A lawyer was filling out a job application when he came to the question, "Have you ever been arrested?" He answered, "no." The next question, intended for people who had answered in the affirmative to the last one, was "Why?" The lawyer answered it anyway: "Never got caught.". . . . . . . . . .Some American academics, discussing the Six Day War with an Israeli general, were eager to know how it had ended so quickly. The general told them, "We had a crack regiment at the most sensitive front. It was made entirely of lawyers and accountants. When the time came to charge - boy, did they know how to charge!". . . . . . . . . .A Russian, a Cuban, an American and a lawyer are riding together on a train. The Russian takes a bottle of the best vodka out of his pack, pours some into a glass, drinks it, and says: "In Russia, we have the best vodka in the world - nowhere in the world you can find vodka as good as the one we produce in the Ukraine. And we have so much of it, that we can just throw it away..." Saying this, he opens the window and throws the rest of the bottle through it. All the others are quite impressed. The Cuban takes a pack of Havanas, unwraps one, lights it, and begins to smoke, saying: "In Cuba, we have the best cigars of the world: Havanas. Nowhere else in the world produces such a fine cigar, and we have so many of them, that we can just throw them away..." Saying that, he opens the window and throws the pack of Havanas through it. Once again, everybody is quite impressed. At this point, the American stands up silently, opens the window, and throws the lawyer through it. . . . . . . . . .Mr. Wilson was the chairman of the United Way, which had never received a donation from the most successful lawyer in town. He called on the attorney in an attempt to persuade him mend his ways. "Our research shows that you made a profit of over $600,000 last year, and yet you have not given a dime to the community charities! What do you have to say for yourself?" The lawyer replied, "Did your research also show that my mother is dying after a long illness, and has medical bills that are several times her annual income? Do you know about my brother, the disabled veteran, who is blind and in a wheelchair? Do you know about my sister, whose husband died in a traffic accident, leaving her penniless with three children?" Sheepishly, the charity solicitor admitted that he had no knowledge of any of this. "Well, since I don't give any money to them, why should I give any to you?". . . . . . . . . .Two attorneys took a long safari vacation in the African Bush. One day, needing a rest, they removed their packs and leaned their rifles against a tree. They were startled when a large, hungry-looking lion emerged from the jungle and began eyeing them with anticipation. It was clear that the attorneys' rifles were too far away to do them any good. Moving slowly, one attorney began to remove his shoes. Why are you doing that?" asked the other. "Because I can run faster without them," replied the first. "I don't care how fast you can run, you'll never outrun a lion!" the second said. The now-barefoot attorney explained, "I don't have to outrun the lion. I just have to outrun you!". . . . . . . . . .

Oconee and Altamaha Rivers, Page One.

My April, 2000 trip was going to be a first for me. J.D. and I had been taking our trips during Spring Break, when school is out. The weather's cooler, fewer bugs, higher water � just a good time for a canoe trip. This year was going to be different because J.D. was taking a trip with the high school band to Universal Studios and the Bahamas during Spring Break. So, I'd be taking my first canoe trip without him, and I'd be paddling a couple days alone. On April 9, 2000, I loaded the boat onto my truck and headed south on 441.

