The Canoe: A Sense of Unspoiled Freedom

 The sunrise lingered that morning yet presented itself as a token of light spreading across the sky. A few clouds hovering above the ridgetops caught some of the first light of the morning and began to softly glow casting their reflection across the almost still water. Just a gentle ripple rolled across the surface of the lake, and that motion was barely enough to distort and provide movement to those reflections. All I could hear were a few birds greeting the morning and the rhythmic soft splash of my paddle as I glided along in my Old Town Camper canoe. The once silent morning started to stir to life and I experienced a satisfying sense of unspoiled freedom as I became one with the first moments of the day.

Internet Photo

The canoe is perhaps the most versatile watercraft ever devised. Having its roots going way back to the Native American birchbark canoes, known from the history of the northern latitudes of United States and Canada, it is today mostly a recreational craft made from modern materials. Even so, the birchbark canoe, in areas where horses and wagons were virtually useless, was most responsible for opening up the interior of North America. Some of those early canoes ranged as large as over 30 to 35 feet in length and 4 to 5 feet in diameter to the smaller single man canoes of similar construction. 

Shooting the Rapids (Internet Photo)

Known as freighter canoes, the larger ones could carry several tons of cargo yet were fast, durable, easy to portage, and provided an effective means of carrying goods deep into and out of the wilderness of Canada and the northern United States. Hearty voyagers manned those freighter canoes and lived a rugged and dangerous life often covering over 50 miles per day for days on end. 

As a nature photographer, my canoe has provided me with a lightweight and capable craft I have used to place myself in locations that offer a higher potential for quality photographs. 

The only real limitation I have with it is the wind. You must avoid open water trips when it is windy. But over the years I have spent many hours paddling and canoe camping on rivers and lakes. In more recent times I have concentrated on paddling across lakes and have managed a good number of overnight and multi day trips.

My canoe is an Old Town brand Camper model. Sixteen feet in length it offers an almost perfect blend of versatility; large enough for two and small enough for a single paddler. 

It's hull design is better suited for flat water but is more than capable of handling moving water including light to moderate whitewater. More than anything else, it provides me a means to experience the outdoors, maybe not so much like the voyagers of old did, but in a way where I can imagine myself heading off into the wilds of Canada. In deed, someday I hope to travel to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area in Minnesota. But, until that time, I will explore the local bodies of water near my home here in Kentucky.

When I am out paddling, I become an unfettered spirit, one with nature and my craft. The hours seem to drift along with the clouds and my time on the water becomes a purposeful activity where I am physically and mentally exercising my desire to simply get away. Nothing can compare to, at day's end, pulling off onto a gravel beach and setting up a stealthy campsite, then gathering firewood and cooking a hot meal using a cast iron skillet. Once filled with good camp food, I can lean against an old piece of driftwood and watch the setting sun write across the sky, its epath for the day. 

Paddling into the sunset offers a surreal blend of moment, time, and place. When the air grows soft and the breeze slumbers, the warmth of an end of day paddle lifts one spirits far more than most moments and eventually, when stiff muscles are allowed to relax, the mind is allowed to refresh itself, and the heart is filled with memories I can recall any time. Then, when morning breaks the stillness of the night, a chill in the air can often generate a fog that drifts across the waters. Paddling during such moments is certainly one of the great pleasures of being there.

Being retired has its rewards and each time I witness a blue sky filled with summer clouds reflecting off the water, I am grateful for the moment and the physical ability to be there, and as long as I am still able to do so, I will continue loading my canoe and spending time on the water with the breeze at my back, the warm sun in my face, and a sense of unspoiled freedom lingering within my heart. 

Although long since separated by time, I feel as one with those voyagers of old, a kindred spirit of sorts, where in my imagination I sing the old songs they used to sing as they journeyed into the wilderness...

Ho! for the tumbling rapids' roar!

Ho! for the rest on lone lake shore!

We live beneath the old canoe,

and sleep beside as the rivers roar...

