Trip Report - Eat at Dons
 

Pocomoke Weekend of Rivers Trip

As I was working on the trip notes from the annual Duckhead weekend of
rivers trip to Milburn Landing I looked back through the photo
archives and found the earliest evidence of (pre) Duckheads group
paddling the Pocomoke. Dated 1983, so this was our 22nd year of
camping, canoeing and carousing at the Pocomoke River State Park

http://www.dnr.state.md.us/publiclan...mokeriver.html

While we usually have 80+ participants in attendance and had, as
usual, booked every site in the park, we were due a special guest in
2004 – Hurricane Charlie, come to visit all the way from landfall in
Florida. With the hurricane forecast to arrive sometime Saturday night
many of the usual suspects opted to stay home and batten down the
hatches. Still, true Duckheads can't be put off by the weather, and we
eventually totaled 47 campers and paddlers in attendance, despite the
forecast of Charlie's wrath.

Thursday 8/12/04 Night Float
Pocomoke City to Milburn Landing (4.8 miles)

OC1 – Mike McCrea, Tom Wilhelm, Bob Wilhelm, Kevin Finch, Joe Steiner
OC2 – Les Leedy/Robalee Leedy,
K1 – Ann Muldoon, Pam Gunter

Ah, the joys of night paddling, black water seeming more inky, more
silky, more fluid, maybe your senses are especially connected to the
water because there is no visual distraction and you are soley
dependant on touch and feel and movement.

One of my favorite moments of any night float is when a first-time
after dark paddler invariable utters, "This is so cool". One of my
other favorite moments is when a night paddler finds a barely
submerged cypress knee with the hull of their boat and suddenly begins
spinning in circles that would be the envy of any freestyle paddler.

Eventually Joe was dislodged from the cypress knee. Little did we know
that Joe mishaps would be a recurring feature of the weekend's
paddling activities.

As we progressed down the river it began to rain and, like the
frequency of don't-try-this-at-home Joe demonstrations, little did we
realize that rain on paddling trips would be the theme for the
weekend. In the rain and the dark we nearly missed the take out, saved
only by the faint glow of lights from the campground.

Arising Friday morning to find the rain still with us we opted for a
restaurant breakfast at Dons in Pocomoke City. We were headed in that
direction anyway, planning to launch from the landing at Winter's
Quarter Lane on the Pocomoke for a trip up Dividing Creek. Little did
we know that eating at Dons would be another recurring feature of this
trip

Friday 8/13/04
Dividing Creek (12 miles)
OC1 – Mike McCrea, Tom Wilhelm, Bob Wilhelm, Kevin Finch
K1 – Ann Muldoon

The hard rain and incoming tide had brought the Pocomoke up to a very
high level, floodwaters being another recurring theme for the weekend.
While this boded well for finally reaching the headwaters of Dividing
Creek (the Holy Grail of Pocomoke trips) our frequent stops under
sheltering trees and bridges to dodge sudden downpours delayed our
progress upcreek, and Dividing Creek's headwaters remain a future
Duckhead objective.

The paddle out of Dividing Creek featured a visual oddity I've never
encountered before; following Tom down the rain spattered creek the
reflection of the trees ahead of his canoe made it hard to determine
where the forest stopped and the water began, and the ripples from his
bow wake threw off a mirage-like horizon line. Every time I looked
ahead it appeared that Tom was about to fall down an abrupt drop.
Although Tom falling down is not uncommon, it's usually back at camp
and late in the evening's festivities.