The plan had been for Ed Skorupski to join me on this trip. We'd put in at Milledgeville and take out at Benton Lee's on the Altamaha River � 144 miles. We'd have to average an easy twenty-one miles per day to make the trip in seven days. And, since Benton Lee's is a world famous steak, alligator tail and frog legs restaurant, we'd wind up the trip with a feast. But we had to modify the plan in light of a couple of developments.
First, it turned out that court was scheduled for that Monday and Tuesday, and Ed had to be there. Also, Ed's brother Tom and their cousin Tad Roemer were coming to visit him in South Georgia, and Tad wouldn't be in from San Francisco in time to start the trip on Friday. So, the plan turned out to be that I'd start the trip alone and Ed, Tom and Tad would meet me part way down the river on Tuesday evening. Tom had just returned from a 3 month fishing trip among the Maories in New Zealand and wanted to do some fishing, so we'd leave some time in there to wet a hook. If we got lucky, maybe we could catch us one of those large flathead, or "Appaloosa," catfish (that had been introduced into the Altamaha/Oconee ecosystem and which were decimating the native sunfish population) which are quite tasty.
I didn't know the Oconee down there and wasn't familiar with how fast or slow the current was, and, consequently, how much distance I could cover alone in a day. The St. Mary's trip had been slow going in a practically non-existent current, and were the Oconee like that, it'd be slow going for me, too. The Oconee River originates in two branches up in Hall County, near Gainesville. Both branches, the North Oconee and Middle Oconee, flow through Athens, and join up just south of Athens. From there the Oconee flows into Lake Oconee, then into Lake Sinclair, and out at Milledgeville, where it remains undammed the rest of the way. I'd paddled the Oconee, both the North and Middle branches, from above Athens, past their confluence just below Athens, and all the way down to Lake Oconee. In fact, the 1994 trip on the Middle Oconee was J.D.'s and my second canoe trip. Jeff, Kes Roberts, J.D., Jeff's friend Richard and I had put in on the Middle Oconee at Ben Burton Park in Athens one January. This was after some very heavy rains. The river was in flood, swirling muddy brown. This was only my second time in a canoe. Kes was my bowman. He'd had some experience paddling. J.D., 10 years old at the time, sat in the middle...--more on this story later. It was with some unease that I loaded up my canoe on Sunday, the 9th day of April, and headed down 441. The question was how am I going to like being alone on a river trip. I was going to put in at Dublin, basically cutting the trip in half � to 75 miles. Ed, Tom and Tad would meet me at the Highway 46 bridge. I put in late Sunday afternoon just below Dublin, and about 25 miles from the 46 bridge--where we were supposed to meet up Tuesday afternoon. I didn't want to get too far ahead, so I paddled only about thirty minutes, just far enough to get out of hearing of Interstate 16, and set up camp.
That evening I was sitting there looking over the river, thinking how profound the silence was. It was as if my ears were grasping for any sound they could hear. I went to bed early, read a little and went to sleep. I was awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of traffic coming from I-16. I could distinctly hear the thumpity thumpity thumpity of the tires going over the bridge across the river. The sound carried so clearly that I could distinguish between a tractor trailer or car going over the bridge. How odd that I couldn't hear the traffic the evening before. I figured that as the air cooled during the night, it became more dense, and, hence, could carry the sound further. So, for a while there I lay awake listening to the traffic. The next day I got on the water at 9:20 a.m. The current was moving pretty quickly, and I really didn't paddle hard at all. Nevertheless, by 5 o'clock, I was a mile from the 46 bridge, where I was to meet the boys. I was a day early, so I stopped and set up camp. I could make the bridge in 30 minutes the next day. Here's the 46 bridge. In days gone by, the Oconee saw a lot of barge and river boat traffic. The bridge is mounted on a turnstile, and it would open up to let ships pass. Further, you can see the three groups of three poles driven into the bottom of the river to stop errant barges and boats before they could hit and damage the bridge. There was a similar set just above the bridge.
I decided that, since I was at the meeting place so early, I'd call ED and have him meet me at the Highway 280 bridge, about 13 miles on down the river. I had my cell phone and climbed off the river to call Ed. There's a very nice little roadside park at the 46 bridge, overlooking the bridge and the river. It's not kept up. But it ought to be. I couldn't get a signal there, so I had to walk up the hill away from the river. I'd seen on the map some sort of building and/or enterprise at the top of the hill; maybe there was a phone there I could use. As I was walking up the road, I saw there was water in the ditch. Further on I saw that the source of the water was a spring, coming out of the ground right there beside the road. When I got to the top of the hill, I discovered that the operation I'd seen on the map was the county dump, which had been closed now for a couple years. I was able to get a signal on my cell phone and called Ed. Walking back down to the river on the other side of the road, I saw that there was a spring in that ditch, too. I wondered if there were anything from the dump in that water. After I got back on the river and had traveled a couple hundred feet below the bridge, I saw another spring coming out of the bank. That spring had to have been coming from directly beneath the dump. I felt for sure that the dump is putting nasty stuff into the river. Below the bridge the river widened considerably. I hoped that is wasn't going to stay this wide the rest of the way. Fortunately, it didn't.
