Shooting The Rapids: The Thrill and Humor of White Water

 I used to own an old Coleman Canoe. Paid two hundred dollars for it way back around 1978 or so. They have been manufactured since the late 70's, but have undergone a great deal of structural changes since then. Mine was possibly a second generation model, very close to the original style. It was a fifteen foot model, red in color, constructed of an aluminum tubing frame stretched inside a tough polyethylene plastic shell. Sealed into both ends were two blocks of styrofoam floatation. It was a tough and functional canoe. It was also heavy weighing in around 70 pounds or so. 

On the Big Piney

Even so, I probably put more mileage on that old canoe than the Old Town I've owned now for almost 20 years. In fact, I plumb wore it out for it had a couple of cracks and holes punched into it along with countless scrapes and dents along its length. I would seal the cracks with duct tape and shove off. Probably should have named it Patches, or Bumps, or maybe something else appropriate. 

My old fishing rig

Ended up giving it to my neighbor when we moved to Kentucky. That's when I purchased my Old Town Camper canoe. It's a gorgeous piece of engineering too, but has long since lost its new charm with a good number of scrapes, bumps, gouges, faded color and assorted battle scars earned on its own.  Oddly enough, that Old Town is better suited for flat water than moving water...hull design and such things...although I have made a number of float trips with it and zipped through a few lesser challenging moving water shoots.

That old Coleman served me well and provided the opportunity to explore an aspect of canoeing I've not been able to pursue in recent years: Running white water rapids. We never did a great deal of that kind of floating, but did do enough of it to at least understand the thrill and risk of doing so.

Old Town Camper on my Jeep

 Although the Buffalo River in Arkansas is not particularly known as a   white water float, the upper end of the Buffalo when the water is high   enough is a good place to get into some moderate white water runs.   The  lower end tends to spread out more, but many of the longer calmer   sections of the river are connected by a substantial drop off where a   series of rapids kicks up a challenge.  We've floated all but the last of   the lower part of that river and have had some good fun shooting some  high water rapids.

By far the most fun and most challenging runs we made was on Arkansas's Big Piney and the Mulberry rivers. We caught The Big Piney just about right one time when the water levels were high enough to generate a good flow, but not so high as to create any undo risk. One of the funniest things we saw while running that river was at the put in. We had just shoved off and were waiting inside an eddy waiting on the other two members of our party who were taking  their time getting ready. As we waited, another couple of guys showed up with a very short, maybe 12 feet or so, birchbark design pattern fiberglass canoe that they probably borrowed from someone. Both of these guys were somewhat large, too large really for such a short canoe, and as a result created a top heavy, unstable situation. We watched them load it up with a cooler filled with beer, many of which they had already consumed. Well, they shoved off...and within about 25 maybe 30 feet in perfectly calm water, with a comical plunge followed by a series of explicative phrases, over they went, beer cans and all.

After we stopped laughing we paddled over to help gather their gear which was merrily floating on down river, paddles, empty beer cans, a lunch box now partially filled with a soggy lunch. A few minutes later, they pulled out and left.  Probably the wisest move they made that day, for they would have never survived what awaited them down river.

We were able to run through some good rapids that day and that old Coleman did good. It wasn't the prettiest canoe on the water, but it sure was functional and handled the big stuff with ease. Several times we'd stop and survey the rapids to pick out a good route through, shoved off bow pointed into the current, then allowed the bow to swing around with a hard pull, one left, then right, then a power stroke, a strong back brace to slide across to miss a boulder, rooster tail waves engulfing us shipping water, two then three times, then finally to spill into calmer water.

Sorry poor quality photo -
Me and Rocky running the Mulberry River

After each run we'd lift our paddles overhead and give out a shout of triumph and after each run we'd have to find a gravel bar, pull off and bail out several gallons of water we had shipped before moving on. Can't remember how many rapids we faced that day, but it seemed it was a continuous encounter. 

My old friends Ralph and Neuman, both have long since passed on, floated in Ralphs old Grumman aluminum canoe that day. That old canoe probably was manufactured shortly after WWII and had seen countless hours on the water. It had been used by an outfitter who took it into the Boundary Waters area as part of yearly expeditions. Ralph bought it used many years before I ever knew him, and sure got his money worth out of it. It was because of my experiences floating with him in that old Grumman, I was convinced to purchase my Coleman. His old aluminum canoe was noisy, hot when it was hot, cold when it was cold, but tough and durable. On the Big Piney, what was funny about it was, even though both Ralph and Neuman were accomplished canoers...on flatter water...neither were particularly adept at handling heavy water. 