(Note to Ed Gertler – We have probed back well beyond the
guidebook-noted 5 mile limit of navigability on Dividing Creek trips
that combined high tide with floodwater rains. Also, my 1996 4th
edition of your wonderfully comprehensive Maryland and Delaware Canoe
Trails lists the gradient as "excellent" – uh, Ed, even when flooded
the gradient is still nearly nil)

Perhaps next year, if pluviality prevails, we will plan to put in at
the Fleming Mill Pond bridge, probe up as far as possible and then
float back to Pocomoke City. The Duckheads still have a lot of
unexplored river and tributaries along the Pocomoke. We haven't been
down the 8-mile section from Rte 364 to Whiton Crossing in a decade
(not since the infamous strainer run from hell of '93), haven't yet
covered the lower river from Pocomoke City to Rehobeth, and haven't
bagged upper Nassawango Creek or Marumsco Creek. We still have plenty
of unexplored water in Worcester and Somerset counties.

Back acamp the NOAA forecast did not sound promising; with a storm
track potentially putting Charlie atop us on Saturday night. I made
the rounds of the sodden campsites and saturated campers to announce
that, if by Saturday morning Charlie was still predicted to whack us,
I might consider packing up and getting out of Dodge before any shore
evacuation was underway. Apparently using the words "hurricane" and
"evacuation" in the same sentence was enough, or perhaps too much, for
Elaine and she hurriedly packed up and departed, preferring the big
city company of sex offenders, murderers and crazed drug addicts to a
visit from Charlie.

Friday Night Float (4.8 miles)
OC1 – Mike McCrea, Tom Wilhelm, Bob Wilhelm, Mary Beth Rochowiak,
Steffi Muller
OC2 – Frank Weichold, Lena Weichold, Anna Weichold
K1 – Sally Baker, Vitas Eidukivicius, Mary Eidukivicius, Ann Muldoon,
Vic Chenowith

After another rainy dinner at Dons the night floaters headed back to
the river to take advantage of a break in the weather, with the
Weichold clan, Vic and Mary Beth opting to put in from camp and paddle
downriver to meet us half way. With a slack tide the direction of
travel on the Pocomoke was easy enough either way, and midway through
our return to camp the ghostly shape of Frank's vintage Champion
suddenly appeared beside us as though conjured up by an illusionist's
magic trick.

Oh, yeah, the break in the weather didn't hold. It rained.

Saturday morning was wet and promised to stay wet. Back to Dons for
another breakfast that couldn't be beat and then back to camp to
solicit preferences on where to paddle.

Saturday 8/14/04
Pocomoke River, Milburn Landing to Shad Landing and back (8 miles)
OC1 – Mike McCrea, Tom Wilhelm, Bob Wilhelm, Joe Steiner, Emily
Proctor, Steffi Muller
OC2 – Jim Hepner, Chris Hepner, Les Leedy, Robalee Leedy, Mike Yates,
Mikey Yates, Dan Gillespie, Sara Gillespie, Frank Weichold, Lena
Weichold, Anna Weichold
K1 - Vitas Eidukivicius, Mary Eidukivicius, Sally Baker, Pam Gunter,
Kara Brown, Ben Palmer, Vic Chenowith,

Pondering the possibilities and weighing the consequences we decided
to tackle the lower Nassawango and I circled the campground to
distribute maps and give a heads up on departure. Oh, wait, the last
time we tried Nassawango in a heavy rain the bridges and sides of the
road were flooded, with no high ground to park the vehicles.

OK, Plan B, we'll try the Pocomoke above Snow Hill, with no low water
bridges and flood-safe parking for the cars. I make the rounds again
with the change of plans. Oh, wait, the last time we did the upper
Pocomoke in a heavy rain there were mishaps, including a canoe that
was pinned out of sight in a strainer.

OK, plan C, we'll use the flood-safe put in at Snow Hill to launch and
paddle back to camp. I make the rounds again with the latest change of
plans. Oh, wait, that section means 8 miles of open water paddling and
the wind is picking up as Charlie approaches.

OK, Plan Z, we'll put in right here from camp and paddle the 1.9 miles
up to the mouth of Nassawango Creek, poke up Nassawango and then float
back to camp. No shuttle required, if the wind picks up or people get
wet, cold, exhausted or scared they could just turn around and come
back. Plan Z is a winner; the simplest solution is the best solution.

