Camping and Kayaking at Kings Bend

For the second year in a row, I planned a camping and paddling trip to take place on the Locust Fork of the Warrior River during Spring Break. Last year's trip was nearly a total disaster ("nearly," only in that we all survived in-tact). I immediately knew this trip would prove more successful when we arrived at the right river. Last year, I got confused which direction to turn on County Road 26; so instead of putting in on the Locust Fork (on right), we put in on the Mulberry Fork (on left).

Unfortunately (or perhaps, in the end, it was fortuitous) that stretch of the Mulberry has some whitewater; additionally, the river was pretty high because of recent rainfall, both of which we were unprepared for. Three people in a sixteen foot canoe, laden with food and drink enough to last us the whole of our two-day camping trip.

Within twenty minutes of putting in, we hit our first set of rapids. Since I was at the front of the boat, I could see that it wasn't going to go well for us, so I got as low as I could in the floor of the bow. Gallons of icy water poured into the bad as we hit the first wave. This made us even heavier, so that we were sitting lower and took on even more water after hitting the second. We didn't hid the third wave so much as blunder into it; at this point the canoe was essentially submerged. We were still sitting in it, but even the gunwales were entirely underwater. Then we hit a rock and were dumped out along with all of our belongings. Daniel was thrown clear of the boat and could be heard laughing hysterically, some twenty or thirty feet from Matt and myself. I scrambled to swim toward the watertight box containing our phones, GPS, and other essentials. Matt had the foresight to grab the boat. Most of our food was lost, as was my Flip camcorder, my lifejacket (which I wasn't wearing, of course), and an oar.

After we were able to beach the boat, after being driven downriver for a while, we were able to begin to collect our bearings. Everyone's limbs were still in tact. We were down to one oar. I was pretty certain we were on the river, and now had no idea what was ahead of us. We were in the middle of nowhere and had no choice but to carry on. Once we mustered the courage to re-embark, we began to come across some of our orphaned belongings: a bag of bananas, a cooler with our water and sandwiches, and here-and-there oatmeal creme pies.

Finally, we came upon civilization, a farm house atop a bluff - our salvation. We beached the canoe, called it a day, and ended the trip effective immediately.

This is the only photo I have to show for the trip - Canon Rebel 2000, EF 28-80 3.5-5.6 III

But that was last year. This year, I ended up in the water much more quickly, but at least I was in the right river. And since I didn't lose my Flip this time, I'll let the video tell its own story of our trip.

But here are a couple of the better photographs, since this is supposed to be a photoblog and all.

Sunrise at Kings Bend - Panasonic LX3

Panasonic LX3

Panasonic LX3

For more information about the North Jefferson Kayak Club and its activities,
visit our website and/or our Facebook page.

Great Grandma's Farm

Though I have spent a significant amount of time on Great Grandma's farm in East Texas, I (sadly) have very little to show for it, photographically. During my earlier years, I wasn't yet a photographer. And in the years since, I have lived no less than 600 miles away, thus allowing for fewer opportunities.

In the the couple summers after my first two years, I was able to take my first "keepers." And just to forewarn, one of them is somewhat disturbing.

Canon Rebel 2000, EF 100-300 f/4.5-5.6

Canon Rebel 2000, EF 28-80 f/3.5-5.6 III

Mamiya M645, Sekor C 45mm f/2.8

 And here's the story behind that last one. One of aunts informed me that there was a cow that had been dead a couple of weeks that was out in one of the pastures. So my dad and I took the golf cart to go see it. I took a couple of cameras along. As I approached, gingerly, a cloud of flies ascended off the carcass, startled by my presence, only to settle back down for more dinner and egg-laying. The smell is indescribable.

In the years since, I have only really had one additional opportunity. For Christmas 2008, I received what was at one time the camera of my dreams: Canon EOS 3. And I always assumed it would be a dream to own it, because it cost upwards of $800 in the early 2000s. However, with the digital revolution and the subsequent plummeting of SLR prices on the used market, I was able to obtain one for 1/10 of the original price. And it's everything I had imagined it to be. My first photos with it were at the Farm, which was also the first outing for my EF 20mm lens.

Canon EOS 3, EF 50mm f/1.8 II, Ilford HP5 Plus 400

Canon EOS 3, EF 50mm f/1.8 II, Ilford HP5 Plus 400

Canon EOS 3, EF 20mm f/2.8, Ilford HP5 Plus 400

Canon EOS 3, EF 20mm f/2.8, Ilford HP5 Plus 400

Hopefully, future trips will bring equally appreciable fruit. I've spotted a few prospective shots; now it's just a matter of getting back.

Addendum:
Some of my favorite, or at least most vivid, childhood and adolescent memories occurred on the Farm:

• Jumping off the dock at Aunt Reba's, and feeling the fish occasionally nibble at your toes while you were in the water, all the while wondering if Chuck was telling the truth that water moccasins could bite you under water (I still don't know).
• Shooting at turtles in the ponds. You never really knew if you hit one, because even in the event that you were close enough to have hit it, the turtles went underwater either way. So we just generally assumed success.
• An all-boys camping trip, involving cousins, second-cousins, friends - I don't know who all was there, but there were an awful lot of us. And just as we were getting things set up and hotdogs were cooking, a flash flood dropped on our heads, and we ran through a couple of pastures back to Great Grandma's, wet and having slipped and slid through every puddle along the way. So instead we camped in the living room, lying scrunched together like refugees.
• Throwing fire crackers at one another on July Fourth weekend. Matt trying to blow up the remains of long-deceased frogs and squirrels with M-60s.
• Playing hide-and-seek in the hay bales in the barn. They were usually stacked impossibly high. And when that got tiresome, rope-swinging from the rafters into large piles of hay on the barn floor.

There are more, but they're not occurring to me at the moment. Does that make them somehow less memorable? I'd like to think not.

Below is the conversation this spurned among cousins, on another forum: