Solo Canoe Camp on Kentucky's Barren River Lake...or...How Not to Boil Water on a Campfire

Early morning fingers of air seeped into my sleeping bag via an open flap sending a chill dribbling along my neck. Reluctantly, my eyes sort of opened, one at a time.  I shivered just a little as I closed the offending flap and rolled over hoping to gain a few more minutes of sleep. Didn't matter though. I was by now all but fully awake from a near sleepless night anyway. I lay there trying to force my eyes to stay open to see what kind of morning presented itself.  I raised up on one arm and with one eye opened and one eye still closed, scanned the scene around me. The sky held a brightness that hovered above the ridge across this arm of Barren River Lake. The sun not yet up was soon to climb above that ridge and spill a brilliant light across what was now an almost perfectly calm lake. 

Just a hint of fog drifted barely two or three inches above the surface and the water seemed covered with a dull white icing. In only a few moments the icing was gone. A few swallows were darting here and there, one swooping so close to me on the ground I could hear it's wings swooshing. As always, a few fish were surfacing creating bullseye swirls with an occasional splash or two. Can't remember the last time I actually slept out under the stars with nothing covering me but, well...a sleeping bag and the night sky. A last minute spur-of-the-moment decision once I was on site.

The day before started out with all the child-like anticipation that tends to surface each time I plan a trip like this one. It was an excited anticipation born from a long stretch of relative inactivity. Had all my gear pre-packed, ready to go, some of it pre-loaded into Kris's Jeep Liberty. A couple of cross bars on the luggage rack served as a place where my canoe could ride. Normally I drive myself in my venerable '97 Wrangler, but she cannot drive that vehicle safely with it being a stick shift and all, but I needed her to drop me off and then pick me up the next day. I really do not like leaving my Wrangler sitting unattended in an isolated vacant parking area overnight, so she in her wonderful way agreed to be my spotter and picker-upper.

We got off earlier than anticipated and made the drive over and off loaded the minimal gear and said our goodbyes'. Off she went and as I was loading my canoe a sudden element of panic set in. No paddle! In my haste to load up the last minute gear that morning, I forgot to load my paddle. Luckily, I did have my phone and hoped I also had phone service. I gave her hurried quick call,

"Hey...hun...uh...I've got a really big problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"Well...I sort of forgot to pack my paddle. Can you PLEEEAAASE pick it up and bring it to me."

"You're kidding!"

Well, she, to her credit, drove the thirty minutes back home, found the paddle laying where I had left it in the garage, and drove the thirty minutes back to deliver it to me thus saving the day and the trip. She is a real keeper and never once verbally complained about having to do such a thing. She just rolled her eyes and gave me a girlish giggle along with a silent 'I can't believe you did that!' look. (Frankly, I can't either.)

While waiting for her, I managed to watch from some distance a Bald Eagle swoop low to glide over the water and scoop up a fish. He was surely a gifted flyer. With paddle now in hand, I shoved off believing the snafu of the trip was behind me. Well, it was, mostly, however...things were to transpire that challenged that notion. 

My destination was a narrow band of gravel beach that formed around the edge of sweeping peninsula  about three miles or so from the boat ramp. It was a location I had discovered a couple years before and has proven itself a nice place for an overnighter or two. A short paddle for sure, but far enough to make the trip interesting and it allowed for an easy unrushed journey. Did not fish too much on the outbound leg, just wetted the line a few times along the way. 

Mostly I just wanted to get there and setup my simple camp near where an old dead oak tree reached its branches toward the sky. 

From previous trip

On a previous trip I managed to capture a nice night sky photo using the trunk and limbs as part of the composition.

It took about two hours factoring in some fishing time to get there and I discovered the old oak tree had now fallen across the gravel beach. My actual camp spot was still intact, but the large tree trunk straddled the beach making it difficult to navigate forcing me to climb over it numerous times. 

It did however, provide some very good firewood.

Did not do much through the afternoon. Fished a littled, paddled a little, took a few photos, and set up camp. I also gathered some firewood. For this trip I decided to not bring a cookstove for I was going to force myself to cook over an open fire. How much fun it would be I figured and no food tastes as good as when it has been cooked over a campfire, right! That may indeed be true, but...the work involved to do so, well, sort of makes the process a bit cumbersome. Seems like there is a lot of bending and stooping, getting up and down which over time can wear down old bones.

Later that first afternoon, my dinner bell began to ring so I figured it was time to boil some water to use with the Chicken Fajita Bowl freeze dried dinner I had planned. It's simple, no real cooking involved. All you do is pour in a cup and half of boiling water, mix, let it sit for 8 to 10 minutes and eat right out of the package. An easy and sure thing, except when you can't boil water worth a hoot.

I had also decided to keep my gear to a bare minimum on this trip and chose not to bring a coffee pot for boiling water. Instead, I was going to use that little almost worthless pot that came with my camp cook mess kit. It has a limited capacity to hold much but possesses a unlimited capacity to cause grief. Whoever designed that thing probably had never been camping himself. You cannot fill that pot with water then try to lift it onto a fire using that flimsy handle. Doing so will inevitably result in the pot tilting to one side spilling most of if not all the contents either onto the ground or into the fire. Knowing this is a hard earned, vital survival skill, so, I did have the forethought to bring one of those hand held pot clamps that grabs the edge of the pot and keeps it steady as you lift it...except for one thing...your hand comes very close to the fire and it is quite easy to get singed knuckles, which I did. Note to self...'Bring some campfire gloves.'

