On a comfortable, sunny Friday in mid-September, 2022, my good buddy Peter Blackburn and his son William joined Ranger Bob on a planned kayak trip in the estuary around Cedar Point, just east of Swansboro. The water trail was from the Cedar Point campground boat launch in the southwest corner of Croatan National Forest, then into the White Oak River and upstream to the Tideland hiking trail. 

Unfortunately, the wind was high, and the Coast Guard had issued a small boat advisory.  The wind alone was worrisome and probably would have prevented me from leading the group onto the large, exposed body of water.  But in addition, the advisory prevented our boat outfitter from renting Peter and his son their reserved boats. We went to the Barrier Island Kayaks outfitter store on the causeway just east of Swansboro only to find the shop closed.  Peter's call to the owner educated us about the advisory.  I had my canoe with me on my Jeep roof rack. 

In the process of figuring out these changing situations, William proved his brilliance by frequently using his iPhone and Google prowess to find information and alternatives. Peter came up with our Plan B, which was to hike the Cedar Point Tideland Trail. So we did.  It was scenic, educational and beautiful. On our way home we stopped at the Bojangles in the village of Cedar Point for a late breakfast / early lunch.  Scrumptious!

On an early, cooler morning in September, 2022, Terri and Ranger Bob went to one of the beaches on Bogue Banks to collect miniature sea shells.  It was after Labor Day so the credit card payment machines had been removed from the parking lot.  The beach was nearly deserted.  Terri has an unbelievable talent for spotting microscopically small shells from among all the sand, broken shells and detritus on the beach. Today was no exception.  She found her normal quota of about 15 shells.  We saved them and headed home fairly early.  We stopped at the usual gas station to refill our coffee mugs and get some snacks to tide us over to lunch back at home. 

On a blazing hot day in July 2022, Ranger Bob tested his kayak equipment and paddling skills in the down-east black-water of the several connected River Bend marinas, which creeks are a tributary of the Trent River, which is a tributary of the Neuse River, which feeds into the Pamlico Sound, which leads to the Atlantic Ocean.  For the last several trips I have been having trouble keeping my balance getting into and out of the kayak.  This time I fell into the river only while exiting.  The fall was a good thing because I was pouring sweat.  The cool water was refreshing, and I was just as wet either way. 

At this point, I was still getting my “sea legs” and trying to re-acquaint myself with the kayak, since for the last few years most of my paddling had been in my Dagger solo canoe.  The kayak seat back was only barely adjustable and was not tall enough or far enough forward to properly support my back, so I was getting a backache in the middle of every trip. The rudder foot pedals were also not long enough to accommodate my long legs, so my position was somewhat cramped. 

Between this trip and publishing this article I have sold that kayak over Facebook Marketplace to a nice lady in Little Washington, NC. She is an example of the aphorism not to cuss somebody, because you may be talking to their kinfolk.  This lady in a rental cottage on the Pamlico Sound and her landlord is Rosie Poore. Rosie’s older sister Lisa was the last girl I dated in Raleigh before I met my first wife Kimberly. 

I will go back when I get my replacement boat.  I am getting a Current Designs Solstice GT, which is a sleek, hard-hulled, fast, open ocean-going sea kayak. My Internet research shows that it is the most popular (most units sold) of any manufactured kayak in history. It is also full of cool features which make it expensive.  A fellow Twin River Paddle Club member and a new friend who buys used boats and renovates them is selling it to me for 25% of the new price.   

The trip was pleasant but fairly short.  I went under several bridges and wandered through the waterways of several creeks and harbors throughout my River Bend community.  Many of the neighborhoods have canals and docks behind the houses. It was a fairly solitary adventure since I passed only one other group of two teenaged boys in kayaks.

Ho, hum!  Another day of beach life by retired Bob and Terri!  Another day in paradise! On a pretty, sunny, warm day in mid-August, 2022, Terri and I went to Indian beach on Bogue Banks [called by the Chamber of Commerce types as Emerald Island].  Our last several trips to the beach have been hindered by blazing hot temperatures and high winds.   Today was better, with less heat and wind.

Indian Beach has become our favorite one, so far, due to uncrowded parking, a short walk to the beach, clean bathrooms and an uncrowded beach.  We have not yet tried Salter Path beach, but it may be the best since it has all the Indian beach attributes, plus free parking that is partly in the shade.  

Terri has had good luck at each beach finding teeny, tiny, whole shells that look like conch, scallops, oysters, and other briny denizens. She collects these and at home displays them in nuatiucal-looking glass bottles and shadow box wood frames. Today her hunt went well.

The day ended unfortunately when Terri was knocked down by a wave in chest-deep water, she fell on her foot and broke a bone. We packed up camp and shuffled slowly home.  Terri saw a doctor who said she can skip surgery and put her in a walking cast-like boot.   We may not be going back to the beach until she heals. 

