As part of his ongoing collaboration with GreatOutdoors.com, photographer Art Wolfe previews another segment from his award-winning PBS series, Travels to the Edge with Art Wolfe. This time, Art takes us to the American Southwest.

In this episode of Travels to the Edge with Art Wolfe, Art visits the geologic time capsule of the American Southwest. Its bizarre and beautiful rock formations are the result of eons of erosion. In Utah’s Zion National Park, Art explores surreal slot canyons carved from wind and water and encounters the strange rock spires—hoodoos—that punctuate the landscape like giant exclamation points. In Arizona’s Canyon de Chelly, he goes by horseback with a Navajo guide to discover petraglyphs hidden in tribal lands. With its brilliant light, red desert rock, cobalt blue skies, golden cottonwoods and white-barked aspens, the American Southwest is a photographer’s playground. See Art's video introduction to this program.

Early on the second day of the Teton Crest Trail, there comes a moment that defines this extraordinary hiking route. As you climb out of the cirque that holds pretty Marion Lake and work up to the low crest known as Fox Creek Pass, suddenly the magnificent bulk of the Grand Teton fills the forward horizon. And for the next several days, the Grand leads the way, dead ahead, looming larger and grander, as the hiker moves along past iconic Teton  features such as Death Canyon Shelf, Alaska Basin, and Hurricane Pass.

The Teton Crest is a route so distinctive that any serious American backcountry traveler who has yet to do it must view it as unfinished business. The Tetons themselves, rising abruptly and improbably high from the plain of the Snake River, are potent symbols of the West. One wonders that the national park that protects these mountains is by some people considered second banana to Yellowstone, it's larger sister park just to the north. But none of the parks in the West can rival scenery like sunrise on the Teton Crest as it rises above Jenny Lake. Grand Teton National Park is a place that demands some time to be appreciated, not a quick drive through.

Unique among classic routes in the West, the Teton Crest Trail continues to evolve. With the opening of Jackson Hole Mountain Resort's new tram in 2009, the backcountry here became more accessible. And whereas the route was once generally thought to begin at Teton Pass near Highway 22, it now is universally considered to begin at the Top of the Tram above Teton Village, creating a 32-mile route, more or less.  But one of the unique qualities of this hike is that it can be shortened or lengthened, or modified in creative ways, to fit almost any schedule or style of backpacking.

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Amber expertly paddles her kayak out of Malaspina Strait and into the narrow north channel of the aptly named Secret Cove. This is a complicated coastline, with islands, inlets and hidden channels nestled among the rocky shore and forest, and finding this passage requires local knowledge. So I leave it up to Amber, and follow along just enjoying the moment, focused on working through the narrow channel. It’s the kind of day on the British Columbia coast you dream about: blue sky, bright sun, and only the slightest texture put on the surface of the water by a gentle north wind.

In fact, this stretch of shoreline has honestly earned it’s moniker Sunshine Coast: just far enough north of Vancouver to enjoy a rain-shadow effect, but close enough to make for easy access. And there’s no better way to enjoy this landscape than to explore it by sea kayak. Amber and I paddle out of the sheltered waters of expansive Secret Cove, past Turnagain Island, and back into the straight before turning south to cruise along the small islands and inlets of Smugglers Cove.

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Mary Beth Kratsas is an award winning photographer and artist who in over twenty five years of work has captured images of everything from revealing portraits and corporate boardrooms to the red carpet events of Hollywood. Earlier this year, Pennsylvania based Kratsas was invited by the Jordan Tourism Board to photograph scenes of her choice throughout the Kingdom during a three week expedition. Some of her images are below, and a larger collection will hang in the Jordanian embassy in Washington, DC, during a show in September 2010. And don't miss GreatOutdoors.com editor Peter Potterfield's story on the epic 50 mile hike from Dana Reserve to Petra.

Catherine Porterfield of the Jordan Tourism Board accompanied GreatOutdoors.com editor Peter Potterfield and noted Jordanian backcountry guide Yamaan Safady on their recent  50 mile treking journey from the Dana Reserve to Petra. Here is her video of the both the trek and some of her favorite places in the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. And don't miss GreatOutdoors.com editor Peter Potterfield's story on the epic trek from Dana to Petra.

Perhaps the most striking thing about talking to Jon Waterman after his epic journey down the length of the storied Colorado River is that he remains optimistic that this great American river can, even now, be restored to flow once again from the Rockies of Colorado to the Pacific Ocean.