Other Values: Memories for a Lifetime

 The sleepy fog that hovered around my eyes all but evaporated once I started my hike across the Oklahoma Tallgrass Prairie. The going was rough with the tallgrasses brushing against my now damp pant legs --- dampness from the early morning rain and heavy dew that filled the prairie with a fresh aroma. Early I had arrived, seeking to observed the sunrise --- No legendary sunrise this morning, just a prevailing heavy overcast but one filled with textures and various shades of blue gray. As it almost always does on the prairie a stiff breeze cut across the morning touching the tops of the tallest of the blooms and grasses exciting them into a prairie dance. A carpet of countless blooms extended deep into the shallow ravine. Their soft and gentle undulations from the wind brought the prairie alive with subtle movement as song birds kept time with their morning musical serenades.  

About every twenty steps or so a Meadow Lark would take to wing, sometimes two or three at a time --- fly about thirty or forty yards, spread their wings, and set down again. They appeared just a small, brown and yellow speck when observed within such an open expanse.  After about a quarter mile or so of hiking I arrived at the rocky outcropping that overlooked the arroyo spread out and below. It was a familiar place, one I discovered a good number of years before. I stopped for a brief rest and stepped up on the largest rock formation. When I did, a single bobwhite quail burst from a clump of grass a few yards away and flew just above the grasses like a miniature, brown missile to finally disappear beyond a shallow rise. I was here, again, to take from this place a few photographs. What happened turned out to be something entirely different, for this throwback prairie from another era offered me something far more valuable than a simple photograph or two --- it offered, and I received from it other values: A new memory added to the already extensive collection of memories --- another one that would last for a lifetime.

I write and share many stories and photographs about the Tallgrass Prairie. There are reasons for doing so I suppose, but there are never enough words nor fine enough photographs to convey the full impact of such a place. The experience of being there is such a personal moment and not one that can easily be conveyed to others --- others who unfortunately may never develop the same level of appreciation for such things. I guess the most valuable lesson I have been gifted by exploring the prairie, is understanding the importance of the other values imparted by doing so. 

The prairie is a natural theater best observed not from the edges, but when fully surrounded within it. You cannot truly experience the magnitude of the prairie by simply driving through, and no quantity of photographs can capture the depth and impact of being there. They serve only to touch the surface and provide humble, visual shadows of the proper nature of the prairie. To gain the most inclusive measure of what it has to offer requires exploring it up close --- the deeper the better --- for when you do, the prairie not only invites you to listen to its story, you actually begin to hear what it has to say.

I have photographed the Tallgrass Prairie off and on for a good number of years and have yet to capture that one single photograph that speaks of the essence of what it really means. Nor have I been able to put into words the full extent of the feelings and emotions I experience while standing within its embrace. What I have stored instead are countless lifetime memories --- the other values --- that only reside deep within my personal convictions and even though down deep I understand what they mean, extracting from those thoughts the best combination of words to express them verbally has proven difficult. Even so, the only ones that truly matter are the ones stored most deeply inside for they are the ones that define most clearly why I love this place so much.

The tallgrass prairie has a rich and almost tragic history. Once covering over 400,000 square miles ranging from southern Canada through the heartland of America all the way to the gulf coast, very little of it remains --- almost destroyed by the most dramatic transformation of a natural landscape in human history. Of the three major prairie regions across the central United States (Shortgrass, Mixed Grass, Tallgrass) The tallgrass prairie was by far impacted the most. It's own diversity and rich soil became its downfall as it was transformed into farmland that feeds America and a good part of the world. At one time somewhere around 60 million American Bison roamed across its landscapes and most of them were slaughtered in a misguided desire to corral the Plains Indians and for profit. Only a few dozen survived and from that small remnant, today there are about 600,000 that are kept in preserves, national parks, and private ranches. The Tallgrass Prairie Preserve in Oklahoma is home to around 3000 or so and they roam free and wild across its almost 40,000 acres of original tallgrass prairie landscape.

That preserve is the largest protected area of original tallgrass prairie that still survives and is one of two locations where you can experience seeing unbroken horizon to horizon tallgrass prairie. The other is in the Konza prairie preserve in southeastern Kansas. Although somewhat smaller, it provides a unique and impressive preserve. Other locations fall within the ownership of private ranches and knowing for sure how much remains is difficult to determine, but what is known is that around 95% of the original Tallgrass region was lost between 1840 and 1890 --- in some places over 99% has been lost.

