CALDERWOOD LAKE, A CANOE WITH A DOG AND MEMORIES

click on photos to enlarge

I sat on the porch last night with my feet propped up on the railing thinking about Douglas.  I have been avoiding looking at his pictures ever since the accident that took him from me.  I have even tried not thinking about him because the vision is always the same--him laying in the ditch along side the road, eyes wide in terror and crying out in constant pain.  But, tonight I can't resist letting the memories drift through my mind.  I am surrounded by my girls Happy, Shade, Chestnut and old Sigh and I find comfort in their presence.  I needed to visit Calderwood and Slick Rock Creek;  the sooner the better.  I had to find something out about myself and whether I could put Douglas in the past, and if not, why.  I got up and loaded the canoe onto the trailer at 4:30AM.

It was a terribly long drive to Calderwood from where I live now.  I left home at around 5:15 AM and ran the gauntlet of traffic and four lane highways all the way to route 129.  The cars heading to Knoxville on Alcoa Highway were so numerous they appeared as a single piece of long orange rope;  their headlights blending together creating a solid orange streak that went unending for miles.



Tellico Lake

 
Route 129 brought us to Tellico Lake.  Oh;  Happy came along.  I couldn't get her out of the truck if I tried.  I could see the stump field that I have paddled through so many times.  The water was beautiful with rich green shorelines.




Chilhowee Lake

Douglas and I came here often to hike, canoe and explore the mountains.  What a great place to spend time outdoors!  Abrams and Panther Creeks are right up the road at Chilhowee.  It's all here in one place. 




Chilhowee was the next lake to pass.  It was vast and the rising sun reflected beautifully from it's surface.  The curvy Dragon lay ahead to be negotiated and finally Calderwood Lake, located directly across the road from Cheoah Lake.

It felt like I was returning to hallowed ground when I pulled onto the little road that goes to the shoreline.  I opened the door and thoughtlessly exclaimed, "come Dougl, I mean Happy."
In a few minutes Happy and I were cruising on crystal clear, mirror smooth water.

It seemed a shame to disturb the surface with paddle strokes.  We owned the lake this morning and no one was around to make noise or cause disturbances on the water.  It was a wonderful scene.  Ten minutes into the float I noticed a beaver swimming along the shoreline.  I wondered how close I could get to him.  He would swim twenty five feet along the shore and exit the water to grab and eat a stalky, green plant.  He selected the same species of plant at each stop.  He wasted no time devouring his greens as he made a ten inch long piece of pencil thick grass disappear in about five seconds.   Then he would be off on his swim again.

This was a young pup beaver and he didn't seem to even see us.  Either that or he just plain didn't care.

This little guy took my mind off things and really gave me a show.  He was a delight to watch and photograph.

He was beginning to show concern as he headed away from shore to deeper water.  I followed at a discreet distance.  He did not speed up or show any alarm at our presence.

He finally swam directly away from us.  I applied more effort to the paddle and caught up to him and actually touched his rear end, at which he smacked the water with his big flat tail and submerged. 

He reappeared about thirty feet away and swam parallel to the canoe.  What a little daring guy!   I veered off to the left and away from him so not to stress him out.

In a short time he disappeared.  This was just one of those great unexpected wildlife encounters that happen infrequently.

The mouth of the channel to Slick Rock Creek was just ahead.

As I turned the boat to enter the cove;  my eyes automatically fell on the front of the canoe.  Normally Douglas would be sitting there; his eyes trained toward the back of the cove where Slick Rock Creek entered the lake with a rushing sound.  The bow of the canoe was empty.  A sudden loneliness started to overwhelm me.

I envisioned his golden form in the ditch in pain, him running through the forests, his golden form seeming to flow over dead falls and logs.  My throat became tight and tears started to flow.  Oh, how I miss him!

I looked down at the little dog between my knees and gently pet her her head.  She raised her face up and I said to her;  "we miss him, don't we little girl?"

This trip might not have been the greatest idea.  But, I had to do it.  The biggest reason that I love this lake and Slick Rock Creek, other than the lakes supreme beauty and the creek's swift, cold water, is that Douglas simply adored it here.  He loved the cold, fast water of Slick Rock and would entertain himself in it for hours.  This was our special place.  I walked to his favorite pool.

