Lost!
August 16, 2015

It was bound to happen eventually.  With the disproportionate number of back roads we travel in places that are completely unknown to us, the chances were high that there would come a time when we would look around us and wonder where we were, how we arrived at that particular spot, and how to return whence we came.

In the recent case in which that happenstance occurred, we were happily sappily plying a two-lane paved byway in Tennessee.  That particular road brought a whole new meaning to the word meander.  Chris is a marvel at quickly becoming oriented in newly discovered areas - driving us out and about with nary a hiccup,  My job is to admire the sights, remark on the ones that are remarkable and to alert us to any and all sidetracks to explore and items of interest for which we must stop or go back.

We are both good at those jobs; perhaps Chris' confidence coupled with my complete lack of attention to our forward progress combined to cause us to fail to notice that our route jogged when we jigged, or whatever it was that happened.

The end result was that just about sundown, right after an on-foot wander along an unnamed river bank, the lowering sun alerted us that we were moving in a northeasterly direction when home lay somewhere along a southwesterly trajectory,

Bearing in mind that we were out in the tules, sadly many miles from home, hurtling (well, as fast as Chris, the ol’ granny driver, can hurtle); it’s getting dark, the roads carry no identification markers nor are there any towns thereabouts.

Where are we?  How did we get here?  How do we get out of here?  Refusing my insistence that we find someone from whom to obtain directions and after a number of false starts, the Pathfinder eventually did figure out something or another, although I never did have a clue what he was attempting to explain and I actually don't think he did either, but he brung us home, late but relieved.

Land Between the Lakes . . .

Camped at the Birdsong Resort & Marina, we set up on the shore of Kentucky Lake, the reservoir formed by damming the Tennessee River.  The Cumberland River parallelled the Tennessee as they both flowed north to form the Ohio River.  The Cumberland’s dam created Lake Barkley.

Both lakes are many miles long and many-fingered: the numerous smaller waterways that flowed into them are now tributary lakes with the backed-up water extending in a multitude of directions.

The vast region between the Kentucky Lake and Lake Barkley is called, not surprisingly or originally, The Land Between the Lakes, a unique and intriguing area.  Wildlife, including bison and elk, water, forests and history abound there.

Dover, Fort Donelson, Surrender House . . .

A day-long jaunt over Lake Barkley way (the fateful foray during which we entered the Twilight Zone) delivered us to the nice little town of Dover and dropped us into the midst of a significant Civil War occurrence.

The site of Fort Donelson provided an interesting saga.  Donelson was prepared with well-placed reinforced batteries that overcame the sluggish iron-clad boats of the Union Army as they attempted to steam upriver.  Despite that, the fort was overrun by General Grant’s land-based forces.  The two top-ranking Rebel generals at Donelson - Pillow & Floyd - relinquished their authority to the next-in-line officer, General Buckner, and fled before Grant's advance.  Buckner opted to remain with his troops. 

This view shows the Confederate trenches that were insufficient to repel General Grant's troops.

The victorious Union general, Grant, would accept only unconditional surrender, to which General Buckner had no choice but to accede.  Because Grant would accept no lesser terms, insisting on "unconditional surrender", the term became interchangeable with his actual initials, U. S.

Grant and Buckner had been friends at West Point prior to the war and later resumed their friendship.

The Dover Hotel, built about 1851, was where the officers met for the formal surrender after corresponding regarding the terms, or in this case, the lack thereof.  Being left with the choice of continuing to fight with the probability of catastrophic casualties or surrendering his command, he hoped to receive generous surrender terms because of his and Grant's previous relationship.

When faced with Grant's uncompromising ultimatum, Buckner wrote back: "The distribution of the forces under my command, incident to an unexpected change of commanders, and the overwhelming force under your command, compel me, notwithstanding the brilliant success of the Confederate arms yesterday, to accept the ungenerous and unchivalrous terms which you propose."

Now a part of the Fort Donelson National Park, the hotel, referred to as the Surrender House, is open for tours; the ranger there was extremely knowledgeable.  Its site on the river bank allowed for the fort’s surrendered troops to be loaded onto boats and taken as prisoners of war, all 13,000 of them!  What an incredible feat it must have been to organize, feed and transport that many men at once.  They were taken to various prisons and mostly traded later for Union prisoners.

The defeat at Fort Donelson opened the Cumberland River to Union forces which then captured Nashville. 

This re-creation of a tiny log cabin shows the unusual way many soldiers were sheltered during the winter at Fort Donelson.  There were 400 of these on the grounds.  The men who arrived too late to have such a hut were housed in tents or in the open air, suffering greatly in the process.  It seems to me that it would be very inefficient to construct so many individual shelters instead of larger structures. 

This sweet little guy was munching with his mama on the protected ground of Fort Donelson.

I was quite taken with the town of Dover: the folks we met there were as nice as can be found and the siting on the bluff up above the river was lovely.  I was especially interested in the settlement’s earlier years; a marker by the cemetery told of its beginnings in American Revolutionary days, but I have been able to find nothing about it prior to the Rebellion.  That may be in part because the town suffered much destruction from Union forces.

