Come Hell and High Water

Day One

After the February trip down Hatchett Creek, Bill decided that he would bring along some full-time help. Andrew is Bill's youngest of three sons. He would be paddling tandem with Bill for the duration of this trip. Stephen and I spent the night with George and were up early the next morning for coffee, sausage and biscuits. Meg and William drove down about 7:00 AM and helped ferry some of us and our gear to the Short's Bridge. This year the county was replacing the old bridge, so we put in on this side of the creek. It was actually a better put in place than the one on the other side of the creek. Stephen and I were in Bob Willis's green Coleman, George and Dick were in Dick's new red Coleman, Steve C. & Charlie C. were in their green Mohawk, Steve G. was in his green Coleman, and Bill and Andrew were in their Blue Hole.

A few pictures were made, and we were all off on the first leg of our annual 3-day canoe camping trip. The weather was perfect. Crystal clear sky and cool brisk air stayed with us until mid-morning. I managed to catch four nice bass within the first hour. For some reason, no one else was having any luck, but that would change. Stephen was able to do some useful paddling this year. He seemed more interested in paddling than fishing, although he did fish from time to time. Bill and Andrew could be heard settling in as to who was going to be in command of the canoe. Andrew was paddling and Bill was in the front fishing. The fish were biting slow this year and you had to work hard to get a bite.

We pulled up under the shade to talk and if Steve C. and Charlie hadn't commented about how cold the water was I wouldn't have noticed that they were soaking wet from head to toe. They got alongside a fallen tree with their boat and the inevitable happened.

After we shoved off we noticed a deer swimming in the water ahead of us. Its ears swiveling on top of its head was all that could be seen. It crawled over a submerged log, back into deeper water, then silently crept up the bank and vanished into the woods. A dog could be heard barking back up the creek; confused over the sudden end of the trail he was following.

By lunch everyone had caught a couple of fish and I filleted them on my paddle and put them in my ice chest for the rest of the trip. Lunch was eaten on a large sandbar on the inside bend of the creek. An island stood in the elbow of the creek just before a series of shoals rounded the bend. There was evidence of another group of paddlers who had stopped at this sandbar not too long ago. There were drink cans and meat stick cans heaped in a pile on the sandbar. Someone said that Mad Max had taken a troop of Boy Scouts down Hatchett a week or two ago and this must have been the remains of their lunch.

The temperature climbed into the 70's towards midafternoon as we paddled the endless eddy that ended at the old dam. We all ferried out boats around the right side (except Steve G., who goes over the left side).

Steve Cornelius sliced open the end of one of his fingers using Andrews skinning knife to fillet his fish. Andrews's knife had an unusual beveled backside that he failed to warn Steve C. about.

We made a few more pictures and departed after catching only one fish. Stephen's arms were turning red from sunburn and I had nothing available to relieve it. We all eased our way down the creek and were glad the water was up enough to miss most of the rocks. We paddled past Cat Den and under the old Sylacauga Bridge. 100 yards above Steve's cabin, Steve C. and Charlie turned over after getting cross ways on a rock. They were getting back into their boat when Stephen and I came up. No one was hurt but Charlie lost his pills he was carrying in his shirt pocket.

We all pulled up at Steve's cabin and loaded our gear into his jeep and trailer for hauling up the steep hill. George and Dick had already brought the gas cooker and pan down the day before. Charlie brought some frozen cat fish to add to our dozen or so fish we had caught. Steve C, Dick, Steve G. and I cleaned the fish while Andrew peeled and cut potatoes for French-fries. Bill and Charlie found the chairs and swing on the porch after changing into dry clothes. George was getting ready to fry fish, hush puppies and French fries. A crowd of folks were coming to feast and they would bring with them slaw, drinks and desserts.

Meg, William, Martha, Steve Jr., Mary and Bob & Gwen Willis, drove up at about dusk, we all ate until we were over full and then some. Martha, Meg Stephen and little William ate on the porch and most everyone else ate under the shed where the cooking was being done. William was not feeling well. He came down with strep throat on our way down to Goodwater, Bill had written him a prescription for antibiotics and Meg had filled that day.

Day Two

Stephen and I pitched our tent in a corner of the porch on Steve's cabin. Lightning woke us both at about 4:30 AM. Stephen wanted to go inside the cabin. The storm was still a ways away but the timing between lightning flashes and thunder crashes was getting closer together.

It wasn't long before everyone began to stir and realize that the weather was taking a turn for the worst. Rain began to fall on the tin roof at an increasing rate. The feeling was: OK, it's raining; this sort of thing can be expected in the springtime. We'll just let the storm pass and shove off as soon as the sun comes out.

Breakfast was cooked with all the modern conveniences. Bill cooked some deer sausage that attracted some rather crude comments as to its looks and contents. Steve G. scrambled more than a dozen eggs and had two coffeepots perking.

