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Embarking on the Great Hatchie Canoe Expedition
Author: Monica Clutch
Date: December 26, 2007
Location: Tuscumbia River Canal, MS
Photo © Monica Clutch/TNC
The Great Hatchie Canoe Expedition like all things, started out as an idea, really more of a note-to-self. Always one to be looking for the next great adventure, I have generally responded to the frequently posed question “Have you been on the river between…?” by saying I was positively certain I had indeed been on that section, but “wouldn’t it be great” if I could canoe the whole thing to make sure I had experienced the river in its entirety?
Canoe the whole thing. Now there’s a thought. Soon the idea began to coalesce. I talked about it with some fellow TNC staff and board members, all of whom thought it sounded like a promising idea. Canoe all 191 miles. In two weeks. Camp out. Sounded like a good time.
For those of you who have spent any time outdoors with me, you know I am bitterly opposed to cold weather, feeling it is a personal affront to my thermoregulatory sensitivities. Needless to say, the camping bit of the plan fell apart pretty quickly as the trip was pushed from late summer to fall to after the holidays. Still, with some planning and a little assistance getting to the put in or take out, it could be done. The Great Hatchie River Canoe Trip …seeing all 191 miles of meandering bottomland river bank from a human-powered, and therefore “green” watercraft. What valuable lessons could be learned? What insights into the river ecosystem could be gained? What personal triumphs could be gleaned from such an epic adventure?
And thus the Hatchie Expedition was born. One part foolish bravado, one part sincere commitment to the protection and preservation of a relic ecosystem, a singular tribute to the former greatness of the Mississippi River Floodplain. And so our blog begins with a history lesson, for if one is to understand the reasons for embarking on such an ambitious journey, one must first understand the importance of the river itself.
A History of the Hatchie River Watershed
The Hatchie River.
Photo © Byron Jorjorian
The 24-million-acre Mississippi River Alluvial Plain Ecoregion covers 7 states in the lower Mississippi River valley stretching from southern Illinois to the Gulf of Mexico. Due to flood control practices and other dramatic alterations to the landscape over the past 200 years, only 4.4 million acres of bottomland hardwood forest remain, or about 20% of its original extent. While the area and quality of habitats has been greatly reduced, the ecoregion still provides extraordinary diversity of life, including 240 fish species, 50 species of mammals, 45 species of reptiles and amphibians and 37 species of mussels. In addition, approximately 60% of bird species in the contiguous United States use the ecoregion.
The Hatchie River in Tennessee is remarkable as the longest free-flowing tributary of the lower Mississippi, and contains the largest forested floodplain in Tennessee. Because it has remained unimpounded and unchannelized, the natural flood processes that drive the ecosystem are intact, sustaining the river and wetland habitats that support a rich ecological diversity.
The Hatchie River ecosystem is a complex interconnected ecological system encompassing bottomland hardwood forests, canebrakes, swamps, and sloughs, rivers and lakes. These habitats support more than 100 species of fish and 35 species of mussels. With 11 species of catfishes, the Hatchie probably contains more species of catfishes than any other river in North America. About 250 species of birds use the Hatchie’s forests at some point during the seasons. Swainson’s and cerulean warblers are some of the rarer birds found in its forests.
Excessive sedimentation, contaminants, and altered flow patterns as well as habitat fragmentation are all threatening the viability of the Hatchie. Heavy sediment loads flow into the Hatchie from most of the river’s 36 tributaries. Most of these sediments originate from past channelization of these tributaries and less from current land uses such as agriculture.
The Hatchie Expedition
Having served as the Hatchie River Landowner Incentive Program Manager for the Nature Conservancy before moving into the position of West Tennessee Program Director, I have come to know and love the Hatchie River and her tributaries. Beyond the rolling majesty of the mighty Mississippi River, West TN is frequently overshadowed by the stately limestone bluffs and shadowy splendor of the Smoky Mountains in the middle and eastern reaches of the state. The severely degraded Forked Deer, Obion, and Loosahatchie Rivers, confined to their ruinous canals, exist only as dysfunctional relics of the former bottomland hardwood forest ecosystems that once ruled the western floodplains. Attempts to control a natural flood regime to improve agriculture not only failed to greatly improve agricultural output in the western part of the state, but actually led to large-scale habitat destruction and a loss of revenue from outdoor recreation opportunities.
The Hatchie River stands alone as a significant tributary with a still-functional flood regime. As an ecologist, aware of the unique habitat and the threats to the river, once the idea of exploring the entire main channel germinated in my brain, I felt a commitment to the cause: a need to take paddle to river, to partake of the natural wonder and tell her story not in terms of her majestic past, but in terms of her present and future. What would the river say if she could speak? While I do not harbor any grandiose notions that I am the preeminent Hatchie River scholar, I do have a strong background in stream ecology as well as having spent a great deal of time in the watershed. I offer my apologies for any misrepresentations or offense I may cause, and strongly urge readers to understand that this blog is based upon my own experience and is not representative of anyone’s opinion other than my own.
