THE MISTRAL CANOE ON CITICO CREEK AND A FEW MOMENTS OF CONCERN

The sweat was literally pouring off my body.  It was a long pull across Tellico Lake to get to the mouth of Citico Creek.

Many motorized boats were plowing up and down the two hundred foot wide channel that connected Chilhowee Dam to the open water of Tellico Lake.  Beyond the two hundred foot safe, navigable channel lay the stump fields where no motor boats go.  At least people with any sense at all won't go there with an outboard motor.

All I needed was a ten minute window of "no boat traffic" to make the dash across the channel to the stumps.  I looked both ways and saw no moving boats.  I was off!

I paddled as hard as I could to clear the channel.  The water was fairly smooth with only residual wakes from boats of previous passing

I found a great place to skirt around the major stump concentrations and avoid any contact with the pesky wooden icebergs.  The water was deeper at this time of year and I could paddle closer to the islands which lay to the right of the protruding stumps.  The water was smooth back here.  I was loving it.

I was heading along that shoreline on the right to it's end where the water follows a cove back around that corner in the center of the picture.  Citico Creek should be there.

The cove opens into a larger bay type area.  Citico Creek should lay to the right side of that little island with the trees on it.

The Mistral was responding to my paddle strokes perfectly.  There is no ballast in the bow for this trip.  The wind was absent on this day and the sun was hot.  Ballast is important, especially on windy days.  The boat was gliding effortlessly along.  The boat is moving exceptionally fast today.  It must be the calm conditions eliminating the need for major correction strokes that waste energy and power that could be used for forward momentum.  She's going straight as an arrow, and very fast.

As usual;  I had to search to find the mouth of Citico Creek.  The foliage and terrain changes annually,  presenting a camouflage that also changes.  It's part of the fun;  this searching for the entrance to the creek.  It's a reason to keep paddling.  The best part is there is no urgency to hurry.







Ah;  this looks like it dead ahead.



No;  that ain't it.  Dead end





We'll give this opening a shot.

That won't work either.  Dead end.

There it is.  I knew it when I finally saw it.  Citico Creek lays dead ahead.

The water is very calm and quiet.  This is a canoeists dream.   The place reminds me of some bayou in Louisiana.



It is beautiful back in here.  I simply wanted to sit on the little sand bar I always stop at. It is where I watched a little baby bird thrash about in the water.  I couldn't get to it in time.   The goal this afternoon was to feel the paddle in my hands again.  Citico was just a destination and a reason to go paddling.
The little sand bar is just ahead surrounded by many fallen and washed up logs.  It's a quiet spot and folks paddling up or down stream can not see back in here.  The opening to this little hideaway is barely wide enough for a canoe to fit through.  Love it!

There it is dead ahead.  The bank is soft and grassy;  perfect to beach the canoe on.

This is a wonderful place to hide out.  The sky has darkened and there is a constant thunder in the distance.  I heard that severe storms were to occur well North of here.  By the sounds of it the storms had a different plan.  Maybe the threat of a storm will drive the boats off the lake and allow the canoe safe passage back to the put-in.

It's pretty neat to be in a spot where the loud hustle bustle of vehicles and people screaming can't be heard.  Calderwood Lake is the best though.  This ain't bad.  Every now and again an exceptionally loud motorcycle can be heard blasting along toward the Dragon road.  Wonder who started the idea that Harley Davidson's needed loud exhaust pipes?
All of a sudden lightning appeared.  It was knifing vertically to the earth.  What's going on now?  This wasn't called for.  A gentle rain started and quickly stopped.  I stood and looked toward the sky to the North and it was dark.  The flashing glow of lightning could be seen high in the clouds.  Wow!  That doesn't look good.  The dark sky was still far away.  I wondered if I could make it across Tellico Lake to the boat launch or not.  I did a quick look around for old times sake and decided to make a run for it.

