St. Croix River Maine

The idea was to boldly go where no man....well you know the rest.  We wanted to take a paddling trip in Maine while avoiding the madding crowd.  Our first thought was the Allagash, the state’s most famous waterway and the first Maine river most  paddlers think of, a fact that virtually guarantees crowds.  But after contacting Martin Brown, the proprietor of Sunrise County Canoe Expeditions in the far eastern part of the state, our destination was decided.  “I have a better river for you.” said Martin “Give the St. Croix a try.”  Martin is the guru of northwoods canoeing and his advice is not lightly ignored.  “The St. Croix has no crowds and the water and scenery are as good as the Allagash if not better.”   OK Martin, we’re hooked.

            So we find ourselves paddling through the dawn mist of Lake Spednik, watching a warming early June sun appear over the eastern tree line.  We finally realize why Brown’s company is called Sunrise County.  We are probably the first Americans to witness this day’s sunrise since Lake Spednik lies on the eastern boundary of the United States.  The trees that are slowly  revealing the orange sun are in Canada and we are but a few hundred yards from the international border.

            This long, thin finger of a lake separates Maine and Canada, the international border an invisible line cutting more or less through the middle of its cold water.  We will cross this border dozens of times over the next week.  The lake flows south into the St. Croix River, the easternmost river in the United States.  Brushing against New Brunswick on its left bank, it is hard to believe that this small lively river is a boundary between two major countries.  Camp on the left side of the St. Croix and you’re in Canada, camp on the right and you’re in the United States.

            Martin recommended that we put in along the shores of the lake and spend a couple of days exploring its bays, fingers, and islands before heading downstream on the St. Croix.  I questioned the wisdom of his advice as our shuttle driver Jim sped down a narrow dirt two-track to the lake.  Jim was relating a story about a couple who whined and complained through the duration of a Rio Grande trip.  All the while I watched the bow of my roof-racked canoe bash and scrape through the limbs and branches of the overhead tree canopy.  Not wanting to join the rolls in Jim’s pantheon of griping customers, I peered ahead for overhanging limbs and decided to shut my mouth unless an overhanging branch the size of a telephone pole made destruction appear imminent.  I felt like the lookout on the Titanic.  I was intently peering through the rushing limbs ahead when Jim stood on the brakes and brought the van to a sliding halt in a spray of gravel.  I looked up through the windshield expecting to see our canoe impaled on the limb of a maple.

             “Moose!”  Jim pointed to a huge female moose calmly eating her way through floating vegetation in a bog next to the road.  We hadn’t even hit the water yet and we’d already bagged a moose—a good sign, especially to my son, Michael.  One of his major goals on this trip is to see “mucho moose” and Lake Spednik already provided his first sighting.  

            Lake Spednik is typical of north country lakes.  A few cabins are visible from the water but for the most part, signs of humans are absent.  While not truly a wilderness  area, evidence of civilization along the river and lake is sparse.  The lake teems with landlocked salmon, lake trout, and smallmouth bass and the surrounding forests are home to sizable numbers of moose, as we’ve already learned.  Maples, aspen, and birch trees crowd to the water’s edge, and the shore line is rocky and abrupt, leaving little choice of landing spots.  Campsites are problematic but not absent, and set up our tent at an abandoned fish camp in a small cove.  Just back from the shoreline, an ancient cabin, cleaved dead center by a giant fallen spruce, lies forlorn and deserted.  An experienced logger couldn’t have felled the tree any neater, the massive trunk lying dead center through the structure’s middle.  The log walls are all that remain standing, the roof smashed and splintered under the trunk.  We imagine the surprise of the owners as they returned to find their outpost destroyed.  The camp appears to have been abandoned in a fit of resigned defeat.  An old table and chairs sit broken and rotting near the now flattened front door. and the guts of a fifties-vintage outboard motor lie under a blanket of pine needles.

            Lake Spednik empties into the St. Croix River at the village of Vanceboro, Maine, a wide spot in the road with a U.S. Customs house guarding the bridge between the two countries.  A smattering of houses and a couple of small stores huddle against the American side.  The Vanceboro Dam, which impounds the waters of the lake, requires a 200-yard portage on the American side.  We carry our canoe and supplies around the dam and wave at Canadians across the river.  Hard to believe that this small and friendly town was once the site of international intrigue when a German sympathizer attempted to blow up the local railroad bridge to prevent Canadian war supplies from being shipped to Britain.

            Below the dam, the trip changes from flatwater lake canoeing to lively Class I and II paddling through the frequent small rapids and riffles of the St. Croix.  The water is crystal clear and the river bottom is lined with sunken logs, the legacy of the St. Croix’s role in a thriving lumber industry.  For over a century, the river was a vital transportation route for loggers; logs were floated downstream to the sawmills and many sank along the way.  They still remain a century later.  As with Lake Spednik, the St. Croix is relatively undeveloped.  Occasional cabins can be spotted along the banks but Vanceboro is the only major sign of civilization we see for a week.

            The highlight of the river is Little Falls, the most challenging water we will run.  The river constricts between two bluffs forming the two-hundred-yard Class III rapid.  We take out on the portage trail on the right and carry our supplies to the downstream landing, then return to our canoe to run the rapids.  Little Falls is a short but exciting run requiring some skill in navigating between large boulders.  Below Little Falls a series of small rapids make for fast and exciting paddling for much of the rest of the river’s length.  We make camp at Tyler Rips, one of the prettier rapids. 

            The next day we face an almost continuous series of rapids culminating in Haycock Rips, one of the last major rapids.  Below Haycock Rips, the river widens and slows down into the calm waters of Loon Bay, the site of a battle between the Passamaquoddy Indians and invading Mohawks in the 1700’s.  An unlikely battlefield, the water separates two marshy and rather mundane looking meadows, belying the dramatic history of the bay. 

            Below Loon Bay, the river flows languidly, pooling into expansive marshy meadows extending back for hundreds of yards on both sides of the river--prime moose habitat.  These low open meadows are overgrown with lily pads, and are interlaced with open ponds connected by narrow water trails bordered by head high cattails.  Irresistible for canoe exploration.  We glide silently over the lily pads, expecting to come face to face with a grazing moose any moment but all we see are osprey and bald eagles wheeling overhead.  “I thought we would see moose all over this place.” Michael moans, “I don’t think there are any moose within fifty miles of us.”

