Mr. "X"

Day One

After breakfast and coffee at George's house, Steve, George, myself, Bob, Mr. "X", and Mad Max & Little John put in at the Short's bridge. This was Mr. "X"'s first trip down the creek. It was an opportunity for us ignorant red necks to note how a person who has achieved the status of Eagle Scout, Col. in the Air force, holder of two Masters degrees, an airplane flight instructor, a SCUBA diver, a martial arts expert, a Ph.D. in physics and a self-proclaimed guru of all other subject matter, would prepare for such an insignificant outing as a float trip down a no-name creek in Coosa County. Mr. "X" rented a 12-foot aluminum canoe from Redstone Arsenal and brought it down on a rented boat trailer behind his Suburban (tying it on top had never occurred to him). His superior intellect and profound experience told him that an aluminum boat was as good as anything that could be used. After all, he was an Eagle Scout and had been officially qualified in an aluminum boat. We plastic boat yahoos had wasted our money.

Mad Max and Little John were back again with their aluminum boat. This time Mad Max had brought twice as much gear as he had last year. He also was dressed in short pants and sneakers, (I guess he expected to spend most of his time in the water like he did last year).

George and I paddled tandem in his new red Mohawk canoe. Steve and Bob paddled tandem in Steve's green Coleman. As usual, we had to work our way around all the trees that had fallen across the creek. The water level was a little on the low side. Those of us in plastic boats with minimum gear had no problems making our way. George's new Mohawk was so slick that it could be paddled on wet grass. Those in aluminum boats with large, heavy ice chests full of "goodies" soon fell behind. (Loading and unloading a boat every 5 minutes causes delays) 

The fishing was good that morning. George and I caught several fish as did Bob and Steve. I pulled in a Chain Pickerel. He was the meanest and slimiest thing I ever saw. He tried to eat some of the smaller fish in my bucket. I also lost one of the biggest bass I had ever seen in Hatchett Creek. I was fishing with an ultra-light, open face spinning rod with 4 lb. test line and watching as my Beetle Spin slid over a log about 6 feet from our boat. All of a sudden, a giant mouth came out of nowhere and vanished in a wink back to where he came from. My broken line dangled off the end of my rod in loose spirals as I sat, speechless, wondering if I should even say anything to the others. I now know there are monster bass in that creek. Sooner or later, I'm gona catch one.

We ate lunch on the bank just below a small rapid. Mad Max and Little John were soaking wet and looking rather exhausted. Mr. "X" was also losing steam by the time he finally showed up for lunch. One of the reasons Mr. "X" was lagging so far behind was because he never stopped eating since breakfast. Between stuffing 18" long submarine sandwiches with one hand and dragging his boat with the other, it's a miracle he even showed up at all. I thought surely he couldn't eat more food when he pulled some fried chicken out and began gnawing on it. He finished by washing it all down with 2 liters of Coke. If he is a "martial arts" expert, it must be in Sumo wrestling. He was pushing 300 pounds and that was when he was dry! His canoe was grossed out just by the weight of his "survival gear" (food, drinks, food, guns & ammo, food, and food). When his lard butt was squeezed into the canoe, the gunwales were almost awash.

The next time we all converged at the same point was at the old dam. Steve & Bob, Mad Max & Little John, and Mr. "X" went to the left side. George and I went to the right. Mad Max and Mr. "X" had to unload all of their "stuff" to portage around the dam and down the rock bluff to the creek. Mad Max forgot what poison ivy looked like and waded in it with his shorts on the whole time he was on the bank. Mr. "X" was the last one to get in the water. Everyone else had already fished and started down creek by the time Mr. "X" got his stuff straightened out. Mr. “X” was holding no one up. No matter what anyone told this guy, he only held the advice in contempt. How could we possibly know anything! We were just a bunch of chicken catchers from Coosa County.

