Paddle With Us

Many people are amazed when we tell them that we use the lock and dam system on the rivers for our canoeing.  Even people who live along the river are surprised to hear that we go through the locks.  Usually it comes in this form:  “They let a little boat like yours through the locks!???” The lock system is supported by our tax dollars and we are all welcome to use it.  We were told that the barges always take first priority if there are recreational boats out as well.  That’s more than fine with me.  I don’t need to fight for a spot with a 15 barge tow!  Once we did have to wait a bit for them to “lock through” a tow because, even though we were using a different chamber, they did not want us approaching the lock when the tow was coming out. 

 The Army Corps of Engineers is most often associated with floods and the mistakes that we like to pin on them.  But I find them truly amazing.  Were I a bit younger and a veteran of the Armed Services, I would apply to work at one of the locks.  We learned a year or two ago that most of the people who work at the locks are veterans so my hopes were a bit dashed. 

But back to the locks.  We were locked through three locks on this trip.  Each time we called ahead to let them know we were approaching.  The big barges use radios to contact the lock masters and we learned from one that we really shouldn’t call them by phone.  However their numbers are published on the navigitional charts so we figured it wasn’t a matter of national security!  What was good about this system was that generally the lock chambers were full and ready for us when we got there because they knew we were coming.  On the Allegheny River, we often had to wait for them to fill the chamber.  This new method got us through much faster.  Since the rivers were higher than usual and there was a lot of debris on the river, the locks themselves held a lot of logs and garbage.  One of the locks could not even be opened because of the debris. 

Each lock and dam is just that:  a dam and a double lock along side of it.  One of the chambers is larger than the other but both are large enough for many barges so our little canoe always felt a bit like a bathtub toy.  While the chamber is filling, the yellow light is blinking (it is red when they are not ready for you).  When the chamber is full, the gates open and the light turns green and a horn sounds to signal it is safe to enter.  We paddle into the chamber and tie up to a floating “pin” on the side of a lock.  I can’t remember the technical term for it but these were new.  Previously we had only tied up manually when the lock master hooked our line and put it over a pole above.

Once tied on, the water is slowly let out of the chamber.  If we were lucky, we would get to talk to one of the guys working the lock.  Sometimes we just sat and waited for the water to lower, the gate to open and the horn to signal it was safe to paddle out.  The experience never ceases to bring me joy.  The concept not to mention the reality of a lock is awesome.  Many of our locks are old and creaky and the guys who work them remind us how out of date they are.  But they are fairly simple mechanisms and so they seem to hold up indefinitely.

On this last trip, we were locked through and the gates opened and we paddled our red canoe out of the huge lock to the amazement of some fishermen along the bank who were undoubtedly expecting a huge barge, not a little red canoe to with two women paddling to New Orleans to appear.  We ended up chatting with two older gentlemen who thought we were kidding when we said we were paddling to the Mississippi.  They believed us by the time we were done…and they wished us well and told us, as so many did on the river, to be safe.

 

Tonight I was remembering a strange thing we saw on the river in May.  We were approaching a lock and dam on our second day out.  This was our first lock of this leg of the trip.  We had just left the small stream upon which we had camped at a lovely private boat club.  I was, as usual, excited to approach the lock.  Locks are one of the most amazing of human accomplishments and it constantly amazed us that our tax dollars create these gigantic chambers big enough for a 15 barge tow and yet welcoming our little red canoe as readily.  Definitely a use of tax dollars that we can feel good about! 

I was also excited to possibly meet “John,” a man with whom I had spoken on the phone several weeks prior about the locks.  We had done all the locks on the Allegheny but this was our first Ohio  River lock and we wanted to make sure the procedure was basically the same for small recreational craft.  It was.  John had expressed excitement in our trip and hoped he would be there when we arrived.  He was!  But locks are for another post.  For now I want to go back to what we saw upon approach to the lock.