            Our exploration is cut short by the arrival of a fine drizzly rain, which soon turns into a heavy downpour.  We hastily make camp on the Canada side, just upstream from a large bog surrounding a small brook rushing into the St. Croix.  A short hike around the fringes of the bog proves Michael’s speculation wrong: huge moose prints are everywhere and he stakes out the bog for much of the evening hoping to spot one.  Apparently moose like the rain less than he does; he returns to camp at twilight without a sighting.

            Our last day takes us across Grand Falls Flowage, a wide and confusing jumble of islands, bays, and points.  We are glad that we brought a topographic map along and after frequent consultations over it, we find the take out point.  As we unload our canoe, another group of canoeists pulls in behind us, the only other canoes we have seen all week.  “Until just now, we saw more moose than canoes.” Michael says.  Can’t argue with that, nor with the advice of Martin Brown: the St. Croix offers all of the attractions of the Allagash, without the crowds.

 

 

 

 

 

FACT FILE

Getting there:  From Bangor, take Interstate 95 north to Route 6.  Follow route 6 east to the town of Topsfield, then turn north on Highway 1.  There are a number of potential put in points, most reached by poorly marked country roads; it is best to check with the outfitter before embarking.

Outfitter: Sunrise County Canoe Expeditions, Inc. Cathance Lake, Grove Post Office, Maine 04638. (207)-454-7708.

Trip duration:  Three to five days, depending on put in points and your mood.

Camping: Primitive.  Campsites with toilets and fire rings are scattered on the American and Canadian sides.

Best season: Spring and fall, although the river is runnable all year.  The autumn foliage in September is spectacular.

Elk River Tennessee Canoe Run

A version of this article originally appeared in the Huntsville Times.

My son was itching for a day away with Dad.  I needed a short trip somewhere out of the city for a few hours of adventure and fun, a little father-son bonding time.  Besides, it was hot in the city, a typical Tennessee Valley summer day and we needed to head for somewhere cool to beat the oppressive heat.  So we loaded up our canoe and headed for southern Tennessee and the Elk River.

An hour later after a drive through the scenic hills of Lincoln County, we were sipping a cold drink on a well-worn bench inside Kelso Canteen and Canoe Rental in Kelso, Tennessee.  We were looking for an easy half-day paddle and Cole Hereford, the proprietor of the canteen pulled a well-worn map out from under the counter.  He laid the map out on a counter and showed us a run that would begin with our launch at Shiloh Bridge, a popular access point, and take us nine miles downstream to Stump Shoals.  Hereford suggested this run as an easy outing that would take four to six hours to paddle, depending on our ambition (or lack thereof).  “Take the run to the right when you get to Dickey Island,” he advised, “The river is narrower but it’s prettier on the right.”

 

Hereford had agreed to drive us to the launch point and then shuttle our car to the Stump Shoals takeout.  As we drove our car to the river, I asked him if we needed to worry about rapids.   “This is an easy run.”  he assured us,  “You don’t need to worry about rapids.”  I had second thoughts about this statement after he had dropped us off and we launched our canoe into the river.  I had barely set foot into the stern when the swift current grabbed the bow of the canoe and swung it around in a quick arc.  Surely this brisk current would mean rapids.  He also forgot to mention how chilly the water was.  The water flows out of the bottom of the dam that forms Tims Ford Lake near Lynchburg, Tennessee, and the deep lake prevents the sun from warming the discharge—a fact that quickly became apparent when the cold water lapped around our ankles.

 

We had barely dipped our paddles into the clear ripples when we spied a fly-fisherman near a gravel bar on the far side of the river.  Hereford had mentioned that the Elk supports a healthy population of trout and smallmouth bass.  We stopped to chat and check on fishing activity.  “No luck so far” he reported “but I sure wish I had brought my waders. This water is COLD!”   We were looking for a respite from the heat and we had found it.  The cold water and the hot summer air mixed to form a wispy mist that hung over the water in the stillness, reflecting rays of sunlight through the leafy cover of the overhanging trees.  The air was cool and refreshing.

 

The Elk River flows through the hills of southern Tennessee and into Alabama, where it meets the Tennessee River near Rogersville.  Between Tims Ford and the Alabama border, the Elk is a forest‑lined, free‑running stream that provides a refreshing, leisurely float.  The stretch of river below the dam to Fayetteville offers over 30 miles of undisturbed river bordered by pretty southern Tennessee scenery, lots of wildlife, and numerous small farms.  The land is hilly and rural, with a few small towns nearby.  The water flows clear and clean and the river is narrow and shallow most of the way—although some deep pools form in the river bends.  Wooded banks reach to the very edge of the water and the sky overhead is often barely glimpsed through overhanging branches.  We encountered frequent gravel bars where we could beach our canoe and get out to stretch our legs.  Most of the river is edged by twenty-to-thirty-foot bluffs of rocky ledges stair-stepping from the river to the forest above. A couple of hours into our trip we came across a boggy branch that was barely seeping into the river.  The pebble-strewn ground appeared to be covered with a bright  blue and yellow quilt.  As we paddled closer we saw hundreds of butterflies--tiny bright blue one and swarms of large yellow ones—resting in the bright mid-day sun.  They flitted around our heads as we approached in a magical cloud of color. 

 

Paddling the Elk is a lazy way to spend a summer afternoon.  Our concerns about the swiftness of the river were put to rest.  Turns out Hereford was right, there were no rapids to upset us, just occasional gentle ripples—but also enough current to keep us from having to paddle too hard.  Just right for a slow-moving summer day.    

 
 

 The heat had driven other refuge seekers to the Elk and in our four hours of paddling, we frequently waved to other canoeists on the water.  But the Elk is never overrun with rowdy crowds of floaters.  Our weekend run was typical.  As we lazily floated through a tunnel of hickory and sycamore trees, a white-tailed deer trotted across a shallow shoal thirty yards ahead of us.  Her flanks were outlined by the morning sun behind her, highlighting her tawny coat and turning the splashing water into a shower of diamonds.  I looked around to see if other canoes were sharing the sight, but we were alone with her.

