Beth and I went kayaking Wednesday afternoon. We launched at DeWayne Hayes Park out near Columbus Air Force Base. It’s lovely out there. Two weeks earlier, three friends and I explored the area in kayaks, so I wasn’t unfamiliar with that part of the river. Or, so I thought.

Both times it was late afternoon, and both times we were the only ones on that stretch of river. The water on a calm day looks like mercury; add a paddler to the scene and you’ve got a page in a Sierra Club calendar. It’s like you’ve slipped through a portal to another reality.

There are bald cypress, water oak, persimmon and even wild magnolia. Lily pads, water lilies, cattails, trumpet creeper, bamboo and elephant ear …

As it does at Columbus, the Tombigbee has an elbow at DeWayne Hayes. And, as they did in Columbus, the builders of the Waterway took that bend out, creating an island.

For kayakers, canoeists and fisherman, this is wonderful. The island across from DeWayne Hayes, little more than a mile long and between a quarter- and a half-mile wide, contains a lake, lagoons, inlets, all of which are connected by narrow passageways.

We got a late start, between 6:30 and 7. We set out for the island and the passageway to the lake within. To get to the lake from the river, you paddle about 200 feet through an alleyway narrow enough were there a gator on the bank, you could tap him with your paddle.

The kayaks are so unobtrusive, it’s not uncommon to startle fish, big fish; in their haste to flee, they startle the paddler.

We explored the lake and scared more fish and birds. Rather than go out the way we came in, we took a dark, half-hidden passageway I figured would dead end or lead to the other side of the island. It emptied into a lagoon. While waiting on Beth to catch up, I watched a motionless deer watch me. Did he live here on this island, or was he passing through like us?

It was getting dark. Rather than turn back, we paddled on; this is the stuff adventures are made of, right? Eventually, we emerged into the channel. Now all we had to do is circle the island, and we would be back at DeWayne Hayes.

Had I spent more time with Google Earth, I would have known we could have gone left and been back in 15 minutes. Going right meant a much longer trip. We took the road less traveled.

At the southern tip of the island, we were both confused by the sight of a high-rise bridge. Where did that come from? We turned up river away from the bridge and paddled on. We passed vultures roosting on the tops of whitened dead trees. No kidding. The night was moonless; the shadowed shoreline had gone black.

As I paddled, I remembered afternoons as a teenager with friends in ski boats roaring up and down the river. This was so different, more meditative, nicer … even if we were lost.

Finally, off in the distance we saw a light, two lights. Camp houses probably.

Though I felt if we kept paddling we would eventually return to DeWayne Hayes, reassurance would be nice. Beth said later she had figured out she was going to sleep in her kayak.

“Anybody home,” I yelled to the lighted camp. A voice came back.

“DeWayne Hayes is this way, right?” I yelled.

“DeWayne Hayes that way,” a woman with a heavily accented voice yelled. Was she repeating my question or giving directions?

“We’re headed toward DeWayne Hayes?” I yelled, making sure my boat was pointed the way I thought home.

“Yeah.”

“What kind of accent is that,” I yelled.

“Korean,” she yelled back.

We thanked her and continued on. With that bit of certainty, our trip assumed a different tenor. I was both relieved and a bit disappointed.

Birney Imes is the publisher of The Dispatch. Email him at [email protected].

Birney Imes III is the immediate past publisher of The Dispatch.

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