The rain didn't slack off; instead, it came down harder. The day was dawning dark and the creek was showing signs of stain, which indicated heavy rain falling in the headwater region in the Talladega Mountains. We all sat on the porch and looked from our watches, to the creek, and up to the angry sky. Time was slipping away. Lightning was striking close by and the resulting thunder caused the tin roof to vibrate in addition the pounding it was taking from the torrential rainstorm.

Three canoes were in the creek and tied to the bank. There was concern that they would sink from the heavy rain and be swept away by the rising water. Andrew was half way to the creek before anyone knew he had left. Lightning was striking closer than ever and the rain was coming down in buckets. Bill called for Andrew to come back but his words were swallowed up in the roar of rainfall, so he put on his rain gear and went to get Andrew. Steve G. saw Bill and Andrew jerking on canoe ropes and ran down to the creek to help since his boat was one of the ones in the water. No sooner had they got back to the cabin, the rain stopped and the storm passed.

Meg and I had arranged earlier for her to meet us at the highway gate at 8:00 that morning to pick up Stephen. Steve G's jeep was the only transportation we had but the top wasn't on it. By now Andrew and Bill had decided to abort the trip and ride out while they had a chance. It was well after 8:00 AM when the weather permitted us drive out. We rode out to the highway and saw tracks where Meg had pulled in, gotten out to check the gate and turned around and left. We decided to drive into town and get Bill's truck and bring it back for them to leave in. As Steve G. and I drove to Goodwater, we passed several little streams that were running red and swelling out of their banks. The sky was thick with turbulent clouds and a light mist was still falling. Since the jeep didn't have a top on it, we wasted no time.

I drove Bill's truck back to the cabin where everyone else was having doubts about continuing the trip. The creek was rising and leaves, sticks and other debris began to appear in the mainstream current. Steve G. and I had paddled in swollen water before but not when the creek was rising. We gambled on the weather system blowing its self out before lunch and the fast water giving us a fast ride to our second night camp spot. We knew that one more line of thunderstorms was forecast to move in about midday, but "a chance" of clearing may follow.

Steve, Dick and I decided we would go and gamble on the weather not getting any worse. Typical spring thunderstorms usually blow themselves out after a while, but this turned out to be no typical spring thunderstorm.

It was not raining when we left but the sky was threatening to burst open at any moment. We shoved off at approximately 10:30 AM on 15 April 1994. It only took 10 minutes to get to the US-280 Bridge. Normally this would take at least 30 minutes. Sticks, logs, leaves, lumber, basketballs, and anything that could float competed with our canoes for a position in the main stream current. Muddy water was churning in what was usually calm water. The first set of real shoals, below the bridge, turned out to be real rapids. The difficulty of navigating heavy boats in fast moving, turbulent water made an immediate impression on us all. What were once interesting shoals that snaked around rocks and over shallows, were now transformed into a violent, roaring torrid that boiled over rocks that were now hidden deep below the turmoil. Trees and brush whipped wildly on the banks as the rising waters slowly but surely claimed more territory. Paddling our boats took every ounce of strength and concentration we could muster. The main concern was keeping our canoes pointed into the waves and not let our speed relative to the water get too low for effective steering. This task was made even more difficult since the standing waves and breakers were not occurring in a uniform or predictable fashion. They would break in every direction causing the paddler to perform endless maneuvers to keep from being swamped. The ride was extremely rough with water spraying over the bow and being driven hard by the wind. My canoe yawed, pitched, rolled and groped in the muddy chaos.

After fighting through a series of rapids, we all had to stop and bail out our boats and catch our breaths. Maximum effort was expended to keep afloat. Steve G. was getting cramps in his chest and stopped under an overhanging tree where he gobbled down bananas like sacrificial offerings. We tried to skirt the worst rapids but found it hard to escape from the mainstream current.

We made it to Bill Man's cabin at approximately noon where lunch was eaten, and a needed rest was taken. The sky was gathering its self for another outburst of lightning, wind, and rain. As we ate, we watched the water raise a few more inches on a stick that served as our reference. We couldn't get inside the cabin without breaking a window but there was an out-house that could serve as an emergency shelter though none of us wanted to spend the rest of the day crowded around a stink hole. We decided we should try for David Thrash's cabin where good shelter could be found to wait out the approaching storm. The new concern now became; what was the condition of the "falls" that we had to negotiate just above the cabin!?

The trip to the cabin was quick but extremely exhausting. There wasn't much time to scout over the falls since the water was moving so fast and the falls were just around a sharp bend. Pulling over to the bank would be a disaster since the water was up in the woods and moving fast. I decided to go over the falls on the right side where we always go on "normal" days. Just as I approached the falls I saw what I couldn't see from up creek. There was a trough about 4 feet deep and 2/3's the length of my boat. All I could do was to plunge in full speed ahead. The front of the canoe split the standing wave on the leeward side of the trough and exploded water into the air and over into my boat. This added several hundred pounds of water into my already loaded boat. I fought for control and tried not to turn over. The canoe was still afloat with its gunwales about 6 inches above the water line. There were still some rough rapids left to paddle through to reach the beach in front of the cabin. The speed and weight of the canoe enabled me to crash through brush and plow half way up the shallow mud beach and stop in front of the cabin. This was the first opportunity I had to look back at Dick and Steve. They had followed the same rout I had and were experiencing the same problems.

