This first meeting did not go well.
In all the years I've floated the Buffalo River, I never visited the 30-mile section between Carver and Woolum. I've been trying to fill that void since Spring Break, but bad weather and work issues among my compatriots forced us to postpone.
A window finally opened last Friday through Monday, and I hastily arranged a trip with Rusty Pruitt, Bill Eldridge, my son Matthew and daughter Amy. Weather conditions were still fragile in central Arkansas, so I continually checked water levels on the U.S. Geologic Survey website and weather conditions on WeatherUnderground.com.
The weather was stable in the Ozarks, and water levels in that section of the river were at the lower end of runnable. The forecast predicted rain, but the cell dissipated. The weather Saturday was gorgeous.
With the lights green, we loaded our gear and Eldridge loaded his canoe trailer. However, a new crisis forced Eldridge to cancel, and a ominous new weather system appeared.
We revised the plan. My crew would camp Saturday at Tyler Bend Recreation Area. Pruitt would come up Sunday with the boats. If conditions were good, we'd go.
Sunday dawned with threat of rain. On radar, the front looked like it would pass without incident. We launched the boats at 1 p.m. A hard rain started shortly after and continued for hours. The river rose and looked like chocolate milk. Even so, the fishing was pretty good.
The rain stopped when we reached Mt. Hersey. Boy Scout Troop 6 from Cincinnati occupied the mud hole that passes for a campsite, so we floated around the bend and camped on the high gravel bar on river right.
Before going to bed, I made a cairn at the waterline to measure water migration. I tied my canoe to a tree at the bottom of the bar and hauled all my gear to the top. I pulled the kids' boat uphill about 2 feet, and pulled the stern of Pruitt's boat out of the water. Their gear remained aboard.
Early the next morning, I walked to the edge of the bar to check the water. It took a couple of seconds for what I saw to register. Or more accurately, what I didn't see. The river had risen about 4 feet. Mine was the only boat present.
After rousting my group from their beds, I paddled across the river and explained the situation to the Boy Scouts. They eagerly volunteered to evacuate our crew and gear, and they accomplished that task within about 30 minutes. And still the river rose.
"About 18 more inches, and you guys are going to get washed out of here," I said.
After a short consultation, the Troop 6 leaders concluded that their guys weren't experienced enough to run such big water. They cancelled their trip on the spot and settled in for a big breakfast of what they called "omelet in a bag." They put two raw eggs in a Ziploc sandwich bag along with diced ham and cheese, and boiled it until the eggs hardened into an omelet.
"You're not worried about BPAs from that plastic leaching into your food?" I asked.
"Maybe if we did it all the time, but once in awhile, no," said David Ohlweiler, an environmental engineer. "I guarantee you that a single breath of air in Cincinnati is a lot more toxic than all of these put together."
I also avoid consuming food and drink from aluminum containers, but I made an exception this time for some delicious Troop 6 coffee. Meanwhile, Pruitt bristled at my lack of urgency.
"Chill," I said. "It takes about 10 hours for this slug of water to reach Tyler Bend, and those boats haven't been gone that long. Nobody else is out there to get to them. We will find them."
For that, we sought the help of Ron Grinder, an experienced riverman who has recovered, in his words, more canoes than you can count. He uses a big, green White River johnboat with a small outboard motor to go navigate swollen water. Our last meeting was two years ago, when he picked me up at U.S. 65 after a bone-chilling, mid-winter float from Baker Ford. He broke the taillights off his trailer when he backed it into an ice floe.
I joined him at Woolum at noon-thirty. We both brought fishing rods.
"Look at that pretty green water backed up in Richland," Grinder said as we passed the mouth of Richland Creek. "No telling what a fella might catch in there."
Most likely, the canoes would be snagged in the flooded willow brakes next to curving rapids, he said.
"Sometimes they're back in there where you can't see them," Grinder said. "You've got to go walking around to find them, and that can be a pain."
Worse is when a canoe sinks and wedges against a tree, and worse yet, when it wraps around a tree.
"You've got to winch them out with a come-a-long and a tow strap," Grinder said. "You have get them up out of the water a few inches at a time. The farther up it goes, the less resistance because there's less water pushing on it.
"Hopefully we won't have to deal with any of that."
We found Pruitt's boat about 3.5 miles downstream from Mt. Hersey. It bobbed upright in an eddy, with nothing holding it. All of Pruitt's gear was inside. We towed it to a gravel bar and tied it to a tree.
We found the second canoe bobbing in an eddy about a mile downstream from Mt. Hersey. Its gear was also intact.
We placed the canoes lengthwise in the boat and held them in place with bungee straps. Imagine the sight, a johnboat with two canoes on top, with two men perched among them. That's what another Boy Scout Troop at Woolum saw as they massed for a safety talk on the bank. Must be some kind of dangerous if you need two lifeboats.
True to his word, Grinder cast a tube jig into that pretty green water at the mouth of Richland Creek while he held the boat in place with the outboard. We caught smallmouth bass for almost 40 minutes.
"Guess we ought to get back to your buddy," Grinder said after releasing his last fish. "I think he's a little upset."
That's putting it mildly, but Pruitt was all smiles when he saw us drive up with two canoes in perfect condition.
Sports on 06/15/2014