My eyes caught some kind of an animal, maybe 1/4 mile downstream from us, thrusting itself out into the water FAST.  It looked like a duck miraculously swimming backwards and fast on a piece of floating driftwood.  I know that doesn’t make sense but the sight truly did not make sense to our eyes.  We watched and wished we had brought binoculars. The animal continued steadily across the river.  Even though the current was strong, the animal stayed a course to the other side.  About halfway across the river, the animal turned slightly and Karen realized first that it was a deer.  The head of the deer, sideways, looked like the duck.  The bit of the back of the deer sticking out of the water looked like the driftwood.  When it turned its head toward us we could see the ears and perhaps small antlers.

Now knowing what it was we were even more amazed that it had appeared to launch itself into the river to swim to the other side.  As usual, we amused ourselves with our typical theories about why it had crossed the river?  Was it looking for greener or tastier grass?  Did it one moment all the sudden think:  Hum, I wonder what is over there?  I guess I’ll go look today.  Maybe hormores were beckoning it to find a mate on the distant shore?  Or perhaps it had slipped into the river and kept swimming.  It was clearly a good swimmer.  It didn’t even appear to be carried downstream as it paddled across.  And how did those skinny legs get it across anyway?  We watched as it made it across in perhaps as little as ten minutes.  It studied the shoreline for a while before it pulled itself out of the water and proceeded on its way.  A brave new world for that deer?  Who knows.  But we marvelled at the experience for hours.

Later that day after we had found another private boat club that allowed us to sleep inside with heat and running water, we sat in the restaurant next door and told the story to one of the staff.  He quickly suggested that the only reason a deer would jump into the river was to get away from something that was a threat to it.  Ah.  Of course.  That made tons of sense.  But just opened up another channel of theorizing:  what scared it?

As Karen and I completed three and one half days on the swollen Ohio River, we pulled the boat out at a public ramp in Powhatan Point, OH, to call Kyle, Karen’s son, to come and pick us up.  He was in Pittsburgh and had about a two hour drive to get to us.  (no comment on the two hour drive vs. the 3 1/2 day paddle!)  We decided to spend some of the time paddling up the small creek where the ramp was.  It was very calm and we paddled under some bridges and trestles (known to us as T-R-E-S-T-L-E-S stemming from a story when John and I first met and couldn’t remember if that word had a T in the middle or not).  The trestles were clearly conveyors of coal cars as some coal had spilled out onto the pylons.  I, of course, had to have some as a souvenir so we paddled up close and I snatched a couple of pieces. 

We had seen many goose families along the river.  This small creek had its own family but this family was a bit different from the ones we had seen.  We could not tell at first what we were seeing but it was not the traditional mom and pop and fuzzy babies.  Mom and pop were there with three or four babes but there was another bird in with them.  We paddled as quietly as we could and as fast as we could to try to catch up with them.  We finally outsmarted them under a bridge where we went on the other side of a pylon, getting a bit ahead of them before we came out from under the bridge.  They, of course, were on to us immediately and turned around but not before we identified the strange bird.  Much larger than the adult Canada geese, the other parent or uncle or aunt, acting as though it was part of the family, nudging the babes and encouraging them to keep us, turned out to be a domestic goose!  It was mostly white with some brown and neither it nor the geese seemed to care that it was “different.”

It was a striking and sweet sight.  Reminiscent of the story of The Ugly Duckling, it did not look like it belonged, and yet it did belong, at least in some sense on the genus/species spectrum.  Where did the goose come from?  Somewhere up river, did it decide to jump ship from it farmyard and join its wild cousins?  Did flood waters scoop it up?  Did someone abandon it?  Who knows.  But what we witnessed, and therefore know, is that goose family represented a greater sense of an inclusive family than many of us humans can understand. 

Stay tuned for a photo.

I made reference in my last post about spending the night on the floor of the cafeteria of the local Catholic Church in Bellaire, OH.  I would like to add more now, several weeks later.  It is always my intention to write more about our canoe trips but life gets in the way once I return home and my dreams of writing a great book about this adventure diminish. 

