The One Eyed Stove

Day One

Another year flies by and it's time to hit the creek again. The years are coming now as fast as weeks. Stephen will be making his third trip and this time I decided to let him go all the way to Kelly's Crossroads. I had been preoccupied before the trip by trying to rig some kind of fixture that would allow me to fly a confederate battle flag from the bow of my canoe. After several failed attempts of using springs and antenna mounts, I decided to just lay the mast across the stern, tie it down and let the flag just hang. This way it wouldn't interfere with fishing.

We got started in traditional way with breakfast at George's house and an early morning drive to the put in place at Short's bridge. Stephen and I use Bob's green Coleman since he wasn't able to make it this year. Dick had a new red Coleman; George used his Mohawk and Steve had his green Coleman. Charlie Cornelius had messed up his back earlier this year and didn't want to chance a three-day canoe trip so soon after being in traction for 6 weeks. Bill was in the process of retiring and lining up new work and wasn't able to go either.

We still had the same logs to cross over again. I sure thought that after last year’s flood that the creek would be clear of all trees. Stephen's paddling and fishing skills had improved tremendously since last year. He also was able to help me get the canoe over the trees.

Stephen caught two or three fish soon after we got started. I wasn't doing so well in the fishing department. They seemed to be biting slower this year. I told Meg if she would meet Stephen and me at the old bridge below the Golf Course at 2:00 we would pick up William and let him ride with us the rest of the way to Steve's cabin.

As Stephen and I approached the pond behind the dam we started to paddle like we were in a race. I wanted to be at the bridge so that Meg wouldn't have to wait. We passed everyone except Steve. He had somehow made it to the dam before we did and had already gone around it. Stephen carried our fish in the five-gallon plastic bucket while I dragged the canoe up the narrow path on the right side of the dam. Once in the clear, Stephen sat in the canoe and I pulled him over the leaf-covered roadbed toward the creek below. We usually spend some time fishing at the dam, but we were in a race with time that day.

The green Coleman slid back into the swift water below the dam and Stephen and I were off again as if wild Indians were after us. They might as well have been because if I weren’t at the bridge when Meg arrived I would rather be caught by wild Indians. We paddled past Steve somewhere below the dam and didn't let up till we coasted up against a large tree that was lodged against the pilings holding up the bridge. We were five minutes early and Meg wasn't there. We could relax and give her thirty minutes to show. I tied the bow of our boat to the log and lay across the gear in our boat while Stephen fished. After he didn't get a bite he decided to play with his Swiss Army knife. I told him I would carve his initials into the side of the tree if he wanted me to. He thought that was a great idea so I carved SAS in big enough letters so everyone who passed could not miss them. Steve slid up alongside us at about 2:30. I had decided that Meg and William were not going to show so I untied our boat and it started drifting backward till it stopped with a crunching crack. It was the mast of my confederate flag that was crushing against the tree. I picked the flag up out of the water and laid it in the boat till I could rig another mast for it. Stephen and I paddled at a leisurely pace until we arrived at the cabin.

The weather had been perfect all day and the water level was just right. There was still plenty of day light left and when everyone had arrived there was time to clean the fish and rest before suppertime.

Day Two

Thunderstorms were heard in the early morning hours as we slept inside the cabin. Morning broke with clouds and light rain. We finished our breakfast and loaded our boats for the overnight camp. The water was stained, and the creek was running full from the rain that fell in the Talladega Mountains last night. There would be enough water in the creek to carry us over most all of the rocks and get us to our sandbar camp site with plenty of time to spare.

The sun came out around 10:00 AM and warmed us up a bit. This was Stephens first time to canoe this leg of the trip. He was getting soaking wet in the front of the boat as we broke through one standing wave after another. I was trying to hit them on purpose because he really seemed to like that sort of thing. I remember the most exciting part of my first canoe trips was busting through waves and getting wet.

We stopped at the big rocks at the halfway point to eat lunch. The water was still stained, and Dick’s canoe drifted off the rock he beached it on as we studied the best approach to running the rapids. (These rapids were probably the best on the whole creek).

Stephen and I were first to go. We took on some water but made it to the end and eddied out to watch the others come through. I had my 35mm camera and photographed Steve, George and Dick as they maneuvered through the light brown froth. The rest of the trip was enjoyed by just being outdoors on a beautiful day and watching Stephen experience a new part of the creek for the first time.

We arrived at our camp site with plenty of time left in the day. The sandbar was all but gone. There was a pool of water big enough to paddle several strokes in a canoe in where we normally pitch our tents. We had to use our paddles as shovels and 5-gallon buckets as wheelbarrows to move enough sand in to pitch out tents on. This turned out to be a lot of work, but it had to be done. Our tents were lined up in a row on the shore by the pool of water left by the last flood. I opened up a canal so the water could run out into the creek.