In more recent times, efforts to restore lost areas have been initiated, but these represent but a fraction of what once was. What once was --- Think of the State of Iowa as a 1000 piece puzzle. Iowa at one time was almost all Tallgrass Prairie, about 60,000 square miles, and that 1000 piece puzzle represents what the prairie once was. Today, only one piece of that puzzle remains --- and it is not connected but broken into smaller pieces. That is the extent of the loss of this once amazing ecosystem.

I have been asked several times why I keep returning to this landscape as I have taken thousands of photographs there already. It is a difficult question to provide an answer to someone who does not fully grasp the totality of what happened to the Tallgrass region. There is more to it than photographs, more to it than scanning the landscape from scenic overlooks, and more to it  than simple words can explain.

 It has to do with a connection to history, but a deeper connection than just word knowledge, but a connection that permeates well inside your personal vision of what that history represents. Never would I denigrate farming of the prairie or the people who make their living from the land. They have provided resources that have helped to make this country what it is today. However, understanding what once was and what is now leaves an empty space within my desire to experience what the prairie used to be. 

I have spent the better part of an afternoon sitting atop a high rocky knoll and watched hundreds of bison meander across the preserve from a distance. From there in every direction all I could see was tallgrass prairie, a landscape filled with prairie blooms and grasses swaying in the wind. No man made objects were in sight, nor sounds save for the occasional high flying airplane. There prevailed a calmness of spirit across the land and at times I could imagine seeing a hunting party of Plains Indians sitting on their painted ponies atop an adjoining hill as they watched the herd of bison (tatanka in Lakota, iinniiwa in Blackfoot...among others) meander across the landscape. It is an image rendered only within the imagination now, but one that sums up the loss of this amazing place.

Over the years as a photographer I have captured a good many images of various locations that inspire strong memories from within myself. I can recall within a moment the memories made when I captured them --- some stronger than others, most locked and stored down deep inside. Almost like when an aroma or a sound can rekindle a specific emotion, a single photograph will often reveal again the events surrounding its capture. Some humorous, some dramatic, many chance happenings, only a few truly remarkable, but most are forever embraced by fond memories --- memories locked inside for a lifetime.

Other values are the driving force behind why I keep returning to this place. It has been a few years now since I was last there. I suppose it is time to once again make time to return --- maybe soon if I can, yet even if I am unable to do so the connection to the memories generated by those other values serve me well and as a result I can return there as often as I prefer...from within the heart.

The Outdoor Photographers All Purpose 'Atta Boy...' Vehicle

 The rough Southeastern Oklahoma back road, filled with washed out gulley's and deep drop offs on either side, forced me to shift into 4-wheel drive. Loose gravel and dirt, kicked up by the tires, clattered against the underside of the wheel wells. Except for the action of the wipers my forward vision was almost obscured by muddy spray coming off the damp road that covered the side windows and back flap with a dingy brown film. I drove over a shallow rise and in front of me appeared a wide gravel and rocky bottom creek demonstrating a good flow from the extra early rain. I stopped and surveyed the conditions. The road clearly traversed the creek as it continued on the other side about thirty maybe forty yards away. It did not look too deep, but I had no way of knowing exactly how deep it was. I needed to cross so I shifted the 4x4 lever into 4-wheel low and placed the gear lever into second gear and started across. The ride across tested my skill as a 4x4 driver and I could feel the wheels crawling over and slipping across loose rocks as the water level climbed ever closer the lower reaches of the door. It took a moment or two of steady driving, but I crawled out of the creek onto the road on the other side and continued on. As I shifted again into 4-wheel high, I patted the dash of my Jeep and said,  "Atta boy..."

I have often said, "....a guy should never have a love affair with a vehicle...it's just gonna cost ya a lot of money." I must admit, I have rarely followed my own advice especially when it comes to my venerable 1997 Jeep Wrangler. I'll most likely never get rid of it and yes, it has cost me a few dollars from time to time to keep it running. Those dollars have been well spent though, as the old Wrangler has carried me now to over 310,000 miles and it seems to just keep on going. 

