Us old-timers never want for company on solo canoe trips

Taking a break at the Bridge of Dreams after going over the Brinkhaven Dam debris field

I set out on an August weekend for a long-overdue solo canoe trip, determined to avoid humanity as much as possible.

As mentioned in a previous column, when paddling through the Loudonville stretch of the Mohican River, you will not be alone. Especially on summer weekends. After I floated past the last of the Wally Road campgrounds, I was on my own. Just me and the eagles, muskrats, softshell turtles, assorted waterfowl, and hundreds of cedar waxwings.

When it came time to find a campsite, I decided to call on an old friend. We go back a long way. In the ’80s and ’90s I had camped there dozens of times — often with others, occasionally alone.

Sometimes new friends come along and you drift apart from the old ones. The same is true of campsites. I stopped camping at this particular spot probably 25 years ago. Mainly because I found what I deemed to be a more suitable spot a mile or so downstream.

River conditions were perfect for an easy landing. The site was overgrown with understory vegetation but I was able to clear a level spot for my tent. A gravel bar tucked back in off the river served as place to hang out and build a small fire for cooking and ambiance. Riffles upstream and down masked the sounds of humanity, except for the occasional rumble of ATVs in the distance.

After dinner, I settled in with my old friend and the memories began to flow. Along with a few shots of whiskey. Which seems to jog your memories. Or enhance them.

I remembered camping there with my daughter when she was young. She was still sound asleep when I awakened in the morning. I slipped out of the tent and waded to the head of an upstream riffle to catch breakfast.

Within minutes, I landed a few bass — not trophy fish but big enough for the fillets to fill a small skillet. Then I heard my daughter’s frantic cries. She had awakened in an unfamiliar setting to find her daddy gone. I yelled out to her from the head of the riffle. She seemed relieved to hear my voice but was clearly scared — and somewhat annoyed.

A breakfast of fresh fish helped to ease her trauma. Years later she started speaking to me again.

My daughter and I had another adventure on that trip. While paddling near Mohican Wilderness Campground, we noticed a Canada goose that appeared to be caught in a submerged leghold trap. I paddled up to it, lowered my paddle blade to where I thought the trap might be and brought up a huge snapping turtle. It had a death grip on the goose’s leg.

With a little persuading from the edge of my paddle blade, the snapper let go. In retrospect, I felt bad about interfering with the balance of nature. On the other hand, I spared the goose from a painful lingering death. And made a great memory for my young daughter.

After a few more sips of whiskey, I recalled other memories from that campsite — a few of them best not shared in a family newspaper.

I slept soundly that night and broke camp early in the morning while the mist was still dancing on the river. I decided against making a second pot of coffee, knowing there likely would be a cup waiting for me downstream. My friends Bill and Terry DeVan stay at a campground near Brinkhaven. I didn’t mind the prospect of a little company — especially if it involved cup of freshly brewed coffee.

To be continued.

Originally published in the Ashland Times-Gazette.

The sounds of silence – or something like it – echo in the Mohican River Valley

Black Fork of the Mohican River near the historic Greentown Native America Village. Still a beautiful stretch of river.

I’ve restored the original lead, which I deleted in the copy submitted to the newspaper. I didn’t think “boobs and butts” would fly. Also, I restored a paragraph about a railroad tragedy near the put-in point at Coulter. I deleted it from the submitted copy for various reasons. This originally ran as an outdoors column on Aug. 18 in the Ashland Times-Gazette.

So there I was, paddling my canoe on a Friday afternoon, surrounded by raft flotillas, inflated barges laden with overinflated human cargo — boobs, butts and beer guts. I realized then that “solo canoe trip on the Mohican River” was an oxymoron. But you can’t beat it for free entertainment.

I consoled myself that, once I paddled past the canoe livery take-outs, I’d have the river to myself.

I was long overdue for a solo trip. No offense to those I’ve been paddling and camping with lately. Great times and great company to be sure. It’s just that I crave solitude and the prospect of a few days and nights alone on the river.

This trip would take me from Coulter on Black Fork of the Mohican River to Mohawk Dam on the Walhonding. Three days and two nights.

Don’t look for Coulter on the map. It’s one of many ghost towns along the river — ghost towns once occupied by native and non-native Americans. If memory serves, it was once a populated crossroads built around a gas company facility. Perhaps some of my history buff readers can bring me up to speed on this.

My friend Cecil Neighbarger passed along the following news item dated Dec. 13, 1946: “The Pennsylvania Railroad’s Golden Triangle sleeper derails in darkness when it strikes the wreckage of two freight trains which had rear-ended half an hour earlier on an adjacent track. Nineteen killed, 139 injured. Most of the killed are soldiers on leave from Fort Dix, N.J.”

It’s located where Ashland County Road 1075 crosses Black Fork, for those of you following along on your maps. These days, Mohican Adventures uses it as a starting point for one of the canoe trips they offer. Please note this is private property and not public river access.

