St. Stephen's Park, Day Two

Keeping on

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Woke up nice and late, 7 am. Have to admit, my bivy shelter locks in condensation like nobody's business, even with all the mosquito-net openings. At least I was as dry as a duck in my sleeping bag. Got the camera out before I packed up:

Beautiful to wake up to; the picture barely shows the wisps of mist that clung to the river's surface.

Pressing on, I hiked back to the park concession, making a few short stops along the way.

I stopped and made breakfast at the top of a 70-foot cliff, the rim of an old quarry section out of service long enough to grow a healthy covering of grass and trees. One word of caution: Backpacker's Pantry Powdered Eggs with Bacon is a packet of disgusting, execrable shit, and that's coming from a guy with the digestion of a hyena! I choked down half of it and tossed out the rest to torment the wildlife. I'll stick to MREs next time, thankyouverymuch.

Anyhow, passing over the crummy chow, it was a pleasant breakfast spot, a clear, crisp morning, perched high with a spectacular view of the old quarry floor below.
View from the bottom:

Once I returned to the car it was time for more kayaking. I decided to poke around the lake this time. I wish I could find a survey; it's clear that in spots the water is pretty deep. Drop something there, consider it lost to the ages.
More disused mining gear:

1920s-vintage Bucyrus-Erie steam-shovel, sitting with its tracks in the mud. Seems they left a rather large number of these obsolete hulks, where they lay, all over the country.

Perfectly calm. Relaxed. Like me, for the first time since I can remember. Did I mention that I feel ill at ease in my house now?



But, once again, all good things must end. I had to beach, load-up, and head home. The absolute calm I had felt from the moment I got to St. Stephens evaporated once I was stuck again in traffic among Mobile's Horde of Retards™. It's all been downhill from there.

St. Stephens Park- Day One

Camping in a ghost town

It only took three months, but I finally got consecutive days off. I've been waiting for the opportunity to take a camping trip. Loaded up with my kayak, pack, and two days' food, I set out for the recently-opened St. Stephens Historical Park, which includes the archaeological dig of an 1820's-vintage ghost town on the banks of the Tombigbee River.

The park lies on the site of a long-disused limestone quarry; Old, rusted-out mining equipment lies strewn about the lake, left where it lay when Lone Star Cement Company pulled up stakes (Cemex Southeast still quarries limestone a few hundred yards from the park). The site was quarried from around the 1920s until the site was shut down sometime in the last 30 years.

Disused gravel conveyor, used to load gravel from the quarry onto river barges:

I paddled about a mile upstream and settled down for lunch. My camp stove is a rickety, home-made rig ( two soda cans put together, burning denatured alcohol), but it will bring two cups of water to a boil in 90 seconds:


The pot stand is made from coat-hanger wire. Rickety as hell. Have to be careful stirring food. It's burning, but in daylight denatured alcohol burns clear, so mind your hands!!!

Completely isolated. Except for passing river barges and the attendant at the park store, I spent almost 24 hours without seeing a single human being. I needed the time alone. After taking the kayak back to the launch, I slung my pack and set off on a 2.5-mile hike back to the spot where I put ashore for lunch, making camp in the treeline high up the bank:

Once I made camp, gathered a few hours' firewood, and cooked my dinner, I watched the sun go down, turning in with a book and dropping off to sleep about 7 or 8 pm. A wonderful, restful night of sleep, thought a little chilly late (40s). Owls, deer, and coyotes made for the occasional hoot, rustle, and howl. I feel a little ill-at-ease in my house now, as a matter of fact.