07.00.05: Flint River Flood
     

LOST IN THE FLOODED FOREST
by Steve Tanner

I set out to explore the Flint River. Oddly enough, this powerful river has it's humble beginning as groundwater under the Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. It's one of the few rivers left in Georgia that hasn't been damned and so flows unimpeded for nearly 350 "river miles" before it converges with the Chattahoochee.

I checked the road map and found 3 bridges over the Flint that would possibly provide access.

The first bridge was high above the water, with guardrails on both sides of the road. There was no place I could get down to the river. Strike one.

The road to the next bridge was blocked by a wooden barricade, painted with black and yellow warning stripes. A sign read - NO TRESSPASSING - ROAD CLOSED - BRIDGE OUT. I couldn't believe my bad luck! Strike two.

My next, and last, swing at bat was a bridge far downstream. Upon arrival I was immediately excited because the Flint river had overflowed into the backyards of homes along the bank! Still, I couldn't drop in without slepping across someone's property in broad daylight and in this part of Georgia that could get you shot.

I looked acoss the bridge. There was a building, one of those barn style designs with a tin roof and a hand painted sign that read - The Finishing Touch Furniture Restoration.

After two strikes I was determined to get on the river. Now desparate, I decided to do something I never do, ask permission.

The shop was crammed with antique chairs, tables, armoires, headboards, you name it; each waiting for an extreme make over. The sunlight piered through other amputated chunks of furniture, stacked like firewood, in front of the windows. The air was dense with the smell of turpentine. Out from behind all of this stepped a man with a protective mask over his mouth.

"Hey, how's it going?" I said.

"Good, Good, how you?" he warmly replied as he removed the mask.

We shook hands and introduced ourselves. His name was James E. Smith.

In polite Southern drawl, I said, "Say, I've got a kayak and I'm looking for a way to get down to the Flint, but I'm not having much luck. I see it's flooded?"

"Yep, does that every few years. Last time, it turned the neighbors property across the street into the Okefenokee."

"Seems like that would make for some interesting kayaking,"

"Yep, The Flint, she's beautiful back there; been living here all my life. Used to float her barefoot in a tire-tube. There's a lot of boulders downstream and it can really move when the water's up like this."

"Well, I'm not looking for any white water action, just like to paddle the flats. Is there a place to put in around here?"

I held my breath.

"Well now, there's the Flint River Outpost about 30 miles south of here," James said.

My heart sank. That's too far.

"But I've got an old road that leads out my backyard here that goes down to the river. You can use it if ya like."

I couldn't believe what I just heard.

"You sure? I really appreciate that!" I said enthusactically.

James opened the back door and pointed to an overgrown path that curved off into the woods in the direction of the river.

"The Flint's only a little ways back there. You can leave you car out front if you like. Nobody will bother it."

"Sounds Great. Thank again!" I said.

James left with cautious words, "Just be careful down there, people drown when it gets like this."

My last swing at bat was a homerun. Not only did I have access to the River but it was my own private launch, complete with a secluded road and a parking lot. To top it off, I was about to paddle a flooded forest for the first time.

A flooded forest, that's the best way to describe it because there wasn't a river I could see. I paddled around tall pines, in deep water the color of coffee with heavy cream. I zigzagged along the base of a steep hill.

The pines gave way to cypress. There were turtles basking on tree branches. A real feat of balance for a creature with stubby legs and a big shell for a back. They dive-bombed into the water as I paddled by.

I came to a grass field at the bottom of a gentle slope that was a cow pasture. The flood water laid on it like a split drink on a table. No cows were around, just sunshine beaming down creating a comforting picture. I paddled over the top of a bob-wired fence as I left the pasture. Then, the canopy grew thick with vines and kudzu. There still was no sign of the river. Water crept into the woods all around me.

I paddled and heaved the boat over, under, and around newly fallen trees and dead, rotten, waterlogged ones. The carnage was everywhere. One toppled tree had a trunk so large I couldn't get over it. Instead, I trailed along side for several yards before worming my way through it's thick, half submerged branches. On the other side, standing tall, was a happily rotting pine, stripped of it's branches. Woodpeckers had bored so many holes in it that it looked like a totem pole. I pushed through another thicket and, at last and unexpectedly, found the river. The bank was flooded, but the way the trees lined up easily gave it away.

Now on the clear path of the Flint, I paddled out of the flooded forest, and soon came to power towers with cables strung across the river. It was late afternoon. I stopped to have lunch and watched the sky as late clouds began to roll in. It was pleasnt moment. Afterwards, I turned the boat around and headed back into the flooded forest for the trip out.

