry and practicality, so that---his life is nevertheless an idyll.”

“The seat in the bottom of a canoe is a post of observation, more joyous and more profitable than the throne of a king. The world passes in review before one. The fish leap about one. The birds tweitter as one passes. The marks on the stones show the range between high and low water. The mosses on the trees and the direction of the brancches indicate the prevailing winds. The keen and experienced guide reads a long history and indulges in sure prophecy, as the canoe glides along. It is a story not read in history, but none the less worthwhile and delightful.”

“Contrary to the supposition of the unknowing, the canoe is a safe craft. One may, indeed, overset it, but the finest forms and implements used by man require delicacy of control, and when so controlled they are safer than more clumsy implements. It takes little practice to gain as great assurance of safety in a canoe as upon the land. One is far more likely to catch his foot in a root than to catch his keel on a rock. The use of a canoe encourages a certain litheness, combined with a daintiness of touch, which reacts upon the mind of the person who acquires these faculties, and gives a sense of power. One feels almost the assurance of a bird in the sky.”

Paddle/Camping shot of the day: Rick Eisele's trip to Alaska.
 



Surprised! And yet again!

Well, okay. As I said, I wasn’t expecting much, but was pleasantly surprised, and got good news as well. That has taken a load of our minds.

I saw the orthopedic surgeon this afternoon. I was in and out of the exam room in about ten minutes, and when I saw Jean in the waiting room, gave her two thumbs up. There was good news and bad news, but the bottom line was that my spine has done naturally what he would have had to do artificially with surgery. The tingling and numbness has cleared up, and unless there are other problems recurring, I have a clean bill of health with no limitations. If another problem arises, an MRI is the next step. I had to ask if that would take another three months to get that done. He said he knows I’ve waited a good while, but now that I’m his patient, if it’s needed, it could be approved and done in a matter of days.

I’m ready to go paddling, babeee! All I need is to find some water softener to transform the water around here back to a liquid.

The second surprise came when I tried to set up a Facebook account for Jean. Her page and mine became irreparably entwined, friends mixed up, posts mixed up. I worked on it a couple days, and finally the only solution seemed to be signing my account over to her, having already come so far, and then try to set up a separate one for myself. The problem is that all the paddling friends are still on Jean’s page. I hate to bother you with this, but I’ll have to send new requests to all of you to get us back together. If for some reason you don’t get one, and wish to stay on board, send me a request. If you want to help save me some time searching each of you out, feel free to take the initiative and send me a request now. Thanks, and sorry for the confusion. James Neal.  My name doesn't show on the blog, so if you read the blog and aren't on Facebook with me, please send a request. 

Tony Romo Medicine

Tony Romo, as I doubt I need to tell anyone, is of course the quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys. He sustained a back injury during a football game on 22 December with the Washington Redskins. He has a six-year contract for $18-million a year, making him the fourth highest paid quarterback in the NFL, putting him slightly behind Joe Flacco, Drew Brees, and Peyton Manning. You may wonder what that has to do with his injury. Well, apparently everything.

By Monday afternoon, he had been examined by a doctor, most likely a team of doctors, had had an MRI performed, had the MRI analyzed by the team of doctors, which had conferred on the logical course of surgery and treatment that would be most successful, undoubtedly with the Cowboys’ owners and management involved, and had the surgery scheduled, and held a press conference to announce the results, all within 24-hours. Surgery was performed on the morning of 27 December. The whole procedure took five days from injury to solution.

Medical service, if I’m not being too cynical, is performed not in order of need, nor on priority, nor importance, but on the ability of the patient to pay. The more he can pay, the greater the need for treatment. I don’t begrudge Romo the ability to receive treatment, but having his entire diagnostic process completed within 24-hours, while I’ve been a bit over three months waiting for a meeting with an orthopedic doctor to discuss my mother’s diabetes and how well I pee, and what my psychological state is after sitting on my gluteus maximum for three months, can‘t help but leave me a little p-ssed. The first hurdle was finding a doctor that would accept Medicare. Since Medicare doesn’t operate on the same free-will capitalism that controls Wall Street, an ever increasing number of doctors refuse treatment to patients that don’t help them keep up with the Bernie Madoff’s of the world. No, I’m not being imaginative. I was told that by someone I was complaining to at the hospital. Some apparently feel slighted because they’re not in line to get a piece of that $91-billion package set aside for end-of-year bonuses to Wall Street executives. The worst part of my physical ailment is that it’s apparently not worth $18-million.