Trip Preparation
When I began this adventure, it was with the notion that it would be a solo journey, one woman’s quest to tame the wild, to go where no woman had gone before. Fortunately, my friends quickly convinced me that with my tendency to attract adventure and excitement in the most mundane of situations, it might be wise to be accompanied by a fellow outdoor enthusiast, if not my own personal insurance agent. It would also be in my best interests to have a witness to my escapades, if they were to be believable in the end.
Mike Martin, ready with canoe
Photo © Monica Clutch/TNC
So who to accompany me in such madness? I found the perfect sidekick in Mike Martin, a semi-retired forester and valued board member of the Tennessee Chapter of The Nature Conservancy. Mike is a great adventurer in his own right, and soon found himself pulled into my scheme. The prospect of simultaneously accomplishing a feat of scientific value and disciplined determination appealed to his explorer nature. All the better for me. Mike is great fun and possesses the sort of knowledge about forests that can only result from many hours and many years spent within the woods. And did I mention that he is great fun?
Day 1: Tuscumbia River Canal to Powell’s Chapel Road Bridge
Click here for a map of the first leg of our Hatchie River trip
Having managed to get the canoes from Nashville to our launch point (it took three attempts at picking them up and a mishap with the lifejacket box on the interstate that required us to replace all of the lifejackets), Mike and I met at the Powell’s Chapel Road bridge to drop his vehicle at the intended pickup point, then drove 20 miles south into Mississippi with the TNC truck and two canoes bouncing jauntily, and precariously, on our rickety canoe trailer (that will be a story for another day). We were now committed to our optimistic distance, knowing that an early take-out would require not only assistance in getting back to the nearest vehicle, but shame, embarrassment, and the suspicion that naturally accompanies two canoeists thumbing a ride in late December after emerging from a lonely expanse of forested river. As we somberly prepared the canoe for put in, gathering GPS coordinates as one might record the final moments of one’s life, we …
Now I would like to say here that we stepped into the canoe and pushed off into the foggy mists, slipping silently and with paddling expertise across the silky waters, but in actuality we heard the rumbling whine of an ATV approaching. Looking up, we realized that a somewhat large man with an equally large dog and an alarmingly large gun was approaching. Before even starting the trip, I thanked my lucky stars that I had found a kindred spirit in Mike, who had actually gained permission from the landowner to use that particular location for a put in.
The man held the lease on the property and was afraid we had come to compete with his hunting privileges. Mike soon convinced him that it was not our intention to smack whitetails over the head with a paddle, and he soon warmed up to us, wishing us well as he headed down the levee to eliminate beavers for fur bounty.
Such has been my experience with many of the landowners/lessees in West Tennessee – protective of the sacred boundaries of property and hunting privilege, but interested in conservation, with a reserved willingness to allow curiosities, such as conservation scientists, access to their property if it means a chance at providing protection for something that many hold dear to their hearts. The ties to the land run deep.
So at last Mike and I were on our way, though not on the Hatchie River as of yet. There is controversy in the southern reaches of the state as to the true location of the Hatchie River. The Tuscumbia River, a headwater of the Hatchie, is actually larger than the so-titled headwaters of the Hatchie as labeled on maps. Flowing past Big Hill Pond State Park and Forest, many locals avow that the Tuscumbia is actually the true Hatchie River. To settle the matter and avoid future controversy, Mike and I decided to canoe the Tuscumbia, a longer stretch than the Hatchie headwaters and then go back and canoe the ten miles of Hatchie that we missed as a later short day trip – a good project for less than ideal weather conditions.
The Tuscumbia River in Mississippi is prime example of degraded river habitat. Rather than paddling through meandering bottomland forest, as should have been the case, we found ourselves more or less confined to a runway-like drainage canal, bounded by levees that actually kept the water several feet higher than the surrounding agricultural land. It was rather like paddling in something akin to a bathtub or a chute. As if to further the image of dysfunctionality, a sizable population of nutria presented itself: nutria being an invasive species of large brown rodent, intermediate in size between a muskrat and a beaver, and not unlike either in appearance. Unperturbed by our presence, they watched us with the degree of interest a rodent is capable of producing, as we continued on our way.
Rolling on the river.
