Riding a bike, canoeing, camping, fishing and hunting are my favorite outdoor pursuits and I have found a way to combine them all into one bundle for the ultimate activity, I call it a pedal paddle adventure.

Canada Goose season opened on September 1st, when the daily temperatures still reach the 90s, and the river flows low and warm. Fall has yet to show at this time of the year. Summer still holds on. The smallmouth bass and catfish hang in the cooler tailraces of the riffles or in the deeper pools. The geese have completed their molting and spend their days lounging on the river feeding on the summer long grasses and keeping cool. A setting perfectly arranged for a cast and blast river float.

In the late afternoon, I arrive at the river and set up camp, leaving the fishing and hunting gear in the tent and the canoe against a tree in camp. After one final look around to ensure I did not forget anything, I climb into the Land Cruiser and drive down river to tomorrow’s take out, 9 river miles below camp.

                 

Thanks to the men and women who built the C&O Canal along the Potomac River in the 1830s, and the National Park Service who purchased the property and turned it into a hiker/biker path in the 1970s, we now have a smooth gravel bike path the length of the Potomac River from Cumberland, Maryland to Georgetown in Washington DC. This is where the pedal part of the adventure takes place. Removing the gravel bike from the rack on the truck, I take one final look in the truck to confirm nothing is forgotten and begin the 12 mile pedal upriver back to camp. The ride pace is set at pleasurable. This is not an attempt to set a new Strava personal best. The tall Sycamores and Maples shade the path. Recently graded and packed gravel grinds under tire on the barely noticeable uphill trek. When the river is visible, I scan for geese and take note of the river level and focus on the runnable chutes through the low water riffles. The miles click on and after a good leg stretching, much needed after too many hours at the desk, I arrive back at camp.

Camp is my favorite OzTent. The same tent I once lived in for over two months when I took that overlanding trip across Canada and Alaska. And each time I set up this tent, the memories return. Before settling in camp, I carry the canoe down to the river, tie her off and enjoy a quick cool off swim in the river.

Back at camp, I build a small campfire, not for warmth but to smoke the bugs. I pour two fingers of Colorado Honey whiskey into my coffee mug from last year’s trip to Yellowstone National Park and read “The River & I” by John Neihardt; his account of his journey down the Missouri River in 1906. A simple one-night camping, but even one night brings me closer to those memories of past adventures and sparks ideas for the next.

Instead of spending hours after dark watching TV, once the sunsets, I watch as the stars begin to appear, then head off to bed early. Tomorrow will begin while the stars are still in the sky.

Without an alarm, I awake, and with the faintness of the new day, I begin with water set to boil on the Jet Boil and enjoy the new day with a cup of green tea. It takes two trips down the bank to the canoe loading the Old Town NEXT Canoe with the float provisions. One small bag with the fishing gear, two light action fishing rods, shotgun, waterfowl shooting bag, a Coke, water, and beef jerky is loaded and properly stowed in the canoe for proper balance.

The sun has yet to arrive in the eastern sky, but the predawn grey is enough to see, so I push off and begin the journey down river. Surprisingly, my first cast with a white ⅛ oz deer hair jig is captured by a two-pound catfish. After the battle I return him to the water. I have over 40 years of experience on this river and have noticed a big increase of catfish living among the waters. Catching catfish on artificial lures as a byproduct of Smallmouth pursuit is a much more common thing than of years before. The size of the Smallmouth has also grown bigger than years ago. While not perfect, I have seen the river improve over the years.

                     

Casting for my first Smallmouth of the day, the river takes me downstream. The sun arrived and with the eastward direction of this river section, I switch the glasses for my sunglasses. About this time I hear the faint honking of a goose. I smile, "they're down there”.  Scanning down river with my binoculars, I search. Nothing yet. I continue to let the river pull me down river.

With the fishing rod set down, I paddle then scan the river with the binoculars. Much farther down river than the honking sounds had led me to believe, I spot them. Three Canada Geese, stand tall on a grass bar on river right.

I plan my stalk. As a left handed shooter, I set the drift to keep the birds on my right, but I don’t paddle directly toward them. I’ve learned a direct approach will spook the birds, but if I keep a direction that appears to be floating past them uninterested, they let me pass and get close enough for a shot. It works and I am well in range before they begin to chatter, spread their wings and take flight. The shotgun is ready. I swing and fire, not once but three times. The loud boom disrupting the quiet river morning does nothing to the geese, and all three continue to fly away unharmed.  “Boy, I’m rusty, I think to myself.” The whole plan worked perfectly from selecting the section of river to float, to the time of day to float, to the execution of the final stalk, only to end with a miss.  A 99% successful hunt, but it’s that last 1% that really counts.

I try not to get too discouraged. I am, after all, doing all of my favorite things in one adventure.  So, I continue on down river.

Concentrating on the current break along the riffle before the Rail Road bridge, casting for Smallmouth, I almost passed the geese before they start honking. Without time to think, I drop the fishing rod and swing the shotgun. The birds take to flight, and this time with the rust worn off my shooting eye, I properly lead the first goose and fire. The bird drops, as I pick the second in line and fire a second shot. Two birds down. I paddle a few strokes and slide the boat up next to each bird and toss them in the canoe at my feet. The grin is big. Success. Over the last ten years, I have been traveling the Country, exploring beautiful areas and experiencing wondrous things, but for this old guy reaching 60 years of age, there is something special about a Potomac River float catching fish and shooting waterfowl. The river is where I feel I belong. Nothing sets me more in my place than a float down a river in a canoe.

The drifting down river resumes. I continue to cast the white deer hair jig and catch a few Smallmouth. Again, I hear a single honk. Not a lot of honking like approaching birds, or birds about to take flight, but that single honk as to say, “here I am”.

                 

At a distance that surprised me that these old ears could still hear the sound, I find the birds in my binoculars. They are swimming across the river from left to right. As with earlier, I let the current take me to the birds. I tell myself no need to rush, let the river take you there. By the time I close the distance, the geese have reached the bank and are standing on a small gravel bar. Once I am parallel to them, I casually drop the right paddle blade into the water and turn the boat in their direction. The new direction entered their safe distance zone and with much chatter they opened wings and took flight. This time I fired three shots and dropped two birds.

Four geese fill the back of the canoe; several catfish and bass have been caught and landed. The morning sun is reaching higher and the last of the summer’s heat arrives. Soon the leaves will start to change, and the sweatshirts will come out, but today, I enjoy the end of summer. I slide my hands into the water, let the river take me down towards my takeout, and enjoy the solitude and slower pace of the day. Not once have I checked the time of the clock. I’m on river time.

Nearing the takeout, a low water riffle, the canoe may not clear, appears and with it a group of nine geese lounge on a tiny rock island. I easily float within shotgun range before they swim off the island and fly away. I find no need to shoot the final bird for my five-bird limit. I am content with the four in the canoe and watch as they leave. 

At the takeout, I load the gear into the Land Cruiser and head back upriver via dirt roads and back to camp. With geese cleaned and on ice, and camped packed, I take one final sit on the riverbank and watch the water flow and the clouds drift. It has been less than 24 hours since I set up camp. In less than a day, I have done all my favorite things in one adventure bundle. A memorable Experience worth Reflecting on and Repeating. 

Tags

Camping canoeing Duck Hunting Elk Hunting Fishing Hunting mountain biking RV Camping Turkey Hunting

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