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Signs of Life

Nancy L. Horner

Down the Pelahatchie Creek in a Big Canoe

"Hey, this one sounds like an adventure." I was reading the updated calendar for the Mississippi Canoe and Kayak Club (MCKC). A group paddle down Pelahatchie Creek was coming up, soon, and the trip was going to fall on a day that three of us had no prior commitments. I quickly dashed off a note to my friend in the club, Nita, to ask for details. Nita was in charge of the paddle, which would add to the fun.

"It's kinda snakey-looking," she told me, "but I think it'll be fun. We might even see some alligators."

"I like snakes," I thought. I wasn't sure about alligators, at first; but we were experiencing an unusually cool spring and the creek was within reasonable driving distance. This trip would be the perfect first paddle for our family. Gradually, I warmed to the idea of spotting alligators, provided they kept a decent distance from our boat.

We loaded the canoe, supplies, and one very annoyed 10-year-old on Saturday morning, then took off with Nita's directions in hand. After unloading everything from the van, we climbed into the canoe and began to follow our new friends from MCKC down the creek.

"That's funny," I thought as I sat squeezed into the front of the canoe. "I don't remember ever having so little room for my feet, before." There was only about 18" of foot room, so I had to prop my feet up on the edge of the canoe to sit comfortably. I mentally shrugged and followed our leader as a stream of kayaks and one other canoe headed down the creek ahead of us.

William sat in the middle of the canoe, wailing periodically about the cartoons he was missing and the fact that his parents obviously didn't love him or they wouldn't drag him to a creek full of alligators. "And snakes," we added. "Don't forget the snakes. Might want to keep your hands out of the water."

Vic, an affable storyteller who had navigated the Pelahatchie many times, led our group down the twisting, tree-lined creek. His green canoe, we noticed, was extremely short and had a seam down the middle.

"He wrapped that canoe around a tree," Nita informed us. "Used to be as long as y'all's, till he banged it up. That seam is where he cut out the middle part and welded it back together."

He had also added a comfortably padded seat and was using a kayak paddle. I took an instant liking to Vic, who made me wish I had a tape recorder every time he opened his mouth.

The creek was fairly narrow and shallow, normally difficult for a canoe to navigate, according to Vic. "The water is high, right now, though. Should make it a lot easier unless we run into any really big fallen trees."

We were having a great deal of difficulty navigating until one of our friends paddled past and made a comment about how little foot room I had. "You know," David said. "I think we put in backwards."

I turned around and looked at David's seat. Sure enough, there was a great deal more space behind him--plenty of foot room for the front paddler.

"Huh," I said. "I didn't even know there was a right or wrong way to put in."

"Want to turn around?"

"Sure."

Our friends had paddled on ahead of us in their lightweight kayaks, so nobody was around when we turned the canoe a full 180 degrees and then flipped our legs around so that David was now in front and I was in the rear. "I don't see how we can switch places," he said. "You think you can steer?"

"Of course I can steer," I told him. "Although it may take me a minute or two to remember how."

We quickly discovered that the new arrangement was much better: now the muscle was in front and the brains were in back. The canoe moved more smoothly; and with David able to concentrate on paddling, we made better time. We caught up with the rest of the gang and several of them looked baffled before commenting that we'd switched places and asking, "How'd you do that?"

William and I weren't the only people keeping an eye out for snakes and alligators. A single mother with her own kayak, her teenage son paddling nearby on his own, occasionally disappeared under low-hanging trees in search of the elusive creatures.

Vic, noting our interest, pointed out a muddy incline where an alligator had pulled itself out of the creek. "Nobody there now," he said. "You'll see most of the 'gators farther down in a place they call Alligator Alley." Vic had paddled Alligator Alley several times and had plenty of stories to tell about his experiences. One fellow, he told us, had been chased by a 'gator. Another had his kayak bitten in half by a particularly large and grumpy fellow with a head "this big". Vic stretched his arms to show us the monster's head size.

I looked around at the kayaks, observing just how close the kayakers were to the water. Sandal-shod and bare feet looked like tempting tidbits for an alligator. "Hmm, I think I'll stick with a nice, tough canoe in a place like this," I decided. Before Vic began to tell his alligator stories, I'd been feeling a tinge of envy at the speed and maneuverability of the kayaks. I lost my kayak envy quickly when Vic spoke about alligator encounters.

Around noon, 10-year-old William finally found his niche in the world of creek exploration when he joined the teenager at tossing a net in the water to catch critters. It didn't matter what kind of water life ended up in the net. Just tossing it out into the creek and yanking it back seemed to be suitable entertainment, along with checking out a crawfish home on the sandy area where we stopped for lunch. He continued to help catch fish at dockside when we returned from our trip, mid-afternoon.

We were all tired and happy when we loaded the wet canoe onto the roof of the van. Apart from one near-disaster when the canoe shifted abruptly across the roof while we drove, the day was without incident. Unfortunately, our trip was also devoid of any alligator or snake sightings. "Maybe next time we'll see an alligator," I said as we headed home. "But, I think I'll keep my distance from Alligator Alley."