No man steps in the same river twice...

Heracitus (556 bc) said, "No man ever steps into the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man."

Apparently it is still true and also applies to women. 

YRA in the old Depot

If you can remember way back to June, back in the time before blistering heat, raging storms and suffocating humidity, I actually took two camp trips with friends for the purpose of checking out two state parks I had not camped before and to paddle different sections of the Yadkin River--also new territory. The plan was to camp the weekend of June 9 with Ruthie at Pilot Mountain State Park and paddle a section of river overseen by Yadkin River Adventures (YRA) in Dobson, NC. The weekend of June 30 (very near to my birthday), the plan was to stay with Ruthie and my young'uns at Stone Mountain State Park and all of us celebrate by paddling a different section of the Yadkin that YRA offered that skirts Pilot Mountain. 

Fashionista

The Pilot Mountain trip was great. This was Ruthie's first river trip and this section of the Yadkin has lots of class 1 riffles, made a little easier that weekend by recent rains. So recent and so heavy that a rest stop half way down had to be cleared for landing with a bulldozer, the river mud was so deep. Ruthie, who is the last person on the planet to call herself a fashionista was actually wonderfully color coordinated with our rental boats, about which I teased mercilessly and she took in good humor. 

We really did have a wonderful time, but reminiscent of my trip with Joan to DuPont State Forest, tragedy struck on the river a few days after we left. Two folks were out canoeing on the Yadkin without wearing life vests and one did not return. On the day Ruthie and I were there, two women put in with us, one experienced and one an newbie. The newbie had the good sense to wear her life jacket. Her friend who was actively instructing her had her life vest tucked behind her seat. I cannot emphasize this enough, you CAN NOT put on a life vest once you are in the water. Please just wear the thing. Ruthie is proof you can look chic in one. The woman giving instruction was so confident, and it was so hard not to say something to her, Ruthie and I just kept a distance ahead. 

It's a good 10 miles. It took us a little under 3 hours to make the trip. YRA takes you upriver and you take out under a bridge next to a field where your car is parked. Half way down the river is another bridge with a boat ramp (the one covered with mud that weekend with a small bulldozed path through the mud) where you can take out, rest and find a convenient tree if needed. All in all, a great river trip.

Which is a really good thing because when we came back two weeks later, YRA was too short staffed to take us on the Pilot Mountain run. Not a problem, we did the standard run over again. The river was considerably lower which made the riffles a whole new challenge. The trip took about 30 minutes longer and was a completely new adventure. Ruthie had her confidence up (and her great colors on) and it was new turf for Jessie, Ben and Sydney.

Stone Mountain

Stone Mountain State Park has a wonderful and fairly recent campground with on site water and
electricity--a rarity in North Carolina State Parks. Ruthie's RV was in the shop (I promised I wouldn't
tell why and I won't) so she tent camped as did Ben and Sydney. Jessie and pooch Franklin stayed in LibraryAnn with me. We had a birthday cookout to celebrate my 64th and Sydney's upcoming birthday and were joined by friends from Winston-Salem, Andrea, Brian and their cutie pie, Rowan. Andrea and Brian had not been on the river but they had been chasing Rowan all day, who was still full tilt. I'm not sure who in the crowd was more tired. Not Rowan.

Before we left, we visited a 1840's log cabin homestead at the base of Stone Mountain that was actively farmed until the 1940's when the war took may young men far afield and made it hard for them to return to backwoods life. The walk in through deep woods was exceptionally lovely. Further into the park we came across a lovely weathered clapboard church, still in use. It was right along a rocky creek and did not appear to have electricity. Worship was at 8:45am in the summer, probably due to the lack of air conditioning, so we missed the parishioners but loved seeing their beautiful church. 

The weather this summer has precluded much camping and as I had set a retirement date from my job of July 31, the summer has mostly been a mad dash to get everything at the library in order for my replacement. Poor weather was probably a blessing as I didn't resent the extra time at work--the library basement is blissfully cool and quiet. 