In actuality Plan Z would have worked better if I hadn't been reading
the map upside down. You know, if you look at a mileage notation
upside down on a map it is really easy to confuse 6.1 miles with 1.9
miles.

As I led the way up the Pocomoke I would occasionally inform the other
paddlers that Nassawango Creek must be right around the next corner.
As I led the way up the Pocomoke I would occasionally cursed Ed
Gertler for the obvious mistake in his guidebook mileage. As I led the
way up the Pocomoke I kept thinking that this was the longest 1.9
miles I had ever paddled. As I led the way up the Pocomoke I
eventually came to Shad Landing four miles upriver and decided that
perhaps I should stop paddling and look at the map. Ooops.

Rafting up in the lily pads in the rain (oh, yeah, of course it was
raining) we debated – head back four miles downriver against the wind
and tide to camp, or float four miles up to Snow Hill with the wind
and tide and hope the outfitter is open to buy a ride back to camp.
The deciding factor in our decision was Vitas' offer to paddle down to
camp in his sea kayak and drive up to Snow Hill to fetch us.

A generous offer, but one made by a man sporting the look of a
trickster in his eyes and a saturated WWII tanker's cap atop his head.
Picture Donald Sutherland in "Kelly's Heros", but with more of a damp,
demented look. We decided to take no such chances and paddled back to
camp.

En route back to camp I was heartened by the thought that the
Rochowiaks had vacated their cabin before we left, and paddled on
through the deluge, looking forward to a dry changing room and DIY
alehouse for the night.

Only to have my hopes dashed on arrival at camp, discovering that Jane
had won the mad rush for a waterproof dwelling, declaring "Possession
in nine tenths of the law". Since Jane had two young daughters and two
young nieces with her, all of them damp, and had already made the
cabin beds complete with turned down sheets and stuffed animals on the
pillows I decided that I could just as well stay wet for another
night. Jane, it was the hospital corners on the sheets, the precise
triangular turn down on the blankets and the stuffed animals on each
pillow that did the trick.

And the rain beat down. Where to go for dinner? Don's, of course.
Entering the restaurant we espied a table full of Duckheads here,
another there. And as we ate more and more Duckheads gave up attempts
to dine in the downpour and headed for Dons. In the end the entire
camp arrived in two and threes at Dons, all excepting Chef Vic, whose
Dutch ovens are well-seasoned and impervious to the scud and Tom, who
was oddly insistent on cooking a roast despite all entreaties to come
and join us for oyster stew, crab cakes and waitress joshing.

Returning to camp we huddled under the tarps and created a dangerous
new Duckhead tradition. One by one each tarp denizen was required to
return to their camp and fetch back "interesting things to drink" in a
Dollar Store toy basket. An eclectic collection of intoxicants grew on
the table. Grew and grew as the rain slackened and miraculously
stopped, allowing us to partake in another Duckhead tradition,
sleeping it off on the dock. Thanks to Tom for returning to throw a
blanket over me and to Frank for encouraging me to believe that I
could in fact rise from the prone position and walk back to camp. It
was all the toy basket's fault I tell you.

By now you can probably guess that it was raining on Sunday morning,
and you can probably guess where we went for breakfast.

Sunday 8/15/04
Pocomoke River, Porters Crossing to Snow Hill (5.1 miles)
OC1 – Mike McCrea, Kevin Finch, Joe Steiner, Anna Weichold
OC2 – Jim Hepner, Chris Hepner, Frank Weichold, Lena Weichold
K1 – Sally Baker, Vic Chenowith, Kara Brown, Pam Gunter

After the usual gluttony of a Dons breakfast, where a short stack
means you only get two pancakes the size of Frisbees (the 175 gram
Ultimate model) and where the omelets fully span a ten inch dinner
plate, we headed off for Porters Crossing to drop boats.