The Mistral was slid back into the water and I set a quick pace to get back onto the channel out of here..  The thunder was getting louder and all I could think was what the emergency weather guy always says when the emergency station breaks into normal broadcasting to alert the public of impending foul weather.
"There is a severe thunder storm capable of producing golf ball size hail moving West to North East at 50 miles per hour carrying high velocity winds approaching 60 miles per hour.  This is considered a dangerous storm.  Remember;  if you can hear thunder you are close enough to be hit by lightning.  Lightning is the most dangerous element in nature and contributes to many deaths every year.  Take precautions and stay in doors."  That's a pleasant thing to think about out here on this lake. 
The lightning flashes increased.  They appeared as short bursts of orange flash every ten to fifteen seconds.  I was fast approaching the mouth of Citico and would be on the main lake in a couple minutes.

The sky was really dark off to the North.  I was wondering if I shouldn't just stick it out here.  I knew that wasn't an option for me before I thought of the question.  I like a challenge.  I could see a storm was coming and I wanted to beat it.  The surface of the lake was calm and smooth.   That would allow the big canoe to make maximum speed.  I sped through and away from the creek mouth at top speed, whatever that is.   My paddle cadence was very fast and I was putting all I had into the power strokes.  I leaned my whole body far forward and planted the paddle blade into the water and pulled rearward with my entire upper body and ended the stroke with a quick kick out away from the boat with the paddle blade to maintain course.  It was easy and the strokes just seemed to happen without thinking.  The canoe still moved on silky smooth water and her glide was sensational.  A check skyward indicated to me that it would be a neat trick to get to shore before this storm caught me.  No time was wasted.  I skirted around stumps in the stump field and put the boat on a course that would run close to the island to my left, keeping well away from the dangerous stumps to the right.  The sky was coming alive with lightning.  It made me nervous.  I noticed that not one boat was on the water.  What did they know that I didn't?   I never stopped my paddle cadence for a moment, which is a good testimonial to the efficient way this canoe functions.  I wasn't tired in the slightest.  I've come about a mile and a half non stop so far.  A gentle breeze started and I felt the first regrets at not electing to stay back on the safe bank of Citico Creek where I could pull my rain poncho over myself and wait out the worse.  I could even find shelter under the canoe if necessary.  Oh well;  "deal with it,"  I thought.  The canoe broke around the island we were following and the two hundred foot wide navigable channel was just ahead.  A glance to the left, down stream, made me stop paddling for a brief moment.  No;  not that!  Far out in the distance, under the black sky was a thin gray line on the water that extended shore to shore.  It was wind blowing the water into white caps.  I've seen it before.  There would probably be heavy rain associated with that wind.  The whole mess was coming directly toward me.  I remember thinking, "not gonna make it;  not gonna make it!"   I've never paddled a canoe as hard as I did this afternoon, ever.  With every other power stroke I glanced at the gray line getting closer and closer; larger and larger;  and I paddled harder and harder.  If that thing caught me out here it would drive me up stream clear to Chilhowee Dam, two miles away if I didn't get blown up onto the shore somewhere in between here and there.   Almost there.  Almost there.  Only another fifty feet.  The water around and under the canoe was swelling up and receding under the boat, sort of like a big balloon blowing up and immediately deflating.  The white caps were in plain view and almost ready to strike the canoe.  The bow touched the boat ramp and I hopped out as the first wave pushed up onto the ramp, struck the canoe and pushed me back wards where I fell down trying to hold onto and protect the canoe from contact with the concrete.  The canoe wheels were quickly slid over the stern end and I rolled the old girl up to the parking lot where I sat down and thought to myself;  "you idiot!  You damn idiot!"   The rain didn't come.  Only the wind made it's debut.  I loaded the canoe onto the trailer and grabbed the camera for a couple shots.  Note the long log at the water's edge of the boat ramp.  That wasn't there when I hit the ramp.  It came in only seconds after I pulled the canoe out.  Never noticed it coming.  Must have been right behind me.