Steve, Bob, George and I arrived at Steve's cabin at around 3:00 that afternoon. Between the four of us we had a nice mess of all kinds of fish. Steve and I began cleaning the fish underneath the power lines that span the creek near the cabin. After we finished cleaning the last fish, we heard Mad Max and Little John scraping and fussing as they came walking down the creek with their boat in tow. Mad Max had a grave look on his face, what you could see of it through the sweat streaming down. He was gasping out words that sounded like, "I can't go any further. I'm not doing this ever again. I ruptured myself back there and poison ivy is eating me alive." I ask him if he had any fish, but all I got in return was a blank stare. But then the light came back on in his eyes when he heard Bob's van crank up and start up the road. He sprang out of the creek, leaving his son in the boat, and sprinted like a wild man through briers and brush to intercept the departing vehicle. George and Bob were going back to town to pick up the fish fryer and other things. Mad Max jumped into the van, wet, and muddy and with the disposition of panic-stricken cat. Bob verbally threw him out and told him if he was going to ride in the van he was at least going to wipe his shoes off and sit on a towel. They left and Mad Max returned with his car and his father, Mad Max Sr., to load up the stuff that belonged to them.

Mr. "X" finally showed up an hour or so after Mad Max & Little John. I can't remember seeing Mr. "X" actually in his boat. He was pulling it this time when he rounded the bend. Surely a man with his credentials knew what a canoe was for, but then men of his stripe tend to "redefine" traditional roles and blaze new trails. After all, he considered himself a "pioneer".

Mr. "X" wanted to know, "How far are we going tomorrow?" We told him that it was half again as far as today's trip and somewhat rougher. We told him he needed to lighten up his load and try to paddle fast in the eddies to make up time. For a moment I thought I detected a defeated look in his eyes, but he soon snapped out of it after he started eating again. We asked if he had any fish to clean and he said, "No, they weren't biting today, anyway, this wasn't a good creek to fish in". Mr. "X" sure enjoyed eating the fish that night. Even everybody else got a little taste.

Later that evening, George and Bob set out a trout line and set hooks in the eddy in front of cabin. They tried to paddle away from bank and couldn't figure out why it was so difficult until they realized that they were still tied to the bank. They sure stretched the old bowline though.

Mad Max's Father came to the campsite to pick up Mad Max & Little John's gear. He was standing on a steep slope next to the creek bank when he lost his balance and fell face first down the bank. To make matters worse, he had his hands in his pockets and couldn't catch himself. He was lucky in that all he got was a couple of cuts and scrapes. Mad Max, Sr. was in his 80's then, but he could still load Little Mad Max's canoe onto his car by himself. Even with all the scrapes and cuts, he packed up all of Little Mad Max's gear and drove him home.

Bob departed that evening to take care of a prior commitment and wished us all good luck with the rest of our trip.

Bill drove up with a friend, Jimmy Bond, a surgeon from Montgomery. Bill brought the borrowed Wenonah canoe and Jimmy had his Kevlar Old Town canoe. Dick and his stepson Geoffrey arrived and were going down Hatchett Creek for the first time. They would be paddling the aluminum Grumman boat tandem. George cooked the fish we caught, and everybody got plenty to eat. We loafed around the cook shed until late that night talking about politics and the amazing fact that the AIDs virus was being treated with politics rather than sound medical practices.

Day Two

Morning broke with a light fog and a low, thick cloud cover that promised rain at any moment. Everyone except Steve and myself shoved off around 7:00 AM. Bill loaded his canoe on the creek bank and launched it by shoving it down the steep slope. The entry angle was so steep that the loaded canoe dove deep into the water and came up half filled with water. It took him a while to bail out his boat. There is nothing like starting a canoe trip by first sinking your boat. Mr. "X" was the last to leave. Mr. "X" is painfully slow by nature, but no one really cared when he got off. Since the creek flows in only one direction, it doesn't take a "Rocket Scientists" to figure out how to get from point A to point B. However, by the way Mr. "X" had loaded his little aluminum boat with food and drink enough to feed an army, he was going to have a capital day getting to point B. Steve had left that morning before sun up to mow the greens at Hatchett Creek Golf Course. Since he would be canoeing for two more days, he had to take care of that chore today. I stayed back until Steve returned, which was about 8:30 AM then pointed my boat down creek for the second day’s journey.

I caught up with Mr. "X" about 30 minutes later. He had an hour and a half lead on me but only managed to make it to US-280 Bridge during that time. With one hand, Mr. "X" was pulling his little canoe over some rocks in some shoals under the bridge and trying to cast his spinning real with the other hand.

Rain started to fall at a steady pace and looked to be set in for the rest of the day. Dr. Bond was reeling in a bass and having an easy time of it by the looks of his dry clothes and confident manner in which he handled his boat. I slowed down my pace so that I could see Mr. "X" whenever he rounded a bend in the creek behind me. I don't recall ever seeing him in his boat. Most of the time he was stumbling over rocks and jerking his canoe along behind him. The rain was coming down harder, but no lightning was striking.

I got tired of watching for Mr. "X" and decided to pick up the pace since this was an all-day trip and the water level was a little on the low side. I had a cheap plastic poncho that kept me dry during the rainstorms.

At times it rained rather hard and my boat required some bailing. Most of the day I paddled alone. Everyone else was somewhere ahead of me and the other three were behind me. I knew that Steve would be catching Mr. "X" and Dr. Bond and remind them how far we had to go. I ate lunch on a sliver of rock about an hour above the halfway point. Steve paddled up about the time I finished choking down my peanut butter and Bar-B-Q bread sandwich. He said he saw Mr. "X" dragging his canoe through some shoals way back there. Dr. Bond was not far behind and was making good enough time. We smiled at the thought of Mr. "X" and his situation. No one had advised him on how to prepare for this trip and he never asked anyone. Everything he was experiencing was of his own device, after all, he was over qualified to be on this trip anyway.

Steve, Jimmy and I pulled up on some large boulders on the left side of the creek just above one of the more challenging rapids. We waited for the "Great White Warrior" to appear with his Silver Bullet in tow and remind him that if he didn't pick up his pace he would be sleeping alone with the ticks in a muddy camp. After we burned a couple of cigars, Mr. "X" came creeping around the bend. This was the first time I saw him actually inside his boat. We told him where he was and what to do. He just laughed and said, "You can't fool me". We also laughed and said, "Who's fooling?" Mr. "X" had no idea where he was nor where he was going. One would think with all of his outdoors experience and survival training, he would be leading the expedition with impressive competence. However, there was nothing impressive or competent being demonstrated by this clown. In fact, an impressive display of complete incompetence was being paraded. Mr. "X" was a shining jewel of colossal ignorance. What made it so sad was the fact that he was supposed to know better.

It was about 3:00 PM when we last saw Mr. "X" and informed him of his position. Dr. Bond made good time to the campsite where everyone else had been since about 3:30. I lagged behind as long as I could until the sun set. Steve pulled up at dark and said Mr. "X" was somewhere way up the creek. Bill cussed Mr. "X"'s situation and the grim look on George's face was not for Mr. "X", but rather having to break the news Mrs. "X" that her husband didn't make it. I just couldn't bring myself to feeling sorry for Mr. "X". This was not the first time he pulled an irresponsible stunt at someone else's emotional expense. He deserved whatever hardship he had made for himself. I couldn't wait to see how he was going to blame everyone else for his misfortune if he was able. Steve and I laughed ourselves to sleep. At one point I thought I was going to throw up I was laughing so hard. Neither one of us had to talk about it; it was a mutual understanding of things that evolves between two friends after years of knowing one another.

Day Three

The rain held off all night, but morning brought with it angry black clouds and an eerie calm that had everyone on the edge of anticipation. I headed up the creek bank to take care of things that must be taken care of every morning. I heard the clang-bang that aluminum makes on rocks. Why it was Mr. "X" making his way in the dim morning light. I hollered at him from the bank and he almost dropped his paddle. The circles under his eyes told the story of the night he had had. None of his camping gear had been unpacked either. I can only imagine what his camp must have looked like. Mr. "X" washed up at the camp sight and staggered in expecting a hero’s welcome. He was offered some food but said his stomach wouldn't tolerate it. Other than that, few words were spoken except those of Mr. "X"'s feeble attempt to explain himself.

Mr. "X" departed the camp first. He was told that someone would be at the US-231 Bridge this morning to pick up anyone who wanted to call it quits. I have never seen Mr. "X" as anxious to get somewhere, as he was this day. He stayed a half-mile ahead of us in anticipation of being the first one to be rescued. His spirit was magically rejuvenated.