Tennessee Valley Authority, Duck Unit . . .

All things water there are regulated by the Tennessee Valley Authority, an entity that manages wildlife refuges everywhere a person looks.  Each refuge is unique, depending on the topography and other factors.  Some constitute more open water, lakes and channels; often there are backwaters of cypress swamps and small creeks.

We have seen great egrets everywhere we have been, with the exception of the North Carolina mountains.

We spent the better part of one day staying mostly ahead of storm threats and lightning that prevented us from setting out in the boats - wandering berms built up between waterways, taking roads that led nowhere but were wonderful nevertheless, and finding paths along streams that were sometimes sluggish and tannin colored, other times clearer or muddier with a slight current, and many ponds and pools with a few wading birds looking for lunch around the edges.

The life of Riley . . .

It is said that the Duck Unit is winter home to tens of thousands of birds - I would love to return for that sight!  A new trip bird there was solitary sandpiper.  Earlier in the day, on a whim-inspired stop to “see what’s down there”, we walked along a bayou (except I don’t think they’re called that in Tennessee) and happened upon a life bird - a strikingly beautiful prairie warbler that was flitting and feeding in vegetation just over our heads.

Another life bird this stop was the willow flycatcher.  The trip list was also expanded by summer tanager, American goldfinch, prothonotary warbler, hairy woodpecker and eastern phoebe.

Portions of roads in the Duck River Bottoms were thus paved, evidently to prevent vehicles from sinking into mud during wetter weather.  It makes for an interesting rat-a-tat-tat while driving across.

Jesse James! . . .

One never knows just what one is likely to run across; one of those unexpected oddities was when we discovered that Jesse James lived and farmed in the Duck River Bottoms under his alias, J. D. Howard.  

Large acreages of cultivated fields dot the region still, mostly planted to soybeans, which seem to be favored by the local deer.

Birdsong, pearls . . .

Our park was on the Birdsong Creek branch of Kentucky Lake.  Sorry to say it does not rate a recommendation from us.  It appears to me that if the name of a place includes "marina", the additional insertion of "resort" does nothing to alter the fact that it is going to be scuzzy.

Yes, we were on the lakeshore, or at least the edge of a parking lot that was on the shore; however, our site was barely usable even though it was the best there that could accommodate us.  The site was sloped so severely that our blocks were insufficient to the task of putting down the jack and stabilizers, at least until I wandered around and found a concrete block to add.  The fact that I could wander around the park and find debris says quite a lot about the place.

Our neighbors were long-term workers in the area, nice folks that we enjoyed getting to know.  They had settled in with all the paraphernalia that goes with camping for a goodly spell; in fact, the vast majority of other RVs there appeared to be extended stays or permanent vacation abodes - basically cluttered and junky.  The bathroom that was noted on the park map right behind our site was instead an empty building.  I could go on, but will stop with the warning not to camp there on a weekend if you prefer to spend your nights sleeping as that is when the place rocks out for hours to the incessant bass beat from karaoke over at the community center.

Most unique at the Birdsong Marina is the pearl farm just offshore from our spot.  All that is visible of it from the vantage point of the water's surface are a series of parallel plastic pipes.  From there, hang hundreds of metal baskets containing mussels that have been implanted with one to three irritants, destined hopefully to become pearls.

The freshwater pearl is Tennessee's official state gem, a rarity in nature.  At Birdsong, the watery facility is the only freshwater pearl culturing farm in North America.  After implantation of the irritant, we were told the mussels would be left undisturbed for three to ten years.  How anyone decides when to open 'er up to see if a Christmas gift has formed is beyond me.

We saw many samples of Tennessee River pearls in the resort's (I use the term loosely) pearl museum (I use that term even more loosely), but none compared to the exquisite Concho River pearls in Texas, which I covet.

A solitary great blue heron was seldom away from his perch atop the cultured pearl farm.

It seemed a little odd that although Caspian terns were diving for dinner in our lake, the first we had gotten on the trip, there were no gulls at all.  Despite the somewhat bleak surroundings, we had hummingbird wars at our feeders, the most we have encountered so far.

That region of Tennessee warrants many return trips; a lifetime of exploring would not suffice to discover all that awaits.

Our trailer is tucked up on that far bank around the bay from the fishing pier where I caught a sizable catfish.  Unfortunately, at the very same time the fish began to bite, so did the mosquitoes.  We tossed him back and ran for it without further ado.

My trusty fishing guide.

This semi-sunken tub, as I affectionately referred to it, was inexplicably tied up at the Birdsong Marina.

We climbed into the gorge to see Ozone Falls from the bottom as well as the dizzying view from its precipitous descent over the cliff.

There is a large rock grotto below Ozone Falls where one can admire the cataract from a different angle.

One specimen of the estimated 50 gazillion turtles we have seen on this journey.  If they are extra-terrestrial aliens prepared to take over the world, we are doomed.

The bizarre things one sees, causing one to wonder how many oddities one misses.  This snake was hanging vertically in the water with just its head out when I first spotted it.  After getting spooked by my poking and prodding, it hid partially under a rock, but continued to keep its head above water.