I was looking forward to the golden glow of the late afternoon sun on the water and trees in the forest, but instead heard thunder in the distance. I was reminded to drop any expectations when on the river because things seldom go as planned. Overcast clouds expelled any chance of afternoon sun. The wind began to blow, then more thunder with lightning.  Nothing raises a volcanic rush of fear in your soul like the crack of lightning; especially when you're outdoors. I immediately headed for the cover of cypress trees and squated under my poncho on some cypress roots to wait out the storm. The wind suddenly died and then the rain fell.

 

 

It was a nasty, hard, down pour, but I felt safe. After all, it wasn't like I was stranded in the middle open water and these fronts tend to pass over in about 10 minutes.

The front did pass but another marched in behind it. It rained some more. Lots of lightning too. The canopy above me was saturated and I was getting pelted pretty hard. It had rained for a solid hour and still going strong.

The flood waters were rising. Now, instead of being high and dry on cypress roots, I was squatting in a couple of inches of water. This wasn't fun anymore. It would be dark soon and I knew I had a ways to paddle to get out of here. It was time to weigh my options.

(1.) I had a cell phone, but there was no service out here. At least it was good for telling time. (2.) If I had to stay out here all night, I could bed down on the kayak; lumpy, but doable. I wouldn't starve to death and I certainly wouldn't be without water. (3.) The only person who knows I'm out here is James and he's probably not going to let me use his road again after this!

A flash of lightning popped again. I decided to make a run for it. I took off the poncho, put on the life vest, and paddled off in the rain.

My only comfort was, sooner or later, the flood water would bottleneck under the bridge and I could get out. I just had to make it there before dark without getting lost or picked off by lightning.

On a normal day, when I paddle up a river and then turn around for the return, things look different because I'm seeing the backside of what I passed on the way up. I can't get lost because the river's beneath me. Well, even though I just passed through this flooded forest here a few hours ago, nothing looked familiar to me now. Without the river, I was lost.

It rained, rained and rained some more. Every time the lightning flashed, I cringed. I kept the paddle low as I struggled along, hunched over in the kayak. I paddled through clearings, when I had too, as fast as I could hopeing I wouldn't get nailed by a ligntning bolt. I felt exposed and insignificant in this place.

I was getting worn out. My margin of error was shrinking. Rushing water pinned me against a fallen tree and I was nearly sucked under. I grabbed some branches and shimmied along the trunk, out of the current. James was right; if you're not careful, you can drown out here.

It was growing dark. I stopped to rest along side a large toppled tree, which I did not recognize. I was feeling pretty lost when I looked over my shoulder and suddenly saw the rotting pine with the woodpecker carvings standing talI like a lighthouse. I had been this way before! I'll never forget the look of it. This dead tree was my saviour. At last, I had some sense of where I was.

No long after, I stumbled on the river trail. I didn't find this on the way up but I sure followed it now. The lightning was still unpredictable so I paddled under the trees along the bank for cover.  Just as I thought I was going to get out of her in the nick of time, the river vanished back into woods. I was lost again.

I was sweating so much, my glasses wouldn't unfog. They became useless and I put them away. My vision was now blurred. Add that to the fact that it was dark, and raining and I felt a real problem coming on.

Then, a bright patch, about 200 yards to my right, caught the corner of my eye. Could it be…? I turned 90 degrees from my present course and paddled and pushed through the woods. It was thick with fallen trees. I had to get out and stand on them to pull the boat over. As I neared the clearing, even my blurred vision could make out the cow pasture! What a relief! I new I was close to the take out.

I soon found the hillside I tracked earlier. Then, I spotted the road where I started. It was barely recognizable becasue it was dark and the water had risen a foot around it.

When I finally stood on solid ground, I let out a primal scream! I was free of the flooded forest.

When I reached the car, there was a note taped to the window. It read - Steve, Call me as soon as you read this! , James - and he left his phone number.

"Hello?"

"JAMES!" I screamed.

"Steve, Is that you?" he said

"YEAH, I MADE IT OUT! MAN, IT'S CRAZY IN THERE!" I couldn't help myself. It was good to hear his voice.

"Son, I was about to wonder if you hadn't drowned out there," he continued, "It started thundern' and all hell broke loose up here. I was thinking I'd have to call the county!"

"I know, I know," I said. "I couldn't see the river at all and got lost for while. You really can drown out there."

"Told you." James replied.

We talked some more and I thanked him again for letting me use his road.

"Come back anytime, just call me first." He said.

I did go back in the Fall and paddled the river again, this time with my friend, Jeromie. This Flint was back to normal. Jeromie decided to relax in the cow pasture, where it was previously flooded, as I set off to retrace my steps. The flint was easy to follow, although, there were some many fallen trees over it that I spent just as much time dragging the boat through the woods as paddling the river. The Flint was never more than 20 feet wide and curvy.  It could easily disappear in a flood.

At the end of the day, I presented James with a 12 x18 photo of the flooded forest.

"Yep," he said. "That's what it looks like."