Paddling Black Water

All were to convene at 9 AM at the put-in near Wanakena, but Russ and Randy stopped for a fine breakfast at the Blue Anchor Restaurant and Cabins just outside of Poland, NY.  It’s a fine spot to relive the 50’s in the tiny tidy doll house cottages, immaculately painted white with blue trim.  The picket fence completes the effect.  And the restaurant’s clientele fit right in.  

The stop at the diner also concluded the most dangerous portion of the trip.  Since there were no services in the garage at Randy’s camp where Russ and Randy had spent the night, there was no coffee to be had until the stop.  Russ’ knuckles regained their color as he chowed down.

Randy's canoe awaits.

The gang's all here.

Let's go!

They were glad to have stopped, and even more so when they learned that they did not need additional late-arrival excuses regarding fog and construction.  The rest of the party was much later due to oversleeping.  All finally hit the water around 10:30, but no matter, since no one else was headed in the same direction except one pair, who couldn’t coordinate paddling to save their lives.  Their bow man had that distinctive Charles Manson look, but there was no concern, because it was apparent those two would never make it far enough upriver to create an event requiring the participation of the media and law enforcement.

Six hours after starting, they arrived at the spot on the Oswegatchie where the foot bridge carries the blue trail across the river.  There are two campsites right at the junction, one high above the bridge on the western side, and another more spacious one on the east.  Both were good choices, but the group opted for a site a short distance upstream on the west, which would prove to be a good decision.

The main reason for the choice of site was the proximity to a natural spring.  While the flow from the plastic pipe someone had inserted was nothing great, a little patience allowed filling one’s containers with great tasting water without purification.  A major benefit.

Water falls from the spring.
It tastes fabulous!

And it had a privy.  A new-fangled stainless steel one.  Much better than digging a hole in the ground, even if the placement was a little too close to the blue trail.  Just like crossing the street, look both ways before you go.

A very minor example of the twist and turns.
Most of the way, the Oswegatchie writes its signature into the flood plain
in flowing cursive.

As for the time span of the upstream trek, everything is against you.  The narrow channel flows swiftly, sapping your inertia at every opportunity.  Though there are very pretty straight stretches, they are overshadowed by the many, many serpentine turns as the river makes its way through the flood plain.  Only the position of the sun indicates the direction of your progress, since one can rarely see anything over the thick bushes that crowd the shore and often squeeze the thoroughfare into a channel just wide enough for a single canoe or kayak.

Mike and Matt make their way upstream.

The gang at High Rock,
a good spot for a break and a view.
Attractive group, eh?

Then there are the rocks.  Some are exposed, providing a picturesque view, but many more are lurking close beneath the surface, just waiting to grab your boat, stalling your progress.  You point your canoe around the spots indicated by the riffles, assuming the fluctuations of the water will be your guide, but they often lie.

Are those rocks I see up ahead?

Where to go, where to go...

It's often good to learn the best channel
from the lead boat.
More often, it's good to know where not to go.

The finishing touches are provided by unseen rodents.  Though they rarely make an appearance, their presence is everywhere.  The slides grooved in the banks and the pointed chewed ends of the bushes would be an adequate indication, but that is not enough for them.  They also create barriers to insure they are not overlooked.  Beaver dams, we call them, but after getting out of the canoe for the 5th time to pull the boat over one, the word order is reversed.

It is good the weather cooperated.  I’m not sure it would be all that much fun dragging the boats over the mud and sticks in cold, wet weather.  I can’t imagine doing it in the spring with icebergs in the high water.

Yanking up and over.

Sometimes there is no other way than to get out and pull,
particularly when the canoe is laden with all your gear.

Jim being a good citizen.

Urging the canoe through the debris field.

They sleep comfortably in their condominiums while we struggle with their handiwork.

There is a space wide enough for the canoe,
but the edge-on current does not make for easy going.

Major traffic jam.

Mike is becoming a sail,
hoping a gust of wind will push him through.

Not again!

The group set up camp and got firewood as Jim cooked dinner.  Though they had begun driving before 6 AM, they still ended up eating and cleaning up in the dark.  

A good shot of Jim by the campfire.

New fleece, now a certified camping-only bit of apparel. 

Though dead tired, it did not stop them from passing a bottle while telling campfire stories.  None can relate all that transpired, but suffice to say that Russ is now the Grand Imperial Emperor of the Northern Spider Monkeys.  With a business card.

The schedule highlight for a following day was paddling on up to High Falls.  More beaver dams, and some very pretty sections of the river as well.  Mike and Randy settled on a policy of not trusting their memories in regard to order of occurrence on the river.  They verified that one memorable stretch with a campsite overlooking some small rapids did not repeat itself above the bridge, so they resigned themselves to the fact that the area was indeed located downstream.

Mike is sporting Randy's most excellent duct tape job.
Jim asked for more paddles, but did not specify that they should be good ones.
The splits in this one made it only marginally useful.
They said the fix wouldn't last,
but it served Mike well, all the way home.

High Falls directs the full flow of the Oswegatchie in split channels over a rock ledge 20 feet high.  It is really more impressive from the lip above than from below, since one can see the speed and power of the water in the channels in addition to the cascade.  But the falls must be much more impressive during the spring run-off, since large sections of surrounding rock have no clinging vegetation.  No standing on the lip then.

Not going to paddle up these rapids.

One of those much-more-impressive-in-person cases.

One on the brink, looking downstream.

Upon returning to the campsite, all engaged in some tightly focused lollygagging, and also set up a tarp against the light rain.  With just enough time to make the trip before dinner, Russ and Randy made their way to the first of the 5 ponds, for which the wilderness is named, for the pleasure of the unspoiled view.  

The trail to the Five Ponds, as trails should be.

Shrooms along the way.

The beavers have made Big Shallow Pond even bigger.

Contrary to proper woodsmanship and the primary purpose of escaping into the wilderness, Jim placed a 2 hour limit on the duration of the hike due to the planned dinner hour.  With Randy tasked as timekeeper, their return was only 30 minutes late.  And they timed their return to the readiness of Jim’s famous Hoover Curry, so all was well in the world.  Tired from three days of escapades, all turned in early.

Shortly before 10 PM, the intermittent rain intensified.  3 of our five became one with the rain due to leaking tents, leaking tarps, or just plain bad luck.  Once wet, it’s hard to dry out, and harder to sleep even if the problem has been resolved, so it was a long night.  The next morning, the tent Randy had provided for Russ was decommissioned, and will spend the rest of it’s life as a mystery object in a basement somewhere.

They ate oatmeal, packed and headed out as soon as possible.  The uneventful trip down the river took half the time the upstream paddle had taken, and they soon had the boats atop the cars and were on the road back to civilization.

Downstream and out.