Oh, and Hereford was right about going to the right at Dickey Island, too.  It’s the prettiest part of the river.

Kelso Canteen and Canoe Rental is located seven miles east of Fayetteville on Highway 64.  The number is 800-933-2827.  Canoe rentals, shuttles, and campsites are available.  Elk River Canoe Rentals also provides canoe rentals and shuttles at 931-937-6886.

This a serene run below Tims Ford is quiet and relatively unused.  The thirty-mile stretch from the dam to Fayetteville is narrow and shallow, with wooded banks reaching to the very edge of the water and the sky overhead often barely glimpsed through overhanging branches, the Elk flows over gentle ripples and through calm pools.  The dam above and the backwaters of the Tennessee River below do not affect the ageless flow of the river here.

A canoe rental operation provides access to the river so the chances are good that you will see other canoeists on the water during the summer, but the Elk is never overrun with rowdy crowds of floaters.  A late summer run we made down the Elk is typical of the river's character.  Lazily floating through a tunnel of  hickory and sycamore trees, we were casting for smallmouth bass when a whitetailed deer trotted across the river through a small riffle thirty yards ahead of us.  Her flanks were outlined by the summer sun behind her, highlighting her tawny coat and turning the splashing water into a shower of diamonds.  I looked around to see if other canoes were sharing the sight, but we were alone with her.

 

 

Amicalola Falls State Park

Georgia’s Springer Mountain means something to hikers on the Appalachian Trail (AT).  It’s either the long-awaited end to a southbound trek on the AT, or the highly anticipated beginning of a northbound journey.  Either way, this southern terminus of the AT has become indelibly etched in the memories of thousands of AT hikers who vividly remember setting off from or ending up on Springer Mountain.

Given the 2,150-mile length of the AT, the last thing most hikers want to think of is adding yet more miles to their trip.  But by appending a mere eight miles, hikers can add a couple of very enjoyable memories to their AT experience. 

The gently sloping Southern Terminus Approach Trail continues south from the AT at Springer Mountain through the Chattahoochee National Forest, following the last gasps of the Blue Ridge Mountains as they peter out in northern Georgia.  The trail eventually ends up in Amicalola Falls State Park a 1500-acre state park that is becoming increasingly popular with hikers from nearby Atlanta.  The state park has campsites, cottages and a lodge and is home to its namesake, Amicalola Falls.  The Falls--which is actually seven separate cascades—is the southeast’s tallest waterfall, tumbling 729 feet down a terraced mountainside.  This stair-step tumble forms a splashy and spectacular display that disappears and reappears through the thick southern forests wreathing the falls.

Many AT hikers use the state park as their embarkation or debarkation point for the AT.  And quite a few more day hikers sample the forested highlands of northern Georgia using the Approach Trail, which begins just behind the Upper Falls parking lot at the park.  From there it’s a steady uphill climb for the next eight miles as the trail follows the ridgeline up Frosty Mountain into the cool reaches of the southern Appalachians.  Add this leg to your Appalachian Trail experience and you’ll have the backdrop of the falls to add to your recollections.   The approach trail is wooded and although it follows the top of Frosty Mountain for much of its length, not particularly scenic.

There is another alternative that is more scenic and provides an even more unforgettable supplement to your AT experience. This is the Len Foote Hike Inn Trail, which also begins in the Upper Falls parking lot.  This trail climbs upward into the mountains for five miles, crossing sparkling mountain streams, meandering through blossoming mountain laurel thickets and tunneling under towering rhododendron, eventually joining the approach trail about 3-1/2 miles before Springer Mountain.  Clinging to the side of the mountain, the trail periodically breaks out of the surrounding green shield to reveal startlingly expansive vistas of the Georgia countryside. 

But the best surprise comes at the end of the trail: the welcoming gray outline of Len Foote Hike Inn.  This backcountry lodge opened in November of 1998 and is one of the newest additions to Georgia’s state park system.  The five-mile trail is the only way to reach the inn but that hasn’t deterred a steady stream of hikers from trekking up the mountain to experience its unique mixture of simplicity and comfort.  The lodge, a complex of twenty rooms surrounding an airy, two-story central lobby, and an attached dining room, bathhouse (with hot showers), and common room, is a modern, rustic structure with plenty of windows.  The inn sits amidst a lush forest of mountain laurel, rhododendron, and majestic oak and hickory trees.  Continue another mile past the Inn and the trail runs into the Approach Trail and continues on to Springer Mountain.

The Inn offers a comfortable decompression before setting out on the AT or a welcome and warm ending after finishing up.   Sitting 3100 feet up near the peak of Frosty Mountain, it overlooks a scenic panorama of the surrounding area.  At night you can see the twinkling lights of the city of Dahlonega off to the southeast.  But to the east and north all is dark, the thick forests undeveloped and pitch black.  (In case you are wondering who Len Foote is, he was a Georgia outdoorsman who was the model for the “Mark Trail” comic strip).  If a night of R & R at the Inn isn’t enough to convince you to set out for Mt. Katahdin on the other end of the AT, you can still do some hiking within the park to whet your appetite.

Day hikers use the park’s Falls Trail and the East and West Ridge Trails.  The Falls Trail is actually a steep but easy path that winds from the foot of the falls, following the cascade up the mountain to the top of the falls.  The East Ridge Trail is also an easy 2.5 miles loop that begins and ends at the park’s visitor’s center.  This trail leads to an overlook at the top of the falls that doesn’t really give a great view of the falls since you’re basically standing at the top over and behind the waterfall.  But it does offer a nice look at the north Georgia forests in the valley below.  From here the hike is a piece of cake—payback for the uphill stretch you just covered.  This part of the loop is downhill all the way back to the visitor’s center.  Follow the West Ridge Spring Road to the West Ridge Trail to Upper West Ridge Trail.  You’ll come to another overlook, this one with a better view of Amicalola Falls.  After a rest with the mist of the falls cooling your face, continue down the mountain back to your starting spot. 

If you’re an AT thru-hiker experiencing the park as a an appetizer or dessert to your journey, or a day hiker making your entire trip a day or two there, add Amicalola Falls State Park to your itinerary to experience this bit of northern Georgia wilderness.