That said, I am taking my first long distance trip to Canada starting August 19 through Labor Day (I say that actually writing this at the end of my first day in Virginia). I am curious to see if the fantasy of long-distance travel that caused me to purchase LibraryAnn pans out in reality. The weekend jaunts have certainly been worth it. Stay tuned...

Shakedown Cruise

I opened my 2018 camping season at Badin Lake in the Uwharrie National Forest. The purpose of the trip was to try everything out close to home in case something was not working or I'd failed  to pack a necessity. The weekend was  colder than I had expected. This combined with just coming off a germ  added to the challenge particularly as the campground had no hookups.

The trip was profitable in that I learned a number of things. First, Arrowhead Campground, a mile up the road and still in the National Forest, does have hookups. Badin Campground does not. I will stay there next time. Especially if it is cold.

I learned that my refrigerator does work and so far, despite considerable distance on rough dirt roads, the frig door panel has not fallen off.

I learned that I was missing some items from last year and that, while a taste rough looking and catering preferentially to fisherfolk and off-roaders, Eldorado Outpost is nearby and well stocked. Their grill isn't bad, either.

I learned that my new signal booster really does work on both my phone and hot spot.

I learned some new roads through a section of Randolph County I had never seen (no one has requested home library service yet from this area). The Uwharrie Mountains are some of the oldest in the world, so they are no longer  tall and dramatic, but equally beautiful in a softer, gentler way. Randolph County is large enough to be geographically diverse, most of it rolling, wooded and pleasantly green but with surprising variation. The drive between Bombay and Coggins Mine is like a long valley of open agricultural land with soft rolling hills on the periphery. Ben's friend, Sydney, grew up in Eldorado and  introduced me to this back road when we paddled Badin Lake the weekend before. I learned I still have lots to explore in Randolph and surrounding counties.

I learned that my new curtains and pillows are a big improvement. I was tickled to find fabric in the colors of my upholstery for $5 a yard, especially since I needed 8 yards  to make new curtains (the old ones were coming apart and weren't even close in color to anything else in the trailer). Jessie made fun of them at first and said the trailer went from looking like a cheesy gramma's trailer to looking like a gramma's living room. I guess the stripes are a little formal. But they are dark when closed at night and the pillows add a lot of comfort when reading at the dinette.

 And even though I was camped at Badin Lake, when Sydney and Ben arrived Saturday afternoon, it was Falls Lake, locally known as Hidden Lake, that we paddled. The town of Badin was started in 1913 by a French firm manufacturing aluminum to house their workers. At the outbreak of World War I, Alcoa bought the mill. A string of lakes on the Yadkin and Pee Dee rivers form behind dams built to power the now defunct aluminum mill. The lakes are High Rock, Badin, Falls and Tillery. The first three are impoundments of the Yadkin River. Halfway down Tillery, the Uwharrie River dumps into the lake to form the Pee Dee. Falls lake is the smallest and is used mostly by fishermen so it's a great place to paddle. There are no homes on the lake as it is bounded largely by Uwharrie National Forest and Morrow Mountain State Park. Because it is so undisturbed, it is replete with wildlife. We saw a mother eagle and her two juveniles, osprey, herons, turtles and more. Rhododendron were in bloom along with Star of David and wildflowers we did not recognize. And there was a lovely waterfall feeding the lake from cliffs along the national forest side.

But the biggest treat of all was being included with some of Sydney's friends. We met up on the lake with three of her high school chums. I wasn't sure how they'd feel about having along an old fart and a "furriner". Oh, and a "parent" to boot--her boyfriend's mom. And I'd passed enough confederate flags driving in to feel a little out of my element anyway, but her buddies were a delight and I was generously included. This is an area of amazing natural beauty. And these kids who'd grown up with it (and could easily have taken it for granted) were wonderfully aware enough to appreciate just how special a place it is. All of them have education and work skills that could take them elsewhere, but their love of this place was deep and evident. I especially enjoyed talking with the young man, a returning veteran, who is studying forestry education and gave us both common and Latin names for the plants we asked about. I'm definitely bringing the paddle club back in June.