On a cool, rainy, cloudy, windy day in June 2022, Terri and I rode the ferry from the docks in the harbor of Beaufort, NC, out into Taylors Creek toward Shackleford Banks, to Sand Dollar Island.  This is a standard tourist run that takes a small boat load of people to Sand Dollar multiple times a day.  The island is not much to look at - just a spit of sand with no plants.  Its claim to fame is that many sand dollar creatures live in the area and leave their shells on the island.  Of course, all the thousands of tourists over the years have picked the island pretty clean of shells, leaving mostly sand and salt water. 

We had an enjoyable time searching for shells, including those left by other creatures.  Today, Terri sharted her on-going hobby of collecting teeny, tiny shells of different sorts.  Back at home, she puts them in shadow box frames and glass jars to display in our sunroom.  We had a good time and may go back again.  

On the beautiful sunny, but hot, Saturday morning of August 6, 2022, I accepted fellow tennis club member Jon Segal’s gracious invitation to paddle on the Trent River. We launched from a private grass and sand landing in River Bend and went up river to an historic area that now just looks like a swamp pond.  But many years ago, boats came up from the ocean, through Pamlico Sound, up the Neuse River and then up the Trent River to pick up loads of rice, hence the name Rice Landing. On most trips I post a GPS location for the route, but am not doing so now to protect the privacy of our landing. 

The trip was calm and in general uneventful.  Jon set a friendly pace that was conducive to talking about geography, history and other items of local interest.  We went a couple miles upstream, although I could not discern a current.  Even though some parts of this river adjoin River Bend town, this area is too low lying and swampy to be developed.  Hence, most of the route was between natural forests without any development in sight.  Upon reaching Rice Landing pond, the entrance from the river was partially blocked by floating grass.  Jon was able to glide over the grass without much trouble. My boat is designed more for the open ocean, so it had a deeper draft and sharper keel. I got hung up on the grass and had to use my paddle like a pole and push off from the bottom to move forward.  After that struggle I was significantly tired out.  

Jon then led us around the pond and into the swamp behind it.  We saw a blue heron.  We wound through the cypress trees, Spanish moss, grass and black water for a ways.  The area in the swamp was calm and shady.

On our way back to the put-in we had to push through the same floating grass blockage.  I hit it with considerably more momentum and powered through more quickly.  Then we re-traced our route a couple miles down stream on the Trent River. A few times we had a mild problem with motor boats passing us going fairly fast, leaving a large wake which rocked our boats for a few seconds.  I learned to take one of two tactics: (1) turn my kayak to face into the oncoming waves; or (2) put one end of my dual bladed paddle in the water in a low brace on the side of my boat away from the approaching waves.  Both tactics worked fine.

On our return trip I developed another problem.  My seat back was not positioned correctly; the bottom frame was not seated in the groove at the back of the butt seat, so it did not give me proper support. My body was too big, due to a thick life jacket and a big fat belly, for me to turn around and fix the seat. So, for the last mile or so I was in considerable pain from over-stressed back, stomach and arm muscles caused by pulling the paddle from a bad angle.

Back at the take-out sand and grass landing, I encountered my next-to-last problem.  After running the nose of the kayak onto the landing, I tried to get up out of the cockpit, stand up and step out.  My body fit so tightly (see above regarding thick life jacket and fat belly) that I could not get out.  I used my arms braced on the back of the cockpit to do a backwards pushup, but my arms were so tired from paddling that I could come up far enough. After teetering on the edge of the cockpit and being out of balance for about a minute, I slowly rolled over and fell into the river.

The water was nice and cool, and only about knee deep, so there was no danger.  Jon and I shared a good laugh. But when I tried to stand up on the river bottom, I ran into my last problem. My life jacket is designed with more floatation material in front.  That makes a water accident victim float on their back, so their face is out of the water and able to breathe.  Each time I tried to roll over onto my stomach so I could get my feet under me and stand up, the jacket pushed me back.  After drifting out to deeper water, I finally stood up and pulled my boat out of the water.

All’s well that ends well.  We had a good time. Thanks Jon.

Sometime soon after Terri and I moved to New Bern, maybe early May 2022, on a warm, sunny afternoon, I took my first paddling trip in Craven County since moving down east.  There is a canoe and kayak boat launch a few blocks from my house on the Trent River. The river curves around our neighborhood, named River Bend for that reason. There are several creeks running through our town, which feed into the Trent.  Then the Trent feeds into the Neuse River close to New Bern, which is why many businesses in our area are called Twin Rivers something or other. If you keep going down the Neuse River, then it empties into Pamlico Sound, which joins the Atlantic Ocean on the other side of the Cape Lookout Outer Banks.

