In short: It was a rainy afternoon in South Georgia with a lot of bad looking clouds and thunder rolling, and I went anyway. The kayak did not work out, so I backed up, regrouped, and got the canoe. Then I set off solo on the St. Marys to paddle a section I had not run in years, camp under the Sturgeon full moon, and fish that little dead lake come morning. New water, old memories, and a night I will not forget.
I started out in the kayak and it just did not go too well, so I had to back up and regroup. I went and got the canoe, and I am glad I did. I know how stable that canoe is, unlike that kayak, and I know how to maneuver it. That is the whole thing about a solo trip. There is nobody out there to bail you out, so you go with the boat you trust. We got in the water at 6:15, a little lighter than last time. Every trip out we get a little lighter, figuring out what we actually need and what we can leave home.
The water was black and slick, one of those pretty South Georgia evenings, and I was heading into a stretch I had not paddled in many long years. I did not know how many trees would be down across it or whether I would find a good spot. That not knowing is half the reason to go.
This river carries a lot of my life in it. I stopped at a willow tree on a bend where, years back, a boat turned over on us on a pitch black night with my son and my nephew and my brother-in-law aboard. We swam to the bank and walked a quarter mile through the woods by the stars to get back to camp, holding onto each other's shirt tails the whole way. I pulled up at that same spot to tell that story, and to say I love you and I miss you to my boy. Some places on a river are more than just water. They hold the people you have been out here with.
I paddled on past a little dead lake off the main river where a twelve foot gator used to hold, the kind of spot that will keep you out of the water no matter how hot it gets. Big cypress trees, cypress knees standing up all around, an old tupelo stump the kids used to jump off of. Every bend had a memory tied to it.
I found a spot where a downed tree pretty much said I had gone as far as I was going, dragged my gear around it, and set up camp. Got the rain tarp up because that sky could not make up its mind. Tried out a new chair and a new hammock, had a couple of brownie bites to keep me going, and took a quick bath in the fast running river to wash off the rain and the sand. Then came the trouble. I had fallen in earlier, my lighter would not work, and I had left my fire striker at home. So I lit the cooking stove, dried the lighter out over it, and once it dried it sparked and I got my fire going. A little improvising and I had flames. It was the Sturgeon full moon with a meteor shower that night, and even through the clouds you could see the glow of it. A good solo night on the St. Marys.
Picking the right boat, packing light for a solo overnight, reading water for a good camp, and fishing a river you know by heart. It is all in the Fisherman's Playbook.
Read the Fisherman's PlaybookFor hauling gear on a slow river, yes. On this trip the kayak did not work out, so I got the canoe. I know how stable that canoe is and how to maneuver it, so it is the boat I trust for a loaded overnight.
Improvise. I fell in the water and my lighter would not work and I had left my fire striker at home, so I lit my cooking stove, held the lighter over it to dry it out, and once it dried it sparked and I got my fire going.
Pack light and get lighter every trip, put in with enough daylight to set up before dark, get your rain tarp up if the sky looks unsure, and pick a boat you trust. Solo means nobody bails you out, so keep it simple and give yourself margin.
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