So I'm ready to camp. As I write this, I'm planning my retirement, set for July 31. I've got a couple of long trips planned for the fall and some shorter ones in June before it gets too hot. Let the season begin!

The last trip of 2017

Devil's Fork State Park is in the northwest corner of South Carolina at the edge of a massive national forest and along the shores of beautiful Lake Jocassee. Mary had talked so much about how lovely it was, we agreed to meet there the last weekend in October. Traffic was heavy. Somehow we missed in trip planning that Devil's Fork is a favorite campground for Clemson fans and we'd  picked a homegame weekend. But we had reservations so we each had a place. My spot was a trick to back in to but friendly neighbors coached me up the hill.

Lake Jocossee is fed by multiple small waterfalls. 

The pad for the camper itself was flat but this is the only time I've taken the precaution to chock the front of the truck wheels which angled sharply downhill. That said, I was happily backed up next to the bathhouse, trailer level and secure by nightfall--only to discover (the refrigerator repair saga continues) that the repair shop, after  a fourth trip to Kernersville for more frig repair, had filled my propane tanks but not reconnected them. I reached my son the welder and sent a pix by flashlight and he coached me into reconnecting them. I'm not particularly strong and it was a two handed job with the flashlight in my teeth, but I eventually achieved hot soup for supper. This, despite the front door panel falling off the frig again. Sigh.

The weather was cold and wet. Lake Jocossee is fed by a number of small waterfalls. Visitors can take pontoon boat tours or rent kayaks to see them. I do very much want to come back and explore the lake, but snuggling up to a good book and mug of hot tea was the order of the day on Saturday. I'm not a big fiction fan but loved getting lost in Barbara Kingsolver's Prodigal Summer. Midday, Mary and her pup Jack rousted me out to search for lunch. Despite the rain and cold we had a lovely drive through the mountains and several small towns before finding a cozy local cafe with very good food.

Sunday it faired off some, but Saturday's rain was the leading edge of a cold front. When the rain finally quit, we took a 1.5 mile nature loop before I decided  to head home, hoping to make it back before dark. I'd planned to stay an extra day but the cold weather and rain made the thought of heading home inviting. And I'd convinced the repair folks in Kernersville that it was their turn to come to my place to finally fix the falling door panel after four trips to them to get the frig they installed working right.

Did I mention that the woods were beautiful? That the mushrooms were spectacular? The subtle colors of the fall leaves? That the woods were full of waterfalls? And that Mary and Jack are affable company?

I will be back, boat in tow. On a warm summer weekend. No football, no rain and lots of time to explore.


Oh, and the repair guy came from Kernersville to fix the falling frig door panel. After I insisted, to his surprise, that he use something more than just double stick tape, it seems to be staying in place. I hope this is the last you will ever hear about it... So do they.

What did she do?! And why are you being so mean?!!!

I am back in Asheville at Wilson's, camping along the French Broad River, according to our paddled host, the third oldest river on Earth. The Asheville Outdoor Center (AOC) offers a wonderful 7 mile trip from upriver just beyond the Blue Ridge Parkway back to their headquarters adjacent to Wilson's. Weather has thwarted my paddling ambitions the past two trips here and I booked this weekend specifically to paddle before they close for the season November 1. Caroline could not camp with me but she drove over for an afternoon trip and brought picture perfect weather with her.

Much of the trip passes through the Biltmore Estate. This is the view of Biltmore House from the river (Photos today courtesy of Caroline, I was too sorry to carry a camera. Did I say "bushed"?!) There is a road running through the estate along the river and we saw many bicyclists, horses with riders and pedestrians on the road.

