Memorial Day Weekend 2006 — Warsaw to Zanesville
Besides the occasional and sometimes persistent stench of gray water, it was a delightful Memorial Day weekend on the Walhonding and Muskingum rivers.
It’s the best of both worlds when it rains just before a canoe trip, then is sunny for the whole weekend. Except for trash and raw sewage washed into the river by heavy rains.
My friends, Joe and Mike, had been on the river since the previous Saturday. I put them on at Mohican Wilderness between Spellacy and Greer. They had great weather until Thursday. Then the storms hit. They got plenty of rain, but were spared the strong winds and hail that went along with it up in the headwaters.
I picked them up in Dresden Friday evening of Memorial Weekend. By then, the rains had stopped everywhere but Dresden.
Mike decided to throw in the towel. Joe and I planned to put in at Six Mile Dam on the Walhonding Saturday morning and finish up Monday afternoon at Zanesville.
Mike offered to help us set up the shuttle, but his car developed a nasty croup from the damp air (or too much smoking). He limped it back to Cleveland while Joe and I set up our shuttle with the help of Yellow Cab.
I put one of the canoes on my Ranger and drove to Zanesville. It was one of Joe's canoes, which a previous owner had named Pale Face. There is nothing on it to identify the manufacturer. It’s a malformed aluminum boat that looks as though it were made by a couple of guys working out of rented garage. It's finished in a cream-colored marine enamel (hence the nickname) and decorated just beneath the gunwales with a faux Indian design running from bow to stern. (No doubt inspired by the Fugawee Tribe.)
Joe's proud of Pale Face, mostly because he only paid $150 for it.
He bought it from a guy in a bar, who used the money to drive to New Orleans. Not because he particularly wanted to go there, but because he wanted to get as far away from God-awful ugly canoe as that $150 would take him.
I parked my truck in a brightly lit spot in front of a downtown Ford dealership and slipped around the corner. I didn’t want the cabby to pick me up there. I wanted to lure the car salesmen into a false sense of security — that, maybe, Pale Face would be there for an hour or two at most.
As a journalist, I’ll admit I’m among the most loathsome of creatures, on par with lawyers and telemarketers. But, at least, we reporters can take comfort that, in the scheme of things, we are head and shoulders above car dealers.
I chortled to myself as I disappeared around the corner, knowing the car salesmen would have to stare helplessly at Pale Face for the entire weekend.
I sat down in front of the Police Station and called a cab.
One arrived momentarily. The driver had picked up three teenage girls beforehand and would drop them off at the mall on the way out of town.
As the cab pulled away, one of the girls asked, “Did you just get out of jail?”
Cab drivers enjoy canoe shuttles. Mostly because it gets them out of town, where they don't have to haul carloads of smart aleck teenagers to the mall.
We arrived at Six Mile Dam at about 11:30 a.m. and Joe and I were on the river shortly after noon.
We weren't on the water five minutes when we saw our first bald eagle.
It was dead and floating in the river.
Just kidding. Although, if it had been, it would have easily beaten us to Zanesville. With the current clipping along, sometimes at 5-6 mph, our main objective wasn’t to get to Zanesville by Monday afternoon. It was to find as many ways as possible to avoid getting there sooner.
In other words, it was the perfect canoe trip scenario.
We found our first diversion just north of Coshocton. Joe and I paddled up what I had always assumed was the entrance to the canal, where tourists can take canal boat rides. Around the first bend, we came upon a fisherman on the bank who was anxious to show off his catch, two fairly impressive channel catfish.
The water seemed sluggish at first, like paddling through Joe's sausage gravy. We thought it just felt that way because we had gotten used to the fast current out on the river. Then we began to notice subtle signs of current moving against us. We realized it wasn't connected to the canal but we pressed on. Joe and I paddled a mile or so through the winding channel, which was wooded on one side and clear-cut on the other.
The wooded side seemed to follow what I (correctly) assumed was State Route 83. The clear-cut side — inasmuch as I’m not a fan of the practice — served as habitat for all kinds of wildflowers, songbirds, butterflies and plastic beverage containers. (Which, thanks to Ohio’s business-driven rejection of a mandatory deposits, will never be an endangered species.)
