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 beginning our odyssey. Once again we were paddling familiar waters as we have done for the past 15 years. Stephen has grown up and will no longer fit in the seat William is now occupying. Children grow up so fast and I am thankful for the times we have shared on Hatchett Creek over the years. William picks up his rod and real and makes perfect casts as he works the banks along the way. Stephen slides past silently in his red kayak,

his confidence in his paddling skills growing.

An Osprey broke the silence with a loud shriek as he glided above following the creek. All we had to do was steer our boats and enjoy the scenery.

 The air was rather cool, but life jackets work well as a jacket. We approached the old bridge below the Hatchett Creek Golf Course, and I snapped a picture of it since it will most likely be replaced with a new bridge by this time next year.

It took an hour to get from Cat Den to the US-280 Bridge. We would have put in here but the road down to the creek was too slippery and rutted, even for a 4-wheel drive. This is the last opportunity to easily get out of the creek before reaching US-231.

There are several cabins between US-280 and US-231 but access via vehicle requires a key to a gate and a long drive through the woods. The water was colder than usual for this time of the year. The freak snowstorm on 20 March added to the flow rate as well as to lowering the water temperature. The fish were just not in the mood to bite, probably due to the cooler water and the fact that the creek was going down. William didn’t give up fishing though.

There is a nice standing wave about 1/2 mile above Dunham’s Rock. I encouraged Stephen to try surfing it and have some fun while waiting on the slower canoes. The wave proved to be more misery that fun as Stephen rolled upstream and over into the frigid water. He was trying to say something but could only manage a primitive grunt between gasp for air. We helped him get back in his boat and managed to get to Dunham’s Rock where we usually eat lunch. William tied the bowline to a branch, and I stepped onto the bank and began to look for material to build a fire with. We soon had a good fire going against a rock face that served as a heat reflector. Stephen’s shirt and Polartec dried within 30 minutes. He had on nylon pants that dried without taking them off. We had another set of dry clothes, but they were to be saved for tomorrow.

While we ate our lunch and enjoyed the warm fire, a canoe and two kayaks paddled up. These guys had on wet suits and serious flotation in their boats and were headed for US-231. We chatted for a moment about the flow rate and they headed down river.

Soon afterward a heavy mist started falling and literally soaked everything that was not covered. During this time William caught a nice bass in the shoals and his Uncle Steve helped him land it. I filleted the fish and put the meat on ice. I had a heavy-duty zip-lock bag full of cooking oil that I planned to use to cook fish and potatoes for supper. This was the only fish caught all day. It’s a good thing we brought some steaks and not depended on fish for supper.

Stephen got back into warm dry clothes and we packed up our lunch stuff and headed away from Dunham’s Rock as the rain slacked off for the remainder of the day. We stopped to take breaks at sandbars along the way and attempted to catch more fish, but they just weren’t hitting.

The canoe and two kayaks were pulled up at the head of the class II rapids. These rapids can be trouble if you don’t keep up your speed and head in the right direction while shooting them. There is a rock that sits in the middle of what one would think was the best path to take. This rock is hidden by the water and for some reason is not obvious to the first-time paddler. This rock has introduced its self to all of us and no one was happy to see it. William and I went first followed by Stephen and Steve. I eddied out at the bottom and photographed the others as they came through.

Stephen handled his kayak superbly and made it look easy. Steve could shoot this rapid with his eyes closed, as a matter of fact; I believe he has done just that in the old days.

The other paddlers were standing on the far bank watching us go through. Hatchett Creek is not known for being challenging when it comes to difficult rapids but taking an overloaded canoe full of camping gear and a child down without losing any of the cargo makes up for the lack of sporting rapids.

William was asking, "how much further now Daddy?" about every 10 minutes. He couldn’t wait to get to the camp and start building a fire and setting up the tent. We pulled into our old camp spot at around 3:30. There was very little sand where we usually set up camp, so we decided to pitch our tents amongst the rocks up river a few yards.

We pulled our boats over the sand hump that separated the creek from the wash where we would be staying. I opened up my ammo box and discovered that the heavy-duty Ziploc bag was not so heavy duty. Everything was soaked in cooking oil and not one drop was left in the bag. So much for frying potatoes and fish! I spent the next 30 minutes cleaning off the oil mess from the other gear I had stashed in the fat-50 ammo box.

Stephen and William were given fire wood duty and soon had a respectful pile of driftwood and pine knots that would see us through to the morning.

I deployed a 20X20 tarp and the boys used a hatchet to cut a center pole from a nearby sycamore tree.

The tarp comes in very handy when rain and heavy dew come to visit. William lit the campfire and I lit the coffee stove. Steve fixed a hearth from large flat rocks on which we set up the Weber gas grill (portable size). I think these propane implements are the best things to happen to camping since the dome tent. We soon had steaks, onions, potatoes wrapped in foil, and coffee cooking for supper. The sky cleared and the evening sun lit up the rock face across the creek during its final moments of the day. The campfire was crackling, and our bellies were full.  It is easy to relax after paddling 12 miles and eating a hot meal with good coffee.

The boys crashed about 8:00 and didn’t move until morning. I stayed up with Steve and caught up on happenings until about 11:00. Stephen’s boots dried by the fire and we poked at it with poles cut by beavers.

The largest solar storm ever observed was happening 93,000,000 miles away, communications and navigation aids were disrupted all over the world. Nevertheless, we were oblivious to everything happening in the world except for the sound of rushing water and an occasional night creature. The moon was waxing full and the Big Dipper was proudly pointing out the North Star. How nice were the days of less information.

Day Two

Daylight brought thick clouds and the feel of rain was in the air. Stephen was glad to have dry boots to put on since he forgot to pack any extra shoes for this trip.