Remember;  this was the water condition at the start.



Another few seconds and the above is what I would have been dealing with.  I'm sure I could keep it afloat but, I doubt I could control direction----at all.  Close one!
So, thats the day in pictures.   A nice hike with the dogs in the morning to a great paddle trip that ended in a very high degree of excitement.  Whew!    We'll see what tomorrow brings when it gets here.

A HOT MORNING WITH THE DOGS! A CANOE PADDLE THIS AFTERNOON? WE'LL SEE

The morning is early and the sun is promising a hot day again.  Everyone at the little diner across the street complains about the heat.  I love it.  I loaded the pups and headed for the old state park to let them swim in the lake and enjoy the coolness of the morning.  We only have a four hour window in the morning to use for an outing as dogs are susceptible to intense heat.  The heat is intense these days with temperatures hanging near 95 degrees.


Cool off time for Douglas, Shade and Happy.

I don't want to lend the idea that this blog is all about dogs but, they exist in my life and with them comes a lot of responsibility.  People ask me why I mess with them.  Usually they state cost as the main reason for the comment.

Well;  I don't know what to think.  From a cost stand point there is no return on the dollars spent.  They're a problem if I want to leave town for more than two days.  Heartguard and flea preventative medication costs me $75.00 monthly for three dogs.  Douglas gets his annual physical which costs $450.00;  includes xrays and blood work. Then there's the feed cost.

 A 35 pound bag of good quality dog feed runs about $34.00.  The best dog feed will sell for around $45.00 for a 35 pound bag.  I usually buy four bags of really good feed and one bag of super feed and mix them together every meal, once a day.  That guarantees nutritious eating for them.

Their presence even dictates where I live.  If it weren't for them I would be living on a house boat right this minute on Cherokee or Douglas Lake.  However, I can't have a dog door on a house boat.  So why dogs?   There isn't any one answer to that question.  It certainly isn't because their just neat things and pretty.  It's far more than that.  I can offer the following to put things into a more understandable perspective.



A terrier that swims.  Happy the retriever.  Funny!

When Douglas, Shade and Happy jumped out of the truck at the old state park today;  their eyes opened wide and took on a wild appearance.  Their heads raised high and moved quickly left and right with purpose.  They came alive!  We, I, walked across the meadows.  Shade ran full out through the tall grass, occasionally jumping straight up above the tallest grass to get her bearings.  For just a moment she was a wild creature in a wild environment acting like a natural wild inhabitant of nature;  and she was beautiful doing it.

Douglas jogged along fence lines and open places and paths displaying the tendencies of his hunting breed, looking up the trunks of trees hoping to catch sight of his favorite animal--the squirrel.  His nose paused at flowers, certain plants and fence posts.  His face reflected a certain special alertness.  He projected a sense of being.  He was in his element;  an element he can not enjoy while behind a fenced in yard no matter how large it is.

A much needed rest!

I caught myself smiling as I watched them delighting themselves in this, to them, a Disney world.  Observing them being happy and contented made my happy.  When I walked on, they ranged about in the tall grass, yet followed me.  In short;  they were keeping their eyes on me constantly so they could follow my lead and direction.

They are dedicated to me and very loyal.  They ask for nothing more than food, water and shelter.  I provide the additional services to them willingly of my own accord.  It makes me feel good to provide not only the necessary survival items but, I want them comfortable and happy.

These sweet dog friends will give me their total dedication and loyalty every day and night for the rest of their lives and ask nothing more for it but to include them in my activities, sometimes.  Just sometimes.  I am the cause of all that.  That is an honor to me.  What devotion!  How many wives and husbands have a dedicated relationship like that?  Can people say the same about their children as they grow up?  You still may not get it;  but it's the best explanation I can offer.  Each and every dog has a personality and a heart ready to offer up to a human.  Can't put a price on that.

