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The Great Hatchie Canoe Expedition -
Day 9: Back to Mississippi
Author: Monica Clutch
Date: April 1, 2008
Location: northern Mississippi, the headwaters of the Hatchie River
Photo © Monica Clutch/TNC
Previous entries in the blog
Before I jump into Day 9 of the blog, I need to confess a gross oversight on my part. Following our trip that day, I heard from a Hatchie River enthusiast (and Nature Conservancy supporter) from Brownsville, Tennessee. After making some very kind comments about the blog, he pointed out that our blog photos show people canoeing without life jackets, which is not advisable or safe. He’s right, of course. We should have been wearing life jackets—also known as personal flotation devices (PFDs)—and they should be a routine part of every watercraft outing.
Now, I am a very proficient swimmer, so it’s unlikely that I would need a PFD on the Hatchie if I were conscious. Unfortunately, accidents by their very nature tend to be unexpected; otherwise precautions would have been taken in advance. Many unpredictable hazards can lurk over and under the water, and the muddy waters of the Hatchie certainly hide what lies beneath. So it was a point well taken. Following Day 9, all pictures will show us wearing our PFDs.
Where Does the Hatchie Really Begin?
Day 9 of our Hatchie Expedition involved going back to Mississippi—almost to the original starting location of our trip back in January when we canoed through the canals of the Tuscumbia River, the disputed “real” headwaters of the Hatchie River. The disagreement arises because the Tuscumbia River, considered a tributary to the Hatchie River, is actually larger and more meandering than the Hatchie River proper at that location. According to some locals, the naming of the Hatchie River from Mississippi to the Tuscumbia confluence was a map-making error and does not truly reflect local wisdom. Other locals disagree, however. It is an interesting question worthy of further study.
To satisfy both opinions, Mike Martin and I canoed both segments. Back in December, we had started on the Tuscumbia in northern Mississippi, and now planned to head back to Mississippi to pick up the 8-mile stretch that is officially known as the Hatchie River.
Laura Jumonville and Richard Day on the river.
Photo © Monica Clutch/TNC
Friends Join Us on the River
Our trip started with our meeting a couple of guests who were to join us on our adventure for the day. Laura Jumonville, associate director of philanthropy for The Nature Conservancy in Tennessee, had wanted to make the trip with us for quite some time. I had encouraged her to fit this particular stretch into her schedule since, at 8 miles, it was more user-friendly than our other, longer trips. Laura invited Richard Day, a tree-farm owner and outdoor enthusiast from West Tennessee, to join us. I was quite interested in meeting Mr. Day, whose tree farm is known for its sustainable forestry practices. Indeed, meeting him turned out to be quite a pleasure. He was a dear gentleman and quite a fan of the blog. By the end of the day, he would prove quite a fan of the Hatchie River as well.
The day was overcast and delivered rain, as forecast. The showers were on and off but not so overwhelming as to make canoeing uncomfortable. Though we didn’t see much wildlife, it was still a pretty spring day. Because it was early spring, the trees were beginning to leaf in an attractive green arc over the river. The Hatchie was noticeably narrower in this headwaters section than downriver where we had paddled on Day 8. Richard and Laura could be heard chatting as they paddled, and I was pleased to learn they enjoyed the trip, especially after the interesting put-in for the day.
Taking the Hard Way In
According to our maps, there were no readily accessible put-in locations in the area where we planned to start our journey. Mike, ever the GPS-guru, found a farm road that “looked” like it should lead to the Hatchie River at the approximate desired start location. We have found that it’s always prudent to get permission from the landowner before driving across his or her property in a four-wheel drive vehicle with a canoe trailer, so I walked up to the nearest house.
A young man with a pit-bull dog assured me it was fine for us to use his road, though he gave me a somewhat incredulous look, as if I must be insane to want to reach the river that way. We would soon discover the reason for his incredulity. The red, clay road leading down to the Hatchie River was steep and slick from recent rain. Ruts and mud-holes pockmarked the path, and I wondered whether we would ever be able to get the vehicle with the canoe trailer back up the hill and out to the road at the end of the day.
As if the jarring trip down to the put-in were not enough to inflict on our guests for the day, once we reached the river, we still had not really reached the river. We actually had to drag the canoes about 75 feet through briars and shrubs to get to the river’s edge. I got scratched up a bit and also managed to brush my knee up against an unappreciative wasp, who indicated his displeasure by giving me a good stab with his stinger. Fortunately, the river was lovely as always, though, as always, somewhat sullied by human refuse.
Monica and Mike on the flooded headwaters of the Hatchie River. Or are they the headwaters? Photo © Laura Jumonville/TNC
We observed an interesting river phenomenon along the way, which led to some pondering, though no real answers. At the point where the Tuscumbia forms a confluence with the Hatchie River, there was a distinct color difference between the waters of the Hatchie and the incoming Tuscumbia. The Hatchie was a muddy brown while the Tuscumbia, though also muddy, was a dark, greenish-blue. Since the Hatchie is known for its sediment-carrying, it was easy to believe that the Hatchie River, as mapped, is correctly marked, contrary to the opinion of the Tuscumbia-as-Hatchie proponents. I am unsure as to the true reason for this distinct and striking difference, though. Is there a channel just upstream of the confluence on the Hatchie? Is there some submerged obstruction on the Tuscumbia that is retaining sediment? The question begs further investigation.
Taking the Hard Way Out
At the end of the day, Richard and Laura waited at the take-out, while Mike and I went back for the vehicle with the canoe trailer. We decided our guests were best left high and dry in case we actually did not get the trailer out without a tractor assist, especially with the onset of further rainfall.
Mike Martin, Monica Clutch and Richard Day. Photo © Laura Jumonville/TNC
We parked my work truck, much in need of new mud tires, at the top of the hill and walked to Mike’s Jeep, which towed the canoe trailer. We decided that my truck would just accumulate mud on the tires and slide into a useless mire at the side of the road. Mike felt a bit more optimistic about his Jeep, which is why we chose that vehicle to take the canoes down to the put-in in the first place.
We made it downhill without event, though we were a bit jostled along the way. After we hooked up the canoes, we decided that full-throttle was the best and only way to drive back up the hill. So we took off uphill in the Jeep, slinging mud and causing our brakes to (sometimes cleverly designed traction devices are not the most practical or clever).
Mike's mud-spattered car. Photo © Monica Clutch/TNC
We slid and careened, our brains rattling in our skulls and the canoe trailer bucking and bouncing behind us. Amazingly, we reached the top of the hill. Both Mike and I burst into laughter when we got out and looked at the canoe trailer, coated in mud. It looked as if a couple of fools had forgotten to unhook their trailer before going “mudding.” Still, we had completed another day of our adventure and had made some new friends of the Hatchie
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