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See Previous Week's Dispatches: Week Three Dispatches Will Begin May 5

Don’t miss the adventure of a lifetime as GreatOutdoors.com editor Peter Potterfield takes an epic 50-mile backcountry journey through the mountains of Jordan. One of the most interesting routes in the Middle East, the hike starts from Jordan’s wild Dana Reserve and follows a rugged wilderness to the country's crown jewel—Petra. This is a journey made entirely on foot, day by day, hour by hour, staying in traditional Bedouin camps, savoring the Jordan countryside at a walking pace, having the time to appreciate this unique landscape.

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Check in Daily as Andrew Mclean reports in via satellite telephone to keep GreatOutdoors.com readers  informed on the action during his 2010 expedition the Alaska and the St. Elias Range in search of new ski lines.

April 19: See Week One Dispatches

April 28: See Week Two Dispatches

May 5: See Week Three Dispatches

 Listen to Andrew McLean's Daily Dispatches via Satellite Telephone

Alaska is one of my favorite places to ski as it has so much variety and such wild terrain. It has three different snowpacks, high peaks, rugged mountains, huge ice fields, traverses, rivers, wildlife and everything in-between. I go there for the skiing, but often times the actual turns are secondary to the sense of exploration and adventure that Alaska provides. Good skiing conditions are just icing on the cake.

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 Diverging off the beaten track in southwest Alberta, we've headed east from 'The Powder Highway' (an area chock-full of ski area options and a propensity for deep fluff) in search of a ski mountain we had just heard of in local whispers. Traversing a region rich in coal deposits and lean on population, it's a backcountry drive that takes us over Crowsnest Pass, which is also the richest archaeological zone in the Canadian Rockies. Passing through the skeleton town of Frank, Alberta, it's an eerie site.  In 1903 the cataclysmic Frank Slide occurred on the north slope of Turtle Mountain; where 82 million tons of limestone (seemingly half a mountain) caved-off and partially buried the town, killing 70 of the town's 600 residents. Taking in the visual, we seriously hoped that it was not a fore shadow of powder avalanches yet to come.

Emerging onto the high prairie from our super scenic and melodic Rockies crossing, we hovered over the route map. Taking a right hand turn at Burmis, then again at Beaver Mines we make the approach up the Westcastle River Valley to its abrupt in-your-face mountain range dead end; having done an end run to the back door of the Eastern Rockies.  

Bumping into some 40 cars in the parking lot, we get a quick hint of the uncrowded slopes rumored at Castle Mountain. Due to the unusual skier density, stories float that fresh tracks typically can be found even at day's end within the mountain's terrain pockets. Additionally, the Continental Divide Chinook winds that sweep Castle Mountain tend to refresh its slopes; covering old tracks run after run. Unfortunate for us, we discover that regional storms often localize in these parts, and the pow we had experienced at Fernie just days before had missed Castle. It would be a sunny, windless Sun Valley like day on wind-buffed packed powder. Nice! We'll take some of that if you please.

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The only female and fastest to ever kayak
9,400 miles around Australia

Only two people have ever completed this circumnavigation.
Meet one of them and hear about her epic journey

Saturday, June 26 at 5:00 PM
at the
Eastern Mountain Sports store
200 Harker Place Annapolis, MD 21401
$5 for the first 50 people, $15 for all others

Hear her discuss:

 332 days underway, solo and mostly unsupported.
 Huge salt water crocodiles, Great White sharks, venomous sea snakes
 Massive surf
 Multi-day exposed crossings, sleeping at sea in a kayak
 Equipment choices
 Skills required
 Handling repairs
 Importance of proper paddling strokes
 Endurance training
 Logistics and nutrition

The dock was going to be a challenge. There was a fairly steep grade to the water, and my original plan was to build a hinged ramp down to the dock. But after framing out the ramp and going down to the water to mentally test fit it, I realized the angle would be MUCH to steep to carry a kayak up/down the ramp.

It took me a day or two to recover from this setback. I wasn't sure how to get around this problem. For the rest of my dock design to work I needed the dock to be about 12' out from the bottom of the deck, and I had anywhere from a 4'-6' drop to accommodate (depending on the water level).

I finally settled on a step/ramp hybrid. I would build steps down to the water, and attach the ramp to one of the steps that would give a fairly level walk over to the dock.

Time to get building.

I started out building the frame in my front yard. I had no way to get the dock to the water, so my neighbor had graciously offered to let me build my dock on top of his, and then just slide it into the water.

