In the campground, right before launching, wearing my cool old lady hat!

June 23, 10:30 AM – We left the van back at the take-out site in LaMoure, ND. We are now at the little campground where we will park the truck and put in the boat. We are tromping around along the shoreline looking for a good place: not too steep or slippery since we don’t bounce like younger people anymore. The park caretaker comes over and helps in the search. He also tells us where we can park for free while on the river. He even helps us unload and launch and then gives us his phone number “just in case”. We call him later in the day, but only after our mishap, when we are back on the river safely and paddling along again.

Tango in his doggie life vest

10:50 AM – So, we are off on the journey. The James River is indeed brown, thanks to silt and sediment sweeping down from the dam during recent high waters. For now,  I am in the front seat, Don in the back seat, and Tango in the middle. We all settle in, and I paddle first. Ahhhhhhh. The weather is what we wanted– a slight breeze, partly cloudy, and temps in the 70s with a slight current to keep us moving.  No one else is around except a guy on a four-wheeler  up on the bank, who follows us and waves!  We pass under a few bridges and the nesting cliff swallows fly out and around our heads, screaming and trying to shoo us from their young. We drift on and see Yellow Warblers, American Goldfinches, a female Cardinal, a Great Horned Owl in flight, Hawks and, of course, Blackbirds. No shorebirds. I was also hoping for Dippers and Kingfishers but we did not see even one–that suggests that few small fish live in the river. Later I learn it is overrun with an invasive carp, who probably eat the smaller fish that a Dipper would want. For this first half of the trip we do not see any buildings or structures other than a few McMansions off in the hills. The width of the river varies from 30-70 feet.

We take turns with the paddle, letting the current do some of the work. A stiff wind comes and goes without causing too much trouble. My cool old lady hat (COLH) is blown off, but the chin strap keeps it in from blowing into the river.   After a few hours we start looking for places to pull over but find nothing. Right now the river has bluffs on both sides, with no way to climb out. Hmmmm. We are both hungry, even after the big breakfast, so we keep looking. After another hour, we decide to just eat in the boat! I have the paddle at this point, so I hand it back to the co-pilot and start pulling out lunch–meatloaf sandwiches on homemade bread, pickled beets (for the German guy), and canned pears. We eat “on board” and top off the meal with some power-packed cashews.

Around and around and around, and some of the lowest banks we saw.

The river has endless bends, and we go back and forth, around and around. We mostly see clumps of trees and croplands. Finally we reach a low shoreline where we can pull over and stretch our legs. We find ourselves pulling up to a bean field, and the bean plants come within 10 feet of the river. Such an odd sight. Anyway, since I am still in the front seat, I must climb out first. Oooooops. Slip. Flop. Loud splash. Thud. Ack!  The bank drops straight down into the water and is steep. The soil is a slippery gumbo (a local term for slick mucky soil). My feet sink into the gumbo, and I fall backwards, helpless. When I wiggle onto more stable soil and stand up, I am covered in mud. We nudge the boat into the shore a bit more so that man and beast can exit. They escape, mud-free.

Best co-pilot ever, taking a break!  Notice how clean HE is for now. The front seat is out of the boat so he could climb out.

Best dog ever! Why the life jacket? Unlike most dogs Tango is petrified of the water. He is a landlubber cow dog.

After laughing at my muddy condition and stretching, off we go again. Don takes the front seat now.

We have been on the river at least 3 hours and figure we must be at least half way. Then we remember that the distance between points where we start and end is 7 miles on a straight road. With the twists and turns in the river, maybe another few miles. If we are paddling 1.5 miles per hour we should be nearly half way. We paddle on a few more hours and notice that the current is suddenly non-existent: paddling takes more energy now. No worries. We know the trip is not too much longer, and we continue to take turns paddling through the still water. We pass under a bridge that we recognize from our Easter scouting trip.”Oh, that was only a mile or so from LaMoure, we are getting close!” We are pooped and the paddling muscles are sore; the bridge is a welcome sight.

4:30 PM. Next we see an ancient railroad trestle crossing downriver. We are thinking it may be the last bridge. Good thing because we don’t have much drinking water. We paddle toward the trestle with some effort because the river is now about 80 feet wide and the wind starts blowing. We switch on and off paddling more often since we tire sooner. We finally approach the trestle and see, from about 30 yards away, that the openings under it–where the river flows–are completely blocked by fallen trees and branches. The low trestle is a trap for floating windfall from the last winter and spring. Blocked. Completely. No way to get under the bridge. Lots of branches with sharp points. As the river narrows near the trestle, the current picks up. Hmmmm. Not good. We look to both sides and see only steep river banks. A younger person could scurry right on up, but not us–with a boat. As we approach the trestle we realize that we need to back pedal with great urgency. We  dig in (using extra paddle) and barely escape slamming into a pile of sharp tree limbs. We paddle, with all our combined might, back upstream and across  to a slightly easier exit point. We decide to get off the river, rest, regroup, and resolve our predicament (Jane’s 3 Rs of Adventure Drama)

Next: Don slips in the mud this time, a long portage, water and food are gone, and …and….and

Weeeeeee, aren’t we having fun….I took this selfie of the tired but happy boaters before we discover that our path is blocked by trees and that we are not anywhere near the end. Don is doing the pirate thing: arrr!