Aaron and I
grew up in the middle of nowhere, or so we thought. For a major shipping route, there is an unbelievable amount
of nothing on this stretch of river.
We would sometimes pass a hunting cabin or blind, but there was not a
town to be seen. The occasional
large round hay feeder or stock tank sitting on top of the embankments would
indicate a pasture, but we were riding so low, we didn’t even see much of that.
The
day was a great one, we did our longest stretch at 39 ½ miles, just short of
the elusive 40. We had thought
about stopping on a sandbar a few miles up, but we had just enough daylight to
make the next bend. After that, we
ran into barge traffic and the spot we stopped was right in the way and had no
suitable spot for a tent or firewood, so we had to keep going. We stopped in a small cove right at the
start of an embankment; the sand had built up a nice little platform just big
enough for our camp, but high enough we didn’t have to worry about the water
rising on us. The wood,
unfortunately, was mostly up the embankment and Aaron had to scramble along the
rocks at dusk to collect enough for our evening and morning fires.
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