We paddled past the elegant new hotel beside the Biltmore winery. There was also a pasture full of horse trailers gathered for a sizeable equestrian event. So the estate was busy and full of tourists, but the river itself was remarkably quiet. We put in with a group of 14 and without much effort, left the group sustantially behind. Except for an occasional sound from shore we felt like we had the river entirely to ourselves.

I am sad to report we saw very little wildlife. And the drought has left the trees turning brown rather than colorful. The amazing thing we did see was this cherry picker parked on the I 40 bridge lowering inspectors under the overpass. I had never seen this equipment used this way and prayed the operator had the truck securely braced.

Caroline has a birthday before I will see her again so we ended the day at this GREAT Mexican place to celebrate. I will definitely be back to visit Papa's again.

And the title to this post? The first time I mentioned on Facebook that my kids and I had just paddled the French Broad, the incorrigible Tom Edwards made that reply. He can tease all he wants to, I plan to do it again...

Damp Yankee

The Central Carolina Paddlers took their annual Fall campout (after hearing about my great experience this Spring) at Fairystone Park near Stuart, VA. Elizabeth, Pat, Shannon and I were joined by my son Ben and his friend, Sydney. Ben and Sydney tented with me in the campground. Pat, Shannon and Elizabeth took a charming waterfront cottage with this fabulous view.

The park was created in 1936. This cabin and several others are original park buildings. I had never seen his vertical log treatment used for cabin walls before. Heavy handwrought door hinges and latches added to the charm. Despite its age, it was comfortably appointed with a fireplace insert and cozy kitchen. Newer cabins are available as well along with round canvas yurts.

It took us all a while to gather Friday night so we put a pot of chili on and sat around a blazing fire until the last arrived. On Saturday, when the morning got warm, we put in on Fairystone Lake and took off exploring.

The weather was perfect, cool and bright with a light breeze. We explored Goblintown Creek and spotted the Civil War iron furnace. We paddled the length of the lake, checking out coves Caroline and I missed the first time. Shortly before nearing the dam we caught sight of the rental cabin. We were ready for lunch when we finally got back to the cabin.

The plan was to put in at the Bowen's Creek boat ramp on Philpott Reservoir and look for the waterfall we'd seen in the Spring. So we loaded up boats and headed up Rt 57 towards Bassett. When we arrived, the boat ramp was closed for the season but the campground host there directed us to the Goose Point ramp back towards the park.

Goose Point was a trek back in the woods. Philpott is a huge lake, fingering like a tree into numerous inlets that were previously mountain coves. When we finally arrived, a light rain was falling. Not to be deterred after the effort getting there, we donned rain jackets and put in.

We paddled over two hours between bouts of light rain and drizzle. The weather was pleasantly warm and we were all appropriately dressed so we were not uncomfortable. And it was evident from the deep drop in the shoreline that southern Virginia really needed the rain. The exposed lake bed revealed vertical rock formations that split into thin layers. Ben and Shannon paddled close enough to pick up some of the flat stones and entertained us by skipping them.

The mountains get dark quickly, especially with cloud cover, so we headed back around four. We loaded up in the dry but rain fell in earnest by the time we were back at the cabin. We set up a small grill under the eaves and grilled burgers, told stories and browned a few marshmallows in the last of the coals with rain dripping around us. At this point, we were all damp and tired and ready for bed.

Our last act on Sunday was hunting for Fairystones. The rain that left us cold and damp for bed the night before was revealing treasures for us to find the next morning. Caroline and I found only a few poor examples in the Spring. This visit, everyone went home with pockets full. Elizabeth had studied and worked as a geologist. Sydney is an avid arrowhead hound, so those two had particular fun, but none of us were disappointed.

Afterwards, we gathered at the campground for lunch and then headed home. The rain held off until we were on the road though I drove home in it most of the way. The blinding stuff had the good grace to wait until I was in the house--giving me the perfect excuse for a nap before unloading.