We started the coffee pot again and broke out the trail mix for breakfast. Steve had boiled some brown eggs and fried some peppered bacon before leaving on the trip. He used some foil and a stick to warm the bacon over the fire. Boy did it look and smell good!

It took some time to pack everything up and lash it into the canoes. The rain came about the time we were taking down the tarp. It was time to break out the rain gear and get ready to face a rainy day. The water level had gone down about an inch and a half over night, but the flow rate was still better than average for this time of the year. I called George on the cell phone and told him we would be at Sally’s in about 45 minutes. There we would off load the camping gear and take only the food and dry clothes needed for the final day. The rain began falling harder once we pushed off and were headed down river.

A sharp eye had to be kept on the path to avoid hitting rocks and getting stuck. No one wants to have to get out and get wet first thing in the morning. The rain suits kept us dry and warm as we cruised under US-231 Bridge.

I saw where the one canoe and two kayak paddlers clawed their way up the mud bank the day before. I would rather paddle all the way to Kelly’s Crossroad that have to drag another canoe up that bank.

George and Dick were waiting at Sally’s place just above the old washed out dam. We handed our gear up the bank without getting out of our boats and Dick loaded it into George’s pick up. That took a significant amount of weight out of my boat. I would need the added maneuverability to negotiate the water going through the old dam. I noticed that dam was broken open wider that before and the water was moving differently from what I recall. I asked Stephen if he wanted to try going through or carry his kayak around and put in downstream. He elected to try to shoot the dam so I told him I would go first and wait for him on the other side. William was nervous about going through but he decided to go with me rather that get out and go home with his Pa Paw.

William and I pointed the Coleman toward the accelerating water going through the broken dam. The current sucked us toward the right where it dove hard down a piece of concrete slab. The Coleman pointed nose first and road nicely onto the standing wave below the falls. We crashed into another standing wave and took on a few hundred pounds of water but kept the keel even as we eddied out to wait for Stephen. Stephen made the initial rapid with no problem. I thought he would be home free until he got sideways and lost it on the second wave. He bailed out and washed down to where William and I were waiting in the Coleman. I helped him over the gunwale, and we let the current take us down stream. The red kayak was floating upside down and no more than 2 inches was above the water line. We could not stop our boat because of the current so we paddled all the way to the sandbar at the end of the rapids below the dam. I put Stephen and William out and attempted to stop the kayak as it drifted by. Too much water inside the kayak and too much current in the creek caused me to abandon the rescue mission and head back toward the bank. I could not progress up stream in the Coleman with the paddle, so I had to hop out and lead it back to the bank in the waste deep water. Steve came by and chased the kayak around the bend while I helped Stephen get into dry clothes. William bailed the water out of our boat with a 5-gallon bucket and Stephen was soon in dry uppers and ready to retrieve his ride. When we rounded the bend, Steve was paddling upstream with the kayak in tow. Stephen was soon mounted back in his cockpit and paddling to stay warm. The rain continued and the wind started to pick up.

It seems like miles and miles of eddy water once you clear the old dam. This was good because the more we paddled the warmer we got. King’s bridge soon came into focus and we pulled up on the sandbar below to eat what was left of our lunch. William finally got to eat the sardines he brought, and Stephen and I finished off the sub sandwiches Meg made for us. The sun finally broke out and the signs of Spring changed from black and white to millions of colors. Blue sky never looked so good!

The nylon clothes we were wearing dried quickly in the sun and wind as we headed toward the old steel bridge and the class II rapid that lives there. This rapid is managed easier when the creek flow rate is up. You can go over most any place and do OK. I told Stephen to try the path around to the right to avoid another spill. He made it just fine once he scooted over a rock that had him captured for a few moments. William said he really likes the wild rapids. The other ones were boring.

It takes about an hour to go from the old steel bridge to Kelly’s Crossroad, so I dug out the cell phone and gave George and Meg a call. They would arrive at the pickup spot about the time we got there in our boats. While I was talking, the redneck that lives in the shack on the right bank smiled as his pit bull and boxer charged down the hill towards us with teeth showing and dirt flying. Steve had his paddle ready to swing like an ax should one be so bold as to swim out for us. Lucky for us they stopped at the water’s edge and just barked. Red stood with his arms folded across his bent knee with a smirkish grin that suggested he didn’t care too much for canoes or the people in them.

The pickup was set and all we had to do was enjoy the rest of the trip and keep dry. There are several opportunities remaining for one to turn over if one wanted to. The rapids for the remainder of the trip are deep and have very few large rocks to have an unpleasant experience on. The Goat Man was sitting in a chair talking to another man when we glided by. I struck up a short conversation with him and he wished us a good day. His fire was still burning, and the table was littered with cooking equipment and condiments and I told William that he most likely just finished cooking and eating a goat. I heard later that this man claimed to be a relative of the late Howard Hughes. He made a claim on his fortune but got nowhere with it. So, he sits on the bank of Hatchett Creek and cooks and eats goats under a Confederate Battle Flag that pops above his head in the wind.

The run that empties into the Coosa River backwater is one of my favorites. This one is really interesting when the Tiger Lilies are up. The water seems to have more energy in it that any other stretch of shoals.

You can actually hear the chop as it jumps over the sides of the canoe and into your lap. The wind is always blowing in your face as you go downhill to the still waters where stripe fishermen come to fill their stringers.

Every trip down Hatchett is an adventure. It won’t be long though before so many houses and cabins line the banks. The prospects of wilderness canoeing down Hatchett are gradually fading each year as new structures appear along the entire length of the creek. I remember what it was like 30 years ago when the structures along the creek could be counted on one hand.

George Sanders, 2001