Another Tuesday

When there is plenty of water and more rain on the way, it becomes all to easy to not ride after work and instead sit down with a cold beer. Some days it is easy enough to convince oneself that riding in a downpour is going to be entertaining or even refreshing. However, on this particular Tuesday the persistent mugginess of the air, armpit sweat, red eyed radar, and thoughts of getting outside weren't enough to make a convincing argument to go ride.

The Little Juniata River is something I had vowed not to paddle at least until November. We had over done it and taken to many groups of paddlers down it in recent time to make it overly entertaining. But paddling from Tyrone to Huntingdon at night sounded like a good time. The mileage isn't anything astounding at just over 24 miles, but doing it at night with a 1/2 mile portage sounded a whole lot better than going for another soaking wet ride.

Brett, another hairy outdoor enthusiast, whom seemed equally as tired of riding in the rain as myself, decided he was very much into the spirit of the trip. It was only two in the afternoon when we really got an idea of what we where in for but decided we would hitch a ride to Tyrone and be on the water by 7pm. Generally darkness falls around 9pm but the fog came much earlier unpredictable.

Departing the launch with little more than two light sources, two paddles, a lighter, and small amount of hard cheese we each felt confident in our ability to navigate the 18 miles of the Little Juniata down to the confluence with the Frankstown Branch, paddle a long flat water section, locate the take out, portage the dam and paddle the remaining five miles of river back to Huntingdon.

The fog setting in above a set of rapids along the Little Juniata. 

No sooner had we departed the launch than we realized it was going to get dark quickly. Originally the plan was to get to the flatwater section by dark, as to get the tricky sections of the Little Juniata out of the way while we could still see. However, as the saying goes making plans is absolutely imperative but planning is utterly useless. 

Paddling through the old dam on the Little Juniata below Spruce Creek.

Things got dark. Jake sitting in the Green Boat.

The darkness came and so did the heavy fog. We made it to the natural area just below Spruce Creek when things finally became dark enough where listening to the river was more effective than looking at it.  You could begin to here trees in the water, pockets behind rocks, and long wave trains. As we continued this blindness only increased, and reliance on sound became the primary tool of navigation.

Fog so thick you could cut it with a knife.

The fog became so heavy that using a light proved useless. Being able to see the bow of the boat became nearly impossible. At times it was I couldn't even see Jake just a few feet away, in his bright green boat. As disorienting as this became we paddled on, wondering if we where going upstream, downstream, or in circles. Listening periodically for the rumbling of a dam in the distance proved more frustrating yet, as the passing trains made it difficult to discern any sounds at all.

Approaching the dam we paddled within feet of the bank for what seemed like miles, hoping that we would be able to see the overgrown underused take-out, marked only by a ragged blue tarp strapped high in the trees. Around midnight the tattered blue tarp came into view and so did the overgrown landing. Covered in bull frogs and high grass we began to trudge through the marsh and across a small peninsula. Finding the old portage trail proved relatively easy, portaging was the more difficult endeavor. Wading through stagnate mosquito larvae filled pools of algae for nearly a half mile was made much easier without being able to see the the actual larvae or pools. However, the feeling of rotting algae and other naturally decomposing organics oozing into my wetshoes was enough to keep me moving.

Wading through mud, bullfrogs, grass and other fun things in the dark.

Returning to the river smelling of decomposing swamp, we paddle with renewed excitement. We had finished the first two objectives. 

1. Make it down the little J in the dark 

2. Find the portage. 

The third was now simply make it back to Huntingdon. Which in little over an hour we made it from the breast of the dam back to the bright lights of the Fourth Street Bridge in Huntingdon. It was 1am on Wednesday morning and it had just been another Tuesday. 

Jake pulling the boat up the bank in Huntingdon.