A $20 catfish, drowned rats
September 11, 2009 - A day of infamy
I start the day with time in memory of those many innocents who lost their lives in the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks.

Now back to journaling, with gratitude to God for the opportunities I have each day and appreciation to those who have come before and sacrificed to make it possible.

A note to the wise: when in Kentucky: if you hear the weatherman forecast partly cloudy, plan to have your parade rained on. This is how it was for us two nights ago (seems such a long time). We get into the RV park at a tolerable hour, do a leisurely set-up, tend to chores, write blog. As it turns out, this park’s wifi works just fine for run-of-the-mill email but has a bandwidth limiting feature that makes internet activities go as slow as molasses in January in Nome. Soooo, while the blog is trudging uphill to load, I suggest we walk just a short way on a trail at the back of the park. It heads into the forest and is titled “lake trail”. I have no intention of hiking - way too tired - but would like to stretch my legs after driving for five hours. And besides, it’s already twilight time.

The trail is enchanting: mossy, damp deep woods, quiet except for crickets and other night critters. As is our habit, once started, we don’t want to stop, even when the route drops steeply. As we come out at the bottom, we find ourselves on the shore of a real lake. The most I had expected was a pond. We walk along the shore through the drippy foliage following the water that is not particularly far across, trying to get a feel for how far around it is and drooling at the appealing fishing opportunities it affords. Suddenly, someone speaks and scares the toot out of me. We have come to an opening in the brush and walked up to a small pontoon boat with three people aboard. Evidently, they are camping on it. The lady of the “kitchen” says she is frying (we’re in the South, remember) fish and potatoes and has cornbread in the oven. Where she might keep an oven on that platform is beyond me, but that’s what she said, and I believe her.

Finally, we head back at Chris’ insistence because it is dark and we have to climb out of this canyon on a gnarly, seldom-used trail.

The reason we were to spend a day in these parts was to hike more in Cumberland Gap, but after this foray, we threw over the ancestors in a New York minute, opting for fishing that little lake. We saw only a finger of it, but cleverly deduced that if those folks got a pontoon boat into it, we could launch our kayaks somewhere.

Of course now we will have to return to do the Gap stuff, but not this trip. We hiked to its summit last year and found it to be beautiful in its own right, but our excitement about being there stemmed from the knowledge of our many ancestors who undoubtedly traveled that identical path under their more trying circumstances.

Cumberland Gap was discovered in 1750; a route was pioneered there through the Appalachians by Daniel Boone and others in 1775. It was the primary route for westward movement from the Carolinas and Virginia to Kentucky and Tennessee until about 1810. It continued to be an important trail until the Civil War era, although other routes had been opened by then. The Gap was the route for families on foot, in wagons, and on horseback utilizing it, in addition to numerous freighters and drovers pushing herds of cattle, pigs and turkeys.

A partial listing of our ancestors who most likely set their feet on that trail with their families and all their worldly goods includes: Ezra and Lydia (Vance) Owen, John Chilcoat, Jacob Brown, John and Nancy (Brown) Hoppes, George and Elizabeth (Miller) Hoppes, Ann Weir (probably with her parents whom we don’t know), Mark Whitaker with his wife, Robert Whitaker, Joseph and Susan (McVey) McKinney, Jesse and Elizabeth (Cantrell) Bracken, Mary Cantrell after the death of her husband Jacob. Isaac and Elizabeth (Stalcup) Bracken, Thomas and Anna (Carr) Gentry, Gideon Carr (we have a letter he wrote about walking the entire distance from Albemarle County, Virginia, to Dickson County, Tennessee, at the age of 77), Daniel and Elizabeth (Rouse) Taylor, Samuel and Sally (Pipkin) Taylor, Lewis and Clemency (Hughes) Pipkin, James Colin McKinney. and possibly the Winans, Kelley, Means and Wallaces, in addition to a sizable number of others we haven’t found yet.

That background brings the place to life and creates a different atmosphere to hiking it.

Meanwhile back at the lake: we jumped in the Toter to check out how best to get the boats in the water. It certainly wasn’t going to be via that root-clogged steep trail of the night before. Surprisingly, we couldn’t seem to find lake access, but i did enjoy seeing several rural residential neighborhoods through which we searched. They reminded me of the area in which friends George and Mary live outside Danville, Kentucky. I was ready to put an offer on a house until Chris summoned me back to the task at hand. Finally, we were forced to ask directions, got all the skinny, drove to a boat ramp, drove back to the Totee, changed into swim suits, packed up and got over there just in time for the wrong time of day to be fishing.

