34 Finally Guion and a nice surprise

Chapter 34

Guion and a Surprise Welcome.

As I came around the last bend before reaching the old Guion Ferry, I saw the big bridge. I don’t know why it surprised me. I had heard about the closing of the ferry and the new bridge years ago. I guess I just wasn’t expecting it to be so tall. About the time I was ruminating over the bridge the motor quit. It didn’t take me long to figure out I was out of gas. The river was moving along nicely so I decided it would be easier to paddle than dig out the spare gas can and fill up in the middle of the river. It is a pain to turn around and fill the tank that is accessed from the top of the motor. Given the fact that the motor is almost head high and beside me the choice to paddle a half mile with the current was not a hard one.

As I closed in on what was the old highway leading into the river I saw a strange growth in the river. I don’t know what the river plants were but it was very thick, both at the Guion ramp and at Sylamore as well. I figured something foreign seems to be feeding on fertilizer run off or some other non-indigenous food source. I wonder why, in the ninety-two mile run, I saw this growth at two people-access areas and nowhere else. Hmmm. Whatever the stuff is, it is thick enough to choke a motor if you stay in it very long. Not good. I sure hope it’s not one of those fast growing oxygen choking, fish killers they have out west. That would be bad news for the fish not to mention the health of the river.

As I got close to the ramp, I was surprised to see my car and trailer. I had been told the shuttle would not be available until three p.m. and it was just now approaching one. As I paddled through the underwater weed jungle to the ramp, I saw a man talking to a couple under a big old shade tree. When he saw me he came to the river’s edge and asked if he could help pull the boat up. He introduced himself as my shuttle driver and offered me the keys to the car. I was glad to see him. It was hot and I was at the end of my little odyssey. I took the keys and headed to the car. I spotted priority number one just past my car. The port-a-potties were always a welcome sight after a few hours on the water.

As I passed my car I noticed the couple standing near a pick-up and jon boat rig. They were cooling it in the shade and looked relaxed. I “howdied” and they “howdied” back. I asked them where they were from and they said Batesville. I said, “Really, what’s your name?” The man said “Hughes.” I asked, “Which Hughes would you be?” He said “Jim.” I said, “Aw crap Jimmy, I’m Johnny Boykin, Bubba’s boy.” They had lived two doors from my father’s house when I was a teenager and on into my college years.

We got a big kick out of not recognizing each other and naturally we had a little catching up to do. I asked Jimmy if he had been my first boss. I remembered him from my short career as a newspaper carrier at the Batesville Daily Guard. He said no, that was someone else but that he had worked in the pressroom for fifty years before retiring. We talked about my trying to learn to write and how I would like to emulate his old editor Paul Buchanan. Jimmy still had as much respect for Mr. Buchanan’s talents as my family did. The guy was a great editorial and satirical writer. He could have gone to any newspaper in the world and been a honcho, no doubt in my mind.

I don’t know much about the newspaper now, as I haven’t seen the paper in fifteen years. But I can tell you from the fifties through the eighties, the paper was one of the finest small town newspapers in existence. I know it sounds like I am partial to my hometown paper, but it was good as a source of local and world news. We didn’t have to filter the writing to get past the reporter’s agenda like today. I remember good coverage from the wires as well as the latest gossip from Pine Hill and other surrounding communities. They reported the news the way it was, not the way the reporter wanted it to be. That would have cost them a career back in the better days of journalism. I still think twisting the news is a crime against the public.

I minored in journalism in college and at one time or another, have subscribed to some of the biggest and supposed top dailies in the country. When I lived in D.C. I read the Washington Post front to back on a daily basis. When I lived in Alabama I subscribed to the Wall Street Journal. When in L.A., I read the Times. I am now a subscriber to the Dallas Morning News. I read and enjoy newspapers even if I don’t agree with 95% of the opinions I find in the supposed factual stories. The Batesville Daily Guard was among the best I’ve ever read and the paper I use as a yardstick to judge all others.

Oops there I go again, now back to the Hughes family. Jimmy and his wife both commented on how much I looked like my dad, Bubba. I hear it a lot and don’t mind it a bit. Bubba Boykin was a special guy and,
like the Guard, he was one I looked up to.

I chatted with the Hughes folks for a bit and went back to the river to unload the canoe and get it onto the trailer. It was getting late and I wasn’t sure if I would stay in Arkansas or drive home to Dallas that night. As I was going about my chores Jimmy asked if I needed any help. I told him no thanks and they told me good-bye and left for their scenic drive back to Batesville.

I thought how nice it was for them to offer me assistance and wasn’t that just so normal for these hills. Unfortunately we don’t see that same kind of serious empathy for others when living in the ninth largest city in the country. Everybody’s just too darned busy trying to survive.

