A Day to Forget

It was September of 1988 when Meg, Stephen and I drove to Goodwater for the Labor Day weekend. Saturday came with some time to burn so Steve and I decided to take his Coleman down Socapatoy Creek. This was a spur-of-the moment decision, so we grabbed a cooler and some paddles, ferried Steve's Blazer to US-231 and got Steve Jr. to take us to the put in spot on US-280. It has been my experience that spur-of-the moment trips, for the most part, usually turn out surprisingly good.

This was a half-day trip and since we had never gone down this creek before there would be new territory to explore. We put in at a place off of US-280 where Baker Creek, a tributary to Socapatoy Creek, was about 12 feet wide. Trees were lying across the water, stretching from one bank to the other, for as far as we could see. The sky was overcast but rain was not expected.

We got wet right off the bat at the first tree crossing we came to. After what seemed like an hour of hauling the boat over blow downs, I turned around and could still see the highway where we started. This was going to be a long day if the creek didn't improve, and fast!

After about a mile or so of progress, we dragged up to Dot Wall's place. Passing under an old bridge, we came to a waterfall that sloped enough to go down in the canoe. The falls ran through the back yard of a barn that had been converted into a house. I could see the silhouette of a woman standing in what was most likely to be the kitchen window. About this time Steve and I shoved the green canoe over the falls. Steve was in the front and I was paddling in the rear. The boat shot down the steep slope of the falls on the one inch of water that covered the green moss and smooth rock. There was no steering the boat under these conditions, so it slammed into a boulder at the bottom of the waterfall. The second collision occurred when I slammed into the thwart and vertical brace of the canoe. My paddle flew out of my hands and probably hit Steve in the back. The canoe rammed into the boulder with such force that the back end came up and swung around to the right. I rolled out into the shallow water and could not straighten up for a while. The woman's silhouette was still in the kitchen window, but I pretended not to notice. There was a large dent about the size of a cannon ball in the nose of Steve's canoe. I imagine the woman in the window was doing the dinner dishes when, looking up, saw this green canoe with these two guys in it slide down the waterfall and smash into a rock at the bottom. While she blinked the two guys made a hasty effort to gather themselves and hobble off out of sight. At that moment she probably thought to herself, "If you live long enough, there's nothing you want see."

This event set the mood for the rest of the trip. There were a few times when we could actually get in the canoe and paddle it. Most of the time we were dragging it over sandbars and inch deep shoals. Socapatoy Creek is not as pretty as Hatchett, at least what we had seen of it so far.

We knew that Devil's Canyon was somewhere downstream but had no idea how far. Devil's Canyon was probably one of the prettiest places in Coosa County. The creek grade falls rapidly through granite boulders at the bottom of a deep hollow whose banks are steep and covered (used to be) with long leaf pines.

Meanwhile, we finally reached a stretch of water where we could paddle the boat. A big poplar tree had fallen from the bank and the only way around it was through a 5-foot space between the end of the tree and the bank. We started heading that way when there he was! As many times as I have been on the creeks in Coosa County I had never seen a Cotton Mouth. He was swimming in the gap where we wanted to go and looked like he was daring us to challenge him for the space. He puffed his body up like a balloon and floated right on top of the water. We didn't have a pistol, so we just stopped and waited for him to do whatever he wanted to do. Soon he turned abruptly and headed under the bank. We slipped on by careful not to turn over. The next time I had to climb out of the canoe to slide it over a half-submerged log, I thought about that Cotton Mouth. We didn't see any more snakes but I'm sure they were there. You apparently have to work really hard to get bitten by a snake, or be extremely unlucky.

Socapatoy Creek so far was just a shallow, slack waterway that twisted and turned through flat land with little features. Hardwood trees grew on both sides of the creek, but the banks are black, muddy, clay walls about 8 feet high and smelled like swamp gas. Being hot and in September didn't add to the appeal either. There was one place where a small stream ran into Socapatoy from the left. It spilled over black shiny rocks flanked by green ferns and mosses. Giant hardwoods provided a solid canopy over the entire area and made it seem later in the day than it really was. This was one place worth remembering and possibly returning to later.

We dragged our boat forever over impossible terrain. One step would be in 2-inch deep water and the next step would be in water over your head. Our shins were being tortured only a little more than the rest of our body. We finally arrived at the County Bridge where the Ridge Road crosses Socapatoy. I thought Devil's Canyon would be just around the bend from there, which meant that Hatchett Creek would be next which meant US-231 would be next which meant the canoe trip from Hell would finally end. We kept on stumbling, falling, cursing and dragging around bent after bend, but no Devil's Canyon. I was beginning to wonder if we would make Hatchett before dark when a familiar rock formation appeared. Devil's Canyon at last!!

Devil's Canyon is in stark contrast to the upper part of Socapatoy Creek. Giant granite boulders are strewn at random causing the water to make torturous changes in direction while making its way to the bottom of the grade. Steep rocky cliffs and pine-covered slopes flank the creek bed making this a unique place along an otherwise boring creek.