Stephen and I decided to take a bath, so we waded out through the rapids to a rock. Before we left, Dick told us that it was harder for him to get back to the bank than it was to go out to the rock. I thought that was strange since the creek water should be going down. The water was muddy and cold, but it felt good to wash of the sweat. Stephen had his life jacket on, and I had to hold him up to get through the waste high rapids on our way to the rock. We messed around out there for about twenty minutes before we decided to start back to shore. On our way back I noticed it was much harder to make it back to the bank than it was to go out to the rock. For a moment I thought Stephen and I would be swept down creek. Dick and George were standing on the shore watching us and decided to throw us a rope. It was a good thing they did because Stephen was getting mighty heavy holding up against the swift running water. Once back to the shore I noticed the water was running into the flood pool instead of out. It finally dawned on me that the creek was rising instead of going down.

The rain that fell the night before was causing the creek to rise and it had not yet crested. The water level was rising at a noticeable rate now that we were aware of that fact. The tents were almost in the water by now so there was nothing left to do but move them to higher ground. There was no place left to pitch a tent except on rock piles. So, we started moving sand again in our buckets to fill in an area over the rocks big enough to pitch our tents on. While George and I moved the tents, Steve and Stephen started building dams to keep the creek from washing into the area where we were camped. As soon as we finished with the tents we helped build dams using large rocks, logs and sand. We worked hard moving rocks and sand for an hour or so until we had done about all we could do. If the creek didn't crest soon we would be forced off our sandbar into the tic infested woods. We stuck sticks in the ground to gauge the water level and waited for the crest. Just when we were about to pack up and move again the creek crested. It was about dark, and we still had to fix something for supper. We were all relieved though that the water was not going to get any higher, so we built a fire and broke out the stew. All of us were dead tired by now and crashed as soon as we hit the sack.

Day Three

Morning crept in bringing with it a light mist and fog. A soggy camp was the best we could hope for as we all went about our morning chores of packing, fixing, eating and cleaning. The water had gone down about six inches but was just the right level for a good ride without worrying about hitting rocks. We launched into the third days trip at about 7:30 AM. Mary would be at the US-231 Bridge to pick up George and Stephen. The weather was not going to be good and they were tired too.

After we loaded George's boat and gear into the Suburban and watched them drive away we made our way back to the creek to continue our journey. Two young men had driven up from Auburn University to canoe Hatchett Creek and we invited them to go along with us. These two guys had never paddled together before and apologized before we started for their lack of skill. They were in an Old Town canoe that looked brand new.

The trip to the old dam allowed us to adjust to paddling lighter canoes and a chance to talk to our new friends. Steve, Dick and I scouted out the old dam rapid and showed the new guys how we planned to shoot the "hole". We three made the shoot without a disaster but the two Auburn guys were not so lucky. They stopped paddling when the hit the hole and grabbed onto the gunwales and rolled with the canoe upside down and head first into the water. One guy washed up on a rock and I paddled over and picked him up in my boat. The other one washed further down the creek trying to stay with his boat. I picked up hats, buckets, paddles and other floating debris as we made our way to the capsized Old Town. No one was hurt but I think they were both a little shaken up. Neither one had much to say as we told them of the numerous times we had gone swimming.

The Old Town was afloat, and the AU guys were back in it paddling with us. The sky was getting darker by the minute and rain was on its way. We were in the wide shallow shoals that had islands scattered about with canals between them. A deer bounced across the creek ahead of us as the rain began to fall. We hugged the right bank and lightning split the sky over our heads. The brush overhanging the bank was so thick that we could paddle under it like a tunnel and be shielded somewhat from the direct down pour of rain. We all sat there in single file tied to the bank in a leafy tunnel while a thunderstorm slid by overhead. Instead of just sitting there watching water drip off my hat, I decided to make a cup of coffee. So that’s what I did. I set the one-eyed stove in the bottom of my boat and boiled a cup of water. When it was bubbling I poured it over a Folgers instant coffee bag in my cup and waited for it to brew. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted past the noses of the others behind me. I offered coffee to anyone who would take it and enjoyed the warm, refreshing treat as the cold rain dripped off my hat brim into my cup. My cold fingers appreciated the warmth radiating from the steel cup clutched in both hands. The rain slacked off and I dunked the hot, one-eyed stove into the creek to cool it off before storing it back in my pack. We untied our boats and paddled back into the middle of the creek where the water was running strong and rocks were far enough below.

The two AU guys tagged along as we made our way through the endless eddies that had shoals few and far between. We finally came to the falls above the old steel bridge. This is always a challenging place. Several people have turned over trying to go through. Bob Willis actually went through this set of rapids backwards after his boat got caught on a rock. He just held on and rode where his boat took him.

Steve, Dick and I made it through with no problems, but the two AU guys once again weren't so lucky. They immediately rolled over and swam down the falls and washed out into the eddy where we waited to pick up the pieces. One AU guy said, "Well, at least all the spider webs will be cleaned out of my boat after we finish this trip."

There was a big boulder with swift water running around both sides just below the falls. I was surfing in the rapids on the right side and decided to try and paddle upstream of the rock, go around it and shoot back down the other side. After about three attempts I made it without turning over. This was fun but extremely exhausting since I was not in good shape. Dick and Steve gave it a try as well and came back exhausted too.

We all continued on down the creek, past the Goat Man's place, over the Horseshoe Falls and finally arrived at the take out spot at Kelly’s Crossroads. We arrived there exactly to the minute that we said we would. Over the years we have developed a pretty accurate ETA ability that has been amazingly accurate more than a couple of times.


G. Sanders, April 1995

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