As soon as the last boat left the camp site the rain started, and it progressively got harder until all features of the creek were erased by the splattering mist caused by the down pour. Mr. "X" still had to drag his boat most of the way. Everyone else picked their way in the silent convoy of different colored canoes. This time the lightning was not holding back. In fact, we must have been directly under a cloud burst by the way it was raining and lightning. I had a waterproof Kodak Weekender disposable camera and tried to snap a few pictures, but it must have been too dark for it to work. Lightning would just materialize directly over our heads accompanied with deafening thunder that shook the fillings in your teeth. I could see everyone instinctively hunch their shoulders as if on command whenever lightning would strike.

Steve paddled up to the US-231 Bridge to find Mr. "X" eagerly searching for an easy escape from the living nightmare he was engaged in. The super slick mud bank that makes getting out at US-231 something not to look forward to was even slicker than ever now. Not only was it slick but there was a roaring waterfall consuming what was left of it. Mr. "X" asked Steve, "How are we supposed to get out of this place?" When Steve jerked his head toward the bank, Mr. "X" admitted defeat.

Everyone but Steve, Jimmy and I decided get out. About all we could do was keep our boats under the bridge so that rain didn't fill them up and watch the efforts of our departing companions fight the impossible task of carrying canoes and gear up the mud bank and then on up the hill to the awaiting Suburban. Lightning never slacked up and neither did the rain during the take out operation. I can't remember who, but someone was pulling on a canoe bowline in an attempt to haul the boat up the mud bank. His feet flew out from under him and both he and the canoe went back in Hatchett Creek.

It took a while but finally everyone was out and still in one piece. I later heard that Mr. "X" was seen French kissing the doormat as soon as he got home.

Steve, Jimmy and I departed from the bridge and headed toward the old dam. It had slacked up raining some and the lightning was moving away. There must have been some tornadic activity passing over us to have delivered such a violent downpour and gale force winds. The creek didn't show any signs of rising even after all of the rain we had yesterday. It has to rain in Clay Co. before the water level is affected significantly. The rain came and went for the better part of the day. The sun even came out at times making us think the bad weather was leaving. Jimmy Bond handled his boat and himself like he had made this trip a thousand times. Never once did he complain or seem unprepared to cope with whatever situation came up.

Being a surgeon, he had several stories he shared with us about strange things that people did to themselves. One man shot himself with a 30-30 while hunting in a deer stand. He dropped his rifle butt first from the stand. It went off and fired the bullet directly up his rectum where it proceeded to make mush out of his intestines. Jimmy said that it took them forever to figure out where the bullet entered because there was no sign of an entry wound. The man lived but he lived with a colostomy bag. Another incident he claimed to have encountered was when a portly black woman came in complaining about a pain in her "ma-jina". After performing a gynecological examination, Dr. Bond retrieved the remains of a couple of $20.00 bills that she had apparently misplaced some time ago. This sort of thing makes doctors jobs worth whatever they want to charge for their services.

We continued down creek with no problems. The scenery was as refreshing as always and every once and a while an Osprey would fly from tree to tree ahead of us as he kept check on our progress. The falls just above the old condemned steel bridge were flowing fast as the creek had swelled about an inch due to the rain. Steve and I managed to go over them with no difficulty. Jimmy was headed right but for some reason he flipped over the minute he started over. We helped him out and retrieved what gear floated away with the exception of his rod-n-real. Jimmy was wearing a GORTEX suit and he soon dried out. I was certainly impressed with the performance of the GORTEX suit and set my sights on getting one as soon as I could scrape up the money 

We paddled up to Kelly's Crossroad exactly at the time we said we would. George was standing on the bank looking up creek as we came down the home stretch. The sky was gathering up for another blow, so we didn't fool around loading our boats onto the trailer. As soon as we pulled onto the highway the bottom fell out and thunder and lightning played a hideous symphony as wind smote the trees until they touched the ground. The radio in the Suburban said that a tornado was spotted at Kelly's Crossroad. None of us were surprised to hear this since lightning streaked across the sky from horizon to horizon splitting into forked veins that filled the sky. The clouds were an electric green and boiling past patches of clear blue sky. We were glad to be on our way home but would be back again soon.

G. Sanders, April 1991