I had a tough challenge ahead. In order to minimize the amount of time needed on my neighbor's dock, I needed to pre-build the dock in my yard, then disassemble and reassemble on his dock. And to make the dock float as low as possible to the water (this is a kayak dock) I needed to attach the floats to the underside of the decking instead of the bottom of the frame. This would require flipping the dock over to attach the floats and then flipping it back over to slide into the water - all while sitting on my neighbor's dock. It wasn't a chore I felt safe about doing. I also pre-sealed all the wood during the initial construction so I wouldn't contaminate the water from over spray and could seal the underside of all the boards.

At work, Chris suggested I assemble the frame up off the ground and bolt the floats on from the bottom. It was worth a try and I built a jig to hold a float up against the deck boards they would attach to so I could mark, pre-drill, and bolt them on.

Ryan came over the following Saturday to help me dis-assemble the dock and carry it down to my neighbor's. Ryan suggested we build it on his lawn and slide it off his sea wall rather than carry the dock down a narrow path to his dock.

We disassembled the dock into as few pieces as possible, taking the floats in 2 sections (leaving them bolted to the underside of the deck boards), each side of the frame, and the middle frame and end boards. The middle frame and end boards were too heavy for me to carry, so we set one end on the back of Ryan's pickup, and I backed the truck down while Ryan carried the other end. Did I mention he was part ox?

In short order the dock was reassembled and another neighbor came down to see if this thing was actually going to float.

We put a few long boards under the dock and pulled the concrete blocks out from each corner so the floats set directly on the long boards. These would act as runners, and hung over the sea wall a foot or so. The idea being to provide something to the dock to slide against and not snag on the seawall as the edge of the dock went over. We pushed the dock out on the boards a little bit until we could lift the runners. The dock took off and splashed into the water a few feet below the wall. We had a long rope attached to it and I started to pull it over to my neighbor's dock to tie it off while Ryan loaded the 2 runners onto the dock.

The current was running pretty swift and the idea was to tie up to the neighbor's dock until it calmed, then use another neighbor's boat to haul it in to place. Ryan suggested we walk along the shore and pull the dock down, but the terrain is too steep. Someone suggested we paddle it, so a neighbor brought us a couple of canoe paddles and off we went.

It was a little tough going against the current, but in no time we had tied off the dock to the bottom of the deck and were heading off to get lunch. Not bad for 2 1/2 hours of work.

Little did I realize that we would spend the rest of the day getting the stringers in place for the stairs. They were heavy and difficult to maneuver. At the top they were attached to the base of the deck structure with a hinge with a big pin running through the hinge to hold it together. We could get the pin though 3 of the 4 hinge tabs, but even a sledge could not persuade the pin in to place. But before 5:00 we had the stringer's pinned and the pipes in place to hold the dock off shore.

I should explain the pipes that lead out to the dock. Last year there was a flood on the lake that brought the water up 10'. I could anchor the dock to the bottom of the lake with pipe, but they would need to stick up above the water by 10+' to avoid getting washed away in another flood. Using the pipe tied back and hinged at the cock and at the shore, the water could raise at least the length of the pipe (12') before it became a problem. Nothing would need to tower above the dock and hamper moving the kayaks around.

Over the next few days I put in the step treads and decked the dock.

I added the ramp, and some nylon fold down cleats to use as handholds while getting in/out of the kayaks.

I attached a few J-Racks to the dock to hold the kayaks and attached the cable cross bracing between the pipes to prevent lateral movement of the dock. After attaching the J-Racks and sitting back on the dock - Drill in one hand and my sweat stained hat in the other - it suddenly dawned on me - I have a dock....

Woody

The deck has been finished for quite some time, and I'm a good bit behind on the updates. The dock is also finished, but that will be the subject of a different post.

Here are the Deck pictures. Dock photos and blog post to follow.

Woody

Progress is going well. It is starting to look like a deck.

The dock floats and hardware have been ordered and received. After I give the lumber order a good going over, I'll order the wood for the frame.

Day 3

Day 4

Day 6

Day 8

Woody

PBS documentary starting tonight on the Puget Sound and the Chesapeake Bay. Watch it on TV or online:

Woody

Water, water, everywhere, and narry a drop to paddle.

After moving in to the new house, and spending a fortune on getting potable water and a few other repairs, my attention turned to painting. A house really starts to feel like a home as you try to cover up every little imperfection in the walls in preparation for several new coats of paint.