By now of course it has developed a character and personality of its own. Up close one can see the effects of over 25 years of tough driving. A few dings here and there, clear coat worn off the hood, some rusty spots repaired with a mixture of Bondo and spray paint, and if you crawl underneath, you will see welded patches applied to the frame to cover and correct some defects caused by corrosion. I replaced the transmission around 250,000 miles, the engine around 270,000 miles, and the rear differential around 280,000 miles. Last year I replaced the factory installed shocks which had almost 300,000 miles on them. I replaced the top long before any of those upgrades. Yeah, the old Wrangler is running better than ever. 

As an outdoor photographer and someone who pursues outdoor adventures in the process of taking photos, I need a vehicle I can depend on when the going gets a bit rough. I also need a vehicle I don't have to worry about getting dirty and this old Jeep is perfect for such things. Long ago I attached an overhead rack made by Olympic so I could easily carry my canoe. I also use it to carry other things a well. That addition has proven its worth countless times. Although the Jeep comes with a backseat, I sort of semi-permanently removed it a few years ago as I needed the cargo space more than passenger space.

The origin of the Jeep name carries some conjecture. One story says when Willy's first manufactured the Jeep for the Military it was designated a General Purpose vehicle. General Purpose eventually was shortened to GP which in time evolved into Jeep. The other story, and the one I tend to agree with, is that the Jeep was named after an old Popeye cartoon character of the era named Jeep. Jeep was this annoying little guy who could go anywhere, walk on the ceiling, pass through walls, float in the air, walk on water...he could go through and do just about anything. Well, the old Willy's vehicle proved itself capable of going just about anywhere so the name Jeep was adopted as it fit its capabilities. Regardless, it is a classic vehicle with a long and glorious heritage.

I can honestly say I have never been stuck while driving my Jeep, with one exception. And even then I was able using the Jeep's capabilities, to extricate myself. It was soon after I first purchased it I convinced Kris and the boys, who were pretty young then, to go with me up to a placed known as 'Little Sahara'. It's a unique place located out in Northwestern Oklahoma characterised by large sand dunes and is open to 4-wheel drive and ATV type vehicles for recreational use. 

Little Sahara (Internet Photo)

I wanted to give my then new-to-me 4-wheel drive vehicle a try. At first, the old Jeep sailed across the dunes with no problems and we were having a great time...until I decided to drive down into a low area where a few scrubby bush-like trees were growing. I figured I could climb out of there with no problem. Well, there was a problem. On the rise coming out, all four wheels dug in and I sunk pretty deep into loose sand and we could not go forward. I was able to back up and made several runs at climbing out to no avail. Kris was not happy and the boys just thought it was all in good fun. I was hoping I would not have suffer the indignity of asking another vehicle to winch me out. I backed up as far as I could go, told the boys to hang on because no matter what we were not stopping, and gunned it. With the engine whining, the tires dug into the sand and we started up the incline slowing down but still moving forward and just when it looked like we would not make it, the front tires grabbed more solid ground and out we came. 

Yeah, I have explored many a good day because that old Jeep provided the means to get there. The 4x4 feature certainly has payed off numerous times. Through snow, icy roads, heavy rain, crossing creeks, down rutted out backroads, and just driving on down the road, the old Jeep has carried me well over a quarter million miles in life. It has proven itself a great outdoor adventure / photography vehicle and I would never have been able to experience many of the adventures without it or would I have been able to capture many of the photographs I now have. Each of those photographs offers a back story unto themselves. Stories that reflect the confidence I had in a mechanical vehicle. From the time I first laid eyes on it, almost like a vision, somewhere in the back of my mind I envisioned driving that Jeep into the wilds and having the means to  get back without worrying if it might breakdown. Along the way, I captured a few fair to good photographs, but gained a lifetime of memories.

Sometimes though, my adventurous nature does not always match my wifes more homey nature, and to quote her infamous words from that day I almost got us stuck in the sand at Little Sahara, "Don't you ever do that again!" she yelled. Well, me and the boy's just grinned as I patted the dash and said "...Atta boy..."