Washington County Enterprise-Leader
Buffalo Offers Adventure For Paddling Friends
It’s become a pilgrimage of sorts, seeking the unknown and adventure in this routine world of mine.
Every year as I pull into Shipp’s Ferry on the White River, close to the confluence of the White and the Buffalo rivers, after 35 miles of paddling through the Buffalo River Wilderness Area, I fully believe it will be my last trip.
“I’m too old for this, and too sore from being in this canoe for three days,” I annually tell myself.
But with every new year a calling rises, summoning me back to my annual adventure. Thirty-five miles of untouched wilderness, native smallmouth bass, nightly campfires, good company and good beverages.
Each trip brings with it unforeseen events or circumstances. And as I set out, I find myself wondering if this year’s surprises will be enjoyable or not. There was the year that we caught over 150 fish in three days. Or the year that we thought we lost my friend Wes to a sinking mud hole. Just kidding, mostly.
There was the year we had to camp for a few days because the river became too flooded to float. But a few memories have cemented my annual calling to the lower Buffalo River more than others.
In April 2013, six of us set out to camp in spite of a forecast that was looking bleak. We made it a full 150 yards of our 35 mile trek before two of our three canoes capsized and dry bags with all our gear floated freely down the river. This was only the beginning.
For the next five hours as we paddled, the rain relentlessly pounded down. We were cold, wet and hypothermia was becoming a legitimate concern. There was no shelter to be had, and no way to make a fire. We trudged on down the river. We got a break in the rain that afternoon and were able to set up a dry camp, make a warm meal and get a fire going. We thought we were in the clear.
About 3 a. m. a thunderstorm set in, the kind that makes your tent poles buckle enough to send the outer walls into your face. Laying helplessly in my tent that night, fully at creation’s mercy, I was reminded of how small I really am compared to the power of nature. The rain made the river high and muddy. Those factors overcome any effort to catch fish.
This trip seemed to be marked by rain and misery, yet we undeniably loved it. The challenges, and even fear, we overcame created experiences we, for some odd reason, cherish.
Most years are enjoyable. In 2014 we had the kind of spring days everyone in Arkansas dreams about. All three days on the river were about 75 degrees, no clouds, and a slight breeze. We caught and released more smallmouth bass than we could count. And I was fortunate enough to catch, photograph, and release a 20- inch, 5- pound trophy. Catching that sort of fish in a native, wild setting connects a person to nature and creation in astounding ways.
Now, with our annual journey just days away, I can almost feel my heart speed up with the first tug on my line. But what I have realized through the years is that it is not be just the fish that are actually drawing me back year after year. Henry David Thoreau wisely said, “Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.”
A couple of years ago I became suddenly and fully aware of this. This pilgrimage is about humbling myself at the mercy of creation and doing so in the context of face to face, experienced friendship. And those are not cute blessings I leave my family for a weekend to indulge. They are necessities my soul requires to stay healthy.
We need adventure in our lives and we need to experience it with friends. The Buffalo River is the perfect spot to do this. Arkansans, we have a true treasure in our backyard. Go enjoy it.