The Old Men's Trip

W. Branch of the Susquehanna River

June 28 to July 2, 2003

(Journal Recorded by Scott)

Saturday, June 28, Sat., 6:43 PM
We are camped in a nice developed (cleared, level, fire rings) campsite on the north bank of the river. The sun is shining; the unbearable heat and humidity broke yesterday afternoon. We are on Bald Hill just before the power line crosses the river, on the opposite bank from the railroad, for a refreshing change.

Jimbo is cooking supper (under the new, everybody takes a turn cooking plan). He is making rice and sausage a la Pitoniak. Ray is snapping digital photos of Terry's bare butt (brotherly antics). He is threatening to send a copy to Terry's wife with Terry's face peeking out from between his own cheeks.

The river is reasonably swift, shallow but canoeable, and dead from acid run-off thanks to over a century of careless coal mining practices. The water is perfectly safe for humans but too acidic for plant life or fish. In fact it is crystal clear where the silt has settled. The water is even quite warm, a contrast to the very cold streams that flow into the main river.

It was good to be paddling a canoe again after missing last season with my torn shoulder ligaments. It is also good to be sharing the jovial fellowship of these three.

We started at Shawville this afternoon (2:30?) after dropping my van in Lock Haven near the first bridge. The First Church of Christ folks graciously allowed us to park in their lot. McCracken's Canoe Rental in Shawville allowed Ray to park his van in their lot and were kind enough to give him a ride to the put in behind the church across the river in Shawville.

Salad is up!

Sunday, June 29, 7 PM
Another beautiful day on the W. Branch! We paddled 21 miles, were on the water by 8:30 this morning and off by 3:30 this afternoon, and had the joy of paddling many long stretches of light whitewater that added interest, kept us alert, and even caught Jimbo on a rock or two.

Terry cooked up a gourmet delight consisting of noodle soup, salad (Ray's), pork chops, mixed vegetables, rice, and mushroom soup gravy. Of course I will bake a cake for our usual dessert.

We are enjoying another nice "scout" campsite marred only by many mosquitoes, a byproduct of the damp spring. The site is right at the mouth of Moshannon Creek,. We all took advantage of the early arrival and washed up in the creek, a good feeling to scrub off the grime. We had gone swimming earlier (soaked?) in a couple of feet of water to cool off from the afternoon's sun and our exertions. We have been blessed with warm, sunny weather. When we first arrived it clouded up and made us worry about a thunderstorm but that passed without a drop. Terry said that we appeased the rain gods by putting up the tarp and preparing for rain.

Ray shocked Jimbo (or so Jimbo claims) when Ray told him he did well paddling. We all tried to make up for Ray's supportiveness with a host of sarcastic comments about Jimbo.

We actually passed another canoeing crew today. They appeared to be family (including grandpa) who were out for the weekend. They first looked like rank amateurs but were having fun and handled the nearby rapids (1+ or 2-) with skill. I was especially impressed with grandpa whose comment at the end of the rapids (as we applauded) was "pretty good for a couple of nine year olds", referring to the two girls with him.

The scouting guide book that we purchased at McCracken's Canoe continues to serve us well with its detailed descriptions of campsite locations.

The evening is still young, we have a small fire going, courtesy of Jimbo, and we are sitting on big logs chewing the fat. This is always a good time to reminisce about previous trips. After twenty years of canoeing we have quite a collection to draw upon.

Monday, June 30th, 6:50 PM
We are sitting in the shade in a high wooded campsite on the right bank about two miles above Keating. We did a good 23 miles today, not finding a suitable campsite at the 20 mile mark, our allotted mileage for the day. Jimbo was all tuckered out after all those miles, especially since he was in the stern today and had to steer as well as paddle. We have rotated paddling partners every day. Day one: Jimbo and Terry, Ray and me. Day two: Terry and me, Ray and Jimbo. Day three: Jimbo and me, Terry and Ray. Jimbo was hesitant about his steering skills but improved immensely as the day went on. Again we had several stretches of rocky fast water.

Terry is in the final stages of cooking supper. We have had black bean and rice soup as well as salad. Beef stroganoff and peas are almost ready.

The repartee has continued in a vein that would make a sailor blush. Maybe that's why Rosey wouldn't come if she was going to be the only female. Do we intimidate her? Is there anyone we don't intimidate?

Our perfect weather failed us for an hour or more of light showers this morning that began just as we loaded the canoes at 9 AM. By lunch, though, all had cleared. Now it's 73 degrees with a light breeze.

Jimbo is so worn out he just declared he is ready to hit the sack. This morning he even slept until 7 AM, missing his usual ritual of taking down the bear bags.

The scenery has been marvelous, more that words or even photos can do justice to. The river meanders through steep wooded mountains that at times overlooked us with patches of sheer rock cliffs. It is not, however, a canyon but a series of mountains parading beside the river. The lack of civilization is noteworthy. There has been only an occasional dwelling, a single coal mine, and the seldom used and nearly hidden railroad tracks. It is "wilderness" only three and a half hours from Binghamton and only a few miles north of interstate 80. We have seen deer, turkey vultures, a blue heron, and even a bald eagle.

This is the life!

Tuesday, July 1st, 5:42 PM
I would record here our mileage but Ray is cooking supper and I would have to think to figure it out using his maps. I'll wait. (14 mi.)

We are in a pleasant, very unused campsite next to Bog Run by North Bend. If it weren't for the scouts' book saying it was here we would never have found it. As it was Ray had to hike in this heavy vegetation and "cut" a path with his paddle. It was a long hike in (for those of us used to camping right on the bank). Thus we left the "canoe table" at the river so Ray is cooking on a high stump. We might have paddled on looking for a site but there were no more marked sites as the scouts ended here and good sites are not around every bend. We had done our miles for the day and it was 4 PM. After all, the point of the trip is pleasure.

The river was not as swift today but is wider and often shallower, yet at no point have we been forced to wade and walk our canoes. Water levels have been kind to us despite the fact that the level drops an inch or more every day.

When we came by the town of Renovo we hiked up the bank and availed ourselves of its commercial establishments. Cold drinks and ice cream were a treat on a hot day. The town and its people are caught in a 1950's time warp, a railroad town that has seen better days but continues to live on and enjoy its existence. We have also picked up a highway across the river that intrudes on our isolation.

Epilogue
I think rivers have a mind of their own and purposely affect our psyches. As so often happens the W. Branch let us down slowly, brought us gradually back to the realities of civilization. As we drew closer to Lock Haven the road and its attendant summer cottages and homes began to remind us of the crowds of people that we had temporarily escaped. The current slowed as we entered the deeper water impounded behind the dam at Lock Haven, the water traffic (party barges and jet skis) magically appeared (along with girls in bikinis), and the campsites disappeared.

We paddled the last 23 miles on Wednesday and arrived in Lock Haven, recovered our car from the church parking lot, picked up our put-in car at McCracken's in Shawville, and drove to a campsite at nearby Eagle's Nest State Park. An early start Thursday morning will put us all home with our families where our trip will only be memories, photos, stories, stronger muscles, intensified brotherhood, and the sense of renewal that wild rivers can provide so well. Thank you Ray, Terry, and Jimbo. Thank you, W. Branch of the Susquehanna! We will visit again.

Copyright © 2003 Scott Clark