Operation Whatever Floats Your Boat

Last July, my friend Chris and I came across a canoe hung up on on some boulders in Forney Creek at campsite 74.  We were perplexed. How in the heck did a canoe end up there?  Neither downstream or upstream made any sense given its location.

In late December while we were backpacking with our friend Rene’, a backcountry ranger, we learned that the canoe was still there. Except that it was on the bank now instead of in the creek.  She told us that the park service planned on removing it, but it was a perfectly good canoe (well, mostly) and I worried about its fate if none of the rangers wanted it.

I felt confident that I could talk Chris into “rescuing” it with me when I planted the seed in his head that I’ve always wanted a canoe. The history of our friendship has proven many times over that I can count on Chris for unconventional, complicated adventures in the Smokies requiring more brains and brawn than traditional one-foot-in-front-of-the-other hikes.

Fast forward to January.  On a hike with Larry, my husband, I chose a route that would take us near the canoe’s location.  I wanted to see if it was still there before nudging Chris again about retrieving it.  Sure enough, there it sat on the bank of Forney Creek all by its lonesome.

I attempted to text Chris a photo of it with the message, “Look what I found today. It’s ready and waiting for us to rescue!” I suspected the photo would be all the bait I needed for him to officially bite.  But the reception wasn’t strong enough, and my text and the photo got hung up in the ether.  Later in the day, however, I discovered all our time spent in the woods together has fostered a telepathic connection. I received a completely random text from him that read, “So how soon do you want a canoe?”

Game on.

Since Ranger Rene’ was craving  new adventures after successfully completing the Smokies 900 Challenge on New Years Eve, we invited her along.  No surprise, she took us up on the invitation and we set out to complete the mission. 

Kayak paddles replaced hiking poles, inflatable rafts replaced emergency shelters, and life vests were a solid addition to our winter clothing layering system. We were quite a sight entering the Tunnel to Nowhere, which would (hopefully) lead us to somewhere on the other side of the lake with a “free” canoe in our possession.

We found the enigmatic canoe patiently waiting for us. Chris and I walked with it along the bank of the creek until the mud tried to swallow us whole.  I sunk up to my knees and nearly lost my shoes trying to pull myself out.  Thankfully, I had an enormous 15-foot canoe to hang onto for leverage or else I might still be out there.  The trail, or uh, the canoe, provides.

Chris had the bright idea to tie some cordage to the boat and let it float down Forney Creek while he walked along the bank with the other end of the rope. It necessitated some sketchy rock hopping and careful balancing acts.  Part mountain goat, he handled it with ease.

Eventually, we had to take it out of the water and carry it again.  My forearms felt as tight as a tick from carrying my share of the nearly 100-pound canoe, and I was thrilled when we reached the junction of the creek and lake.  It was time to climb in and see how “sea worthy” she was–the unknown perils she experienced in her past life still a mystery to us. 

First, we blew up one of the two inflatable rafts I had brought with me.  They served two purposes–to hold our gear and to act as lifeboats, should we need to bail from a sinking canoe.  We decided to run with scissors and only inflate one of them, since the canoe didn’t appear to be leaking anywhere during its leashed walk with Chris down the creek.

In a bout of last minute jitters, not having paddled a canoe since I was in my 20’s, I asked Chris, “How likely is it that we could tip over?”  His confident reply put me at ease, “Not very much once we’re out there—I think we’ll be fine,”

That confidence sunk as quickly as a rock to the bottom of the lake. After Rene and I securely positioned ourselves in the canoe, Chris stepped in the boat while simultaneously attempting to push the back half  off the shore and into the water.  Before I could even yell, “Oh shit!” the boat was sideways and all three of us were scrambling to get our submerged bodies out of the frigid water as quickly as possible.  

Time to regroup.

Rather than run any further with those scissors, we blew up the other raft to add an additional safety net to our arsenal.  We all found our places in the canoe again, this time without tipping (whew). 

With nervous laughter filling the mercifully still air, we carefully paddled out from the shoreline and into the lake. It took some time to get our groove with paddling in sync.  I’m fairly convinced that despite my good intentions, my amateur paddling techniques did nothing to propel us forward…ever.  “Well, we’ve come about 100 yards so far,” Chris said while looking back, 10 minutes into our effort.  Thank God I remembered to pack some extra snacks and a headlamp.

For obvious reasons, we hugged the shoreline as best as we could.  The buzz of a nearby airplane put Rene’ and Chris on high alert when they heard it, and we half joked about how unsettling it would be if a motorized boat came barreling by us.

At one point, my inner thigh started to cramp, and I had to actively resist the urge to stand up and stretch it. But my cramp was nothing in comparison to the pain Rene’ must have felt in her arse, sitting on the thin wooden brace in the center of the canoe while Chris and I sat comfortably in its two seats.

Despite the stress of how well we’d fare as fledgling canoe rescuers in a deep, cold lake, there was plenty of laughter and storytelling.  We all agreed we’re not sure what “middle age” should feel like–but no matter our age, we’ll never be too old to be young at heart.  It is one of life’s greatest gifts to have friends who understand and act upon this mindset with me.

Nearly two hours later, we had paddled close to three miles and reached the boat ramp where we shuttled Chris’s car that morning.  Too nervous to pull our protected phones out while we were in the middle of the lake, we finally felt safe enough to snap a quick celebratory photo. We’d made it!

No longer exerting the aerobic effort paddling a mile and a half an hour takes, the chill from the light breeze permeated our wet clothes and I started shivering.  Deflating the two rafts provided a quick remedy to my mildly hypothermic state. Chris and I wrestled them to the ground, contorting our bodies around them in whatever way purged air from them the quickest. 

The two of us don’t normally compete against each other–unquestionably, we’ve proven we work best as a team. But I was hell bent on winning the unspoken challenge of deflating my raft faster than him. But alas, his long legs provided a distinct advantage to grappling his and he won.  There was a silver lining to my loss though–by the time I finished, my feet were the only things that still felt like ice cubes.

We made it back to my house safely and unloaded the behemoth of a canoe at its new home.  Meanwhile, Paige, my daughter, was making homemade cannoli, a.k.a. “canoelie,” to commemorate the escapade.

I’m not sure how much I’ll actually use the canoe.  But I do know this—if I have the will, I’ll find a way. And every time I look at it in between, I’ll be reminded of the value of friendship and adventure, and the lifeline that both provide to my restless spirit!