I never knew why people called it Devil's Canyon unless devilish things happen there. This may be true. Several years ago, Steve and I drove down the miles of dirt road that took us there to go fishing and wading in the creek. I brought along my three-legged German Sheppard named Major II. Upon arriving we discovered that someone else had beaten us to the spot. Bobby Sims and his wife had T-bone steaks cooking on a grill and a watermelon in the cooling in the creek. I'm sure they thought they were in a secluded place and that there would be no chance of anyone disturbing them........at least that's what Bobby probably told his wife. Their Blazer was parked in an impossible spot, down the creek and out of view from the road. We had no idea they were there until we hiked down the creek bank and happened upon them. They were out in the creek swimming as we hurried through apologetically on our way to the fishing hole. Major II didn't break stride when he swept one of the T-bones steaks off the grill, leaped up into the back end of Bobby's open Blazer, and clawed his way to the front floorboard. He practically swallowed the steak whole before I could get to him. This all happened in a blink of the eye. There wasn't much consolation I could offer Bobby. Money would not replace the steak that far into the woods and an apology only goes so far. They pretended it wasn't any big deal and they were more understanding than I would have been under the same circumstances. However, it wasn't soon after that Bobby and his wife got a divorce. I figured that must have been her steak that Major II ate that day.

We dragged our green canoe over boulders and down winding waterfalls and into deep pools of water, where imagination could conger up nests of cottonmouths just out of sight in the yellow green water. We made our way past a large sandbar where Steve, Bill Sanders, Jr. and I had spent Spring Break in 1976. Jack's Creek runs into Socapatoy Creek at this point. Socapatoy Creek then runs into Hatchett Creek a few hundred yards later. I thought the going would get easier once we reached Hatchett, but it turned out to be dryer that Socapatoy. Mrs. LeBron's house sat on the rock bluff across the creek from where Socapatoy spills into Hatchett. We drifted slowly down to US-231 Bridge where Steve's Blazer waited. It was almost dark when the last rope was tied to secure the canoe. We had had our fill of Socapatoy Creek that day. I wouldn't recommend that trip to anyone unless they were begging for a day of punishment.

 

G. Sanders, Sept. 1988

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Biography of Hatchett Creek

By John B. Scott Jr. The headwaters of Hatchett Creek rise in the Talladega mountains and the creek officially begins where its east and west forks come together near Bull’s Gap in Clay County. Steadily gaining strength from innumerable springs and branches, the creek then flows southwesterly for approximately forty miles through Clay and Coosa Counties before emptying into the backwaters of Lake Mitchell. During its course, Hatchett falls over 400 feet in elevation and is laced with numerous stretches of white water as it flows over rocky shoals and ledges of granite. For much of the way the creek is hemmed in with steep hills, heavily forested with second growth hardwood and pine. For long stretches, the roar of rapids and the unbroken walls of green, give to Hatchett a wilderness character unique among Alabama’s waterways. Hatchett has not always been so detached from man’s ordinary, workday endeavors. When the earliest settlers moved into the area in the 1830’s they i...
Read more

Stephen's Trip

Day One This year was special because I was taking my son Stephen with me for the first time. We would paddle the usual stretch from Short’s bridge to Uncle Joe’s Cat Den and spend the night. The fact that Stephen was going added an extra element of excitement. I remember when my Daddy would take me on camping or hunting trips and how excited I was. I remember anticipating the trip days before we started and thinking that the day would never get here when we would leave. Well, the day was here, and Stephen was ready. He was about to turn 6 years old and was a fair swimmer. We ate the traditional breakfast feast at "Pa Pa’s" house and drove to the put in. Stephen and I were in my old red Coleman, George was in his new blue 119 Old Town, Bob was in his green Coleman, Steve was in his green Coleman, Bill was in his new Blue Hole, Charlie was in his brand new green Mohawk, and Dick was in George's red Mohawk. Charlie and Bill were childhood friends. They used to spend ...
Read more

2001: William's Creek Odyssey

Day One   The flow rate gauge at King’s Bridge was showing just less than 700 CFS on 29 March 2001. Rain was expected during the night and we hoped for an 800 to 900 CFS to begin our 2001 canoe camping trip. On Friday morning the flow rate was a perfect 800 CFS as we loaded our boats at the Cat Den. Steve and I were paddling the green Coleman canoes and Stephen was in his red kayak.   William road in the front of my canoe and was taking his first two-day trip down to the Coosa River.   I was carrying enough gear for three people in my boat. This amounted to about 80 pounds of stuff in addition to William’s 65 pounds.   The Coleman handled sluggish, but the creek was deep enough to provide an easy ride.   The sky was overcast, and the temperature was in the 50s. Meg made a few last-minute photos and handed me the camera as we pushed away from the bank and let the current take us down stream. We waved good-bye to George and Meg and rounded the bend be...
Read more