Cold mountain water rushed into it.  This is the pool where my boy went over the water fall while swimming against the current.  But the pool was empty now.  There is no sweet golden dog to bless this beautiful pool.  This ain't working.  Gotta get out of here.  Happy and I walked back to the canoe past the old camp where Douglas and I camped.  Later we invited Shade and Happy.

The warmth of it disappeared with his passing.  I found out what I needed to.  Douglas had been closer to me than any human ever was.  It was his innocence and total devotion and dedication to me that committed  me to him for life.  We were bound to each other through dependency and respect.  He was my confidant on endless cold Winter nights and the one I would simply drop meaningless sentences to on a whim.  He was attentive to my every phrase;  meaningless or otherwise.  When I spoke he would look into my eyes as if listening to my every word.  When he needed my attention, he would walk to me, tail wagging and look straight into my eyes while making almost inaudible guttural growls.  We were tuned in to each other.  He was my friend, my closest, dearest friend.  Everything was for him;  the big canoe, the trips daily to the ruins at the old state park, the hikes along Tellico.  The other dogs were guests that went with us.  I knew he needed to get out of that yard, often.  A whole lot of me left with Douglas when he went away on his final journey.  At the canoe I turned and took a last look at this beautiful place.  As tears filled my eyes I realized I wouldn't be returning here for quite sometime, if ever.



I made the above picture to assure I would remember this particular moment for all time.  Today would either be a turning point where I could get on without his memory driving me crazy or allow his memory to bring me joy.  I didn't know how it would go at this point.  I know that all the tears can not bring my innocent golden dog back to me.  But, in a way, the fact that I can cry for him does him honor;  and that's all I can do for him now.  I can show him honor.

We paddled close to the shoreline going under overhanging branches that grew from trees that made their homes precariously close to the water.  Eventually erosion would end their glorious lives.  Life is indeed fragile, especially among things natural that depend upon a completed chain of prime ecological factors for their existence.  It is a privilege to be able to gently come and go within the confines of that chain circle without disturbing any of the links.  

I had thought to visit this beautiful place and take away pleasant memories of it.  No other lake begins to compare with Calderwood's majesty.  I will take away the visions of a beautiful dog on a beautiful lake.

But, my heart and mind are focused on my golden boy.  Ahead, on the left, is the hillside camp site I complained so much about, yet, Douglas, the other girls and I made our camp here more times than can be recalled.  I've carried all the gear up that hill from the canoe many times and complained each time.  This is the camp site I awakened at one morning with a sciatic nerve attack and had to place my clenched fist under my spine and roll over onto it in order to alleviate the pain.

Coming up on the hillside camp

How many times have I parked canoe's at this spot? 

When I would pack things away to leave; Douglas would always run down and lay in the canoe ahead of me.  He was something else!

Douglas swam after a beaver over to the left one night.  That beaver played games with him.  But, my boy enjoyed the meeting and that's all I cared about.  Douglas would lay or sit beside a big tree just outside the reaches of the camp fire light.  He would come down to Shade and me when he wanted attention.  Then, he would go back on the hill by the tree.  But, every morning I would find him laying asleep just outside the tent.



Douglas's tree with the sun on it



Pressure has been behind my eyes many times during this day's paddle trip as I spotted places of significance for Douglas.  As I said before;  I know that he is never coming back to me and I guess I'm trying to find a middle ground between letting him go and enjoying the memories he gave me.  To date;  I can't find it.

Our tent spot

This Aztec Temple grows larger and larger each time I see it.

This lake was "our" special place.  It was "his" favorite.  The other girls came along by invitation only.  Of course they were always welcome and loved.  To be here without the golden dog is a superficial experience lacking purpose.  It was all about Douglas.  It was about the golden dog of the lake who motivated me to explore and experience things with him at my side.  As we paddled away I turned for one more look at the hillside camp.  I could see "him" running across the bare shoreline and cutting straight up the hill till he was out of site only to suddenly appear running full out, eyes wide and body stretched out in one of his happy laps, as I called them.  He was sensational!  He was and is my first love in Tennessee.

"Douglas;  I hope you are watching us travel through your favorite place today.  You were definitely with me my boy.  I suffered heart ache this afternoon allowing myself to see you on the boat and swimming in your favorite pool at Slick Rock.  I even watched you run happy laps at the hillside camp.  I am forever missing you golden boy.  I'm going to try harder to put you in perspective, Douglas.  It's for my own sanity and not because I am trying to forget you.  That will never happen.  I'll see you on the porch one night this week and we'll talk."

And then the eagle appeared.

