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The Great Hatchie Canoe Expedition -
Day 8: Big River
Author: Monica Clutch
Date: March 28, 2008
Location: heading west from Highway 54
Photo © Monica Clutch/TNC
Previous entries in the blog
Mike Martin and I experienced a big river today. As we put in at the Highway 54 bridge we were less than 50 miles from our ultimate destination: the mighty Mississippi River. And mighty she has been as of late. With consistent rains, the Mississippi River had risen to flood stage, backing up into the mouths of tributaries, spilling out of the un-leveed sections of West Tennessee, and ultimately inundating low-lying areas of the adjacent floodplain.
The Power of a Flood
Farm fields along the Hatchie River were full of backwater, and the surrounding forest showed how we got the term “bottomland.” Indeed, the low-lying forest stood in water, effectively blurring the boundary between the Hatchie River and adjacent land. All was a watery world that was very inviting to two adventurous canoeists ready to spend another day listening to the river tell her story.
The river was flowing at a good clip, making our progress rapid and less strenuous than past trips. With a few days having passed since the last significant rainfall event, the Hatchie River had passed her crest, and now water was churning back into the river from the draining fields and forest as water levels dropped. The draining action created a downstream force that gave us a stronger push than on other trips.
In past blogs I’ve discussed the impact of sediment borne by floodwaters and instream flow. I’ve also tried to explain how the distribution of different tree species along the Hatchie River varies depending on soil moisture, soil type, and flood duration. Now, I’d like to digress for a moment to explain why flooding is such an important part of the forest cycle.
Where is the river? Where is the land? Water and floodplain merge into one continuous aquatic zone. Photo © Monica Clutch/TNC
Ancient Rhythms
In watersheds where flooding is a natural part of the river system, flooding is where biology and geology interact to create a unique, self-renewing ecosystem, which we think of as a floodplain. Flooding is essential to the production and existence of the biodiversity of a riverine ecosystem—from tributary headwaters to oxbow lakes. In cases of normal sediment influx (remember, the Hatchie is threatened by too much sediment), flooding allows sediments and nutrients to filter out of the river onto the floodplain, enriching the soil in the process.
Throughout history, flooding has had a varied impact on humans trying to use floodplains for agriculture and development. In the days before synthetic fertilizers, the nutrients deposited on floodplains during seasonal flood events were essential to soil fertility and agriculture. For example, the Nile Delta (in northern Egypt, where the Nile River meets the Mediterranean Sea), has been renowned for its fertile farmland since the dawn of human agriculture. The land along the Mississippi River is similarly rich in nutrients.
Though the Mississippi floodplain has historically been extremely fertile, flood timing and duration often made otherwise good planting-ground difficult or impossible to farm. Planting of crops requires that a farmer get equipment into and out of a field at very specific times of the year; a soggy field can make planting virtually impossible. Also, food and fiber crops do not tend to be especially flood-tolerant species. Many plants simply cannot grow or survive in standing water. Getting the water off of land, whether for planting or building homes, became a challenge in West Tennessee.
Channelization (which I have discussed in previous blog entries) seemed a good solution for getting water quickly off floodplains and into the local streams and rivers. While that dredging and straightening process did provide some relief from flooding, it also created a whole host of new problems. The challenges of human coexistence with nature persist, but I find myself optimistic that advances in science and technology will continue to lead to exciting and innovative strategies that will improve our ability to address these challenges.
Return of Spring
OK, having waxed philosophical about flooding, I will now return to our canoe trip (though continuing with a flood-related theme). But I digressed because, with the magnitude of flooding in this area, when the water is up, it is difficult to think of much else besides the water! In fact, when Mike and I put in at Highway 54, we did not have to go far to get into the river, since the river met us halfway up the road to the boat ramp. We actually canoed over gravel and asphalt to the river’s edge!
Our flooded put-in area. Photo © Monica Clutch/TNC
As we paddled, we noticed how duck pairs had become duck singles, one being left at home on the nest while the other foraged for food. As always, the pileated woodpeckers announced their presence with loud cries, which sounded to our ears like so much laughter at our curious presence. Basking turtles dropped from their sunny logs into the water as we slipped past, and surprised squirrels, lured into scavenging for food by the warm air, scurried away from our approach. The trees showed the first hints of green as their buds began to open. Spring was evident all around us, and we felt the same energy we observed: a return from dormancy to life, commonly referred to as “spring fever.”
Fortunately, though the current was noticeably faster than usual, and the eddies swirled powerfully (because water rushing back into the Hatchie from shore tended to grab our canoe as it passed by), we experienced no misfortunes for the day: no falling in the river, no slipping in the mud—even loading and unloading of the canoes was uneventful. It was too good to be true...literally.
Our finish line for the day: Highway 51 bridge near Rialto, TN.
Photo © Monica Clutch/TNC
Never a Dull Moment
With smug satisfaction, I dropped the canoe trailer at my mother’s house, avoiding getting stuck in the mud or running over any of her many cedar trees. I was soon on the road, headed home, thinking I had successfully finished a good day’s work. Much to my chagrin, the day was not over yet. As the truck, now 115,000 miles into its life, headed up a large hill, it suddenly went from being a very loud vehicle to being a very quiet one. Too quiet. As in: a “not running” sort of quiet. My attempts to restart the vehicle were in vain; it simply choked and sputtered as if out of gas. The fuel gauge having long since gone on the blink, I immediately considered an empty tank a very real possibility. Perhaps my mental log of miles had been less than accurate.
Such situations are when it pays to have friends, especially when you’re out in the middle of nowhere at night, far from a service station. One friend of mine, who lived nearby my breakdown point, showed up with fuel, to no avail. Her husband and another good friend of mine soon arrived and plunged into diagnosing the problem. After a good spraying of ether, much attempting to start the vehicle, and my efforts to stay out of the way, they determined that the fuel pump was most likely the problem. They soon had the truck attached to another truck and towed it to one of their homes until morning, when I called the dealership and had the truck towed in for repair. So much for a smooth day of canoeing. Always an adventure!
On to Day 9...