But as the weather warms the painting is getting old and the water begs for me to play. The problem is 32 cinder block steps from my driveway to the water on a 60 degree slope. No handrail. Only 3 blocks wide (2 blocks in some spots). You take your life in your own hands to carry more than your own weight to the bottom of these steps, and even the most hardy often stop to rest part way back up the hill. Obviously, something has to be done.

Joel is a craftsman and was highly recommended by others to solve my problem. After looking at my dilemma Joel started working his magic. In the area beside the steps Joel suggested a terraced switchback made from 6"x6" lumber to make a comfortable 5 1/2" rise for each step - handrails on the downhill sides - with a nice landing at the bottom above normal flood. From this landing I would have a place to attach a gangplank for the dock I plan to build myself.

Over the next few weeks I'll post pictures and a few comments as I see things progress at the end of each work day. It appears after 2 days to be going slow, but Joel and his partner Wade are putting down each timber with precision and anchoring it well into the earth below. It will be interesting to watch this take shape.

End of Day 1

End of Day 2

Woody

The crickets sound like sleigh bells as they sing through the night. So August feels like Christmas when I close my eyes. I'm seconds from sleeping as it crosses my mind. That everything changes and this is my time

Nina Gordon

It has been frustrating living so close to water knowing there is about 30 feet of chest deep mud between the firm shore and water deep enough to float a kayak.

Several plans over the spring were hatched, and almost as quickly they had to be shelved as first several plans to lengthen a dock were up ended by a flood that ripped the existing dock away.

Another plan was tested to build a 'ditch' through the mud to shore in order to launch near firm ground. But as summer came in the heat dried up the ditch.

The sun did create a 3-4" crust capable of supporting the weight of a walking human carrying a boat. It was still a messy ordeal to get into the water, but it was reachable, and another plan was tried to build a portable walkway over the mud.

So far, the walkway has worked well. The ability to roll the walkway up and off the mud when the rains come has worked as designed. The water is now within reach and the kayaking will commence...

Pictures

Woody

I haven't posted much this year, but I would be remiss in not acknowledging the the hand off of my first kayak.

The Guillemot was there on my first trip and took me on my very first Bill Dodge trip. She went with me the first day I paddled with my kids, and was there the day Greg Welker taught me how to roll.

My Guillemot seemed more submarine than kayak at times as she speared through every wave no matter how small. Even the most experienced kayaker couldn't paddle her far without the rudder. She loved to turn.

Excluding a few trips in Japan, she saw me come closer to harm than any of my other kayaks and brought me home safely. But before I had 50 trips under my belt I felt my skills had outgrown her and was looking to move on.

She rested quietly under a tarp for many years, coming out for a short period as my daughter moved up from her Necky Gannet. But for the last 5 years she languished under the tarp.

In the winter of 1998 I spent every spare moment after work and all day Saturday's and Sunday's placing cedar strips of wood next to each other until finally coating her with fiberglass and epoxy.

And on Jan 1st 1999 she made her (and mine) maiden voyage. I was lucky to live through that day.

I wish I could have paddled her once more. But it was a tight fit back when I weighed 165lbs. There is no way I could fit in the boat any longer.

The boat consumed so many hours in her assembly and brought so much pleasure over the years that it became invaluable to me. But she was wasting away under that blue tarp, so today I gave her away.

In the end it isn't the wood and fiberglass where the value lay, but in the memories that I keep.

Woody

Pictures

The song birds now wake me up each morning. As my eyes adjust from the sleep I look through my bedroom doorway past my living room and out at the lake. I smile.

Although I have been here for a month and a half, I haven't had a chance to get out on the lake to paddle with the exception of a short down river run to the dam, but I was looking forward to an up stream paddle as the dwellings appeared to thin out in that direction.

The 'lake' as it is called, is really the Occoquan Creek that has had it's flow interrupted by a dam a few miles down stream from where I live. But it has no resemblance to a lake at all as it twists and winds its way through Prince William County never getting more than a few dozen paddle strokes across.

The work day dragged on Friday as I waited for the time to pass so I could take my first adventure upstream. But once home it seemed like moments before I was changed and stepping in the mud to get in my kayak.

I backed away from shore and drew a deep breath. It felt good - the sunshine on my arms and face. It was at this moment I threw off the chill of winter and felt like I was truly embedded in spring.

There was a slight current heading upstream from the recent heavy rains. I could feel my right shoulder complain of the lack of paddling over the last several months.

