Bruce and I decided to take Alan up on his idea of paddling several sections of the dammed Susquehanna River.  It was spring vacation, 2009.  We were a little worried that it might be cold, but Pennsylvania is warmer than Albany in April and we were paddling just north of the Maryland border and the Chesapeake Bay.  A little sunshine and we’d be just fine.

Monday, April 13, 2009: Bruce and I met Alan at the Otter Creek Campground before noon.  Alan had arranged for a small cabin with one of those flameless Amish heaters you see advertised in magazines.  The cabin was uninsulated and consisted of bunk beds and a double bed at one end, with a dorm room size refrigerator, a small microwave and a table with four chairs.  It was tight.  It was really tight when we dragged our stuff in.

Bruce and Alan gave the double bed to the senior member of the trio –me.  I think this was more out of pity than respect for my status as an elder in the group.  Bruce got the lower bunk and for some reason Alan (he is the biggest person of the three) got the upper bunk.  Alan has the weakest bladder too, which makes the choice of the top bunk even more ironic.  Maybe he was hoping to take some late night revenge on Bruce by climbing in and out of the top bunk all night – or worse. 

Anyway, we came to paddle and the river was not far from our door.  It had started to rain lightly just after we arrived.  I rigged up a cooking fly outside the cabin and we had a quick lunch.  We geared up with long underwear and polartec under Farmer John wetsuits and dry suits, then headed down to the put-in. 

The wind was blowing and the river looked gray and uninviting.  There was a light intermittent rain and it was cold.  This dammed-up section of the river is called Lake

Aldred.  We paddled north toward the Safe Harbor Dam, which was about four miles away.  Surprisingly, the lake/river was very shallow in places, making for some spots of fast water.  I bottomed out several times, cursing at the gel coat

eating rocks.  I got really cold on the return trip as the wind and rain managed to chill me even though I was dry.  We were on the water for about three hours and covered about eight and a half miles. 

Back at camp we warmed ourselves next to the little heater before making dinner.  Everyone turned in early to read and be ready for the next, hopefully better, day.  It was still raining.

Tuesday, April 14: Everyone slept late.  It was cold.  We were cold.  Our little heater was pretty, but all it could do was take the edge off.  I began to understand why Alan might have volunteered for the top bunk; heat rises! 

We made breakfast.  I had brought an automatic coffee maker.  We soon found that if we operated the coffee maker and the microwave with the heater on, we tripped a breaker.  It took a while to find the breaker box and only a few more power outages to remember to only operate one of the appliances at a time. 

Today we would head for Lake Clark, another dammed section of the Susquehanna.   We were to drive to a place called Shanks Mare to put in.  For those of you unfamiliar with the term, “shanks mare” is an old term used to describe walking.   (“He got there by shanks mare.”  The shank being your shin, and mare being a horse.  What that had to do with our put-in is anybody’s guess.) 

We arrived about 10:30.  It was cold and windy again.  The temperature hovered in the high forties to low fifties.  We took a few minutes to check out the Shanks Mare Outfitters store just across the road, then unloaded our boats and started paddling.  It was about 11:30.  Bruce and Alan wanted to paddle up the east side of the lake, so we headed across, a distance of about a mile and a quarter.  The wind and waves were such that the crossing was fun. 

As we headed north up the east side of Lake Clark we entered a relatively narrow channel between low rocky islands on the west and a high bank, topped with a highway on the east.  I found the area noisy and not very attractive.  Again, the water was shallow and I was bottoming out from time to time.  At one point, I got stuck on a mud flat and had to get out to tow my boat. 

We pushed through some fast water and continued until we could see a dam ahead.  Before turning around, we passed an old building in some disrepair.  Out front was an older gentleman watching us. (He was really, about my age – I haven’t come to terms with how I must look to other folks yet.  I feel younger on the inside.) He was still there when we turned around.  We were looking for a place to get out of the wind and have some lunch, so Bruce approached him and asked if we could come ashore to stretch and eat. 

The fellow’s name was Tom.  Tom was putting in some volunteer hours, part of the cost of membership in the Columbia Canoe Club.  Tom welcomed us ashore and offered us the use of a bathroom and the club’s covered porch and picnic table for our lunch.  We gratefully accepted this offer and soon had lunch cooking just outside the porch.  Hot soup, cheese, beef stick and apples were on the menu.  We asked Tom to join us, which he did. 

Tom told us that the Columbia Canoe Club, established in 1887, was the oldest canoe club in the country.  We were surprised because our friend Jack Gillman has always claimed that his club, the Yonkers Paddling and Rowing Club was the oldest.  A little investigation shows that the Yonkers club was started in 1886 and incorporated in 1888.  The Columbia Canoe Club was apparently incorporated in 1887.  It seems to me that both clubs can claim bragging rights on this one.  And if being successful and growing is any factor, the Yonkers Club has it all over the Columbia Club, which seems to be in decline (by way of example, the Yonkers club has a robust website http://www.yprc.org/ while I cannot find a link to the Columbia Canoe Club).  In any case, we were very appreciative of Tom and the Columbia Canoe Club for their hospitality.  We were provided with a warm spot on a cold, gray day.

Back on the water, we picked our way through the rocks to reach the western side of the lake.  The trip back to Shanks Mare was into a twelve to fifteen mile per hour headwind that threw up short but confused seas.  Never the less, I found it to be an enjoyable and exhilarating six plus mile paddle back to our put-in.  After loading our boats on the cars, we again went to the Shanks Mare Outfitters store and, of course, spent some money on things we “needed”,

Wednesday, April 15 and Thursday April 14, 2009: Well, the weather continued to deteriorate through Tuesday night.  Wednesday morning brought a cold heavy rain.  We decided not to paddle and instead drove into Harrisburg where we visited another outfitter, again buying more “needed” items.  The only other thing I remember about that day is the great pizza we had for lunch. 

    

Back at camp, Bruce befriended a couple of bicyclists camped in a tiny tent who were peddling to the husband’s fortieth high school reunion in New Orleans.  They were cold and miserable, so Bruce invited them for dinner.  We all put our various foods together and had a happy feast in our cramped cabin, which this couple found warm and luxurious. 

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