Well, I just completed my 13-page questionnaire in preparation for my interview with the doctor tomorrow, as I got angrier with each page. They even asked what I expect to accomplish with my visit. Hello!! Like if my life may resume, or if I’m to spend much of the rest of it in traction, or if I need surgery, and all of that leading to whether or not I can get back to paddling and living an active lifestyle. The sad part is what I expect to accomplish. After cancelling a trip, waiting three months, doing the paperwork, calling ahead for pre-approval of insurance, and driving 200 miles, I honestly EXPECT that I will accomplish nothing. I’m totally open to surprises, but disappointment won’t be one of them. Come on! Surprise me!

B-r-r-r-r !

Unless you’re limiting yourself to a gym, exercising this time of year takes a bit of toughness. Yesterday, I just wasn’t up for it. The day before I walked 3.07 miles. New Year’s Day I decided that if the marchers in the Rose Bowl Parade could walk 5.5 miles, so could I. I wasn’t giving proper consideration to the difference between them walking in Pasadena and me trying the same thing in the wind-swept plains of NW Oklahoma. It was 25-deg. and gusting to 35mph when I stepped out the back door. I had wrapped myself up with muffs, wool hat, scarf and all the rest of the armor suited for such an undertaking, but I was still surprised when I stepped onto the patio. I told Jean I was going for a walk and would be back in a bit. I walked out the back door and a gust of frigid wind blew through the breezeway and just about spun me around on my heels. It could in no way be called a breeze. I bounded back up the steps and through the door, announcing to Jean that the walk hadn’t taken as long as I thought it would. I could hear her in the other room chuckling.

I decided to look up the wind chill, and was surprised to find that the National Weather Service had changed the wind chill index in 2001. Originally, the wind chill would have been minus 12 degrees yesterday, but with the new tables, it was plus 7. That’s a big difference.

Anyhow, the weather is changeable enough here that today the temperature was back to 39 deg. with a 15mph wind, so I managed to get on the bike for seven miles.    My cheeks were still as rosy as Santa's when I returned, so it was nice to sit down to a steaming bowl of Jean's turkey vegetable soup, the last of our Christmas turkey. I don’t want to feel too sorry for myself, as Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday are to be brutal. Chicago? Man, I feel for them. Monday is to bring them a HIGH of ten below zero.

Congratulations to NAVY!

Navy wins the 2013 Armed Forces Bowl against Middle Tennessee with a score of 24 to 6, while holding MT to their lowest scoring game of the season. There was some inconsistent officiating that penalized both teams before the game was over, but the low point of the game came from Middle Tennessee’s Roderic Blunt, whose behavior during the game brought shame and disgrace to his teammates and school alike. He was twice penalized for unsportsmanlike conduct and ejected from the game. After the play was over, he slid up over the Navy quarterback, Keenan Reynolds, pinning him to the ground, as he jammed his thumb through the defenseless QB’s mask and tried to injure his eyes. Reynolds indeed had to sit out several plays while trying to clear his vision, and while the Navy staff screwed a face shield to Reynolds’s helmet. The commentator said Blunt was becoming “chippy.” That’s not called chippiness---not even unsportsmanlike. It’s called criminal assault.

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

My Micmac stripper canoe, stern to the shore during a

cold winter's morning.

 

Happy New Year to each and all. Ending one year and starting another is always an unavoidable time of reflection. The dawning of the New Year is a chance to start over, to improve. So, yes, this is very much a post about paddling. Our culture tells us to put a monetary value on all our ventures. The more money it generates, the greater its value. Things that don’t generate "enough" money are called recreation. In this line of thinking, doing things you love, that improve your soul, state of mind, well-being, and personal satisfaction with life are of no value. Value comes from keeping one’s nose to the grindstone. It’s only after it’s nearly too late, when all the body’s strength, flexibility, endurance, and health are gone, or are rapidly degrading, that you begin to realize that you’ve had it all backwards. The things you value have been slighted. Sure, you’ve kept the grass mowed, the bills paid, the city, county, state, and federal taxes all taken care of, and strengthened your boss’s, companies, and share holders’ bottom line, but beyond caring for your family’s health and comfort, you’ve put off for fifty years the things that matter most to you personally in the expectation of some dawning, golden day when you’ll finally have time. For all too many, that time never comes. Life doesn’t get simpler, only more entangled and complicated. The only time you have is now.

