Initially the plan was to paddle the Noxubee River with its massive cypress, wild hogs and the occasional alligator. We would put in on Lynn Creek Road southwest of Brooksville and go to the landing just below Macon.
Then someone remembered it was a 20-mile long run.
There would be eight of us and not everyone was up for a journey of that length.
A Noxubee County friend who has access to a deer camp about halfway through the trip said we might put in at a makeshift bridge there. That is “if no one was going to be deer hunting that morning.”
He said he would check.
When I called the friend late Saturday afternoon, the day before our outing, to see if we had clearance, he said in a hushed voice he wasn’t sure, that he hadn’t spoken with anyone. We talked a minute longer, he continuing to speak in lowered tones.
“Were you taking a nap?” I finally asked.
“No,” he whispered, “I’m hunting.”
Rather than remain in limbo, we turned our gaze to the east, to the Sipsey River.
We could put in at Cotton Bridge northeast of Aliceville, Alabama, and paddle about 11 miles downstream to the Lewiston Bridge.
Thanks to recent rains, the water was up. The river would be lively.
Often on area streams when the water levels are elevated, the smaller rivers — the Buttahatchee and the Sipsey in particular — seem to have a mind of their own, at places dividing and streaming through the woods.
The more adventuresome paddlers welcome the challenges of these backwoods detours with their downed trees, briars and sudden twists and turns.
Thus an eight-member expedition can get divided and strung out along a river.
Eventually the group reconstitutes itself, sometimes on a beach or island, to snack and loll about in the sun.
Most seem to enjoy these respites. Some poke around looking for fossils and signs of river life. Some of us, like the turtles we pass sunning themselves on logs, are content to sit and enjoy the moment, the sunshine, the flowing river and the easy camaraderie that has developed among the group.
Here, too, we break out the food.
For the site of this day’s riverine potluck, we chose a small sandy island with a downed tree. Like the aforementioned turtles, we arrayed ourselves along the trunk of the fallen tree to dine.
The culinary choices were as varied as those who brought them.
Larry, a former California hippie, businessman and musician, usually can be counted on for a thermos of cappuccino, egg salad sandwiches and carrots and celery sticks.
Ross, a MUW biology prof, brings Kind bars (dark chocolate and sea salt) and honey crisp apples.
David, a first-timer from Starkville, a retired MSU IT manager, brought sardines, venison jerky, trail mix and energy bars.
David may have started a new trend with the sardines, a first. Several availed themselves of his offer to share.
Laird, a retired Naval careerist, usually brings grapes and chocolate. On this day he brought a thermos containing a chocolate milkshake.
HD, who is partial to roasted peanuts, usually has a big bag of them.
I bring “turtles,” homemade with dark chocolate and trail mix, and some kind of fruit.
Eventually someone suggests we move on, and we pack up and resume our paddling.
On this particular day, close to perfect in every way, everyone seemed disappointed the take-out appeared as soon as it did.
As we were schlepping our kayaks from the river to the road, a couple riding bicycles appeared on the bridge. Judging by the packs, they were on a long-distance ride. They said they were retirees from New York.
They had been cycling through Alabama, were headed to New Orleans and would be overnighting in a motel in Aliceville.
“What do you do about tornadoes?” the woman asked. Alabama had been raked by tornadoes the previous week.
The National Weather Service recommends finding a tornado shelter — Alabama is dotted with well-marked tornado shelters — or a sturdy building, preferably one with a basement.
The couple pedaled on and we, grateful for what had been an idyllic day, loaded our kayaks and set out for home.
Birney Imes ([email protected]) is the former publisher of The Dispatch.
Birney Imes III is the immediate past publisher of The Dispatch.
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