Joe apparently heard something about dropping boats and elected not to
tie his canoe in the truck bed at all, so that when he crossed the
intersection of Rte's 12 and 354 his boat remained behind, forming a
large blue speed bump for oncoming tractor-trailers. Joe was able to
scurry back and retrieve it none the worse for wear. Tough stuff that
Royalex.

This section of the Pocomoke, from Porters Crossing to Snow Hill, is
the easiest – there is a nice current for most of the run to carry you
along and the Pocomoke River Canoe Company labors to keep the
strainers to a manageable few.

http://www.atbeach.com/amuse/md/canoe/

This is also a good section for native flora and fauna, with wild
turkeys in the trees, resurrection fern in woody cracks and crevices
and water snakes on every limb and branch. As we paused for lunch at
the usual hillside stopping point (pee break - boys to the left, girls
to the right) the Weichold clan appeared in their Champion, having
paddled up from Snow Hill to again meet us halfway. Maybe that's what
I like about Frank, he's always willing to meet you halfway and he
paddles that Champion like he was born to it.

Oh, yeah, it rained. What else is new.

Back at camp we decided to tough it out and cook dinner. Well, not
really tough it out since Jane and the girls had departed and we had a
cabin. And not really cook dinner, since Chef Vic had already prepared
Dutch oven chili and gumbo all we had to do was fire up a stove and
reheat it. Mary and Vitas drove by, going to Dons for dinner. Joe and
Pam swung by, going to Dons for dinner. Jim and Chris waved as they
passed, going to Dons for dinner.

Oh what the hell, lets go to Dons for dinner. Good choice because,
guess what, it rained. Poured. Deluged. All night long and into the
morning. By sunrise the campground was flooded and we could paddle
from site to site, using the picnic tables as slalom gates. And so, of
course, breakfast was at the same old place. Or the old same place.
Dons. "My regular table, and I'll have the usual".

Monday 8/16/04
Nassawango Creek/Pocomoke River (5.5 miles)
OC1 – Mike McCrea, Tom Wilhelm, Jim Hepner, Chris Hepner, Joe Steiner
K1 – Vic Chenowith, Pam Gunter

As we emerged from the familiar ambiance of Dons the clouds parted and
a ray of sunshine reflected off our water pruned bodies, promising the
best day on the water yet. A promise that was kept.

Scouting the Red House Road crossing on Nassawango Creek we quickly
decided to leave the upper section between Old Furnace and Red House
for another day; the creek looked thickly strainered, flowing fast and
the high water made the Red House bridge impassible in boats.

Even the first few hundred yards of Nassawano below Red House was
tricky. Chris, paddling solo for the first time executed an
interesting three-point turn through a strainer section, fortunately
all three points were upright. Vic plied a brace only to discover that
his paddled had been hastily connected for left hand control and
nearly took the first swim of the trip.

But the first swim, and the only swim, of the entire 5 day outing
belonged to Joe, who somehow found a way to roll his canoe over at the
placid launch from the Nature Conservancy lunch spot half way down the
creek. Joe had just received a Duckhead citation for his previous
failure to properly restrain his canoe on the truck, for failing to
keep the shuttle convoy in sight and for failing to boff the shuttle
bunny. Lets recap – stuck on a cypress knee, canoe flew off the truck,
swam. It think it is a safe bet that there will be an Average Joe
Award at this year's Christmas Ceremony.

Out to the mouth of the creek we floated, under sunny skies at last,
and thence up to the livery dock in Snow Hill.

Almost up to the livery dock. It seems that the combination of high
tide and high water would present us with one last challenge – the Rte
12 bridge. Tom approached the bridge only to find that his bow lacked
two inches of clearance. I approached in the lower stemmed Penobscot
and the bow cleared by ¼ inch.