I jotted these points down after reading the story some time ago. A nurse had worked for many years with the terminally ill and infirm. During the times when family weren’t at the bedside, she got time to share her patients’ lives, thoughts, and regrets. Looking back over their lives, knowing they had only days or perhaps hours to live, these were their final thoughts on what they would have changed, in descending order, if they could have done it over again. The greatest gifts coming out of their lives may be that they can help the still living avoid the same mistakes, if we but listen and take heed. Copy them and tape them over your desk or work station.

1. I wish I had lived a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

2. I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.

3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my true feelings.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

5. I wish that I had allowed myself to be happier.

Some thoughts from Jerry Vandiver and the Morrall's.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e-x7GT3rFVw



Canton Lake: Going to the Dogs

I took an afternoon ride to check out Canton Lake to see if it is filling any at all. It isn’t. It’s still down 78% of its conservation water level, and looks pretty much like the shots taken at Lake Altus-Lugert. Maybe it’s just me, but when the lakes and waterways look forlorn, their appearance connects directly into my mood. I’ve lived on, around, and been connected with waters for so much of my life, we’re inseparable.

 

The local scenery doesn’t help much. Yet another old homestead sits long forgotten. The incessant Oklahoma wind has blown out all the aged blades from the windmill, the bleaching sun has destroyed the roof shingles, weeds have recovered all that was their’s originally, and the house itself has taken a list in want of something to lean on.



Chubby prairie dogs in a constant search for food.

Ever vigilant.

 

The only signs of life are the prairie dogs that are out scampering about. As you get near, they stand on the lip of their burrow and bark an alarm to all their neighbors. Some become quite animated. So much effort is put into the barks that they lunge up and down as their front legs thrust outward. They look like little basketball players making two-handed foul shots with each bark. The ones in this tape are more sedate than that, but I think you’ll find it interesting.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jcB5kySUxWA



 

Another Taste of Christmas

 

 

We found the holiday decorations done early when we visited Branson, Mo.

This lamp and wreath struck me as being right out of Currier and Ives.  They

were located at the boat landing of the Showboat Branson Belle, which we

visited for a dinner and show.  I'll have more on that at another time, but since

that will put us after the holidays, I figured I should pull these out now.

Merry Christmas

Happy Winter Solstice

Credit: off-grid info

 

We’ve turned the corner. The bad news is this marks the official beginning of winter. The good news is that the sun starts its trip back toward us and each day gets three minutes longer. In our language, that translates into longer paddling days, and more miles.

During the shoulder seasons, the dilema is always when to stop for the night in order to have enough light to get camp established, make dinner, and roll into the sack before we find ourselves stumbling about in total darkness save for the beam of our headlamp. The answer is in the sunset. Here’s how you do it without an app.

With your arm outstretched, fold the thumb into the palm, and hold your palm facing you and the fingers horizontal. With your little finger resting on the horizon, when the lower limb (bottom) of the sun touches your index finger, you have one hour until sunset. As the lower limb appears to peak between the fingers, you lose 15-minutes with each finger it passes. When the sun touches the horizon, and you have sunset and light will now begin to fade, but you still have another hour before complete darkness. If you plan for several possible campsites for the night, you can extend the day, feeling confident in which stop you can reach and still have enough light for camp duties.  