Fortunately, everyone made it to the cabin, and we all knew that we had gone as far as we could go this day. The water was still rising fast and the sky was blacker than ever. Looking back up creek at the falls provided a vivid contrast of tribulation. The muddy white of churning water, lush green of wind tortured trees bowing to the approaching storm, and the gray black of lightning energized clouds made us thankful for the cabin with unlocked doors just a few steps away. We had more trouble than we had bargained for with the rapids up to now. We knew that the most difficult water on Hatchett Creek was just below where we how were. There was no way we could risk trying them with the water this high and in open, loaded boats.

As we stood on the bank looking at the sight before us, we all knew that if any one of us had turned over anywhere along the way, there would be no hope of getting out. We would have washed all the way to the Coosa River and then some. Had we managed to swim to the bank we would have most likely been separated with no gear and no shelter. The worst of the storm was yet to come.

We all helped each other drag our boats away from the creek, untie gear and carry it up to the cabin. Just as we got on the porch, the storm arrived. Lightning was so close I swear you could feel the heat and the instantaneous thunder was so loud it sucked your breath right out 'cher nose. We didn't stay on the porch long. Somehow, all three of us just appeared inside the cabin trying to anticipate the next bolt. The rain was slow in coming, but when it came, I knew then what Noah must have felt like. Lightning struck all around us with unmerciful wrath. I tried to imagine what it would be like hunkered down on the creek bank with no shelter in this kind of weather, not knowing the fate of the others. I thought about something else.

The storm moved on and low-and-behold the sky split open and let bright sunlight illuminate the aftermath.

We told George to pick us up at US-231 Bridge at 8:00 AM the next morning. There was no way we were going to be there by that time. There was no question that we would be spending the night at the cabin. Even if we left at sun up, we would still be an hour or so late. We considered walking out to the Food Mart at US-231 and CR-49 and calling to let everyone know we were OK, but that was at least 6 miles away by a road that ran along a high ridge and it looked like another storm was coming. Walking through the woods was no good either because there would be a branch that was sure to be rain swollen to the point of not being able to cross it. The urge to let loved ones know you're OK is powerful and can cause you to take unnecessary chances that otherwise would not be considered. We knew we were safe, but we also knew that we were not going to be at the bridge in the morning when George got there. I wanted to get word to them so bad that I considered walking out in spite of the distance and weather, but I also had a family that was depending on me returning home safely. We would just have to wait till it was safe to leave. We had all the comforts of home here in the cabin and would be fools (if we weren't already) to risk leaving under the circumstances.

A couple of other storm systems, equally violent, moved over us that afternoon. We watched the creek rise steady all afternoon. There was doubt now of even being able to leave in our boats tomorrow. We watched all kinds of things float by the cabin that day. Our predicament was punctuated when a wooden table came floating by with all four legs reaching skyward. We monitored the rising creek with sticks and other references. It was rising and showed no sign of cresting. I can't remember weather this bad. It was beyond bad. Words don't even begin to describe the reality.

Steve and I were standing by the creek talking about religion (what else could be on our minds) when I looked up at the sound of unexpected conversation coming from the cabin where Dick was. I saw the red 4X4 pickup with the cellular phone antenna, but the reality took a while to soak in. There was some guy talking to Dick and shaking his head in disbelief that anyone would be fool enough to get in the creek on a day like this. Steve and I introduced ourselves and soon found out that he was the owner of the cabin, David Thrash. We explained our predicament and told him how glad we were to see him. He was sympathetic to our position and explained that the reason he left his cabin open was so it might help someone like us. He said that he was driving around in his truck after taking care of some business in Sylacauga and the urge to drive down to the creek and look at the water came over him. He had not been to the cabin for several months prior to this. It just turned out to be our lucky day after all.

We managed to contact George with the cellular phone and arrange to be picked up. It was about 9:00 that evening when we left David Thrash's cabin on Hatchett Creek with our boats in tow behind the Suburban. The rain was still falling, the creek was still rising, and it was forecast to continue through the night till morning. I lay in the bed that night, safe and warm and clean next to my wife and thanked God for allowing things to turn out the way they did.

We rode back down to Steve's cabin the next day to make sure things were cleaned up. The creek crested sometime during the night at about 8 to 10 feet above normal. The sun was shining, and the sky was blue. The creek was still out of its banks and running muddy, but it was going down. It was obvious that had we stayed; we wouldn't have been able to leave the cabin in our boats until later that afternoon. This was the first time our 3-day trip had been stopped due to weather. As long as I have lived I have not seen a day like 15 April 1994. Up to 6 inches of rain fell in the period of a few hours causing the creek to rise faster than ever. April 15 was no typical summer thundershower day; it was one of the worst weather days I have ever experienced.

G. Sanders, April 1994