"Nanny, nanny, boo, boo" I thought as I lay in the bottom of my canoe
pulling myself through. "Nanny nanny boo boo on you," thought Tom, as
the strands of road tar became tangled in my hair. Only Vic and I had
sufficient clearance to pass below the bridge, and the rest of our
party turned about to head for a downstream take out. I hopped in the
van and went to fetch them there, and in return Coiffeur Tom, the
Tonsorial Terror, gave me a de-tarring trim using a Swiss Army knife
(I'm wearing a hat while I write this so that I don't scare the
neighborhood children).

This last day's take out saw a few Duckhead bumper stickers awarded
for sheer perseverance. Friend NT hooked me up with a supply of
Duckhead logo stickers and I figure I have several years' worth of
paddling companion totchkes available if I dole them out on special
occasions. Not just anyone gets one you know.

Racking boats and observing suspicious behavior- why two people would
cram into a spot-a-pot that foul and overflowing is beyond me - our
weekend of river drew to a close. The Blue Skies crowd was staying
another night – wonder if they got in another paddle?

It's a pity Dons wasn't on our route home.

Acknowledgements and Special Thanks:

To the Gillespies – For transporting that bun of minicel and bringing
an extra canoe.
To Joe – For allowing me a smidgen of literary license.
To all of the Blue Skies folk – For coming out above ground and
paddling.
To Kevin – For 20 years of artwork, not to mention the duffel bag full
of paddling paraphernalia and the Eureka annex. Guess you'll have to
come down for the Gents Trip.
To Vic – For his culinarian skills (even if we didn't take full
advantage of them) And for the generous fill up.
To Frank and the Weichold Clan – In advance, for paddling that Sawyer
Champion on September 18 at the Wye Island Regatta. Or for lending it
to the Duckhead Racing Association if you can't.
To Ann - For showing up early and denoting the location of that evil
telephone pole.
To Les and Robalee – For showing us the isosceles way of camping.
To Mary Beth – For night-floating with the best of them. Fun eh?
To Jane - For lessons in proper bed making. And for Tom's 5-day
kitchen pass.
To Steffi – For that accent of mystery and bottle cap Bic flicking.
To Dr. Bob – For those sorrowful looks as you lay damp in the bow on
yet another rainy paddling trip. At least you are now #3 on the 2004
mileage log.
To Emily – For paddling endurance when four miles turns into eight.
To Jim and Chris – For their Grumman mastery. And for Chris'
quick-study in the solo.
To anyone I forgot to mention, and to the wet-camping non-paddling
contingent for holding down the fort.

And lastly, to the Freakin' Deacon, the Tonsorial Terror, Tom Wilhelm,
TW, CWDH for his companionable spirit, his alliterative allure and
especially for his generosity in not taking digital photographs of me
"resting" on the dock (well, perhaps only because he knows I have
retaliatory photos of him)

Lost & Found:

If it didn't float we didn't find it, but the following left-behind
items came home with me:
* A duffel bag with NRS paddling gloves, MTI Comp II PFD and two pairs
of booties (pee eww, I've already soaked them in vinegar solution and
aired out the van) – Kevin's
* A Eureka Annex – Kevin's
* A Skull Splitter Ale, a couple of Mother Lagers, a Holy Grail Ale
and a couple of Pilsner Urquells (no Budweiser thank goodness) – Mine
now
* A bottle of Elijah Craig (No Scotch. No thanks. No! No means NO!) –
Tom's
* A splitting maul - Frank's
* 3 tubular aluminum framed chairs – Frank & Dorothy's

Non-paddling participants: Dorothy Proctor, Caroline Proctor, Jane
Michalski, Lauren Wilhelm, Nikki Wilhelm, Lindsay Ventura, Erica
Ventura, Kathy Palmer, Sam Palmer, Quinn Palmer, Linus Palmer, Frank
Rochowiak, Zach Rochowiak, Rebecca Rochowiak, Bernie Donnenberg, Sam
Donnenberg, Gabe Donnenberg, Luke Hartstein, Wobie Eidukivicius,
Evacuated Elaine.