On one of the first sets of rapids, somehow or another, they got turned sideways, then spun around backwards, and ricocheted and muttered their way through and around boulders and haystacks as they looked over their shoulder. It was a funny sight to witness and teetered on the edge of a disastrous outcome, but somehow they managed to get through it unscathed. We accused them of showing off, of which they readily accepted as the reason why they did it that way. We knew better.

 Because of that old Coleman canoe, I experienced some of the most fun, humorous, wild adventures I've had the pleasure of being a part of, and I solidified strong lifelong friendships. I miss ole Ralph and Neuman, and my brother Ken, for they are all gone now. Our group of six spent many days and hours floating, camping, and fishing, and that old Coleman played a big part. On occasion, even though we live 700 miles apart now, the three of us who are still around, Rocky and Curtis and I, get together for a float trip. Sadly, too much time seems to pass by between those days though.

Ralph and Curtis on the Buffalo River

Yeah, that old Coleman Canoe served me well for all those years. It saw many sunrises, many sunsets, all kinds of weather, storms, sleet, rain, blue skies, hot and cold and it ran a good number of rapids over the years. I originally purchased it as a stop gap measure...until I could afford a real canoe...however, it provided a long term bonanza of thrills and humor, along with memorable moments. I wouldn't trade those memories for any of the newest and best canoes out there.

The Melancholy Warmth of A Wooden Canoe Paddle

 I experience melancholy moments sometimes. Usually on a rainy day, but sometimes not. Often when one of those days disrupts my day, I begin to recall times past spent outdoors with old friends some of whom have passed on now. I miss those days. Even though I now have pretty much all the time I need to pursue such things, for one reason or another, I'm not always able to do so, I suppose that situation contributes to such melancholy moments. Even so, when such days happen and those old memories come back to life, they serve as a reset option to those old desires and pursuits that have lain dormant for too long, and that is a good thing.

One of the many pine covered tall bluffs on the Buffalo River

Just the other day, I picked up an old wooden canoe paddle, one I had not used for many years. In more recent times when I am able to get out with my canoe I employ the use of a newer, more efficient, wooden paddle with a beaver tail blade, but once that old one was in hand, its feel and even its aroma transported me back many years when I and my old friends made numerous fishing trips or float trips, each one an adventure, and in some cases misadventure, in their own right. I suppose the misadventure ones generated the most memorable moments. It was during a time when my photography was limited to using disposable 35mm film cameras. Oddly enough, they did a pretty good job and I am thankful for having them for they captured many special moments spent afield with my friends.

That old paddle is so tattered and weathered, it looks as though it belongs in a museum really. The  laminated strips that run the length of the blade began to split apart a long time ago. They were sort of repaired with glue and heavy duty staples to hold it together. It worked. It's been sanded and varnished so many times the wood has darkened and there are cracks, dents, scars, scuffs, and other assorted wounds across its length, every one a story unto itself. Oddly enough, I find it reassuring to revisit the stories from such scars. Just holding that old paddle and feeling the lumps and bumps it gathered over the years brings them to life again. 

I remember the largest smallmouth bass I ever caught while floating Arkansas's Buffalo River using that paddle. We made numerous multi day floats on that river and that old paddle came along on most all of them. Good times they were. Drifting here and there on crystal clear waters flowing beneath towering, pine accented bluffs and the surrounding woodlands accented with the white bark of river birch trees, well, it just don't get much better. 

Deep within the Buffalo River watershed

We'd drift on the winding currents, cut across and through a set of rapids, then cast into the deep blue hole just below, searching for that elusive big smallmouth bass. Sometimes we'd just stop to stretch our legs or kick back and simply enjoy the view.

My friend Rocky in his vintage Old Town Canoe

Setting up camp at days end on a gravel bar, the subsequent meal cooked over a campfire with its accompanying aroma of smoke and flame, took us toward the evening with a satisfied feeling. In spite of being worn out, we'd sit up late into the star studded night recalling and retelling the finer and more humorous details of past misadventures. 

The canoes would be pulled up on the gravel bank a few yards away...and that old paddle would be leaning against mine, it's handle extending toward the ebony of the night. With a bit of luck we'd see a shooting star silently rush across the night sky. Before long the days adventures would remind us of how tired we were. Even so, we were reluctant to crawl into our respective tents, but it felt good to stretch out a stiff back against something solid.

