Paddling the St. Joe

Yesterday, September 11, 2006 I woke up at the ungodly hour of 4:30am and decided that if I did not get out of the house I would spend the day in front of the TV watching the 9/11 memorial stuff. I had already had my fill the night before. I think most of us are simultaneously drawn to it yet repelled by it. This morning I have seen many Blogger posts in which people were discussing where they were when it all happened. For my generation, I guess this is our Kennedy assissination. I was not around for the Grassy Knoll, but as a kid I liked to ask people where they were. I was amazed that all these different people could pinpoint one specific simultaneous moment in time. I remember Reagan getting shot (I was skipping school) but that was really not such a tragic event for the masses.

On 9/11/01 I was at my parent's house in Illinois. I had just finished a little solo kayaking trip in Missouri. I was asleep and my mom came home from her computer class and woke me up. She heard something on the radio of some construction workers who were just standing around looking stunned. We turned the TV on just as the first tower started to fall. Like most folks, I was glued to the TV for a long time and then decided that I had had enough. That night though, I hung out with my grandparents and we of course had the TV on. I remember, when Dubbya came on, my Grandpa made a comment that we were going to end up in a war, and then he said he would not be surprised if we ended up back into Iraq. Hummm...

What amazed me the most from that time is the sense of unity I felt with my fellow Americans. The horror and sense of outrage transcended social, political, economic, and religious lines. We were one people, and in my lifetime I do not think this collective sense of citizenship has ever happened. By the time I started back from Illinois to Washington, the US was invading Afganistan and hunting for bin Butt Head. Though I like to consider myself a pacifist, I would have gladly shot his balls off, and then every other part of him. Everywhere I stopped along the way people, complete strangers would gather and talk about it; in the Hardees in Mexico, Missouri, the campground in Kansas, the mini-mart/buffalo burger joint in Wyoming. We wanted to know what had happened while we were on the road that day. And we were all afraid. For the most part, I think we still are.



So with all of this on my mind, and many other depressing thoughts, I figured it was best to get my butt out where I would at least feel some peace. I have been on the St. Joe River in Idaho many, many, many times but always in a ski boat. Every time I have been there I have said to myself, "Self, you need to come back here with your kayak" and yesterday seemed like the perfect day for it.



The St. Joe comes out of the mountains of North Idaho and drains into lakes Benewah, Round, and Chatcolet. I put my boat in at Rocky Point on Chatcolet near Heyburn State Park, the oldest state park in Idaho. Warning: there is a $4 parking fee. I paddled across the lake to the mouth of the river and then up. I had no destination in mind but figured I would paddle for three hours then turn around and paddle back. The highlight of the day was the quiet and the wildlife. I saw one motor boat and one kayak the entire six hours I was on the water.



If you like birds, this is the place to go. There are nests built up on platforms for osprey and in the spring and early summer the nests are occupied with babies. There was an old tree full of some kind of bird (see picture) that I could not at first make out. By the time I got my camera out 3/4 of them had flown away. They looked like loons.

Narrow passages lead from the river into the other lakes and I poked around in the wild rice in Round Lake. Part way up the river I spotted a bald eagle perched in a dead tree. I saw a coyote on shore drinking out of the water and then it ran when it saw me. The river twists and turns and is unbelievably peaceful. A narrow spit of land separates the river from the lakes and it looks like a wonderful place to set up a camp for the weekend.

I paddled about four miles up the river and turned around and came back. Instead of going back the way I came, I took a little channel into Benewah Lake, which is almost completely cut off from Chatcolet by milfoil and wild rice. The birds in this lake were incredible. There were thousands of them, so many that at a distance and from three feet above the water, they looked like spits of land. The fish were jumpin', the air was still, the sky was clear and it was a glorious day.

I pulled out of the water on the south side of Benewah and had a bit of lunch. I was contemplating a swim, but the air was still pretty darn cold. I got back to the boat ramp at around noon and was home by two. It ended up being a pretty good day.