Reading the River

Jacket illus. credit: goodreads.com

 

Reading the River: A Voyage Down the Yukon, by John Hildebrand (241pp. 1988, pub. By Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston)

John Hildebrand is an exceptional writer. His reviewers call him a latter-day Thoreau, and the best adventure writer since Jack London. He uses this skill to take you on a three-month, 2,000 mile trip by canoe down the Yukon River, and when you reach the last page, you’ll likely share my sense of emotional collapse over the trip being done. He not only writes so you can nearly smell the smoke and hear the snapping and crackling of your shared driftwood campfire, but he’ll take you to every village and fish camp along the river where he’ll introduce you to the Alaskan frontiersmen willing to share their own stories. There are survivors of the days of the Alaskan gold rush, Eskimos, Athabascan Indians, wilderness homesteaders, subsistence hunter/trapper/fishermen, dogsled mushers, missionaries, and Russian family members still reflecting the days when Russia provided the greatest influence in the area. He’ll share his salmon catch, or take you along as he helps pull salmon nets, have you sing your way through the wilderness so the grizzlies know you’re there, sleep in tents, cabins, and the homes of ‘river angels.’

John and his wife had dreamed of homesteading in the Alaskan wilderness. He cut and dragged the logs, trimmed and shaped them, notched the ends and stacked them, and stuffed the chinks between the logs, and roofed it until he had completed a log cabin. He cut and split wood to heat the cabin with a wood-burning metal stove, and through the seasons grew or hunted for all their food. After all of this, his wife’s biggest complaint was that there was nothing to do, and she found she was no longer enamored of their dream. Finally, after losing a child shortly after birth, she went back south. John followed, hoping to save their marriage, but she finally divorced him, and of course took everything he had except the cabin she wanted nothing to do with.

After a decade, the author returned to Alaska, but found he just couldn’t go back to the cabin, so he started his trip down the Yukon. The title, Reading the River, is misleading. The story is nothing about reading a river to find one’s way through the river‘s eddies, rapids, and shoals, but more about navigating through life’s hazards and obstructions. In the process, he gives you an experience you’ve probably never had before. When the canoe trip ends, in a final twist, we find him…., well, you need to follow along to see where the trail leads. Your only regret after reading this book will be that there’s not another 300 pages or so.



Ugly Hedgehogs

Fox looking into camera.

credit:googleimages

 

I know when you looked at the title for this post your first reaction was, “What the --?” I have no idea what the significance of ugly hedgehogs is, but I was most surprised when I found this site. In my efforts to improve the pictures I use to illustrate the blog’s posts, I try to increase my limited photography abilities. The Ugly Hedgehog turns out to be a friendly and fantastically informative fount of photography knowledge. Even the introductory material is enough to keep you stuffing your cranium for months. When you first sign on as a new member, if you admit that you are a fledgling photographer, you are directed to “A Guide to the Basics of Photography.” To save you the embarrassment of such an admission, I’ve added both the link to the Basic Photography Guide (below), and in the right margin, the link to the site. If you have even a passing interest in something as rudimentary as point and shoot photography or advice on cameras, lenses, or any other equipment, this is a must-join forum. Be sure to check it out.

http://www.uglyhedgehog.com/user_page.jsp?upnum=977



Twelve In a Row, Consecutively

Navy wins 34 to 7. Twelve rivalry wins in a row consecutively. Yeah, I know that’s redundant, but it bears saying twice. Plus, Navy wins the Commander-in-Chief’s Trophy for the year. Congratulations to them all. Unfortunately, Army kept shooting themselves in the foot. We have to feel for them, especially the seniors.

Regardless of which team it is, or which academy, in the end they are all on the same team supporting our nation. Those that attend the service academies are our nation’s brightest and best. They struggle through the toughest application processes of any schools in the nation to get an appointment, perform at higher standards throughout their academy training, and maintain the highest standards of service, sacrifice, and leadership throughout their careers. We owe each of them a slap on the back, a tip of the hat, and our thanks and appreciation for all they do. In the end, we all win---everyday.

Here are a few views from the Naval Academy. If you travel through Maryland, a visit to the Academy in Annapolis is a must-see.

Bancroft Hall, largest dormitory in the world.

Memorial Hall

U.S. Naval Academy Chapel

The crypt of John Paul Jones beneath the chapel.

 

GO NAVY!

On CBS Saturday, 14 Dec. at 2PM Central.  Watch the pre-game.  They may show part of the March On.  Usually one of the best games of the year.  Go Navy! Beat Army!