Details:  Amicalola Falls State Park is located near Dawsonville, GA, about sixty-five miles from Atlanta. The park has 17 campsites, 14 cottages, and a lodge with restaurant.  The park’s information number is 706-265-8888.  Reservations for the Len Foote Hike Inn can be made at 800-864-7275. 

 

 

Crescent Lake National Wildlife Refuge

In the Spring of 1847 William Clayton and Orson Pratt, among the first white men to travel into Nebraska’s Sandhills region, gazed out over the unbroken grass-covered sand dunes extending to the horizon and described them as a “tumultuous confusion of ocean waves” and looking like “large drifts of snow”.  One hundred and sixty eight years later I could describe the still-intact vista before me in those same terms.  While much of the Sandhills region of the western part of the state has been plowed, fenced and bulldozed, a large remnant has avoided this fate and remains relatively pristine within the boundaries of Crescent Lake National Wildlife Refuge.

While thousands of pioneers passed through the region on the nearby Mormon Trail few stayed, passing on in their relentless march to the gold fields and plains further west.  A few hardy souls elected to stay and try their hands at ranching or farming but the Sandhills were never heavily populated.  So in 1931 the establishment of Crescent Lake National Wildlife Refuge met with little resistance or little fanfare.

The refuge was established to conserve waterfowl populations, a goal which it has achieved to a spectacular degree and my primary reason for being here.  After hearing tales of the raw nature of the place, the huge numbers of waterfowl, raptors and other birds and healthy herds of pronghorn antelope and mule and white-tailed deer I had to make the trek to check it out myself.  Which is how I found myself standing atop a 400-foot high hill near the refuge headquarters building.
The vista below me is stunning--I gaze 360 degrees to the horizon and do not spy a single dwelling.  As far as the eye can see the ground gently undulates with smooth swales and grassy dunes.  Here and there small lakes and wetlands sparkle in the sunlight. But here’s what I don’t see: campsites, picnic tables, pavilions, toilet facilities.  Also, nowhere do I see another human.  In other words, this is not a place for casual visitors and tourists looking for a free and easy day with a touch of nature.  This is the outdoors at its untouched best and it’s hard not to get nostalgic when scanning this primitive land.  The 45,849 acres of the refuge are isolated and lonesome.  If you want to escape the madding crowd this is the place.

Refuge manager Rod Wittenberg says the refuge is lightly visited.  “We get a good number of hunters—pheasant and deer hunters, and a small but steady number of fishermen,” he says.  “And it is popular with birdwatchers. But it is very remote so we don’t get a lot of spur-of-the-moment visitors.”  He is right; the refuge is a long drive from almost anywhere,  The two nearest towns are Oshkosh and Alliance and either gateway town requires a 20 mile drive over gravel two-lane—and in some places one-lane—roads.

So after a leisurely drive from Oshkosh I set out to explore the far reaches of the refuge.  Not an easy task because the land is not inviting.  The Sandhills live up to their name, the shifting and seemingly bottomless sand presenting a challenge to even four wheel drive vehicles.  There are a limited number of two track roads into the heart of the refuge and they should be attacked carefully—miring up to your axle is easy.  So I opted to pull on my hiking boots and hike into the hinterlands.  Even this is not a piece of cake because hiking the dunes and swales is an arduous task since you sink into the soft sand with every step.  And there are few hiking trails so you are hiking off-trail.

But it’s all worth the effort.  The refuge provides nesting habitat, overwintering home and a migration stop for 275 bird species. If you are a birder you will delight at the numbers of waterfowl that include a dozen varieties of ducks, greater white-fronted geese, tundra swans, eared and western grebes and American bitterns and white pelicans.  Avid birders can easily spot ring-necked pheasant, bald eagles, sharp-tailed grouse and burrowing owls.

In addition to the birdlife, the refuge is home to coyotes, swift fox, white-tailed and mule deer, pronghorns and muskrat.

 

 

Mississippi Sharks!

A version of this article originally appeared in Mississippi Magazine.
Photos by George Lee.

The thrashing shark I’m holding is both intimidating and awe inspiring. I think I should be afraid, after all Jaws and a host of other movies and TV shows convince us that sharks are constantly lurking about hoping to devour us on a whim. But feeling the taut muscles and smooth skin of the sleek shark is more inspiring than scary.

I accompanied a team of marine biologists from the Gulf Coast Research Laboratory (GCRL) at the University of Southern Mississippi into the Gulf of Mexico, assisting in the capture, tagging, and data collection of dozens of sharks and other fish. The team conducts a shark study funded by the Southeast Area Mapping and Assessment Program (SEAMAP), a joint federal/state/university program that monitors long term coastal shark population trends.

The program conducts expeditions into waters around the barrier islands off of Biloxi, capturing and tagging sharks in the Mississippi Sound around the Mississippi barrier islands from March through October. The objective of the program is to collect information on coastal sharks to determine species populations and distribution in order to better understand and maintain Gulf Coast shark populations.

 On a sunny April morning we boarded the R/V Jim Franks, a 60-foot aluminum research vessel and made a 90 minute run to Petit Bois Island where we set out a longline, a mile-long line of 1200-pound monofilament line with a hook baited with Atlantic mackerel every 50 feet. We let the line soak in 20 feet of water for an hour and then hauled it in, hoping to have hooks full of sharks. Things did not look promising as we winched the line in. The first dozen hooks were empty.-foot aluminum research vessel and made a 90 minute run to Petit Bois Island where we set out a longline, a mile-long line of 1200-pound monofilament line with a hook baited with Atlantic mackerel every 50 feet. We let the line soak in 20 feet of water for an hour and then hauled it in, hoping to have hooks full of sharks. Things did not look promising as we winched the line in. The first dozen or so hooks were empty. 

 a sunny April morning we boarded the R/V Jim 

But then, success! An Atlantic sharpnose shark was writhing on a hook. The team removed the shark from the hook and measured, weighed, determined the species and sex and attached a tiny plastic tag to the dorsal fin. The shark was quickly returned to the water and with a quick flip of its fins, disappeared into the deep.