We unpacked, equipped the boats, filled the dry bag, equipped us, and Chris drove the truck to the parking lot far above the ramp. While he was doing that, I got around to reading the Daniel Boone National Forest informational signs that informed us we needed to go to London, Kentucky (wherever that is) to obtain a discount parking pass that the feds deemed to be necessary in addition to our Golden Age pass that was prominently displayed on our dashboard.

A worrisome circumstance, now we hem and haw, draw zig zaggy lines in the dirt with our toes, clear our throats and try to decide if we want to chance a citation or towing(?) or if one of us wants to sit with the boats while the other climbs the stairway to heaven (it seems high enough anyway), gets the truck, drives to London, Kentucky (wherever that is), gets the parking pass and drives back to our bored-to-tears partner. In the end, we decide to take a chance.
paddling this way and that, fishing some, birding some (green herons, kingfishers and great blue herons everywhere) marveling at the beauty of the winding lake finger, imposing rock cliffs shoreside with trailing vines and dense tree stands atop. It’s a marvelous lake, Laurel by name, and we haven’t even seen a fraction of it. At 350 feet, it is Kentucky’s deepest lake. Its 5,600 acres are home to a huge range of fish - everything from rainbow trout and walleye, to crappie, bluegill and catfish.

Which brings us to the $20 catfish: our one-day nonresident licenses were $10 each. Late in the afternoon, the fish commenced to biting at which point I caught our first, last and only fish, a decent feisty catfish. Shortly afterward, as I looked down the lake, i spied a strange sight - a line beyond which it was pouring rain. Our side of the line was not precipitating, at least not at that moment, but that wall of water was suddenly upon us. I paddled like a mad person to the bank, jumped out of my boat and sheltered under the shore trees. Chris was taken a bit more by surprise and huddled over the camera and binocs in his boat. As I waited it out with rain running off my hat brim, I eventually sogged out so much that I began to sing and sway. The rain continued pouring down, deluging, pounding until I wondered if I would be spending the night standing there singing and swaying.

Early on, the thought passed through my brain that probably we had left our trailer roof vents open. I would have worried about it, but being fairly certain that water was pouring into the trailer, it seemed pointless to continue thinking about it.

I am unsure just how long it rained, knowing only that it was a substantial amount of time and that it would be impossible to get any more drenched. When it did relent, we quickly stowed the binocs and camera in the dry bag where we wished they’d been before it began, and started our return paddle. Thinking the fishing would now be fabulous, I made noises about trying our luck, thinking the storm was breaking up. Fortunately, the cooler head of our duo prevailed. Chris spurred us onward and I quickly got on that bandwagon just about the time it commenced to thundering. What is it about us, kayaks, lakes and storms anyway?

So once again, we ran for home - a paddle of two or three miles, which is way too long when thunder’s booming in the vicinity. At least this time it didn’t rain on us while we were underway; however, by the time we were loading up, it was running rivers down our heads.

What a relief to get back to the trailer and to get all dry and cozy - not. Indeed, the downpour was downpouring onto our bed and all over the bathroom. Getting soaked under these circumstances is trying, to say the least. There’s no place to put all the dripping stuff and there’s very little available to clean any of it up. The great news was that I brought my hair dryer which worked wonders for the blankets and mattress. Having no real choice, all the rest of it ended up either up dripping in the bathroom or was thrown helter skelter into the back of the truck to be dealt with at a sunnier time, hopefully this afternoon,

Today, we have been driving through the misty gorgeous forests of the Great Smoky Mountains. The views are stupendous and spectacular. The rivers are wonderful and beg to be rafted, which we will have to do at some point. I would love to spend a whole summer in Corbin and several more in the Smokies - really splendid country.

Of course we’ve skirted right through Tennessee into North Carolina, so a return to that land is a necessity. I had expected to visit cousin Chris there but have just discovered from him via Facebook that he is in South Korea teaching English.

And now we will be with Mom and Dad W. tonight - hoorah!

A quote from Patty regarding our foggy drive: Once the fog is gone, it's never mist.