LA Part 6

Thursday, May 18: Simmesport

After breakfast with Henry this morning, he invited me to ride down to Baton Rouge with him to spend the afternoon. Henry is a veterinarian, and he had some work to do with the Department of Agriculture in Baton Rouge. I spent the day at the State Capitol, on its observatory tower, and sitting on the banks of the Mississippi River watching barge traffic.

When we arrived back in Simmesport, I had the opportunity to watch Henry perform an autopsy on a cat and then check to see if a cow was pregnant --the hard way. I couldn't bring myself to take pictures of either of these veterinarian events, so you will have to use your imagination. I will tell you that for determining if the cow was pregnant, he wore a glove that extended up to his shoulder. I guess that you would get used to it, if you were a veterinarian. Tomorrow morning, I get to watch a dog being spayed. I will most likely be walking tomorrow afternoon.

Friday, May 19, 2000: near Torras, Louisiana

Today started like any other day, except for the fact that I had an 8:00am appointment to watch my veterinarian friend surgically remove the ovaries of a chocolate labrador. It was fascinating. I can't say that I have ever seen anything like it before. Henry and his assistant Karen were kind enough to explain what was happening during the operation, answer my questions, and let me take pictures. It was a fascinating experience, and highly recommended if you know a veterinarian. If you are wondering why her legs are tied down (like I did,) it's a precaution taken in case she wakes up during the procedure.

Henry has a camp on the Old River about twenty-three miles from Simmesport, and he told me that I would be welcome to stay there on my way to New Roads. Because the weathermen have been talking about rain coming this weekend, I started walking towards Henry's camp this afternoon with hopes that I would at least have a place to stay out of the rain tomorrow night. I walked through Simmesport, over the bridge and across the Atchafalaya River, and then returned to the back roads that would eventually lead me to Henry's camp.

I walked past a house on the way where I saw a fella relaxing in a lawn chair in his garage. It was a good time to ask for water, and possibly meet another friendly person. His name is Aaron, and he asked me why I was walking across America, like about 90% of the people that I ask for water do. I told him what I usually say to that question, "Because I am seeing the country and getting a chance to meet the people who live here, and I really just enjoy doing it." That seemed like a good enough answer for Aaron, and after I filled my water bottles from his hose, he said, "Well, why don't you have a seat."

Aaron is seventy-eight years old and retired from farming now. Although I walked up his driveway with a fifty-pound backpack asking him for water, he treated me like I belonged there, like he knew me already and I had just stopped by for a visit. I felt welcome.

Aaron spent some time in Guam during World War II, and had some interesting things to tell me about his experiences. He also invited me inside to watch the end of Jeopardy (there were special tournament episodes this week, and he wanted to see who ended up winning it), and then we watched the local weather. Rain isn't supposed to come until Saturday evening now. That's good news.

I am camping tonight in the woods next to a two-mile navigation canal that connects the Mississippi and Achafalaya Rivers. I ended the day with a swim in the canal and then had dinner while watching barges float in and out of the lock system. It was a good day.

Saturday, May 20, 2000: near Batchelor, Louisiana

I woke up this morning to the sound of thunder. As expected, when I got out of my tent to look at the sky, there were dark clouds moving in fast. The weatherman had been mistaken. He had promised that it wasn't going to rain until late this evening. I quickly packed up my gear and headed towards the nearest bridge. Underneath it, I spent the morning staying dry, listening to music, reading, and watching the rain fall down around me.

The rain finally stopped, and I walked up to the very secure and official-looking gate of the Old River Navigation Canal and Lock. The gate was locked, and there was a sign indicating that it was closed to visitors on the weekends. I knew from talking with Aaron yesterday that the next house was going to be about a three mile walk, so figured that I might as well give it a shot and rang the intercom to ask a familiar question, "Do you mind if I fill up some water bottles?" Lately it has been a question that I have asked more often than usual, because I have been loosing about two quarts of water per hour through my pores due to Southern Louisiana's extraordinary combination of heat and humidity. A woman named Janet answered on the tiny intercom speaker, and I asked her if I could fill up my water bottles. She agreed to my request, and the gate began to roll open.

Janet, like most everyone around here, is an extremely friendly person, and she invited me up to the lock's control room for some pizza that was left over from her daughter's high school graduation party last night. Although it was Saturday, and I would definitely be classified as a visitor, she gave me a tour of the facility and explained some things about how the lock and canal system works and what she does there. Being a friendly person sometimes involves breaking some unfriendly rules. I seem to be in this pocket of Louisiana that contains an extremely high volume of friendly people. I don't know how long it is going to last, but I just keep enjoying it everyday in hopes that it will never end.

The voice of a captain out on the Atchafalaya River came over the radio requesting to pass through the lock into the Mississippi, and I had the opportunity to watch Janet at work. I also talked with a deckhand on the barge named Larry who told me that his job didn't pay all that well, but he enjoyed floating on the river all day. That was exactly what I was thinking last night while I was watching the barges float in and out of the lock system. It looked like a low-paying job that would allow one to float on the river all day --something that I would probably enjoy doing for awhile. If you look closely at the picture on the left, you can see him standing on the front of the boat helping to guide the captain into the lock.