Before long the houses fell away and I was alone on the creek. Paddling around each bend and feeling the slight breeze hit me from different angles. I passed ducks and geese, and even was entertained for a few minutes by a beaver making his way away from me.

A jet ski passed me at low speed, but a low fuel warning went off as they passed and the father and son pulled over to the bank to refuel.

I noticed a small log floating in the water and was thinking how it reminded me of an alligator tail. As I looked it slowly sank. It was alive, but I have no idea what it was. Possibly the back of a large turtle.

I turned around. I had been paddling into the sun for a while and without any sunscreen on I didn't want to burn. The jet ski, now refueled, continued on its way up the creek.

I noticed something fuzzy on the water. A giant ball of something. As I got close it suddenly ran at me across the water at high speed. I panicked and jolted as it ran right up to my cockpit until I realized it was a ball of fishing line. My paddle had snagged a submerged piece of line pulling the ball directly to me.

I saw what may have been a golden eagle. Much larger than a hawk, and a golden brown. It fled deeper into the woods as I paddled by. I've been surprised by all the wildlife I've seen in the last 6 weeks: squirrels, red tail hawks, deer, pileated woodpeckers, geese, mallards. As I sit here typing this a hawk flew across the water carrying a snake. Often in the early morning I see a lone bald eagle patrol the creek.

Before long I've returned home. I turn the kayak upside down against a tree and trudge up the hill to rinse off my water shoes before going inside. In a few moments it is dusk, and the song birds bring my day to a close.

Woody

It rained the entire trip to Leesylvania. But by the time I arrived it was just the occasional drip. Overcast with just the hint of a fog. The car top launch was closed, so I headed to the boat ramp and got a parking space up front.

A short paddle today, but my first for the year. Heading north to Farm Creek the water was glass smooth and felt a little thick. The kayak moved sluggishly through the water.

It was a short trip into the creek. The water was down so low that it was impossible to go beyond the pilings that cross the creek a short distance back.

After turning back out of the creek we headed to Freestone Point and explored the rocks up close. Many were undercut and appeared to be balanced on end on a pedestal. I'm often amazed at the interesting detail along the shore when we just stop and look. Just around the point a red fox scampered his way across the rocks and back in to the trees. The first time I've seen one here although I've heard others talk about them.

The paddle back to the launch was quiet and peaceful. Eating lunch by the water as the sun came out and colored my face a light pink. It was good to be on the water again...

Woody

Windier than I expected. Just the type of weather Patty likes. I hate the wind. I like the way it creates waves, but other than that, I just hate it.

We launched from Leesylvania and headed north. We crossed the boat ramps in short order, but we could see that out in Occoquan Bay the white caps. We knew that as we passed Whitestone Point we would be in the full force of it.

We paddled out from shore to stay out of range of the fishermen on the pier. And the closer we got to the point the louder we had to talk to hear each other. Once we rounded the point Patty mentioned going to Farm Creek, which lay directly up wind of our position.

"Do you want to paddle straight across or hug the shore to stay out of the wind?" I asked. She didn't need to reply as I already knew her answer. So off we headed into the wind. And an adventure it was. It started as gusts, but turned in to a steady blow. I gripped my paddle so hard to keep the wind from taking it that this short paddle would make a nasty blister on my right hand.

As the wind picked up we started to notice that the duck blind along shore wasn't moving. More accurately we noticed WE weren't moving. We dug in. The ache in my arms grew louder as we continued - inch by inch - toward Farm Creek.

Then it began to slacken. Just a tiny bit at first. As we moved toward the wind shadow created by a clump of trees ahead of us, the inches became feet until we were fully inside the creek and protected by the wind.

The relief was shocking. It almost seemed as though I was suddenly super human - moving my kayak forward with the lightest of strokes. We flushed ducks out of the creek for a short distance before the vegetation blocked our way.

We exited the creek the way we came in, passing some fishermen at the mouth. With deliberate purpose we headed out toward the river. We wanted to catch the full force of the wind for the ride back. At speed it almost seemed quiet. We could hear each other speak without shouting moving in this direction - A trick one should remember if you need to have a conversation with someone while paddling in high winds.

We surfed a few waves, but they were really too steep and short to get any good rides. But the wind pushed us along very fast. What took us an hour and 15 minutes to go out, took only 45 to get back. We rounded the end of Leesylvania by the car top launch and fell in to the lee. A short day but I was tired but satisfied with the paddle, despite the blister....