Note the band on his right leg

He landed in a tree close to the canoe and stared at us.  A fitting tribute to Douglas. I wonder??????

Golden Dog of the Lake--I Love and Miss you

AN AFTERNOON FOR CHESTNUT

I somehow ended up with a scheduled three days off this week and decided last night to go fishing this morning early.  Up before first light; I hitched up the Gheenoe and headed for the lake.  A very, very thick fog made driving chancy but, I seemed to have the whole road to myself since it was Saturday.  I was driving on Route 25E that goes past a large parking area with a boat ramp.  I figured I would just put in there and drive the lake upstream to German Creek.  When I arrived at that ramp;  I saw what must have been three hundred trucks and trailers.  An enormous bass tournament was getting underway.  Trucks and trailers filled every parking spot and overflowed out onto the fringes of the four lane highway.   The bass were in for it today.  And, fishermen wonder why the bass aren't biting.  If 300 boats catch and bring 5 bass back per boat to the weigh in;  that's 1500 fish pulled out of their spots on the lake and driven up to three miles back to the dock for weigh in.  After weigh in they are released at the dock.  I'm betting they never get back home.  Anyway----

I continued driving to Oak Grove boat ramp on the North side of the lake and put the boat in there in heavy fog.  This is a favorite ramp I use for the state boat so I know this area well.  I aimed the Gheenoe toward German Creek and carefully drove across the bay blind in the dense fog.  The Lake Shore Drive bridge loomed ahead and over me and I knew I hit the channel dead on. 

A half mile up stream from the bridge;  I shut off the motor and enjoyed the quiet and being encapsulated in dense fog.  The anchor light and forward navigation lights were on of course.  I couldn't see the shoreline but had a good idea how close I was.  The waters ahead contain many rock piles and mud humps just under the surface and I would not venture further until sun up.

If I had the navigation system off the state boat, I could run this lake easy at night blind.  But all I have is sonar and GPS.  There isn't a lake map that works in conjunction with the GPS in this unit I have.  I have what is called the poor man's navigation system.
The fog lifted and I fished along the rocky shorelines on German Creek for two hours.  I couldn't buy a fish.  The bass boats blasted upstream and downstream constantly.  I was getting uneasy.  When I get that way I have to do something to alleviate the feeling.  That something was to leave.  I don't know what gets into me at times but when it does get into me, I become agitated and irritable.  I think I know what it is.  It's the environment in general.  I'm spoiled.  I have lived in the country where pristine, gorgeous lakes were minutes away.  My favorite Calderwood was an hour drive.  I had great canoe water and I had great hiking areas.  This part of East Tennessee is very different.  Below are two contrasting photographs of what I'm talking about.  The first is Calderwood Lake;  my favorite place in the whole world:

Calderwood Lake



Cherokee Lake

 The shot at Cherokee Lake is one of the better ones I have.  See the difference?  Calderwood is pristine by lake standards and Cherokee is a rock quarry with water in it surrounded by the largest housing complex in Tennessee.  There is nothing esthetically pleasing about it to me.  It is, however, a wonderful resevoir fishery.  Actually it's spectacular and, if that's where your interests lie you're all set.   I need wildlife and gorgous surroundings to be happy on a lake.  A lack of human habitation is also necessary.   Cherokee is a "job" lake to me and that's it.  I work it for the state.  I have no problem separating pleasure from work.  Cherokee is work.  It's where I drive the state boat.  And, it's great work and enjoyable.  Actually, I think I have the best job in the world.  But, for my personal enjoyment;  I'll travel to my favorite lakes back West of here.  It's no big deal.  I'm the luckiest guy in the world.  Got a fantastic job that I enjoy beyond even my own belief, a great property in the country with four acres, four great, well mannered dogs and enough toys to keep me happy for life.  I'm a happy camper.  That all being said;  I was tired of hearing the screaming of boat engines this morning and I simply decided to leave, in a heart beat.  This would be a good morning to get the dogs some exercise, especially Chestnut.

I noticed this little guy on the bird feeder when I parked at the house.  The feeder is old and broken but I put sunflower seeds in it just to see who would show up for a handout.

This little guy and about fifty more like him keep that old feeder swaying as if a constant wind were blowing it around.  I like to sit on the porch with my binoculars and just watch the activities there.  I noticed three squirrels scurry up the tree that the feeder hangs from.  Guess I"ll have to buy some unsalted peanuts next time I'm in town.  No wild creature gets turned away and none go without a full stomach.