Upgrade is a four letter word

I taught computer classes in my last position, including developing a class for the then new Windows 10 operating system. I don't mean this to become a rant about technology but it probably is. Microsoft gave Windows 10 away not as penance for the Windows 8 disaster, but because they realized they could make more money selling profiles of user behavior to advertisers than they could selling operating systems. Windows 10 is loaded with spyware. It forces updates on users, including a recent one that crashed my video card at work and it has other obnoxious habits that offend my rebel nature. I really dislike the idea of my belongings tracking me to make money for someone else. And I refuse to have my life defined by the word "consumer". My response has been to learn to use Linux and to replace my aging home computer with one preloaded with the open source Linux Mint operating system. I use the Opera browser with a built in ad blocker and the Duck Duck Go search engine which does not track my activity. I am certainly not totally off the grid but I am grateful to be able to exercise some choice.

So you would think I might be wary of upgrading my rv frig (or "refer" as the service manager calls it in his emails. Somehow that word is a little to close to the word "reefer" for comfort and I am sticking with "frig"...). Anyway, I would love to take an extended trip next year and fell in love with the idea of having a frig that would run on DC power while I am on the road. The original--and now 15 year old-- frig runs on 110v AC or propane but does not have the DC option, possibly allowing food to warm on long days of driving. Or it just might fail from age.

So I called a major rv repair shop near Greensboro and asked for an estimate. The Scamp is a peculiar beast and I presumed this shop would have the experience to to do the job right. And maybe they do, but this job has become a painful comedy of errors.

The "comedy" started when they called Dometic with the model number of my old frig and asked for the best 3-way replacement. When the new (and expensive) unit arrived, I drove LibraryAnn to their shop and left her there for the three days required for installation and testing. A week and a half later, I was able to pick her up--with the door installed backwards, the trailer full of sawdust and the cost a third more than the original estimate. The replacement frig was two inches taller than the previous frig and major alterations (which I did approve over the phone) were required. I waited while they reversed the door, paid the bill, went home an cleaned the camper, and the frig did not work. Oh, and the front door panel fell off.

The next trip involved leaving her to have heavier wiring to the frig installed and some damaged trim repaired. Picked her up to camp. Trim not fully repaired. Frig does not work. Door still falls off. Took her back again--AFTER emailing the general manager. The camper has now been fully cleaned, more trim repaired. Door still not fixed as they finally did the testing they should have done to begin with and the cooling unit is defective and they will do a permanent fix on the door when they install the replacement part. The four letter word today is "Grrr".

To be continued.

Mary Oliver

I spent the last weekend in September back in Cheraw with Ruthie, my son Ben, and Ben's friend, Sydney. Earlier in the week, another friend had sent me a poem by Mary Oliver, At the River Clarion. It begins:

I don't know who God is exactly.
But I'll tell you this.
I was sitting by the river named Clarion, on a water splashed stone
and all afternoon I listened to the voices of the river talking.
Whenever the water struck a stone it had something to say,
and the water itself, and even the mosses trailing under the water.
And slowly, very slowly, it became clear to me what they were saying.
Said the river, I am part of holiness.
And I too, said the stone. And I too, whispered the moss beneath the water.

That weekend the four of us were sitting on the lake named Juniper in a cathedral of cypress trees experiencing part of holiness.

This is my third trip to Cheraw, I made the camp reservation to share this place with one or both of my children. Ben was the only one free to come. But Ruthie is like a sister. Sydney is like a daughter. Maybe it was the sacredness

of being in the dual presence of beauty and love. Maybe the beauty alone was enough. All weekend the lake was windy, to the point of being work to navigate home. But once we entered the cypress, the air stilled and the light softened. We paddled in the reverent silence of a Quaker meeting, watchful, expectant, listening.

We did see pitcher plants, we saw the osprey nest, we saw that crazy sign posted in the lake's middle, and we toured the beautifully preserved buildings in town. But it was the presence of what we could not see that marked this trip and will bring us back to the water again.