Best campsite on river: Skull Bluff

The next morning we'd stir into groggy activity, sipping and enjoying the flavor of that first cup of coffee around the morning fire. Often a light fog might be hovering over the waters. What a way to start the day. 

We'd purposefully move slowly on those mornings. To hurry was counter to the feeling. Not a great deal of talking took place. Instead we would simply absorb the sounds of the morning and the aroma of the fresh air. Those were some of the fondest moments when the sleepiness from the night before struggled to move out of the way. Not far off, the chatter of a Kingfisher might crack the calm of the morning stillness followed shortly by a splash when he dove to catch his breakfast. Although the water was moving, its surface was smooth and every small ripple and blip bubble from a rising fish would add a small measure of texture across its flat plain. Those are the sights blended within the sounds of nostalgic moments that simply cannot be forgotten.

Eventually, each morning on the river, we'd gather our gear, pack it away inside the canoes, shove off...and I'd take that old weathered paddle in hand...In spite of the cool morning air and the dampness dripping the length of its handle, the feel of that old wooden paddle possessed a warmth to it, but maybe not in the way you might figure.

Rocky taking a break

 

The warmth came from the moment when purpose and place converged to generate one of those special memories, the kind of memory that can only be stored deep within those harbored places of the heart, where they can best be kept...then, recalled...on a melancholy day.

Ace Maker

 One of my longest and most persistent Walter Mitty daydreams is to become a pilot. Not just an ordinary single engine Cessna pilot, although that would be awesome, but a full blown military Top Gun aviator tearing up the sky in high performance jet aircraft...Yeah😏 well, that didn't happen...but,  I spent countless hours reading about and watching documentaries about aviation over the years and I am still fascinated by the mystique and drama of military aviation. When the movie Top Gun came out, I guess it was in 1986, I was one of the first in line to watch it and more recently I caught the newest version of Top Gun Maverick. Great movies both of them. That's about as close as I ever came to fulfilling that dream. Seemed there was just never enough resources, never enough time, never enough 'Just do it' attitude. I'm too old now and have come to accept the reality that I will never fulfill that dream, not even piloting a single engine Cessna. But, my fascination with the adventure of flying still resides deep inside and ever so often it gets rekindled back to life.

Here in Bowling Green, Kentucky, we have a wonderful aviation park; Aviation Heritage Park (AHP) ( link below) where several vintage military aircraft are on display. Along with a new museum that is still under construction, it serves as a great family oriented lesson in history. Each of the aircraft and the pilots who flew them have a connection to the community. A few years ago I spent some time photographing some of the airplanes, not just snapshot tourist photographing, but capturing these symbols of heroic action in a way that magnifies their style, performance, history, and nostalgic value.

I do have other posts and YouTube videos outlining the detailed techniques of how these photos were made and processed, so I won't go into detail here, but you can check them out with a simple site search or by clicking on the links below. Instead I'd like to talk about how I created the Ace Maker Poster and in general about the lighting and how it enhanced the subjects.

Ace Maker is one of my favorite photo's from AHP. I especially like the simplicity of the composition which gives it a rather dramatic impact. Technically the aircraft is the T-33 trainer version of the original F-80 Shoot Star jet fighter manufactured by Lockheed. The F-80 was the first operational jet fighter for the American Air Forces and was placed into operation just before the end of WWII. By the time the squadrons were trained and operational, the war had ended, so they never saw combat during that war period, however it did see extensive use during the Korean War. The T-33 version became the standard jet trainer for the military in 1948 and earned the nickname Ace Maker as the first generation of jet pilots earned their place in history flying this amazing aircraft. 

Creating this photo was a bit of challenge as I had to shoot it in layers using remotely fired speed lights, capturing one side then the other, then capturing the front. The wing lights were covered with a red gel and attached to the back of the wings and banged straight down onto the tarmac which reflected the light upwards to illuminate the underside of the wings. That's where the red glow comes from. The aircraft on display sits on its landing gear and there is a display information plaque placed in front of the airplane. The original combined image displayed above on the right, shows how the final lighting configuration setup was completed. To create the Ace Maker poster, I had to remove all the reflected light on the tarmac along with the plaque and landing gear. Doing so gives the airplane a heads up, head-on, highspeed coming at you look.

The Ace Maker  jet fighter is a classic design with classic historical references. Photographing it was a fun challenge as I wanted to create an image with power and style, one that stood apart from the ordinary and takes the viewer back to an earlier historical time when aviators still flew by the seat of their pants.

Aviation Heritage Park

Capturing a Classic Fighter

Shaping Light