I have paddled, hiked and camped in this area many times over many decades, which is one reason we chose to move here.  But I had not been flat water kayaking for about five years, so I felt quite rusty and somewhat vulnerable.  Plus, being 70 years old and paddling alone did not help the situation. I moved cautiously around the boat and across the water.

The hardest part of the trip was toting my boat with assistance from a set of removable wheels form the parking lot, across some rough ground through the woods, following a long, winding dock and descending a steep put-in to the river.

The next hardest part is the dock has a customized kayak launch trough with an over-head metal bar to help with entering and exiting the boat.  But, despite this assistance, the dynamics worked out so that upon trying to get in or out of the cockpit, the boat had a tendency to scoot out from under me and slide away into the river, out of reach.  It was touch and go with a lot of grunting and straining to manage these maneuvers.

The actual paddling was fairly innocuous. The scenery was southern coastal, with black water, cypress knees, Spanish moss and swamps lining the river banks. I started going upriver to avoid having to fight the current on my way back home later.  A little way upriver was a small island, which I circumnavigated and headed back down stream.  At the bottom of the island I ended up near the dock, so I made it back to the launch site.

Since them I have taken several more trips.  Each time I tweak, adjust and improve my gear so as to make things safer and smoother.

On November 30, 2021, I harvested my first deer. Over the last few decades, I have successfully hunted many kinds small game, like squirrel, dove, grouse and turkey, under the tutelage of my friend Bill Booth.  He has taught me about guns, calibers, ballistics, shooting, hunting, fishing, wild life and game habitat.  I have also hunted deer about 20 times, but I never saw a deer in the woods when I had a gun in my hands.  

Last Fall I made a connection with another friend, Hank Forester, son of famous man-about-town Chuck Forester.  Hank is a professional deer property manager and hunting guide.  He works for a company called Field to Fork, which is associated with the National Deer Association.  Both organizations promote managing land and deer for hunting; ethical hunting practices, hunter education, rifle training, processing the meat and making delicious meals.  He invited me to hunt deer on some land he manages.  Unlike most of my Blue Ridge Outings articles, this one does not show the geographical location, to protect the privacy of the land owner, except to say it is in Wilkes County, NC. 

I was using a new gun to me, a Browning semi-automatic rifle.  This gun is high quality but heavy weight with stiff spring controlled mechanisms, which were difficult for me to operate. A few weeks before this hunt I took the rifle to the Duncan Gun Shop outdoor range at Windy Gap and shot terribly.  Eight of eight shots did not even hit the two foot square paper target. I told Hank that I am not competent to shoot a deer and could not hunt with him. He advised me not to over think the situation, relax, have confidence and practice some more.  I called Bill for advice, which I tried to put into practice.  A few days before the hunt I went back to the range. The second time I put eight of eight shots within two inches of the target center. 

I have no illusions that I am a great hunter or great rifle shooter.  Many factors went into making this hunt and shot easier than typical circumstances. Trail cameras linked to Hank’s smart phone are located throughout the property so he can track the deer’s’ where-abouts.  Multiple hunting stands are already placed on the property in strategic locations.  Some places have corn distributed in sight of the stands, to attract the deer, and to hold the deer in place for a shot. Tree limbs are cut to make shooting lanes.

I shared the two person stand with Hank high in a tree.  The stand has a bar in front of the seat to keep the hunters from falling out. The bar was at the right height so that when I rested the fore end of my rifle on the rail, my scope lined up with the deer trail.   

Query: Hank, did you set this rail height on purpose?

We started our hunt in late afternoon and only had to wait about two hours for some action. There was no rain, snow, ice or wind. It was moderately cold, about 32 degrees, which is not bad. Through-out the hunt, Hank whispered advice to me, which was welcome.

He heard and then saw a deer before I perceived either.  He notified me when and where to watch for it to appear on the trail. I had a hard time finding the deer in the scope. When I could see the buck, I really bore down and concentrated physically and mentally so as not to choke and blow the shot. The deer came in sight at about 50 yards but walked in and out behind a several trees for couple minutes, which intermittently blocked my view of its chest.  I took a shot when I was not fully relaxed and in control.  The bullet nicked a tree branch and missed cleanly.

The deer spooked, but only for a minute.  Extremely luckily for me, it came back in sight. For the next several minutes it kept walking very slowly in and out behind the trees.  I followed it with my scope and I kept the cross hairs squarely on its chest. As time went on, instead of getting more tense, I got more relaxed and grew more confident in my shot. Finally, I got a good sight picture of its whole chest. I felt comfortable that I could send the shot there.  Without waiting for Hank’s final okay, I pulled the trigger.

The shot was superb. We found later that the bullet pierced its heart.  The buck sprang straight up in the air, flipped over, landed on its back, kicked a few times and was still. So, we did not have to look for a blood trail or track a wounded deer in the dark. 