Woody

Somewhere in between the planes passing overhead and the traffic passing over the Key bridge, I found an inner peace sitting beside the river at Jack's Boathouse. With the cool breeze blowing across the water I caught up on the latest happenings from Frank. A lot has changed in the 2 years since I had been here.

I sat and looked for a few hours before finally getting on the water. Paddling and drifting in the wind up to Fletcher's then lazily paddling back up the opposite side of the river. Hunger had gotten the best of me so I checked in with Frank to find out how many Pirates were still out. As darkness fell pizza was ordered and would be waiting for the rest of the folks when they returned.

Marshall drove in to pick up his boat and we caught up while eating some pizza. Shortly after he left the kayaks came in and there was a whole new group to catch up with. Well fed and sleepy it was time to head home. Going in to work so early makes kayaking in Georgetown difficult. But I miss this place.

Woody

Yesterday had been clear skies with cool temperatures. There was almost no one at the park, despite this being Labor day weekend. It was such a perfect day I was afraid to disturb it - so I didn't. I pulled up a bench and just sat and looked. I sat some more and looked some more. Then I sat for a while and looked till I thought my soul was filled to the brim. Then I had lunch.

After lunch I sat and looked some more before heading home. I like days like this.

Today was a little warmer. The wind more slight as I edged away from shore. I headed out toward Conrad island, gliding over Hydrilla and Coons Tail. The shallow water dragged at my kayak and I felt tightness in my shoulders as I pulled through the water. A tug pushing two barges of sand headed up river.

At Conrad the boat traffic seemed light so I sprinted across the channel and turned left, thinking I would paddle around to Marumsco creek. The Cicadas soon drowned out all other sounds. Their song telling me Summer is coming to an end.

As I crossed the Occoquan Wildlife Refuge, I noticed a bit ahead of me two duck blinds, each with a jet black john boat tied up to them. Blast. The scene reminds me that Labor Day weekend also signals the beginning of hunting season. I heel around and head up the Occoquan, not wanting to disturb the hunters.

By now a steady parade of boats were streaming out of the marinas further up the Occoquan. It would not be safe to cross the channel where I had crossed earlier so I paddled up to near the railroad bridge. I was well within the no wake zone now and a narrow section here made it easy work to cross without affecting traffic.

For the return trip I hugged the eastern shore before turning back toward the park. The Hydrilla was thick and each paddle stroke had to be timed to avoid getting hung up in the green vegetation. The floating green mounds were interspersed with bright white feathers. Small air bubbles attached to the feathers made them so bright it was difficult to look at them even with my sunglasses.

I put my kayak away on the car and wondered back to the shore to have one last look. Deep breath.

My Daughter turned 17 this month. This seems like yesterday....

Woody

Throughout my travels in the northern and middle necks I've come to really like the people there. You can tell though, there are impacts from the more affluent northern Virginia crowd that is invading. Buying up all the water front properties, building 'McMansions', and putting up ADT signs in the front yard, they stick out like a giant pimple on otherwise rural country communities.

While crossing the upper Mattaponi river, I stopped to check out a public launch where 360 crosses and enjoyed the intimacy but was curious about the speedy current going through there. The current ran fast, and looked to be driven by tide. After making note that it was a 'possible return trip' I got back in the car as a truck backed in with a boat on the trailer.

I waited a moment as he backed in, but rather than go down the ramp he parked right next to me. I wondered why he did that and then noticed a young girl at my window. "Ya'll can leave now", she said. I was taken aback, not used to being ordered around by a child. It took a moment to register and she said it again - "Ya'll can leave now"

Then it clicked. She wasn't ordering me to leave, she was telling me it was ok to back out. Her father had avoided the ramp to keep from blocking me in as I left. I felt a bit embarrassed that I had initially thought the worse, when in fact this was the pure country politeness that I had come to love about this area that was showing through.

Lodge Landing was my choice to launch from for the weekend. A tributary off the South Yeocomico River near Callao, Va. Paddling left from the launch takes you out to the river, right takes you in to a well protected and very shallow creek.

As I launched a very polite fisherman held off pulling his boat out of the water while I launched. I want to live here.

In the shallows the water was so muddy it was obvious something was stirring it up. The water began to boil with fish and was so thick it was impossible to take a stroke without hitting them. They banged the underside of the boat and gave the visual that I was paddling though small rapids.

The heat was unbearable, and with the water saturated with Sea Nettles this made for a very hot trip. I decided to keep it short and opted to find shade to spend the remainder of the afternoon.