If you’re looking for a stretch of river away from the raft flotillas, I’d highly recommend this section of Black Fork. It’s a narrow stream, nestled in mature forest, with a nice canopy arcing over the river. A combination of that and the surrounding hills give this part of Black Fork an intimate feel. In the summer, the vegetation muffles the sounds of traffic on Ohio 39.

It’s been a long hot summer, so the cool breeze wafting up the river corridor sure felt good. It’s one of those days you want to take off your shirt — even if your torso is a bit overinflated — and drift lazily down the river.

Not that there was anyone around to see me. I didn’t lay eyes on another soul till I floated into Loudonville. The liveries were putting people on the river, mostly in rafts.

I stopped at the Main Street Bridge, tied off my canoe, and climbed up the bank to the Mickey Mart/Subway. I grabbed an Italian BMT and a tall boy, stowed them in my canoe, and pressed on. Downstream, I stopped at property belonging to friends of mine and enjoyed shore lunch in the shade of a big oak tree.

As the flotillas and kayaks drifted by with radios blaring, it struck me that being on that part of the river was like channel surfing — an audio montage of country, rock, hip-hop and God knows what else. I have to admit that the high point of the afternoon was hearing a few verses of “Sounds of Silence.”

Such tender words and harmony in a cacophony of blaring guitars and anguished voices.

For the record, I do NOT take a radio on canoe trips. Nature’s music is all I care to hear. Someone once asked if they could bring one on a canoe trip I was organizing. My response was, “Only if I can test the radio to see how well it works underwater.”

The music faded after I drifted past the canoe livery take-outs and Wally Road campgrounds. At last, the sounds of silence prevailed. I pressed on to Greer, hoping to enjoy a solo canoe trip — without a crowd.

To be continued.

Indiana sandbar – Ohio River’s answer to the Bermuda Triangle?

EVANSVILLE, IND. — Folks here have been floating a lot of theories about how a camper ended up on a sandbar in the middle of the Ohio River.

Roy Couture reported in the July 22 edition of the Evansville Courier & Press that a U.S. Army Corps of Engineers contractor created the sandbar while dredging the river channel. Which seems to be an annual chore.

“The camper was not there when a crew finished on the river Wednesday evening around 5 p.m., but it was parked on the sandbar by the time crews arrived back to work Thursday morning,” Corps of Engineers spokesperson Abby Korfhage told Couture in an interview.

Couture also mentioned in the article that the incident generated hundreds of comments on the  EvansvilleWatch Facebook page. As of July 31, the post had generated 444 comments and 566 shares.

Some commenters were quick to point a finger at Ollie Page.

In September 2017 Page drove a Chevy S-10 pickup out onto the sandbar. Page claimed he was able to drive on water after replacing the air in his tires with helium. He told a local TV news reporter that he put 110 pounds pressure in the front tires and 90 pounds in the rear. Valuable information for anyone who might want to duplicate his feat. You probably should allow higher pressure for a full-size pickup. Or camper.

Seems that Page might have been blowing a lot of hot air.

According to a post on Ask Zephyr, an online feature presented by Zephyr Solutions, a supplier of helium and other gases: “Helium balloons ‘float’ because the thin shells (whether latex or mylar) that hold the helium are light enough that they don’t disrupt the buoyancy of helium. Tires on the other hand, are crazy heavy.”

A tire filled with helium would sink to the bottom of the river, let alone a whole truck, Zephyr went on to say.

Some commenters cited the TV show Breaking Bad in which the main characters, Walter and Jesse, cooked meth in an RV parked out in the desert.

“Just your local chemistry teacher and their former student cookin‘ up out there,” frequent commenter Derek York posted.

Apparently, the sandbar has a history of attracting pranksters.

“Does anyone remember the grand piano that was left there years ago?” Melinda Decorrevont asked.

Perhaps that was meant to be a twist on the dueling banjos scene in the film “Deliverance.”

Here are a few more choice comments from the EvansvilleWatch Facebook page:

From Sarah Reynolds, “Somebody won that bet.”

In a similar vein, Michael G. Folsom said, “Hold my beer.”

Then there was this from Steve Gregory: “Now I’m worried about that Airbnb reservation I made.”

And one of my favorite comments, from Lacey Hernandez-Mixtega: “Plenty of room for a Dollar General next door!”

In a follow-up article in the Evansville Courier & News dated July 28, Roy Couture reported that the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers had located the owner of the camper. However the Corps spokesperson would not provide a name. Too bad. What a great interview that would have made.

If I were to try to track down the owner without having a name to go on, I’d start with local divorce records.

That just might be the story behind the marooned camper. A couple split up. She got the house; he got the camper. Then he took too long getting it out of her driveway.

This originally was published as one of my weekly outdoors columns in the Ashland Times-Gazette and elsewhere.