Lake Altus-Lugert

Lake Altus-Lugert appears on P.49, grid D-7 of the DeLorme Atlas, and P. 113 of the “Lakes of Oklahoma” guide by the Oklahoma Water Resources Board. The lake covers 6,260 acres, and has a 49 mile shoreline.

Buddy sits atop the Ram, all dressed up and no place to

go.  Looking at the rock formation off-shore, note the line

between grey and red rock.  That should be the lake's

waterline.  The white rectangle at center is the roof of the

fishing float that should be at least level with the top of the rocks.

 

The town of Lugert, also created out of the 1901 land-grab of the Kiowa, Comanche, and Apache lands, now sits at the bottom of the lake. It was destroyed by a 1912 tornado that demolished 41 of the town’s 42 businesses. Lugert was then a town of 300 people. The foundations of many of their homes and businesses can be seen when the lake water levels are low. A historical marker commemorating the town and Frank Lugert, who had filed for the land to build the town on, stands at the head of the lake’s main boat ramp. Frank Lugert’s general store and post office was the sole business left standing in town after the tornado.

The floating walkway should be roughly level

with the parking lot.

 

The town of Altus initiated the move for a dam in 1927. The construction was made possible by the Rivers and Harbors Act of 1938. Dam construction was halted in 1941 because of World War II, resumed in 1944, and completed in 1947 with a dam 110 feet high and 1,104 feet long.



Between the float's height and my height of eye, the camera

is about 15-ft. off the lake bottom, and is still looking up at

what should be the water level.

 

Lake Altus-Lugert was a recreational mecca for Southwest Oklahoma. Between the mountains and the lake, it was a natural place for numerous attractions like a state park, resort and lodge, golf course, nature center, performing arts complex and outdoor amphitheater, swimming beaches, and RV and tent camping. With the absence of the lake, the area’s economy is taking a substantial hit.



This was my first sight of the lake.  I'm standing on the

riprap that borders the lake and protects the road from

erosion, which is no longer an issue.  The line of  bushes

between me and the remaining water is the foundation

of a normally submerged building.  Everything between

the rocks in the foreground and the tree-line at the base

of the mountains should be lake water.

 

With the serious and ongoing drought in the region, I had called ahead to ascertain if water levels were good for paddling the lake. The lady I spoke with, obviously a representative of the local Chamber of Commerce, assured me the lake had plenty of water, was beautiful, and everything was as it should be. I had serious reservations about all that, but desperation to get on the water will make one go to unusual extremes, or at least me. When I drove over the last rise that overlooks the lake, it felt like my heart had just dropped into my boots. It was so shocking, I hit the brakes and pulled off the road to make sure I believed what I was seeing.

Except for the vegetation on the bank in the foreground

and some peaks in the distance, you should be seeing

nothing here but deep water and fishermen angling for

large striped bass and walleye, all now dead.

 

At the parking lot above the boat ramps, what should be a floating walkway goes out some distance between pillars of rock. The walkway is supposed to be just about level with the parking lot, but I walked down and down. As I got close to the rocks, the grey surfaces I was seeing obviously became the dead and bleached plant life that had been at the lake’s bottom. The line between the gray covered rocks and the natural red surfaces rose above my head as I stood on the float at the end of the walkway. As I talked with a photographer about how sad it all looked, I scanned the span between the rock under the float and the old waterline well above our heads, I said, “Ya know, that’s got to be 30-feet.” When I got home, I searched the Corps of Engineers gauge to find that the water was indeed down 29.97 feet. It now is at 30.00 feet. That leaves 13% of the lakes capacity, which sounds like it is better than nothing, but that little bit of water that’s left is basically useless. It’s too low to reach the aqueducts for the farmers’ cotton crops, it is both too low and too salty for drinking water, and the salt, lack of oxygen, and resulting golden algae bloom have killed off the fish. Lake Altus Lugert was known as the home of striped bass and walleye that made for state-record catches. It is now a dead lake.

State officials say Southwest Oklahoma is experiencing the worst drought since 1895. We may not wish to be so bold as to seek heavy rain for 40 days and 40 nights, but to fix either the drought or fill the lakes, it would take at least a couple years of rains so much above normal that we’d become thoroughly sick and tired of rain.



