This week, Brannon takes the baton from Davis' stellar beginning and continues telling us about Fort Exploration! In this tale, you'll hear about three men setting out on a four hour tour....er...wait - that's not right...or, er...maybe it is... You be the judge, but rest assured that it is the beginning of a story that can only be called epic!
My hands and feet tingled with excitement as we unloaded the kayaks and made last minute preparations for our six-and-a-half mile journey into the placid, muddy bayou southeast of St. Bernard Parish in southern Louisiana. Our destination was Battery Bienvenue and I could tell by the looks on my companions' faces that they were just – if not more – excited as was I.
Friends since high-school and all explorers by heart, Brian, Davis and I slid our kayaks into the water, the bottoms of the hulls scraping the rugged concrete of the simple boat ramp; beneath the sleepy, but perplexed gazes of a few local fishermen. We waved a friendly farewell, and a few of them responded in turn, while others merely shook their heads in disbelief. After all, why were three guys who were obviously not going fishing launching kayaks in the wee hours of the morning in a small parish that was half ghost-town and half-spook-house?
Why indeed?
I'm not really sure I can accurately answer that question. For some of us, like Davis, I think that it is a love of history and places of which we’ve read, researched and studied. To be able to trod the same earth where famous (or infamous) historical figures have walked; or to visit the locations which formed and shaped history into what we know it as today. For others, like Brian, I think there is a siren’s lure for the unknown and the newness of an experience not yet savored. Perhaps it is a desire to try something that others think foolish or impossible and to emerge successful on the far side; not for bragging rights (though, these are nice perks) but more for a sense of self-accomplishment and inner satisfaction. Maybe, for those like me, it is an unquenchable desire to keep pressing onward – to see what lies around the next bend in the river, or just over the next hilltop.
Or maybe we're all just plain crazy...
Nevertheless, we sliced through the cool, still early morning mist as our vessels sliced through the still, silty waters of the salt marsh. We were thankful for the lack of heat and humidity; for we knew that the respite from Louisiana’s oppressive heat and slogging humidity would be a brief one.
We crossed wide waterways and navigated narrow channels, spying nature’s treats here and there: a bank full of fiddler crabs, streaking towards breakfast or scuttling away from becoming it or a blue heron gazing at us with disdain for interrupting his morning hunt.
Just as we had worked up and past our first good sweat, we hit our first hiccup. In a nonchalant manner, our de-facto leader, Davis, beckoned us to his side. As Brian and I paddled towards him, he announced off-handedly.
"Oh, I forgot. We’ve coming up on the lock."
Blissfully ignorant, Brian and I simply shrugged our shoulders and conceded on a common impression. "Oh, ok. A lock... No big deal."
Famous. Last. Words.
Next update: Brannon Vs. The Lock, or, Near-death by Shrimpin’ Boat!