I love them all but, he is the sweetest



Good girl Happy.  Bring me the stick



Sometimes it's nice to just sit in the water



Come on Hap;  lets go.  Put the stick down



We left the water and walked up the old road to nowhere and onto the wide paths that lead to the meadows and back to the truck.  I am always amazed at the vivid green colors at this place.  They are rich and vibrant as if unreal.  The grass and trees appear painted by a brush filed with exceptional, unreal green paint.  These grounds are covered with natural grasses indigenous to the state of Tennessee.  The TWRA actually plants natural grasses for the betterment of the animals that live here.  I know this because I have watched the soil cultivated for the past six years and the natural grasses continually appear in those cultivated areas.  I do, however notice, that the grasses planted offer grain and leaves much preferred by the denizens who thrive here.  The eye is met with rich, lush green in every direction.

An Indigo Bunting alights in a tree ahead.  I have the tiny camera only.  Look closely (enlarge the shot) and you'll see the little fellow contrasted against the rich green he is perched in.



Upper left of center

I cropped the shot.  This is as good as it gets with this little Elph camera.  I could get some outrageous shots of birds with the big camera if I could bring myself to come here alone without the dogs.

He is totally rich, vivid, dark blue with a very small mask of black over his eyes.  At first I thought Eastern Bluebird.  But, they have light coloration and some cream and brown on their undersides.  Not so with this little guy.

The recent tornado's spared this grand old tree, thank heavens!



 We walked through the old ruins area and took a short break.  The dogs were contented and rested in the shade.  The sun was getting high in the sky and soon would prove dangerous for my friends.

Shade;  "where did you get that colorful tongue?"

He's the sweetest!



Part of a flower garden from the past



This is such a beautiful place.  We'll head across the meadow directly in front of us to the old barn.  It's a short walk to the truck from there.

My favorite tree in this old park


 

The old barn is just ahead.  I hope you enjoyed the morning hike with us.



I'm planning on putting a canoe in Tellico Lake for a paddle across to Citico Creek this afternooon.  I'll drive to the lake and make a decision weather to launch depending on the boat traffic there.  Again;  I thank you for looking in.

DAD AND MY UNCLE ON THE OLD FARM

MY DAD AND MY UNCLE----TWO FARMERS

1951 in Pennsylvania was a very good year,  I think.  It was the year I was introduced to life on a farm.  I was five years old.  My dad and Uncle, brothers, lived on and shared the responsibilities of the families dairy farm and each had his strong points and weak points as well.  My father, Donald and Jewell, my Uncle,  undertook different, yet definite work responsibilities pertinent to operational duties.  I never noticed this trait at first but, later it was very evident.  But, let me digress.

An early Fall Day in 1951 found me in the barn with dad watching him attach huge pieces of leather harness to Charlie, an enormous dark brown work horse that stood taller than dad.  Dad then walked to the next stall and repeated the process with Whitey, another mastodon of a horse.  When those horses walked out of the barn the earth shook.  Seriously;  I could feel the ground vibrate with every step they made.  It made an impression on me that I never forgot, and I'm 65 years old now.  Dad walked between the horses as he lead them across the barn yard to the plow.  If I remember correctly it was a two bottom plow which would cut two furrows simultaneously.  Two handles curved back for the operator to grasp and guide the plow as it cut it's furrows through the field.  My Uncle, at some point in time, built and attached wooden spoke wagon wheels onto the plow in order to make it more mobile.  A lever was pulled that would set the plow points on the ground so they could dig in when the forward power was applied by the horses.  The plow shares would then neatly fold the plowed soil over into a neat row of sod, grass side down.   As you may have determined by now;  my Uncle was the inventor of the family.  He was the tinkerer, always measuring something with his personal forty foot tape measure that he kept on his person at all times.  The problem was that he often started a project and would take years to finish it.  When asked about finishing something he started he would say, "there's too much to do and he'd get to it when time allowed."  Funny that he had time to start things but not enough time to finish them.