The only place I know of where I can take the dogs for an outing is the Wildlife Management Area (WMA) at Buffalo Springs.  It isn't too far from Cherokee Lake and is the TWRA work center.  The area consists of 450 acres of field and forest and has ample room for the kids to run and get tired in.  Chestnut hasn't been away from this property since we moved here the end of June.  She would go with Shade and Happy today. 



"Come on little girl.  Hurry!"

Her eyes got wide when the truck stopped.  She, like the other dogs, became excited about the new environment she was about to explore. 


She left the truck, stopped, smelled the air, and took off for a field of tall grass.  She was so happy to have this new territory to romp in and to just sniff around.  She was very happy.  And, that made me happy.

Normally a hound will follow his own nose, so to speak.  They become difficult to call back and sort of have a mind of their own.  But, Chestnut came every time when called.  She would range out pretty far but never lost sight of me.  When I'd call;  she would instantly come back, with a few detours on the way of course.

I still refer to Chestnut as one of the puppies even though she is a year and a half old.  She was born in a litter of pups in the habitat I used to live in.  I remember well the night when at 1AM in the morning I heard the squeaking of little voices over in the corner where I put a big box for Maple, the puppies mom.   All the puppies were adopted over the Summer accept Chestnut and her brother Spruce.  Spruce  went home with the lady I rented from when I brought Chestnut with me here.  It all worked out.  Chestnut is looking and acting more and more like her mother, who had the softest eyes I have ever seen on a dog.  She had the personality to go with those eyes too.


Chestnut's mom, Maple



Chestnut, when a baby

Chestnut is part of my family now and she will want for nothing for the rest of her life.  She is a delight.



I'm glad I thought about bringing a jug of cool water with us for this trip.  There is no water on this property and they were building up a thirst.  I didn't hold any kind of pace today as it wasn't exactly cool out.  The dogs were panting heavily and we would not venture far from the truck.  The water was there if they wanted it.

Chestnut investigated everything and anything.  She has not been out in the fields very often in her life and has not really had the opportunity to become very socialized around people or other dogs really.  But, she'll be going with us frequently now that we're all settled.

Another thing I miss is the song birds.  The old ruins area was full of various song birds.  It was loaded!  I haven't seen a one here.  Maybe I just don't know where to look.  But, I haven't seen the slightest sign of a bird or mammal of any kind today.  I really miss that aspect of the old state park.



Chestnut and Shade are creating a close relationship





Life ends so that life can continue



So, that's our little afternoon outing.  It was time well spent with my girls.  I may pack up the canoe and drive to Indian Boundary Lake or even Calderwood tomorrow.  The weather man is calling for rain.  I'll make a determination in the morning. 

Douglas;  you're not missing anything with Cherokee Lake but, I am.  I'm missing you terribly, sweet golden son.  Terribly!

DOUGLAS, THE GOLDEN DOG OF THE LAKE ----A Song

A lady named Cat Faber wrote and sings a song for my sweet, lost golden boy.  I have not published it until now as I felt the tremendous loss sweep over me when I envisioned Douglas through the song.  The song is beautiful.  I pasted the words below the link to the song.  Thank you again, Cat.  I am moved by the words and melody of your tribute to my golden son.  And, he would find joy in listening to it.
http://www.hwaet.org/Catmp3s/Douglas.mp3

a cappella mp3 here  The words are pure and clear with this link

Douglas

lyrics and melody by Cat Faber  mp3 here; a cappella mp3 here

                
 

Douglas loved to explore, but his heart, as his guide,
As a compass turns north, drew him back to your side;
To see all was well, to enjoy a quick break,
Came Douglas, the great golden dog of the lake.

Cresting the hill to see what could be found,
Flowing like water across broken ground,
The quick turn of his head, checking back for your sake,
Went Douglas, the great golden dog of the lake.

Sure-footed he stood on the bow in the swells,
Seeing the sights and collecting the smells,
Looking back with a smile, leaving joy in his wake,

Rode Douglas the great golden dog of the lake

 

Asleep in the sun, with his chin on a thwart,
Swimming out for a stick, chasing mallards for sport,
Coming back to the shore for a roll and a shake,
Was Douglas the great golden dog of the lake.


The sweet golden boy, that you loved like a son,
May he yet bring you comfort where memories run.
For your life was made rich by the joy you could take
In Douglas, the great golden dog of the lake

WHAT IS IT ABOUT BASS FISHING?