Each tag has a unique number and a Southern Miss phone number. Anglers that catch a tagged fish are asked to call the phone number on the tag and report the tag number, length and sex. Reports of tagged sharks subsequently caught by anglers allow biologists to determine life spans, ranges, movement patterns and other critical information. 

The tags are the key to the study,” said Jeremy Higgs, Research Associate at the Center for Fisheries Research and Development within the GCRL. “We are dependent on fishermen to report tags to us. The data reported back to us allows us to determine how the population is doing.”

We hooked three more sharks at Petit Bois and then moved on to Horn Island, a 30 minute run, and set the longline again. This location, one of four random stations that are checked on each trip, looked more promising with clearer water and 35 foot depth. Another hour soak and we winched in the longline. We were not disappointed. One of the first hooks held another Atlantic sharpnose but then we hauled in a blacktip shark, a sleek four-foot beauty. Blacktips are an impressive species, with the classic predatory shark shape and attractive black markings on their fins—hence their name. The study targets ten shark species that inhabit near-shore waters. These are not the huge sharks that swim in the deep waters of the Gulf—the largest one we hooked was about four feet--although Higgs says they occasionally capture big bull sharks.

Higgs says they may capture, tag and release as many as 1,000 sharks per season and the tag return rate is only around two. He has been tagging sharks since 2010 and his knowledge of and appreciation for sharks is apparent. He can immediately identify the shark.



We captured another seven sharks on this second soak and followed up with two more sets off of Cat Island where we hooked eight more. Total score for the day: 19 sharks, including 13 Atlantic sharpnose, three finetooth, two blacktips and one spinner.

Baiting hooks, setting and hauling lines, and processing and wrangling irate sharks in the hot sun on a rolling deck makes for a long, arduous day and when we docked in Biloxi just before sunset the team had had a good workout. It takes a lot of dedication and hard work to assist these beleaguered and often misunderstood fish and it’s good to know that Mississippi is helping to enhance their survival.

 

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Paoli Peaks Ski Resort Indiana

A version of this article appeared in SKI Magazine.

Indiana? Isn’t that flatlander’s paradise, full of flat-as-a-pool-table cornfields? Well yeah, much of Indiana is flat but the state’s southern reaches are a pleasing jumble of hills and valleys. Nestled deep in these hills is Paoli Peaks, a friendly bare-bones resort that attracts a near-cultish following. Other than the namesake town of Paoli, a tiny settlement of about 3500 people, Paoli Peaks isn’t really close to any cities. But that doesn’t deter the faithful. On the weekends, snow-starved skiers from as far away as Alabama and Florida join the usual crew of skiers and boarders from Indiana, Ohio, and Kentucky. While many residents of the lower Midwest and Southeastern states load up for a multi-hour drive to the mountains of West Virginia, savvy snowhounds skip the road trip and hit Paoli. Instead of spending numbing hours eating up the Interstate, they’re carving tracks through Paoli’s snow. 

About that snow. Southern Indiana could hardly be considered to be in the heart of ski country, what with the Kentucky border a mere fifty miles away and the nearest thing resembling a real mountain hours to the east. The snowbelt ends two hours north in the central part of the state so Paoli is pushing the envelope as far as skiing goes. A lot of your time will be spent on manmade snow and as long as it’s cold enough, the machines are blowing. Your best friend is a telephone to check snow conditions before loading up the truck for the trek to the slopes. 

 

And trucks are what you’ll see in the parking lot; this is, after all, farm country. In the lower Midwest, you don’t have a lot of resort options so the lot is usually full. Area skiers try to pack a full winter of skiing into the relatively brief December-to-March season. Paoli maximizes the season by staying open 19 hours a day on weekends--in addition to the normal daytime sessions, the resort runs midnight to 6AM “Midnight Madness” weekend sessions.

 

This borderline geographical location was what had area residents shaking their heads when a local physician, Dr. Richard Graber, began construction of the resort. The prevailing opinion was that this was a fool’s fantasy. That was in 1978 when the resort opened with 15 acres of trails and one lift. Twenty-two years later, Dr. Graber’s daring dream has grown into fifteen slopes, five chairlifts, a modern lodge, and slopeside condominiums. Dr. Graber died a couple of years ago, but not before he saw his vision succeed, drawing steady and devoted crowds every season..

 

OK, so it’s not Vail, but it is an appealing little gem with an amiable, unpretentious feel. Talk to skiers around the huge fireplace in the airy 45,000 square-foot top-of-the-peak day lodge and you’ll hear the words cozy and friendly used to describe the resort. The resort’s clientele is just as affable. The slopes and lodge are sprinkled with endorphin-pumped novices, wide-eyed midwestern innocence showing in the broad grins plastered across their faces. Reminds you of the first time you hit the slopes, none of that worldly been-there-done-that swagger that pervades many ski resorts. The crowd is an easy mix of unsteady beginners clad in Levi’s and camouflage hunting outfits as well as smooth experts sharpening their skills for Western trips.

Typical of the latter is Nancy Clark Pickrell from nearby Louisville, carving her way down the PowerLine Racing dual-slalom course, posting a respectable time and beating her husband, Tim. Nancy is keeping in tune with the Louisville Ski Club, participating in the Blue Grass Challenge races. Like many who ski here, Nancy has been coming to Paoli practically since its opening over two decades ago.  

The slopes are full of these homegrown skiers who have matured with the resort.  Strike up a chairlift conversation and the odds are good your seatmates learned to ski here. Maybe one reason USA Today recently named the resort as one of the ten best places to learn to ski.  

Paoli’s runs fit perfectly with the crowd, offering enough variety (25% beginner, 55 % intermediate, 20% expert/advanced) to keep a visit from becoming too repetitious, no matter what your skill level.  Ski out of the lodge and you can drop off to the right to the intermediate runs of Hoosier Bend or Indiana Jones, or cruise left to Walnut Alley, Beech Grove, Mind Bender or Haywagon.

