Shortly after passing Bob Roberts Barbecue and Burkhalter Rigging, the motorist heading south on Highway 45 crosses three streams, Motley Slough, Gilmer Creek and Magowah Creek.
These small creeks are inconspicuous, and were it not for the occasional roadside fishermen on Gilmer, the middle creek, they would be lost in the blur of the passing scenery. “Occasional” is probably an understatement, as more afternoons than not, when the weather is fair, there are men along its banks sitting on white plastic buckets holding cane poles dreaming of fresh fish for supper.
The creeks wend their way through woods and fields and attract little notice except for the farmers who work the adjoining land and the deer hunters who place stands along their banks.
About a mile and a half due east of where Gilmer crosses Highway 45, it merges with Motley. The resulting stream then veers southeast, gaining strength as it takes in smaller flows before absorbing its little sister behind International Paper. The union is tenuous — the creeks unite, then split apart before swirling under bridges along Old Macon Road and eventually into the back channels of the Tombigbee at Hairston’s Bend near Camp Pratt.
For most of the year, Magowah, the most insignificant of these streams, appears to be little more than a drainage ditch. When there are sustained rains like last weekend’s, everything changes. Pastures alongside the highway become small reservoirs forcing cows to higher ground and the creeks become raging currents.
This was the scene a week ago as Ross Whitwam and I with the help of Eddie Johnson carried our kayaks across the muddy riprap adjoining Magowah Creek. Ross and Eddie judged the best entry point to be on the north side of the creek between the bridges on 45. Judging by the wet mud on the rocks, the creek had gone down four or five feet from its crest, probably sometime Saturday night.
The morning offered cold and light rain. We had no idea what we would encounter between Highway 45 and the boat landing at the gate of Camp Pratt.
We passed the first three or four miles paddling an uneventful straight channel past fields and deer camps, one of which featured a network of several dozen deer stands, raised plastic pre-manufactured cubicles with Plexiglas windows. A large beaver surfaced about 10 feet in front of my kayak and swam along for about 15 seconds before he slapped his tail and disappeared.
At one point the creek became too obstructed so we detoured through flooded fields. We navigated through dense woods (thrilling) and equally dense undergrowth (not so thrilling).
Shortly after paddling over Old Macon Road, I noticed something in the crotch of a tree. Probably a stick that resembled an animal. Turning back for a closer look, we discovered a refugee, a stranded rabbit.
Upon seeing the cell phone picture I made of the marooned bunny, my granddaughter asked her dad, “Did he rescue it?” Maybe we should have, but the creature looked to be on the verge of a heart attack so we kept our distance.
How did the rabbit get into the tree and can rabbits swim? Internet sources say yes. The intro to a YouTube video titled “Brownie, the Swimming Bunny” reflects the consensus of online wisdom on the subject:
Rabbits are capable of swimming and they’ve adapted to water. If they hadn’t, they wouldn’t have webbing on their paws, fat to keep them buoyant nor the natural instinct to paddle. Marsh rabbits swim to escape predators in the wild all the time. I DO NOT ENCOURAGE ANYONE TO PUT THEIR PET RABBIT INTO A SWIMMING POOL.
Finally, after running a gauntlet of bamboo breaks, bushes and small trees we emerged into the backwaters of the Tombigbee. At which point we figured we were home free.
Thick, impenetrable mats of water hyacinth lay before us. The back channels of the Waterway are becoming clogged with this invasive pest. The only way to navigate these floating rugs of vegetation is to avoid them altogether or if in a kayak, pull your boat while sitting in it, which requires considerable exertion.
We have the Japanese to thank for this scourge, according to Wikipedia. A visiting delegation to the 1884 World Cotton Centennial handed out water hyacinths as gifts — the plant has a lovely lavender bloom. We’ve been trying to eradicate it ever since.
What about kudzu, you ask. Don’t we have the Japanese to thank for that, too? Yes, they brought it to our shores eight years earlier at the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia.
Once free from the grip of the water hyacinth, we made it to the landing, three hours after put-in and just slightly the worse for wear.
Later in the week, after our excursion, I asked local historian Rufus Ward about the origins of the word Magowah. The late Tom Hardy told Rufus someone who knew the language told him the word in Choctaw means impassable water or swamp.
That much, at least, hasn’t changed.
Birney Imes ([email protected]) is the former publisher of The Dispatch.
Birney Imes III is the immediate past publisher of The Dispatch.
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