 

Just for the record;  I throw all mine back----carefully.

I'm sitting in the truck at an out of the way boat ramp along Route 11W on Cherokee Lake.  The ramp is called the Correyville Boat Ramp.  The time is 5:30AM.  I just woke up earlier than normal this morning and got the bug to go fishing.  Actually Shade rolled onto her right side and about crushed me when she did.  

Rain is gently falling, as it has done all night, and I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing here in the rain, in the dark and at this ungodly hour.  The Gheenoe is behind my old truck and I am waiting for first light so I can see what I'm doing.  I thought I would have the boat ramp and parking lot all to myself but, there is another truck and boat parked in the lot just to my right.  Two guys are hurriedly moving here and there about the boat adjusting this and that and carrying boxes and fishing rods from the truck to the boat.  They briefly stop and lean on the boat to confer.  Their voices were mumbles as I'm too far away to hear their conversation.  One guy goes to the rear of the boat and presses the button that raises and lowers the engine.  He then lifts both rear deck hatches, peers in and closes them.  It's plain to see they can't wait for the light of day;  and the rain comes down harder.

 

Just what is it about this "bass fishing" that compels grown men to exit home at early hours of the morning, leaving family and responsibility, to venture out on a lonely lake at sun up to chase a fish?   Many own boats that cost almost what most houses cost.  Well;  they have to get to the bass before the other guy gets there first.  I am on the water every day performing my job and see first hand the intensity of the anglers as they search for this finned,  piscivorous creature of the lake.

 

A  bass angler's tenacity in the bass search is super human.  They blast from cove to cove in their boats trying the water with rod and lure.   Unsuccessful bass catches result in new search efforts in other suspected bass lairs like rocky shoreline areas, underwater valleys and humps and the mouths of streams and coves.  This process, search and fish, continues for the entire time the angler is on the water.  At times one can hear a jubilant "Gotcha" mingled with reinforcing laughter from his partner,  echoing clear across the lake from a successful fisherman.  But, what is it that motivates this child like attitude toward the search for bass?   Part of the explanation, I think, is that the search for the bass involves the application of fishing gear which is considered by some to be, not only a child's toy but, an adults as well.  Of course the well equipped angler needs a boat to get him to the bass spots.  Boats are fun for adults to drive.  Then there's the truck.  The well equipped angler needs a good truck to pull his bass boat.  Trucks are fun to drive also.  So, we have our angler driving his really neat four wheel drive truck with his new bass boat on his new trailer to the boat ramp.  Once there, he puts all his fishing rods on the boat along with a well equipped tackle box loaded with all the newest, hottest baits and launches his boat for a day's bass fishing.  In reality;  if his equipment is fairly new and of the professional variety, he has showed up at the boat ramp with $80,000 worth of gear not counting food and gas.

This does not hold true for all fishermen but, it does for those who like to fish tournaments.  However, the two guys sharing this parking lot with me appear to have a $1000 boat and a truck almost in the same shape as mine, which isn't a pretty sight.  Point is that there is a lot of effort that some guys put into their bass fishing.  Imagine spending $80,000 to catch a fish worth, well, worth----who knows?

Others are pulling boats into this parking lot now.  It's starting to get crowded and the sun is a half hour away from lighting up the world.  There are now three additional fishermen standing with the two originals.  One thing about fishermen;  they are a gregarious bunch.  Total strangers will walk up to total strangers and exchange conversation as if they knew each other all their lives.  Lake fishermen are a great bunch of common sense guys.  Very level headed and practical thinking.  I like em--especially the old timers.

I can hear bits and pieces of the conversation being held next door.  It's all about strategy.  It's about where to go first, then second.  Not a word about politics or Obama.  It's all about the bass.  Lots of boats are arriving at the lot;  expensive rigs with high horsepower engines.  This is too crowded for me.  I'm moving on down the road to Caney Creek where the ramp is located on a tiny parking lot.  The high end guys won't go there.  The water is too shallow to risk launching their high end, expensive boats.  As I slowly pull away I noticed each of my neighbors tilt their heads toward the dark sky as if imploring the sun to hurry up and light things up so they could be under way in search for Mr. Bass.

Listen to me talk.  Here I sit in this truck also waiting for the sun to rise.  What have I become?

Douglas;  I hope you're not watching me this morning.