As a matter of fact, the river took on a number of different characters, as is a river's inclination. The Oconee is a beautiful river, and very beautiful in spots. Although it pretty much remained a fairly large river, there were a few places where it narrowed to become intimate beneath the canopy of the forest. Usually I carry just one map on these trips, but this time I had two. One was my standard map. That is, copies of pages from the "A Paddler's Guide to Southern Georgia" by Bob Schlinger and Don Otey, published by Menasha Ridge Press. Otey and Schlinger copied D.O.T. county maps for their book. The scale isn't as fine as I'd like, but you can generally tell where you are, that is, unless the river's just too curvy. The other map I had was a composite of Terra Server images I'd taken off the Internet. That was by far the better map. Great detail. By looking at that map, I got a fresh perpective on what a "meandering" river is. I'd grown up thinking that a meandering river is a river which simply twists and turns snakelike across the countryside in its course to the sea. However, by looking at the Terra server map, you could see the outlines of oxbows and former channels of the river. These became useful aids in determining our position. What emerged, then, as the new definition of a meandering river, is one whose channel physically wonders from side to side over the years, eroding the bank on one side, accreting new land on the other. There were some tall trees on the eroding banks that I'm sure couldn't've been more than 100 years old. That's about how long I figure it takes for the river to meander back and erode the land it piled up a century ago. In this picture, though, judging from the clay, the river is cutting into some virgin ground. If this was old territory for the river, the makeup of the bank would have been mainly sand.
One thing about the Oconee that was new to me was the number of sandbars -- I had never seen so many. Wherever there was a bend in the river, there was a sandbar. There was never any worry about finding a suitable place to camp. My concerns about being alone on the river turned out to have been misplaced. I enjoyed being alone on the river. I could paddle when I wanted to, and didn't when I didn't want to, and still made excellent time. Even in the wind, which was quite nasty Tuesday, I made good progress. About 5:30 Tuesday evening, Ed and da boys met me at the 280 bridge just outside Mt. Vernon. We paddled a little ways and set up camp. Ed told me that evening, as he whipped out two of those canvas chairs, how he'd envied my chair on the St. Mary's trip. I replied, just wait'll you see what I have this time. And I whipped out my new table.
Ed brought with him his one year old pound puppy Sue B, a real honey. There's always some trepidation about bringing a dog on a trip like this. I have a Jack Russell Terrier, and I don't know that I'd want to bring her on a long trip. She's kind of high strung. But Sue turned out to be the perfect canoe trip dog. She hardly barked; wasn't big enough to carry a whole lot of water in her fur, so didn't make a mess shaking water out of her fur after she got wet, etc. But, above all that, she had the most pleasant disposition. She was just a perfect companion on this trip. Hey, Sue, your picture's on the Internet. It's a long way from that South Georgia dog pound, eh?
In this picture you can see various layers of sand and clay, and almost read the history of the river. We looked for remnants of prehistoric fires, but didn't see any. Back to the story about paddling the Middle Oconee through Athens... It was a cold day, in the fifties. The river was in flood and flying, water churning, boiling red clay. Kes, J.D. and I were in the red canoe that Ed is paddling on this trip � I hadn't yet bought my green Tripper. (Ed's the proud owner of the old red Blue Hole, now.) We weren't on the water five minutes before we were swept under the branches of the trees which, with the water so high, were trailing in the water. I didn't know how to keep us out of them or get us out from under them. Over we went into that cold nasty water. Jeff and Richard quickly fished J.D. out. Kes and I stayed with the boat. With the current as fast as it was, we weren't able to swim to shore. We just hung on to the boat. The water was cold. Kes and I were both gasping for breath. Finally the current pushed us into a rock on the bank, which we grabbed a hold to. The current then swung us onto the 30 square foot sand bar downstream of the rock. Kes was entering hypothermia. I was okay. I had dry clothes. There I was, naked on a sandbar on the river in Forest Heights, an Athens subdivision. Kes called it a very short day and walked back to his car. J.D. wanted to go home, too, but we continued and had an otherwise fine day of paddling, taking out just below Athens and just above the lake formed by the Barnett Shoals Dam. That was our second canoe trip. Middle Oconee River, Athens, Georgia, January, 1994.

Continue down the river. . . .



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