After we had our fill of butterflies, songbirds and the intermittent buzz of traffic on Route 83, we headed back downstream.
The fisherman was still there. He asked us where we were headed and we told him.
We declined his offer to pile our stuff into his truck and drive to Zanesville instead of paddling.
I asked him if he knew the name of the creek.
“Ellifino,” he replied.
We decided Ellifino Creek was as good a name as any.
After we got home, I looked the the stream up on a map and found that, before we discovered it, it was known as Mill Creek.
I like our name better.
I decided we should camp at the island by Wills Creek Saturday night. Joe reluctantly agreed. He and Mike scouted it out the previous week and found the landing too muddy.
I have a higher tolerance for mud and better sandals. Joe struggled a bit unloading his canoe and vowed to kick my behind. Fortunately, he couldn’t lift his feet high enough because there was about 10 pounds of mud on each one.
The river came up about six inches overnight and was moving even faster than it had been Saturday. We would have plenty of time for diversions.
We made the most of it, paddling into the old gravel pits upstream of Dresden.
The Muskingum has a (well-earned) reputation for being an industrial river. But, over the years, we have found places off the beaten path that rival some of Ohio’s best natural areas — including the gravel pits. It consists of a series of flooded pits, separated by strips of land (that probably served as haul roads). If you wend your way back to the largest pit, the water is clean and cool, apparently spring-fed.
It was hot, and Joe had not bathed for eight days, so we beached the canoes on a partially submerged island and went for a swim. It’s hard to say which was more refreshing, the cool, clean water of the thought of not having to stay upwind of Joe for the next two days. Much less drive him home.
Just outside of Dresden, we paddled up Wakatamika Creek until the current overcame our ambition. Mostly, it was for the sake of diversion, but we also had entertained thoughts of finding a shortcut to Dresden so Joe could get some ice.
Years ago, I was told by a local that you could get close to the commercial strip of Dresden by paddling up a creek. I realized Wakatamika meandered north of the village by a mile or so, but thought maybe there was a tributary or old canal that led into town.
We did find what appeared to be traces of an old canal or possibly an (unnaturally straight) intermittent stream. But, even with the river running high, it was mostly dry.
However, we didn't let this divert us from our primary mission, which was to spend every possible minute of daylight paddling and playing along the river.
Joe and I stopped at a gravel bar near the Trinway Road [ck] bridge, where we found all sorts of old pottery shards worn smooth by the current. I gathered a few of the more unusual specimens, which would serve as fodder for archaeological lectures around the campfire.
We made one more stop before Ellis Dam. Joe hiked into Dresden for ice while I stayed with the boats.
Meanwhile, I set up my folding chair in a few inches of water and grilled some chorizo on the bank. A good-sized water snake swam by to see what I was doing and beat a hasty retreat under Joe's canoe when I got up to turn the sausages.
Joe returned just as they were done. As we sat there eating dinner, another water snake, this time a much smaller one, swam along the edge of the water. Joe spooked it and it darted under my chair.
We made Ellis just before sunset.
The campground was crowded, which we expected. But it was clean and quiet, which was a total surprise.
Ellis Lock and Dam had deteriorated to the point that it was a place to hold your nose and portage. The lock became dysfunctional years ago and the campground gradually followed suit. It had become a haven for gang-bangers or gang-banger wannabes from the local towns — trashed literally and figuratively.
But, two years ago, an area couple volunteered to be full-time caretakers and turned the place around. They've cleaned it up and run off the riffraff.
Joe griped about having to pay $13 to camp there, even though it was my $13. But he tempered his criticism when one of the caretakers helped shuttle our canoes the next morning.
As we loaded our boats, Joe started dancing around in the shallows and announced that a minnow had swam into his river shoe.
He sat down and took off the shoe. The minnow was dead.
“I must have squashed it,” he said.
“No, I think your foot funk got to it first,” I told him.
It was even hotter than the previous day, with temperatures nudging 90 degrees. We paddled all the way to Zanesville hugging the bank so we could stay out of the sun.
The wake from the wave runners and power boats made things interesting. Joe was so impressed, he waved to some of the passing boats. But they never waved back.
We landed behind the fire station at about 3 o'clock. The downtown streets were empty — except for my Ranger. And old Pale Face.
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