Before you get the idea that this is some cuddly clump of hills that caters strictly to novices, check out the boarders tearing over the jumps and carving through the quarter pipe over at Jurassic Snow Park. Then cruise over to Graber’s Express and watch the experts exploding down the bumps. These two runs are where the hardcore gather and, as the sun settles behind the hills, the tempo seems to pick up. Boarders catch bigger air off the rollers at the Park and skiers bomb down the tree line a little faster. Margrit Wurmli-Kagi, Marketing Director and part owner sums it up;  “Paoli is mellow during the day, more charged—yet peaceful--at night.”

Ah, night skiing—the real attraction of Paoli. The slopes rock after midnight with serious skiers tearing hell bent through the blowing snow and glaring white lights.  Margrit says, “The sun always shines at midnight at Paoli.” I don’t know about the sun coming out, but a different breed of skier definitely takes over. I mean, you have to wonder about anyone who pulls on boots and skis when everybody else is pulling covers up in bed. The pulse definitely quickens after midnight. The crowd thins out and the bunch that is left is intent on getting in max slope time. The runs are a collage of shadows and surreal light, a blur of skiers hurtling through sparkling crystalline clouds of driving snow. The roar of the snow guns and whooping and yelling nightriders breaks the silence of the crisp night air. Dr. Graber’s dream definitely lives on in Indiana.

Skiable Terrain: Sixty-five acres, fifteen runs, a 300-foot vertical drop and a 2400-foot-long expert slope may sound small but Paoli’s layout makes the skiing feel bigger.

Lifts: One double, three triples and a quad chair.

Season and Snowfall: December through March. Southern Indiana’s borderline temperatures and an annual snowfall of about 6 inches mean snowmaking is critical. Paoli’s facilities are up to the task. Over 100 snow guns can layer the entire area with 12 inches of snow in 12 hours. The week between Christmas and New Year’s can be crowded. 

Getting There: One hour from Louisville and Indianapolis, four hours from St. Louis, and four hours from Nashville, just north of Interstate 64

Lodging and Eats: Best bet for lodging, dining, and after-ski activities is the huge 470-room French Lick Springs Resort and Spa (800-457-4042), eleven miles down the road.  The elegantly restored century-old resort was once a thriving outpost for the rich and famous (Clark Gable and Bing Crosby were visitors). You can’t go wrong with the steaks and seafood at Jack’s Steakhouse in the hotel. The in-house Le Bistro and Kentucky Derby bars are hangouts for skiers on weekends.

Whitewater in the Southeast USA

A version of this article appeared in the Huntsville Times.

Let's try a little geographic word association.  I'll give you a subject and you tell me the first location that comes to mind.  If I say whitewater rafting, odds are you will think immediately of the Snake, Green, Colorado, or Salmon rivers. 

Why?  Because serious whitewater rafting in this country has become almost synonymous with the famous wild rivers of the West and any conversation about rafting inevitably segues into tales invoking the almost mystical names of a number of famous American rafting rivers, all of which are located well west of America's heartland.  The popular image of rafting invokes scenes of brightly colored rubber rafts being  tossed about on the raging, mocha roil of an isolated wild river in the rugged canyon lands of Colorado, Utah, Idaho, or Arizona.  The western states are the mecca of whitewater rafting in this country, and indeed the level of challenge and danger offered by the many whitewater hot spots out West is hard to match.

But for those of us who live east of the Mississippi, there are adrenalin pumping rivers in the mountains of the Southeast that produce heart thumping rides cheaper and much closer to home.  While these rivers may lack the continuous Ohmigod‑I'm‑going‑to‑die heart stopping excitement of the wilder western rivers, there are some advantages to the whitewater rivers of the Southeast that the western rivers cannot match: there are usually no waiting lists to raft them, they are all within easy driving distance of most of the eastern population centers, and they are much cheaper to run than their western counterparts.                                                 

In fact, there are five exciting whitewater rivers in the Southeast that are all closer together than the drive between any three of those western rivers mentioned earlier.  It is possible to raft all five of these rivers in one week, taking time off in between to relax and soak up the local scenery.  Try that out West.  So if you think you have to spend a week of hard earned vacation time and a month's salary to run one western river, quintuple your whitewater exposure with these five southeastern rivers, which you can easily raft in a week, with time left for plenty of R&R.

Let's start your week‑long marathon: 
  

Sunday, Tennessee, Ocoee River.  Forty five minutes northeast of Chattanooga and just east of Cleveland, Tennessee near Interstate 75 sits the opening act.  The Ocoee is a dam‑controlled river, runnable Thursday through Monday in the summers and on weekends during the spring and fall, and the first two weeks of October.  Site of the 1996 Olympic whitewater venue, the Ocoee is a good warm-up river for your week of whitewater.

This is a short run‑‑only five miles, but the drops come quickly with little time to recover in between, so be ready for almost continuous whitewater beginning with Put In rapid, just below the low dam at the launch point.  This is a long Class III rapid, a good initial baptism for your week of whitewater fun.  Broken Nose, the next rapid, comes up almost immediately, followed by Double Suck which features two large keeper hydraulics and Double Trouble with back-to-back standing waves.  Between these two rapids is Hell's Half Mile, a stretch of continuous Class II and III whitewater.  Next comes Flipper requiring some quick maneuvering: listen to your guide for directions.  The best is yet to come: Table Saw and Diamond Splitter are both Class III to IV drops separated by less than a half mile of churning water.  The final drops, Hell Hole and Powerhouse Ledge, are also the best.  If you're not completely soaked before Hell Hole, the standing wave is guaranteed to soak you.  Jump out below the power plant that sits on the left bank just after the Ledge and take a swim in the calm pool before you haul your raft out a quarter mile downstream.  You=ll see lots of inexperienced rafters on the Ocoee; don=t let that bother you.  Although the local caulkers may smirk at the unwashed masses bobbing by in rafts, you have the comfort of knowing that this first day of your week long odyssey is a warm up for a trip that will offer better waves than they are playing.

The Ocoee initiation takes less than half a day.  Grab a hot shower and head your car east on Highway 64 to Bryson City, North Carolina and take a look at the Nantahala River, a canoeing and kayaking hot spot for southeastern kayakers and canoeists.  Check in at the Nantahala Outdoor Center (NOC), perched between Highway 19 and the Nantahala River, and grab a room and a hot meal at the Nantahala Village, part of the NOC complex.

