Never stop exploring

“We reached the old wolf in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes. I realized then, and have known ever since, that there was something new to me in those eyes –something known only to her and the mountain. I was young then, and full of trigger-itch; I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer, that no wolves would mean hunters’ paradise. But after seeing the green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf nor the mountain agreed with such a view.” Aldo Leopold
9 a.m. Monday
Did you stop at the big cypress? My dad, Richard Doyle, looked up from the roof we were working on and raised an eyebrow.
I relaxed and repositioned myself on the steep roof, we did, we camped in Searles and did not have time to stop anywhere else before we got out.
Good. Where did you get out again?
We got out on 64.
7 a.m. Sunday
That is one Big Cypress. I murmur before we turn around and set off once more,
“I don’t think we'll make it to Hatchie Station, but if we paddle a good solid six hours I think we can make 18 for a late lunch”
It is early and we have all had a long night. The paddling is more zombie like than peacefully introspective but the sun on our backs and coffee in our veins are doing their jobs well, and soon we awake for the second time that day to enjoy relaxed conversation, and, during the lulls which somehow never seem awkward, we are afforded an opportunity to glance around once more and enjoy the scenery of the surrounding river.
For me at least, the quietness allows me to retreat back into thought of the ways this wonderful river has impacted those lucky enough to spend time with it. I glance to the right to see a grown-up field. That is Norris fish hole. I gesture to the stunted trees. It bothers me not knowing how these funny little places receive names. But, undoubtedly, some person with the name Norris had fished the little ditch flowing into the river and the colloquial name stuck around.
While I am still thinking about who Norris was, I see a little opening in the trees on the right. I gesture past the small entrance to the river, that is the Grinnell pond. I certainly know how that name came about, although the story has never been related to me. The Grinnell, or mudfish, or bowfin; all acceptable local names, is not generally considered a game fish. Truly prehistoric looking, they have a fin that runs along the top of the back and a rounded tail. They will destroy Spinner bait. My last meeting with the bowfin occurred on a fishing trip to the Tuscumbia River with my dad in April. We were fishing the sometimes prolific waters for bass to no avail when something swallowed my lure and ran straight sideways, hard. I knew what it was before I put it in the boat, and after apprehensively removing a stubborn hook from a toothy mouth, I slid him back into the water. The big fish demonstrated his distaste for us with a powerful tail thrust and he was, again off. I have fished the Grinnell pond some since then, but I don’t recall catching any Grinnell. I seem to remember the fishing being slow but the bass being large. The Grinnell Pond, basically a farm pond, has only its connection to the river and its flora, namely the bald cypress, to distinguish it from the hundreds of catfish ponds across Hardeman County.
It is amazing then the difference between the Grinnell pond and its neighbor across the river and around a bend, The Goose Pond. If the Grinnell pond is aptly named a pond the goose pond is not at all. We are not to the spot on the river where you would park the boat and walk over, and I have not been there since Mr. Brent sold it years ago, but the memory is deeply embedded. The Grinnell Pond is the Hatchie River with no current. We have passed Round Island Slough back in Searles and I’ve explained to my friends how the river makes a horseshoe lake. The river, it seems, wants to be straight. In a big bend of the river, the bank on the outside edge of a curve is slowly eaten away by the current until the river, has broken through to find a shorter path. The old river channel sits stagnate and Cypress trees spring up where they could not in the current. Round Island Slough has at least one Cypress that looks to be close to 1000 years old, a testament to how long it has been since this “slough” was the river.

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