It was a small buck, but both horns were broken off, maybe from fighting, so I could not tell the size.  Hank did most of the work to clean and gut the deer, but I helped and tried to learn how to do it myself the next time. When we cleaned the deer’s insides, we found the chest cavity above the diaphragm was a big pool of liquid blood from all the heart damage. The hunting knife with a gutting blade which I have carried for 30 years was too dull to cut.  Hank provided a razor blade knife which worked better. At his suggestion, I have order a knife with replaceable razor blades for myself.

Hank used his ATV to haul the deer back to civilization; and then used his truck to haul the carcass to the meat processor.  Again at his suggestion, I ordered a metal shelf basket which attaches to my Jeep trailer hitch to haul future carcasses myself.

There is a new legal procedure. It used to be that a successful hunter had to tear off a paper tag from his big game permit and attach it to the carcass. Now, the hunter has to call a telephone number on the permit, give some information and get back over the phone a registration number.  This number must be written on the permit and shown to any inquiring game warden and the meat processor.

Hank had connections with several deer meet processors.  When we were done it was after dark and after business hours.  But he used his cell phone and found a processor open.  We went to The Meat Sweats located on NC Highway 115 South. Their contact information is (336) 466-2159 and 9853 Statesville Road, North Wilkesboro.  The cost was $110 for converting all the meat to plastic shrink wrapped packages a week later.  For future reference, they are soon moving to 1608 West D Street, North Wilkesboro.

 A few years ago, I had considered giving up on deer hunting, partly due to the negative economics.  Many hunters spend tens of thousands of dollars to buy or lease land, get a truck, a nice rifle with an expensive scope, use an ATV, buy heavy winter clothes and boots and a hunting knife.  They get back a couple hundred dollars worth of meat. 

This hunt was a better deal for me.  I already owned and used for other sports everything that I took with me.  All I bought was two bullets for $4 and got back the lean, healthy meat.

I have decided that deer hunting has re-ignited my interest in outdoor consumptive sports.  To all my readers, please join me in finding some times and places where we can go hunting and fishing.

For other beginning hunters, you can access the National Deer Association at 800-209-3337; www.deerassociation.com ;  www.youtube.com/deerassociation ;  www.deerassociation.com/ebook ; and www.deerassociation.com/deer-hunting-101/ .

On the beautiful Sunday of August 29, 2021, Gerianne Hannibal, Rose Pawlyszyn and Ranger Bob took a paddling trip on the New River in Ashe County.  Gerianne and Rose rode their red sit on top kayaks; while I went in my teal and wood framed solo canoe. Our trip was from Zaloo’s Canoes just upstream from the NC 88 bridge to the Gentry Road bridge. 

The weather was nearly perfect with lots of sun, periods of upstream breezes and no rain or clouds. I believe Gerianne and Rose used sunscreen.  I had been exposed to so much sun playing tennis and other outside sports that I enhanced my tan.

We put in early morning and paddled five miles in a couple hours to the New River State Park Wagoner Access.  Along the way we encountered few [or no?] other paddlers.  There were some scattered tubers with coolers and a laid back way of traveling. At the park we ate our picnic lunches.  Rose had several peanut butter and banana sandwiches. She kindly shared a tasty sandwich with me, so I gladly skipped my snack of beef jerky and granola bars. Unlike my last several trip, I brought two canteens of water and did not run out of drink.

After lunch we headed further downstream five more miles to the Gentry Road bridge in another couple hours.  In between the water seemed to be a little low.  There was a long, nearly two mile stretch, with nearly constant riffles.  None of the riffles were big or difficult to navigate, but the exposed rocks were barely big enough to catch a carelessly paddled boat, hold it and possibly turn it over. After a while it became an irritation to constantly paddle and steer with no break for two miles.

After that, we encountered a moderate rapid that I did not remember from my prior trips. Gerianne and Rose took the left side of the river and eased through. I took the right route and encountered a section with no way through.  I realized the problem too late and caught a fairly large rock in a moderately large rapid. In an instant my canoe capsized and filled with water.  Fortunately my boat was stuffed full with four flotation bags which kept the canoe high enough in the river to be manageable and not unwieldy heavy. Further fortunately the rocks in the rapid were sized and placed conveniently to prop up one gunnel, turn over the canoe and empty the water.  I could sit and re-arrange my scattered gear. I had enough foresight to have everything strapped in so nothing was lost downstream.  Hoping back in and continuing to paddle was not a problem.

The take out at Gentry Road bridge was small, steep and somewhat hard to handle. Quite luckily the Zaloo’s crew who met us at Gentry arrived one minute before we did.  They helped us get to shore, haul our boats uphill and load onto their trailer.  Zaloo’s shuttle back to their shop where our trucks were parked was breezy and pleasant. 

My plan for our next trip is to paddle from Gentry Road Bridge to the New River Outfitters Shop downstream from the US 221 bridge and hire NRO to run our shuttle.

A good time was had by all.