 

Two-Year Mississippi Sojourn

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M9rhfG4U5ZA

Above is the link for John F. Sullivan's photographs from his two-year trip down the Mississippi River.  With thanks to John for sharing, enjoy the sights and music.

Nahanni: River of Gold, River of Dreams

Illus. Credit: abebooks.com

 

Nahanni: River of Gold…River of Dreams, by Neil Hartling (Pub. By Canadian Recreational Canoeing Assoc, Ontario, Canada; 1993, 130 pp.)

Neil Hartling knows the Nahanni, since he’s a river guide on the river, and has been since 1984. The book is a full-color coffee table style book with many amazing photographs of the river’s scenery. In between the pictures, Hartling weaves a narrative about the geological history of the area, the history of legend, and the history of the early explorers, miners, trappers, and adventurers that traveled the river, some successfully, and some who have left their bones there. Whether planning a trip to the North, or just enjoying the love of water and nature that we all share, it’s a book worth seeking out.

Credit: Google Images

 

The Nahanni River is a major tributary of the Liard River, and west of Yellowknife in the Northwest Territories. It didn’t come into prominence until the 1950’s with the great popularity of R.M. Patterson’s book “Dangerous River.” The river is now considered one of the prime wilderness rivers of Canada, and a magnet for whitewater adventurers from around the world. It is part of the Mackenzie Range, and geologically unique among rivers. Unlike most rivers that cut their course through mountainous canyons, the Nahanni was formed as a prairie river when the surroundings lands were relatively flat 500 million years ago. The mountains were then driven up through the earth’s crust while the river maintained its course.

Janet Moreland Reaches Gulf

Photo credit: Janet Moreland

Janet S. Moreland reached the Gulf of Mexico at 4:30pm Eastern today, 5 Dec.  That completes the 3,700 mile trip from Brower's Spring, the very head waters of the Missouri River on the Continental Divide in the Rocky Mountains, down to join the Mississippi River north of St. Louis, and then south to the Gulf.  She started in April, and almost completed the trip yesterday, getting to within 3 miles of the Head of Passes, but had to stop due to heavy fog.  She returned to Venice for the night, waited for the fog to lift this morning, and made the final sprint to the Gulf of Mexico.  The "Love Your Big Muddy" links to both her Facebook and blog are in the right margin.

She is believed to be the first American to complete the entire source-to-sea trip, and also the first woman to complete the trip.  Most making the Missouri-Mississippi-Gulf trip begin at Three Forks, Montana.  Guinness Book of World Records will be verifying these accomplishments for a possible double World Record.

Our sincerest congratulations to Janet for a huge accomplishment.

The Great Western Trail

The Great Western Trail

 

I’m sure you’ve seen how traveling from one paddling location to another can often lead through some interesting places and history. I’ve several times crossed the Great Western Trail and the Chisholm Trail in Oklahoma. In some places the trail leaves hardly a mark, like shown here, but long-time followers of the blog will remember the picture where the millions of longhorn cattle had so depressed the earth that a house could be built in the trail rut that would be invisible from the surrounding prairie.

Trail bosses led cattle drives along rivers, or toward

distant obvious landmarks.

 

The Great Western Trail ran for a thousand miles from just northwest of San Antonio, Texas, to Dodge City, Kansas. This portion of the Great Western Trail is along OK Rt. 55 near Hobart, OK. Other lesser names have been used to identify the trail, like the Old Texas Trail, the Dodge City Trail, because that’s where it ended, or the Doan Trail, because it crossed the Red River at Doan’s Crossing, Texas. C.E. Doan kept Doan’s Store at the crossing, which was the last supply depot before entering and crossing the Indian Territory. Doan kept meticulous records of the number of cattle crossing, the name of the trail boss, and who the cattle belonged to. The peak year was 1881 when 301,000 cattle crossed. The King Ranch was the owner that moved the greatest number of cattle in a single season. They sent 30,000 cattle north in ten drives.



