Bill Logan has written a book about paddling the Suwannee (as in "Way down upon the ..."). He invited me on a trip, and I just, couldn't pass up a once in a life-time opportunity. Here's a condensed version of what I seem to remember.
There was no snow in Michigan when I left, but I hit snow in Kentucky. WHAT'S THIS? I arrived at Spirit of the Suwannee campground, just north of Live Oak FL on Saturday afternoon. I spiked in a camp on the group site where the gaggle would coagulate the next day. WX was hot and sticky. I lazed around and talked with a few other campers in the area. Folks would wander over to see the wooden boat, and start talking.
On Sunday, Joe Fennell showed up, and we went to lunch. I came to know and appreciate his knowledge, intellect, and friendliness. Damned nice guy to camp with. When we got back from lunch, the rest of the gaggle had coagulated, so we got down to telling true stories.
Monday morning we put in, paddled about 8 miles, and commandeered a sand bar for camp. Harry McDonald (the Commodore) and his son "Ooter" were along; so was Van the cowboy, and Harry's constant companion (whose name, I'm ashamed to say, I cannot recall); Greg Fisher was there too, the youngest guy at 52; Bill Logan celebrated his birthday on the last day out.
After a couple days of diligently relaxing there, we moved another 7 or 9 miles down stream and spiked in another camp. We remained there until the last day when folks left. Joe & I remained one more day, reluctant to cut short a good vacation.
The camp days all run into one another, like ripples on a beach. We ate, drank, told stores, enjoyed camp fires, told more stores, and all learned from each other. We were all veterans, from WWII through Korea, Viet Nam, and Iraq. It was good to hear GI spoken again. We all like that part.
Bill, thanks for setting up the rip; I enjoyed it a lot. I would never - EVER - have had an opportunity to paddle that stretch of water otherwise.
There was no snow in Michigan when I left, but I hit snow in Kentucky. WHAT'S THIS? I arrived at Spirit of the Suwannee campground, just north of Live Oak FL on Saturday afternoon. I spiked in a camp on the group site where the gaggle would coagulate the next day. WX was hot and sticky. I lazed around and talked with a few other campers in the area. Folks would wander over to see the wooden boat, and start talking.
On Sunday, Joe Fennell showed up, and we went to lunch. I came to know and appreciate his knowledge, intellect, and friendliness. Damned nice guy to camp with. When we got back from lunch, the rest of the gaggle had coagulated, so we got down to telling true stories.
Monday morning we put in, paddled about 8 miles, and commandeered a sand bar for camp. Harry McDonald (the Commodore) and his son "Ooter" were along; so was Van the cowboy, and Harry's constant companion (whose name, I'm ashamed to say, I cannot recall); Greg Fisher was there too, the youngest guy at 52; Bill Logan celebrated his birthday on the last day out.
After a couple days of diligently relaxing there, we moved another 7 or 9 miles down stream and spiked in another camp. We remained there until the last day when folks left. Joe & I remained one more day, reluctant to cut short a good vacation.
The camp days all run into one another, like ripples on a beach. We ate, drank, told stores, enjoyed camp fires, told more stores, and all learned from each other. We were all veterans, from WWII through Korea, Viet Nam, and Iraq. It was good to hear GI spoken again. We all like that part.
Bill, thanks for setting up the rip; I enjoyed it a lot. I would never - EVER - have had an opportunity to paddle that stretch of water otherwise.
