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.

On the (mostly) hot and sunny Saturday of July 24, 2021, Ranger Bob (me, Bob Laney), Gerianne Hannibal and Rose Pawlyszyn biked the New River State Park, VA, trail.  We went downhill from Dannelly Park to Fries Junction, and then back uphill to Fries, VA.  We encountered one intense rain fall, but it only lasted about 30 minutes and did not harm anything.

Rose was our leader.  She had been there a half dozen times. Gerianne and I had been on other NRSP sections, but this trip was our first to this section.  We covered 26 miles on a smooth, gently rolling trail which was a converted railroad bed.  The uphills and downhills were well graded and mild.

Ranger Bob lost at least two outdoor sports merit badges, maybe three, on this trip because of my poor performance. I have been on many long, tough trips; like backpacking 60 miles through the Wind River Range, WY, in deep snow drifts and many places with no trail; or canoeing 70 miles on the Shenandoah River; or backpacking the Highline Trail in Grand Teton National Park.  But this trip was the most exhausting and painful I have ever experienced. 

The trouble was not the trail or terrain. Rose and Gerianne handled the entire trip easily.  I was operating under several disabilities.  First, I am about 40 pounds too fat, which is a lot of weight to push even 5 miles. Next, I was carrying a 20 pound pack full of gear, like a bicycle tool kit, a first aid kit, a repair and survival kit, rain suit, head lamp and a half gallon of water.  But I did not bring excess water; I ran out about two miles from the end and should have brought a little more. Finally, such a trip would be easy for a biker with a modicum of training.  But I had no training.  I had not been on my bike for two years, except for one day the week before I pedaled 5 miles - not nearly enough training.

By comparison the ladies were slim and trim; carried about two pints of water and no equipment; and had plenty of recent training.

I have seen videos of people running marathons who cannot make it and give out before the end. The runners’ muscles cramp up all over their body, their knees buckle, their arms and legs go spastic, they fall down and sometimes they get nausea or diarrhea.  Their body has shut down.   To a lesser degree, I suffered many of those symptoms.  Four miles from the end my body tried to shut down.  I had to stop every few hundred yards to rest.  Two miles from the end I had to stop pedaling and just walk.

Rose kindly hung back with me to assure I did not get left behind and further in trouble or lost.  When I had to walk she walked with me. When I ran out of water she gave me a pint canteen.  Then she carried my pack for a while.  A half mile from the end Gerianne came back to find us, took my bike and let me just walk.  Then at about a quarter mile Gerianne came running back, took my pack from Rose, put it on and ran back up the trail.  She reminded me of videos of Marine boot camp.

I was more exhausted than I have been in my entire life. I was in major pain in my thighs, hips, butt cheeks, triceps and wrists. Gerianne kindly put my bike in the back of her truck because my triceps were too weak to lift it onto my Jeep roof rack. Then she drove out of her way to bring my bike directly to my house.  Rose and Gerianne are my heroines.

Other than my travails, it was a fine trip!  The scenery of mountain shrubbery, wild flowers, creeks and the immensely wide New River were beautiful.  Rose and Gerianne pedaled coolly and quietly the whole time. We had a lunch at the NRSP family park at Fries, where Rose bought a hot dog loaded with all the fixings. There was a car show and music festival getting organized as we ate.

A good time was had (mostly) by all! Two good things are I have been suffering from plantar fasciitis in my left foot for several months.  It was gone!  And, I lost four pounds!  Only 36 pounds to go.