 

Between 1866, a year after the Civil War ended, and 1885, over seven million longhorn cattle traveled the trail, making the Great Western the most heavily used trail in the country. Along with the cattle would be hundreds of cowboys, trail bosses, chuck wagons, and remudas. A remuda was a herd of about 50 or so horses that accompanied the cattle drive, and from which the horses would be selected for the day‘s drive. Unlike the cattle, which usually just ambled along, the horses were worked hard keeping the herd together and rounding up stragglers and “bull-headed” individualists that just couldn’t follow the herd. Using the same horses would drive them into the ground, so they were continually switched out for others. Each drive would require at least ten cowboys, and each cowboy would take about seven horses.

 

Solid rock erupting from the flat prairie.

 

While the trail officially went out of use in 1885, because of the availability of new railroad lines for moving cattle to market, the trail continued in use to a lesser degree until about 1892, but for a different purpose. Tens of thousands of homesteaders had moved into the Indian Territory and points north, and they were buying and driving cattle to stock their new farms and ranches.

We were headed for the Quartz Mountains and Lake Altus-Lugert on this trip. Another interesting thing this picture shows is the unusual mountain formations. The prairie is as flat as a coffee table around the mountains. There are no foothills, no preamble to the mountains at all. They just suddenly erupt from the prairie, making a perfect landmark for the trail bosses to aim for from miles away.



Hang Time

Credit: google images

 

Hang time can be a good thing, like on a kick-off or ‘Hail Mary,’ or when you’re in a plane and the engine dies. It’s nice to have time to look around and pick the best landing site you can reach with your glide path. Hang time is also good when you are at a beautiful campsite and need a day of R&R. Hang time is not so great, however, when you’re locked up somewhere against your will. And that’s where I am.

This has been going on for a month. I haven’t brought it up since I didn’t know how best to address it. But, when I started the blog, I promised honesty, and health issues are very real for everyone in a high-energy sport or recreation, so sharing the experience can’t help but be mostly positive.

We were all set to leave a month ago for Florida. I needed to finish the St. Johns River, the Wekiva and Econlockhatchee Rivers, and resume the Florida Saltwater Circumnavigation Trail. For some time before, I started experiencing feelings in the right side of my neck and along my right shoulder that varied between pain, tingling, and numbness, and they were only getting worse. It was a constant irritant, and was keeping me awake at night. Having to deal with it when we were in the middle of something else was also an irritant, but I figured I’d better check it out before getting 1,500 miles away from home.

Our doctor told me to come in for an x-ray. After looking it over, he said it looks like I am about to make the acquaintance of an orthopedic surgeon. The vertebrae of my neck are collapsing on one another. When I turn my head, I can hear the vertebrae clicking against one another and making squishing sounds. The next step was to schedule an MRI. If surgery could be avoided, physical therapy may help, but the MRI would tell the story---and that’s where everything came to a standstill.

The earliest I could get an MRI was just a few days shy of three months out. Three months for an x-ray? Come on! Sure, it’s a fancy x-ray, but it’s still just an x-ray, and the MRI machine probably sits cold and empty 90% of the time. Also, if an NFL player is injured, he gets both an MRI and surgery before the next weekend’s game. Jean and I spent two weeks on the phone trying to get an earlier appointment with no luck. We did learn that some of the backlog is because a number of doctor’s are refusing to accept Medicare, because they don’t get as much money. So much for the humanitarian reasons for going into medicine. Anyhow, that’s Reason #9,978, 672 for not putting your dreams on hold until retirement, or next year.

The real lemon in this enforced hang time is I know nothing. The only thing I’ve been told so far is not to allow my neck to be rotated, as it could cause permanent and severe damage. Also, the numbness is caused by my vertebrae slipping and shutting off the holes that allow the nerves to exit the spinal cord. The condition will only get worse until it extends all the way down my arm and includes the first two fingers of the hand. When I asked what this meant for paddling and related strenuous outside activities in the future, I was told, “We’ll see.”

At this point, it seems the Florida trip is off, and if I have surgery on my spine, between scheduling and recovery, I could be out of commission for nearly a year, which would also kill next summer’s River Rumble on the Wisconsin River. My message again is to do it now, whatever IT is. The way to make smart decisions is in being able to tell the difference between problems and solutions. They often get confused. Getting older and putting things on hold until retirement, is a problem, not a solution. Avoid both by doing IT now.