The shuttle man from the Cotter Trout Dock turned out to be a great guy and we had a super conversation on the way back to Cotter. We had a leisurely, scenic drive through the hills. In a short time we reached Cotter and the Trout Dock. There were a few folks gathered and we visited for a little while, but I was hungry as well as tired.

About that time it dawned on me that it was too late for someone in my worn out condition to begin a four hundred and fifty mile drive. I excused myself after paying for the shuttle and headed up to my new home away from home, the White Sands Motel. It looks like a no-tell motel but it is definitely a fisherman’s paradise.

I showered and drove to KT’s Bar-B-Q for one more taste of that fine pulled pork and baked beans. Back at the motel, I made a few notes and repaired some equipment.

I asked the motel owner if she would look on the Internet for Steel, Arkansas or Missouri. So I could maybe find one of those little motorboats.

I brought the gear into the room and was soon sound asleep. The next morning would be soon enough to deal with my main equipment problem. The little bitty boat in a great big river was a problem that had to be solved before I wore out my posterior.

The next morning I made coffee in the room and packed the car and canoe for the drive back to Dallas. Around seven, I pulled out of the parking lot onto the Rainbow Bridge. Just the other side of the river I came to the little shop where they build the Premier John boats. As I mentioned, I had heard it was the Ranger bass boats original shop as well. There were a few of the workman standing in front of the shop as if on break. The building is right on the highway with very little space for a parking lot so it was easy to stop roadside and chat with the guys.

I wanted to know where I could find one of those little pirogue or canoe-looking little boats. The guys at Premier all knew exactly what I was talking about and told me their dealer in the Cotter area sold a version of the boat. They told me his place was only a couple of miles away. There I should see a good selection of the boats. I turned the car and trailer around and went back to Dave’s Boat Sales in Gassville. The place was closed but it was easy enough to walk in and look around. Serious tire kicking should always be done without a salesman around. Shopping for man toys is just a lot more fun without the hot breath on your neck.

The absent Dave had several of the boats and they were called River Hawks. He had dorys as well as the Premier Jon Boat line and a few other types of river runners. Dave was selling riverboats. He didn’t have a lot of big lake boats or barges he was a highly specialized outfit. It was a small place but I was impressed with how his inventory fit his market. Later when I met Dave I would be even more impressed with the man himself.

I left Gassville and headed for Dallas. The time of day was a good one to be traveling through the Ozarks in the heat of summer. Cool air and easy driving with very little traffic was the order of the morning. By the time I had reached the relative flat lands of Conway I had decided I would really like to trade up to the little boat with the hard chine and the big wide seats. I called Dave at his dealership and asked about the River Hawks. Dave told me he was selling his business and was trying to reduce the inventory as fast as possible. He would be happy to give me a deal on the boat. Dave quoted me a price that was less than half of the “sales tag” I had seen on the boats. I took him up on it and told him which one I wanted. I ask him if I could send him a check from Dallas when I got home and he was happy to do it. I had bought myself a River Hawk. Now I would have to upgrade my little motor to accommodate the beamier, heavier boat. What I didn’t realize was the boat was the bait. The motor would cost me almost four times what the boat did. Oh well. Another lesson in life I guess.

This time I was going home with a little more confidence in my equipment and my self. I had learned a good deal more about the ways of the river. I weathered more than ninety-two miles of river ranging from raging torrent to mild- mannered swimming hole. I felt the cold rain and dodged its lightening bolts. I sweated through the heat of a deep south summer and endured shadeless travel. I picked up seat time affording me the experience I so badly needed. I was now much more comfortable with the river and the equipment. I didn’t know how badly I needed to get back in tune with the ways of the river and the hills. I was still a long way from being completely relaxed, but I was making progress. The outdoor instinct was coming back, little by little. Reading the water had become my major challenge and it would take more time, but at least I had a start on it.

At this point mapping the rivers had become the goal, but getting myself down rivers safely had become the challenge. On this trip home I decided I would like to do more than just the White. Maybe it was because I was feeling a little over confident due to having purchased the River Hawk and the stability. I wanted to go around more bends just to see what was there. I wanted to spend more nights under the stars. I was on my way to Texas, but my head and heart were now racing ahead of me onto rivers I had never seen.

Next little story will be centered on the North Fork of the White River. Hint….as I write, it is December and we have hit this little river twice. I have completed a total of six miles in my two attempts at what should have been thirty or so miles. So be sure and tune in for the story of the new boat that became a used boat very quickly. Here’s a hint. It was a rocky start, rapidly declining into a long drink of cold water. I know, I know what you’re thinking and I know who you are…argh. It’s not nice to make fun.