Monday, North Carolina, Nantahala River.  OK, so the title of this article is "Five Southeast Rafting Classics."  I'm throwing in the Nantahala as a bonus.  Sue me.  A little too tame for rafting, the Nantahala will give you a chance to hone your paddling skills so after watching the local kayak experts negotiate Class III Nantahala Falls, rent a kayak and give the Class II water of the Nantahala a try.  Play in the water for as long as you want, after all you're on vacation.  You'll have most of the day here to practice your rolls and surf the waves; your next stop is only a few miles down Highway 441 at Clayton, GA.  Four miles north of Clayton, camp at one of the twelve walk‑in sites at Black Rock Mountain State Park.  Sit around the campfire telling scary tales involving murderous moonshiners to get in the proper mood for:

Tuesday, Georgia, Chattooga River.  Everybody knows the Chattooga's claim to fame: the river where Ned Beatty squealed like a pig in Deliverance.  A federally designated Wild and Scenic River, it is also renowned for its primitive beauty.  Originating in the mountains of North Carolina, the Chattooga actually flows between South Carolina and Georgia and offers two options: Section Three with the Class IV Bull Sluice rapids and some calm water stretches, and the more challenging seven miles of Section Four.  Don't waste your time on Section Three.  The Chattooga demands a lot from you.  Perhaps the most technically challenging of the five rivers you'll raft this week, the Chattooga requires constant attention to avoid flipping in its twisting chutes.   Section Four starts off with the most dangerous rapid, Woodall Shoals, a ledge which forms a massive keeper that can grab and hold boats (and people).  Below Woodall Shoals, the river narrows into a series of steep drops and impressive rapids, leading into Seven Foot Falls.  Seven Foot is best described as vertical and if you are not the lead raft, you will understand why as the raft in front of you drops out of sight over the edge.  As a climax, Five Falls blasts you with one Class III and four Class V rapids in a quarter mile section before flushing you out on the other side, wet, tired and exhilarated.  A maze of huge rocks, the Chattooga will pinball your raft from one rapid to the next.  Your tent awaits you back at Black Mountain so warm yourself by the campfire and get a good night's sleep.  Tomorrow: road trip.

Wednesday, en route to West Virginia.  You had a day to rest in the Smokies and a good night's sleep, so let's hit it.  Pull on those dry baggies, a T‑shirt, and some sandals, unwrap a Moon Pie and down an RC Cola (you're in the South remember) and head east on Highway 76 and Interstate 85 to Charlotte.  At Charlotte follow Interstate 77 north all the way to Beckley, West Virginia.  This six-hour drive takes you through some of the prettiest scenery east of the Rockies, starting with the mountains and foothills of the Piedmont region of the Carolinas.  After you cross the North Carolina‑Virginia border you will drive through the Blue Ridge Mountains and notice the land becoming more mountainous.  When you hit West Virginia, you will find yourself in the midst of the Appalachians.  Take Highway 19 out of Beckley through the mountains to Hawk's Nest State Park where you've made reservations at least three months in advance at the Hawk's Nest Lodge (800‑225‑5982).  Feed your face in the lodge's dining room and take a short evening hike on the park's scenic trails to get the blood flowing back to your butt.  Tumble into bed with a full belly and dreams of:

Thursday, West Virginia, New River.  The New River offers both exciting whitewater and spectacular scenery.  This river pounds through the New River Gorge, a 1000-foot deep canyon of intensely beautiful wilderness and the oldest river in North America.  You'll get a glimpse of the New River Bridge,  the longest arch bridge in the world.  If you time your trip for October's Bridge Day, you can watch the crazies jump (with parachutes of course) from the 900-foot high bridge span.  Do yourself a favor; limit your thrills to the water.  And get ready for some wild stuff: the 15‑mile section of the Lower New running from Thurmond to Fayette Station offers some of the most exciting whitewater in the East.  The Lower New has five Class V runs: the Keeney's, Double Z, Greyhound Bus Stopper, Miller's Folly, and Fayette Station.  This river is a step above the two you=ve rafted so far and you'll know it about the time you hit the Keeney's, a turbulent drop that is often obscured by veils of mist rising from the boiling water.   Churning through a narrow slot of huge boulders, this is the longest river trip so far, with the run taking about 5‑6 hours.  And those are not relaxing hours; almost constant paddling is required to run the New.

The next river is just down the road so head back to the Hawk's Nest where you can relive the day's adventures in front of the lodge's blazing stone fireplace.  Tomorrow is the headliner: the Upper Gauley.

Friday, West Virginia, Upper Gauley River.  This is the one you've been waiting for, the most challenging river of the week.   This thirteen-mile section of the Gauley is best run for about three weeks in September and October when the Corps of Engineers releases water from behind Summersville Lake upstream.  Like the New, the Gauley is a visual delight beginning with an unforgettably scenic backdrop as you launch your raft.  Three house‑sized outlet pipes shoot horizontal flumes of water from the base of Summersville Dam, enveloping the entire area in a continuous mist.  A deep thunderous rumble accompanies the foaming water raging below the dam.  From the moment you launch your raft, you are caught in this maelstrom.   High sandstone cliffs covered with thick forests line the river nearly the whole length, lending a feeling of wilderness isolation.  But the main attraction is the water, not the scenery: six violent Class V rapids and a generous helping of Class III and IV water make this the most awesome run yet.  The first two Class V's, Bud's Boner and Insignificant, prep you for the even more punishing water of Pillow Rock and Lost Paddle Rapids.  Pillow plunges between truck‑sized boulders and just when you think you're through with the rapids, Volkswagen Rock waits to pound you one last time.  Lost Paddle is 1500 feet of Class V waves.  Two more big runs, Shipwreck and Iron Ring (Class V), keep the adrenalin rushing until you reach Sweet's Falls, the highlight of the trip.  Sweet's drops 14 feet into a churning vortex that usually manages to overturn rafts or eject passengers.  If you make it through Sweet=s, just below you will be greeted by the Crack of Doom which will toothpaste-squeeze you through a narrow defile between two towering rocks.  Alternately, a huge boulder called Postage Stamp slams those unfortunates who paddle just a little bit too far left.  Some choice.  If you dump at Sweet=s, you will have an extra measure of humiliation added to your terror: this is a popular lunch stop and the crowd is always spoiling for a spectacular mishap.  The first sound that will reach your ears should you lose it at Sweet=s will be the hooting guffaws of the lunch bunch.  No sympathy for losers here.  The last Class V, Woods Ferry, provides an exciting climax to the Upper Gauley.  This is an exhausting four to five-hour run.  Ride your shuttle bus back and, if your raft company is one of many on the Upper Gauley who video your run, watch yourself getting pummeled on TV.  Then head an hour north on Highway 19 and Interstate 79 and stop at Stonewall Jackson Lake State Park where you'll camp for the night and get ready for the climax of your trip.  
              