There are some very incredible things that happen here in this area called, "Three Rivers." First, if you take a map of the United States and draw a line from here all the way up to the top of Idaho, and then draw another line from here all the way up to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, you can see that all of the water that flows between the two lines eventually channels right through here. I don't know about you, but that is incredible to me. It just seems like such an unbelievable amount of water. All the water eventually flows into the Gulf of Mexico through either the Mississippi River or the Atchafalaya River.

Another incredible thing that takes place here is due to the fact that the distance to the Gulf on the Atchafalaya River is 142 miles, whereas the distance to the Gulf on the Mississippi is 315 miles. Since water has a way of always wanting to take the shortest, steepest route when it floods, the Mississippi River has really wanted to flow down the Atchafalaya for quite a few years now. In 1955, when it became apparent that the Mississippi would eventually do just that, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers built a control structure that today still allows what they call a strict "70-30 flow." 70% of the Mississippi's water is forced to flow down the Mississippi, while 30% is allowed to flow into the Atchafalaya.

It is an immense job and requires an incredible amount of money to keep something as powerful as the Mighty Mississippi River during flood stages from doing exactly what it wants to do. There have been many floods over the years that have threatened the existence of the Old River control structures, and some have permanently damaged it. So, they keep on repairing it and maintaining that 70-30 flow. There are miles and miles of chemical plants and refineries on the banks of the Mississippi from Baton Rouge to New Orleans depending on the fresh water for their processes, and the barge traffic has kind of grown attached to using the ports in the two cities.

A couple of engineers named Tom and Charlie were out on a road trip and decided to drive through the area to have a look at the various control structures that I have been describing. Naturally, Janet invited them on up, and so they got to enjoy the Saturday tour as well. Tom told me that he has a website called swimmingholes.org, where one kind find directions to various swimming holes around the country. I haven't had the internet connection required to check it out yet, but it sounds interesting. If you click on the picture of Tom, you will go to his site. Tom also told me that he, as well as some other folks, believe that someday the Mississippi River will eventually flow down the Atchafalaya whether the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers wants it to, or not.

Tuesday, May 23, 2000: Henry's camp

I have spent the past few days at Henry's camp on the Old River. The Old River used to be the main channel of the Mississippi River, but the river changed its course (like it decides to do sometimes.) As the Mississippi River slowly meanders its way to the Gulf, it travels back and forth, east to west, in wide curves. When the river floods, it takes a shortcut, leaving behind the old channel's wide curve to become a long, curved lake that is sometimes called an "oxbow lake" or a "false river." So, to guy like myself who hasn't spent all that much time in Southern Louisiana (but learning more everyday,) it looks like the Mississippi River, but it is a lake. I have seen quite a few of them on my maps, but the Old River is the first one that I have lived next to, taken a swim in, and watched a few sunsets on. Regarding the picture to the right: I am assuming that this is what used to be Henry's dock. It is a wonderful place to catch the sunset.

The folks on this side of the levee either build their camps up high in the air, or build them ready to be moved. The Old River has a tendency to rise now and then with the Mississippi. If their camp is not raised high in the air or built to move, they clean everything out of it, wait until it is not submerged under water anymore, and then move everything back in. There is a little restaurant and bar down the road called the Old River Landing that is like that, and they just deal with the fact their place is going to be underwater now and then. The nice lady who owns it, another friendly person named Janet, told me stories of moving everything including the commodes out of the place, waiting for the water to subside, then moving everything back in only to move it all back out two weeks later when the water rose again.

Today, when Janet found out that I had never tasted the Southern Louisiana delicacy called boudin balls, we drove to a restaurant in Morganza that served them. We also drove through Batchelor, and she pointed out a chimney from an old sugar cane factory that is still standing in some farmer's field of winter wheat. It is on the National Registry (of what I don't know, possibly historic chimneys) and that means that it can't be touched even if you own the land, so there it stands in the middle of a field. The farmer was partaking in a popular ritual around here this time of year, the burning of what's left on the land after the harvesting of wheat. As I stood on the railroad tracks taking this picture, he pulled up in his truck and said, "When you make a lot of money with that picture, you'll remember to send some to me?" I agreed.

Henry's camp (folks down here call them camps, but up north they would call it a cabin) has provided me with a great place to catch up on some writing, reading, thinking, and relaxing. It has also been a place for me to enjoy the finer things in life, like sleeping indoors, taking a shower every day, and growing to appreciate one of man's finest technological achievements, the air-conditioner.

I had to walk into Batchelor yesterday to buy some groceries. It was about six miles round trip, and I just couldn't believe how fast it went without fifty pounds on my back. The nice lady at the grocery suggested that I look into one of those high-tech baby strollers with mountain bike tires, but I just don't think I would feel comfortable pushing my stuff the rest of the way across America in a baby stroller. However, I did give it some thought on the way back to Henry's camp.