All of a sudden dad grabbed me under the shoulders and lifted me up onto the back of Charlie.  I was all grins.  This was the first time I had been permitted to sit a horse.  It was grand!  Dad set the plows and said something that sounded like "yep, yep" to the team and they trudged along under dad's guiding hands on the reins.  I was impressed.  Those horses were fine, strong animals and I adored them.  They had a habit of standing under some enormous poplar trees that lined the road in front of the barn.  A terrible lightning storm came up one day and lightning struck the huge poplar they were standing under.  Charlie was felled instantly.  Whitey was totally blinded.  A tragedy.  Dad lead Whitey into the stable and was quite depressed.  The next day a truck with a winch and a long flat bed pulled up to where Charlie laid.  A cable was wrapped around his two back legs and he was winched up onto the truck bed.  The truck then pulled down to the barn yard.  I couldn't understand why.  Whitey was in there.  The truck driver walked into the barn carrying a rifle.  A shot was heard and I could hear Whitey kicking his stall with his feet.  Dad said, "its just a muscle reaction," or something like that..  A long cable was drawn into the barn and the winch was started.  Whitey was dragged out and onto the long flat bed next to charlie.  I was devastated to say the least.  The passing of Charlie and Whitey marked the end of an era.  It signaled the advent of technology on the dairy farm.  It was a change I was sorry to see occur. 

Uncle Jewell, Grandma (104 yrs old) Me & Dad

UNCLE JEWELL'S RIDE

Dinner always occurred at noon sharp.  My mom and aunt Josephine, Uncle Jewell's wife, always called it dinner.  Supper was the 6PM meal.  Of course it's lunch and dinner these days.  Dinner was no small meal, ever.  Mom and Aunt Josephine slaved over a coal stove oven all morning preparing the best they could for the men who worked hard to keep the place going.  My mom and Aunt presented the men of the house hold a feast every single day of the week.

"Pass the mashed potatoes to your dad."

I replied with a simple "yep."

The sounds of the horses hoofs were loud but not as loud as the yelling and screaming that accompanied them.  "Whoa Charlie;  Hey Whitey, Whoa, Whoa, hold up, hold up."

I can still see dad lean slightly back in his chair to pull the thin curtain to the side as he peered through the distorted window glass behind him.  I ran out onto the kitchen porch in time to see both Whitey and Charlie stretching their forelegs far out in front of them, running as if the demons from hell were at their backs. The cloud of dust they were kicking up from the dirt road obliterated any view of my Uncle Jewell and the wagon he was sitting on until it passed the house.  Burlap bags full of cow feed were tumbling off the wagon through the open end gate at the back of the wagon.  As my Uncle and the team raced by, Uncle Jewell's farm hat blew off his head and landed unceremoniously at the side of the road, baring his bald head which made it easier to follow his movements in the wagon.  Aunt Josephine stood leaning against the porch railing holding a handkerchief to her mouth chanting the words, "oh my, oh my" over and over.

Dad had a wide smile on his face and I thought I could hear a chuckle.  He was enjoying the spectacle his brother was involved in.  Mom said, "do something Don."

Dad replied, "horses will tire----in a few more miles."

It seemed to me then, and in later years, that dad delighted in my Uncle Jewell's foiled follies.  I think it's because my Uncle designed the business decisions and things pretty much went his way.  I think dad found great delight when Uncle Jewell proved occasionally that he could be wrong.  The horses did tire and finally stopped.  Mom made dad trail the wagon in the old Packard.  They tortured my Uncle for three miles and stopped on the outskirts of the town of Scottdale.    All ended well.  It was just another day on the farm.

All was soon forgotten and the event was never brought up again in conversation, ever.  It was just business as usual.  But, I never forgot....

If you would like to hear more about the old farm; just say so.  There are many stories I could tell about the old days.  I've had an interesting life.  Thanks for tuning in.