Saturday, Maryland, Upper Youghiogheny River.  Get up early and continue north on Interstate 79 to Highway 48 and follow it east to Friendsville, MD.  The Upper Yough is a whitewater bonanza, an exciting river nestled in the hills of extreme western Maryland and offering breathtaking drops through boulder‑strewn rapids.  The Upper Yough offers Class IV water with a few rough Class V's thrown in for good measure.  Just to give you an idea of the violent nature of the Yough's big water, the river drops an average of 116 feet per mile, and these feet show up as precipitous drops in more than 20 Class IV and V rapids like Meat Cleaver, National Falls, Charlie's Choice, and Tommy's Hole.  The Yough offers eleven miles of powerful and careening rapids, approaching the excitement of your previous day's experience on the Gauley.

Alright, you've run five rivers in six days, and driven through seven states.  You've seen beautiful scenery ranging from the pine forests of Georgia to the steep hardwood‑forested mountains of Maryland, experienced world class whitewater, had a day for a leisurely kayak run or a hike through the Smokies, and still have a day left to get home.  You missed that expensive and cramped airplane flight, or worse yet, a three-day drive across Kansas, and you didn't spend your next six months of car payments so you'll have some bucks next year to hit some of the other great rivers of the East you missed this year: the Nolichucky, Russell Fork, Cheat, or Tygart.  Besides all that, they don't even know what Moon Pies are out West.

  

CONTACTS

In the Southeast, the best river running is in the Spring and Fall, and the Gauley offers the best whitewater in September and October, so plan your trip accordingly.  All five rivers are serviced by rafting companies offering guided and completely outfitted runs, so all you need to show up with are the clothes on your back and no fear of getting wet.  Each raft comes fully equipped with an experienced guide, a feature you will come to appreciate.  One thing that quickly becomes apparent is that while the water may not be as big on eastern rivers, the technical challenge is often greater.  Eastern rivers tend to be rockier and more constricted and convoluted than their western counterparts, requiring more maneuvering and quicker paddling moves.  Consequently, your level of involvement is greater and you will find yourself constantly responding to the shouted directions of your guide over the din of the rapids.

A number of rafting companies offer services on these rivers and it would be impossible to list them all.  The Gauley and Ocoee, for instance, are serviced by dozens of companies.  Partial listings of companies and prices follow.  Local Chambers of Commerce can provide names of additional companies serving the rivers.

On the Ocoee, contact USA Raft, P.O. Box 277, Rowlesburg, WV  26425, 800‑USA‑RAFT, or Sunburst Adventures, Inc., P.O. Box 329‑B, Benton, TN 37307, 800‑247‑8388.  USA Raft also runs the New and the Gauley.

Mountain River Tours, Sunday Road, P.O. Box 88, Hico, WV 25854, 800‑822‑1386, and Appalachian Wildwaters, Inc., P.O. Box 100, Rowlesburg, WV 26425, 800‑624‑8060, run both the New and the Gauley.  Appalachian Wildwaters also runs the upper Yough, as does Precision Rafting, P.O. Box 185, Friendsville, MD 21531, 800‑4‑PRE‑RAF.

Chattooga trips are provided by the Nantahala Outdoor Center, 13077 Highway 19 West, Bryson City, NC 28713, 800‑232‑7238.  

The Best of the Rest

If nothing else, the Southeast offers the whitewater enthusiast incredible variety.  Many more rivers in the area offer opportunities for rafting and world class kayaking and canoeing.  Some additional wildwater runs include:

Cheat River.  Located in northern West Virginia, near the Pennsylvania border, the Cheat is serviced by a limited number of outfitters.  The Cheat is dam free and is heavily dependent on rainfall to generate enough flow for an exciting run.  Conditions are usually favorable for only a couple of weeks in the Spring, so be prepared for any conditions.  Offering eleven miles of Class IV-V rapids through the gorgeous Cheat Canyon, the seven hour run through rapids such Big Nasty and Even Nastier is a nice season-opener for eastern river rats. 
           

Tygart River.  Next door neighbor to the Cheat, the Tygart is a short but exhilarating six mile ride.  Known for extreme fluctuations in water level due to unpredictable rains and the extremely constricted surrounding valley, the Tygart is, like the Cheat, a river that requires flexibility concerning conditions.  Although smaller than the Cheat, the Tygart has the same gradient, offering a similar thrill.  Water flow in the Tygart is generally high enough to run only in March and April.

Russell Fork.  Located in southeastern Kentucky, the Russell Fork is dangerous and unpredictable.  There have been a number of fatalities on the Russell in recent years.  For that reason, few companies run the Russell anymore.  Those that do charge a premium price.  Be forewarned that this river is not for the novice.  A violent and scary run, think twice about attempting this river, and then only with an experienced outfitter, like Mountain Streams,  P.O. Box 106, Ohiopyle, PA 15470-0106, 1-800-723-8669.  Mountain Streams also services the Cheat and the Tygart.

Nolichucky River.  Near Erwin, TN, the Nolichucky can be a surprisingly lively run.  Although much of the time it is Class III or less, a sudden mountain downpour can make the Chucky lots of fun.  Chock full of Saint Bernard-size boulders, low water makes for a bumpy and bruising ride.  Best bet is an early spring or mid fall trip, to catch the seasonal rains and higher water.  If you catch it right, you'll enjoy an almost continuous series of Class III and IV foam.  The outfitter of choice here is USA Raft, who has an outpost right on the banks of the river near Erwin.