But that last night on the river is worth a new post.  We pushed a little too far the last day.  Having been forced off the river because of lightening and our promise to our husbands that we would not stay on the river in that kind of a storm, we spent about 90 minutes under a highway bridge over a small creek emptying into the Ohio.  Maybe because we lost some time in that endeavor…though we we able to use the little cook stove to heat water and have tea while we waited it out…we stayed out on the river a little later than we usual planned to.  We were also in the Wheeling area and really didn’t expect to find much in terms of camping opportunities.

That turned out to be the case.  We stopped at a city park where some people were fishing.  They said they thought we could just camp there but there were no port-a-potties or secluded woods to use and there were houses nearby and it just didn’t feel right.  So we let the fairly swiftly moving current take us on down the river a bit where we paddled hard to get to a dock to ask about camping.  Karen slogged in this time to a tobacco store and found little helpful information so we set out again.  Soon we were heading to what appeared on our navigation charts to be a boat club.  Having had success the night before at a private club, we were hopeful.  But our hopes were dashed when we could not find anything resembling a dock or a ramp and we were surrounded by coal barges on both sides of the river and nothing but city and industry as far as our eyes could see.

What our eyes could also see was the approaching dusk AND the approaching lightening.  We had navigational lights to put on the canoe should we have had to paddle at night but the approaching storm precluded that possibility.  We spotted a boat ramp on the other side of the river and gauging that we could likely paddle fast enough to make it before the current swept us past it, we heaved to and paddled like the dickens, wary of the occasion flash on lightening and roll of thunder.

We got to the ramp and pulled up the canoe and chatted with a friendly fisherman who warned us against camping there due to the “druggies.”  Ok.  We didn’t need to worry all night that drug deals would be going on around us so we inquired about options.  Joe was his name and he took us by his car to the gas station so we could use the bathrooms.  From there he asked what we wanted to do.  We asked about local churches and he asked if we were Catholic.  When we said no, he said he’d take us to the Salvation Army which amused us.  The idea that we had to be Catholic to go to that church seemed to be his default.  We declined the Salvation Army and he ended up showing us where ethe Catholic Church was, explaining that all the activity was due to the 8th grade graduation.  We puzzled that he knew this and decided is was likely a small enough town that everyone knew everything.

He took us back to our canoe and left us there to ponder our next steps.  We looked for off the beaten path places to camp near the parking lot.  But between the warning and the rain which had started again AND the lightening, we were duly spooked and decided to take some of our belongings and trudge in our wetsuits back up to the church to see if there were still people around.  To our disappointment, the place was now desserted and the rectory dark.  We decided to ring the doorbell and were pleasantly surprised when a light came on and a young priest emerged.  I (Maggie) spoke first:  “Sorry to bother you so late but we need your help.”  Do you know how hard it is to say those words?  I was surprised to hear them come from my mouth.  I explained our situation…and that I was clergy and Karen a Christian camp director.  I found myself caught in defending our position of need.  Embarrassingly, I found myself explaining that we were well to do and could make a donation to the church.  Why did those words come out of my mouth.    Did I think that perhaps he would take us in more readily if were were not destitute?   Did I have to explain myself?  At the same time the words sounded totally stupid and were frighteningly true. In the world of the homeless, Karen and I might as well be millionaires.  Karen made quite a bit of fun of me later and I made her swear she would never tell anyone what I said.  Now, however, I find myself wanting to write about it because it was all so surreal.  I have camped a lot.  I have travelled and not known what motel or B & B we might find along the road.  But never have I wondered the streets of an unknown town in the dark and rain and not known where or if I would sleep that night.  We could not help but to think about those for whom this is a daily reality.  Those who may not have been offered the church floor.

We were truly homeless that night.  It was 9 pm.  We were wet, cold and hungry.  There were no neon lights directing us to a Motel 6.  There seemed to be nothing there but the church and the town water offices, some closed gas station and some homes.  It was spooky just walking to the church, over the railroad tracks, under a highway overpass.  But to have the priest open the door and look puzzled when seeing the waterlogged middle aged women at his doorstep, was a relief.  I asked if there was somewhere we could set our tent and he graciously offered to let us sleep in the cafeteria under the church.  We left our stuff in the basement after her showed us around and then went back to the canoe to get the rest of our gear. 

Rain and lightening continued and we decided to heed the warnings of another fisherman about the water level and pulled the canoe up further and locked it to a guard rail.  We walked the 1/2 mile or so back to the church with the rest of our gear on our backs.  Once back, we stripped off our wetsuits, made our dehydrated mac and cheese in the church kitchen and got in our sleeping bags on the concrete floor.  At 10:30 pm we were not yet asleep when we heard a key in the door and foot steps.  Calling out that we were down there lest we startle someone, we learned it was the milk man delivering for the school the next day.  He made his delivery and left and locked up.  The priest had also warned us that the custodian would be in at around 6:30 am so we were up by 5:30 and packing when we heard the now familiar sound of the key and the footsteps.  We called out again and a man responded.  As he came around the corner, we recognized the fisherman, Joe, who had shown us the church the night before!  He never told us that he was the custodian!  The priest had called him and told him we were there so he was not surprised.  I think the priest may have been surprised to learn that Joe had met us at the river the night before!

We packed up and returned to the canoe to find that the river had risen a good two feet more in just the last six hours or so.  We were glad we had pulled the canoe up farther on the bank.  The fatigue of the three days of paddling and the uneasiness of the night before had taken its toll.  We looked out at the river, flowing fast with logs and debris…nothing different from the last few days but somehow looking scarier now…and we hesitated for a bit about getting back in the river.  It just felt harder.  But we decided to do it anyway and once in the canoe, the river did not feel scary at all.  We travelled the same speed as the logs, more or less, so they didn’t pose much of a threat.  It was interesting to note that the river looks much scarier from the shore than once on it.  I think that is the case with many things.  They look scary until we just do them.  However, there are certainly times that the fear SHOULD keep us from doing some things.  Fortunately, this was not one of those times.

Thankful for the care we had been given the night before and humbled by our brief but intense encounter with homelessness, we headed out for our last day on the river for this trip.

Seems we had some repetitive responses to our journey on our trip.  Some people kept saying:  You are crazy.  One lockmaster said:  Are you serious?  when Karen called ahead so they would be ready for us, telling him we were two women in a red canoe.  It was raining and gray and he truly couldn’t believe we were asking to be locked through.

Maybe we were crazy to be out on the river in such weather, with above average river levels.  But we felt safe and protected…all the more by the kind people we met along the way.

Special thanks to some anonymous people who didn’t know we were using their campgrounds but we felt sure they would have welcomed us if they did know.

Special thanks to the folks at the Ohio Valley Boat Club for letting us eat lunch in their building…and use their facilities!

Special thanks to The Boathouse (http://www.boathouseohio.com) staff for their welcome and good food…and the use of the clubhouse next door complete with warm showers! If you are ever in Toronto, Ohio, stop by and have a meal!

Special thanks to Father Dan and Custodian Joe (aka the fisherman) of St. John the Evangelist Catholic Church in Bellaire, Ohio, (http://www.bncatholic.org) for the use of their cafeteria floor (hard, but dry and safe) and their kitchen and the candybars that Joe sent us on with.  It is not easy to knock on the doors of a rectory at 9 pm on a rainy night with no place to stay but we did it and were rewarded with hospitality and grace.

We have learned much about hospitality along our journey…and the need to ask for help and graciously accept it without expectation of remuneration.  Sometimes it is more blessed to receive than to give…especially when it is dark and rainy and you don’t know where you will sleep for the night!

We noted that usually we were given these words as we went on our way:  Be safe.  Be careful.  We pondered what it meant to be safe.  We understood it to be a blessing of sort and we appreciated that.  But do we always want to be safe?  Do we think we have to be careful?  What would it sound like for people to bid farewell with these words:  Take a calculated risk!  Take a chance!  Have an adventure!  Hum.