The fire was sparked into life rather quickly using a ferro rod and striker throwing a shower of sparks into super dry tender. As the flame rushed into life I realized my stack of firewood was just out of reach, so I stood, again, and stooped over, again, to grab an arm full. Problem was, the toe of my worn out tennis shoe canoeing shoes caught the edge of one of the larger pieces of firewood. To put it mildly, I tripped with one leg flying off in one direction and the other one rolling off a loose rock to bend, then deposit, my contorted body hitting the ground rather ungracefully. Fortunately, my fall was broken by assorted jagged rocks, sharp sticks, firewood logs, and damp, gritty sand which splattered across my face and into my mouth.

Seems my old sailor language always surfaces after doing such a thing. Anyway, I dusted off my bruised pride and gathered an armful of firewood and kindling. Once the fire had rendered down to a nice bed of hot coals, I placed the little pot in nice pocket where I hoped it would remain stable. I tried to move a few of the smoldering sticks around to distribute the heat more efficiently, when the end of one broke off and promptly fell into the uncovered pot. The water was now filled with ash and turned a milky gray. More sailor language. I tried to lift the pot off the coals using its handle and a stick but it promptly tipped over and dumped most of the contents onto the fire. More sailor language.

"Good Grief...this should not be that hard."...or something to that effect.

Well, the ordeal was not over. After stoking the fire back to life, I placed the partially filled pot back onto the coals. It needed more water so I tried to add some using my water bottle where it promptly slipped out of my hand dumping over half of its contents and tipping the pot over to dump most of its contents on the fire. A few more choice sailor words followed. 

Eventually, I finally did get the water filled pot, and fire together safely long enough to at least heat it sufficiently to use with my freeze dried food pouch. Now the food was excellent, but not unlike the definition of a two man tent which is really only useful as a one man tent, the food pouch said there were two meals inside the package. Not so. It is only enough to feed one hungry and frustrated camper. But, since I was the only one there...it worked out okay.

The lesson from all this was, that's not how to boil water on a campfire...and next time I will bring my single burner camper stove and a coffee pot. It's just a lot easier and a whole lot less messy. Campfires are for sitting around and relaxing. I love campfires, but have yet to master the technique of trouble free camp cookery.

Just before sunset the sky, although clear, became quite smokey and seemed filled with an opaque white haze. The sun, low in the sky now, lost much of its brightness and became almost like a glowing orange circle filtering through the haze that reflected off the near calm surface of the lake. My spirit needed to witness this display of calming warm light as my day had been somewhat frustrating at times.

The late part of the evening was spent reading and trying to relax my stiff back. As the day faded into darkness, I built up the fire using the bulk of the oak firewood I had cut hoping it would burn well into the night. The day was still relatively warm and I simply laid on the top of my sleeping bag at first. It felt good to stretch my back. About the time the first stars filtered through that evening haze, two groups of coyotes began to serenade the countryside. I love to hear them off in the distance. They have such an iconic sound as much a part of the outdoors as the sky and clean air itself. Off and on through the early hours of the evening they sang their song and the lake waters fell calm as the light breeze all but subsided into barely a breath. As more pinpoints of star lights began to appear, the trials of boiling water faded with the light.

I slept off and on through the evening, mostly off. An hour here, thirty minutes there I would drift off to be awakened with a nervous twitch. My mind and body fought with each other with my body saying you need to sleep, and my mind saying not until I've worked out all the details of what's spinning around inside of me. I spent a lot of time simply staring into the night sky with its splendid view of the constellations Sagittarius and Scorpius hovering low across the southern skyline. A nice meteor dashed across the sky leaving a long glowing trail to finally break apart near the end of its journey through the atmosphere. Fatigue finally won out and around 4:00 AM, I feel into a deep, much needed, sleep.

The next morning before the sun climbed above the ridge, I found myself struggling to rekindle the fire which had burned itself out through the night. With lessons learned from the previous day, I was much more careful about how I boiled the water for my morning coffee. Success is often bred from experience. The half pound of bacon I brought along soon found itself sizzling inside my cast iron skillet, and shortly after that, three of the eggs I brought found themselves being scrambled in a thin layer of the bacon grease. Truly, a breakfast fit for a weary traveler and a prime example of just how good something truly is when cooked over a campfire. By the time I broke camp, I almost repeated my first boofaw. Just as I was about to shove off, I realized I had left my paddle on the gravel beach. I laughed, shook my head in disbelief, retrieved the paddle, and began the last leg of my journey.

As I paddled and fished my way along, I eventually sighted an interesting sycamore tree growing out of solid rock near the end of a point. Beyond and around the bend the lake curved into a small protected cove. The morning light provided an interesting blend of warmth and clarity. The camera came out of its protective box and I managed to shoot a series of images that fit well within the Ansel Adams project.

I've considered myself somewhat of an accomplished canoe camper, backpacker, and in general a good outdoorsman. Sometimes, overconfidence has a way of humbling even the most accomplished of people. Certainly I was taught a valuable lesson, one I hope will somehow remind me over and over about how not to take things for granted. Check and double check, then check it again. Often the best memories are made in adversity. Not allowing adversity to ruin your outing comes with experience, and experience comes from facing challenges.

In spite of the snafu's, this was a good first outing of the new season. I plan on several more including multi-day adventures. With any luck at all, I'll learn how to boil water over a campfire before I take off again.