Photo © Monica Clutch/TNC
Outside the bounds of the levee, water filled the bottomland, a result of recent rains. It struck me how often attempts at manipulating nature fall short of solving what is considered at the time to be a problem (think water control in New Orleans) and frequently lead to new problems. Channel evolution is a slow process involving orderly forces of the universe such as gravity and resistance. Go against basic laws of nature and expect to reap the constant need for project maintenance. Indeed we observed the occasional breach in the levee, where water spilled out with great force into the surrounding bottomlands. It struck me that nature is always trying to heal itself—if in fact we neglected the entire system, failed to dredge the ditches further, moved our roads and fields back from the streambanks, and allowed the river and its tributaries to do as they would, we would find the channel’s natural evolutionary processes would, over time, restore the natural meanders of the system, allowing the accumulations of sediment to purge and stabilize until a functional floodplain existed once more.
I am not so naïve or so blindly optimistic to think that humankind will willingly abandon the floodplains, reforest the streambanks, and allow the meanders to reform across farm fields – it is less complicated to farm along straight lines. But speaking for the ecosystem I must have some sympathy for the course of the river and the requirements of functional habitat. I have witnessed stands of dead and dying hardwoods, like the aftermath of beaver activity, their roots smothered by accumulations of sediment or water trapped permanently by a valley sediment-plug. We humans need to develop a conscious awareness and respect for the balance we need to strike with nature to achieve our own purposes while allowing for the existence of life outside of our own. Such thoughts are very much on my mind as I look at the strangely altered landscape before me.
Several miles of paddling later, we finally break free of the confines of the levees, spilling out with the flow of water draining from the forest into a more natural channel. The volume of water seems greater, the flow more powerful, and my energy level correspondingly surges. Mike accuses me of racing, and I admit it is in my nature to attempt to set a new canoeing record. Still, one can only force a certain level of haste on the river as, even in high water conditions, it dictates its own measured pace. We are now a part of the floodplain. Though we are paddling in the main channel, water spreads out of the banks to the edges of higher ground, spilling out and then back in again. The evidence for this sort of river system having a “flood regime” is obvious as we make our way downstream.
We are fortunate to have chosen a good day to begin our journey. We peel off layers of clothing as the day warms, reaching a blissfully indulgent high of 60+ degrees Fahrenheit, a sunshine-laden December day is a great day for canoeing. The visibility in the forest is enhanced by the lack of foliage and we are witness to all manner of wildlife, from ducks (mallards, wood ducks, even a merganser or two) to deer, to the flitting forms of songbirds and noisy woodpeckers that call the tall hardwoods home. While our reptilian and amphibious friends are dormantly waiting out the winter months, beaver and other warm-furred rodents are less deterred by the season and busily continue their search for food. As we moved from the Tuscumbia into the Hatchie proper, we felt a deep appreciation for what was largely a still-functional ecosystem.
Debris jam on the Hatchie.
Photo © Monica Clutch/TNC
I would like to say that the remainder of our day was filled with the blissful oneness of human and nature, but that would ignore the occasional debris pile that required serious effort to traverse. Woody debris has long been a problem on the Hatchie. Indeed, the West TN River Basin Authority has long been known as the “drag and snag” team, as they constantly remove log jams that impede the flow of the river. I have frequently heard locals complain of being unable to traverse the Hatchie due to a pile-up of logs and trash. Unfortunately, we did encounter several such debris piles. Dying trees are a part of the natural forest cycle, but beaver activity, littering, and improper forestry practices can exacerbate the process. At several points we came to vast stretches of woody debris, mixed in an ugly mass with human-garbage including some commonly-observed items such as coolers, plastic bottles and (for some strange reason) basketballs.
As a conservationist, I try to stay aware that humans and nature must exist side-by-side, in some sort of respectful equilibrium. However, one thing I have little to no patience for is purposeful littering. I have spent many hours of my life wandering through trash dumped into streams by people too lazy or too ignorant to properly dispose of their refuse. I wonder if they realize that the final destination often looks like the trash we encountered in the Hatchie—or worse, in the massive ocean gyres that swirl like continental landfills, sometime visible from space due to their hideous proportions.
Monica at 1st day's end. We made it!
Photo © Monica Clutch/TNC
As we end the day at the Powell’s Chapel Road bridge, having paddled almost 23 miles, I feel a mixed sense of sadness and satisfaction. We accomplished our goal. I am glad to see that the Hatchie River is still a largely functional ecosystem. I am still aware of the threats that she faces though. We encountered several sandbars opposite areas where channelized tributaries entered the Hatchie River. Channelization leads to destabilization and tons of cubic feet of sediment pour into the Hatchie River from her tributaries, posing the greatest threat of all to the very essence of the River. I am aware though, that if the tributaries are stabilized, the Hatchie will quickly blow out her sediment bars and heal herself – a tribute to the homeostatic tendencies of nature. With cautious optimism, I look forward to the next leg of the Hatchie River Expedition.
On to Day 2...
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