NAVIGATING AN UNNAVIGABLE STREAM
In the morning the sun and the mist filled our little harbour with a
golden shimmer, and all the marsh reeds were quivering in the radiance.
The blue herons were winging out to the river, and the doves were
weaving spells round and round the dormer-windowed cottage on the hill.
Gadabout's household was early astir ready for the run up Kittewan
Creek. We had only to get a chicken or two at the house on the bluff,
and then we should be ready to start at the turn of the tide. Imagine,
then, our chagrin when the sailor returned with not only the chickens
but the information also that we could not get the houseboat any
farther up the stream, on account of numerous shallows and submerged
cypress stumps.
Once more the charts were got out and spread upon a table. We still
felt that if the sounding-marks were right Gadabout could navigate the
stream. However, at two places islands were shown where there seemed
scarcely room in the creek for islands and Gadabout too; and if we had
also to throw in a few cypress stumps for good measure, our prospects
for visiting Weyanoke by the chickens-and-geese route were indeed not
promising.
But we knew Gadabout and how we had taken the craft almost everywhere
that people had told us she could not go. For, to our minds, one of the
chief charms of houseboating lay in poking about in such out-of-the-way
places.
Let the yacht reign supreme as the deep-water pleasure craft, that
trails its elegance perforce ever up and down the same prescribed
channels. The ideal houseboat is the light-draft water gypsy, that
turns often from the buoyed course and wanders off into the picturesque
world of little waters; along streamlets that lead in winding ways to
quaint bits of nowhere, and into quiet shallows of forgotten lagoons
that have fallen asleep to the lullaby of their own rushes.
So it was settled that our houseboat was to try to go up the creek to
Weyanoke's back door, and again we were waiting only for the turn of
the tide. When sticks and straws and frost-tinted leaves, floating down
past us toward the James, changed their minds and started back up the
Kittewan, Gadabout went with them.
After a while the creek began to shallow rapidly and we kept the sailor
on ahead in a shore-boat sounding, while we tried to keep the houseboat
from running over him. The southerly breeze was gradually freshening
and Gadabout began to show a corresponding partiality for the northern
bank of the stream. But, on the whole, she was behaving very well and
apparently the mutinous spirit of the day before had entirely
disappeared. We had to stop just before coming to an island standing in
a sharp turn of the little waterway.
"Looks like we can't make this bend, sir," called the sailor from the
shore-boat. "There's a sure enough bar 'cross here."
By keeping at it, he managed to find a channel for going round on the
port side of the island. Then he came aboard, started an engine, and we
moved on again. But Gadabout had been deceiving us; she still had no
notion of going up the creek. We were just starting to go around the
island when she suddenly transferred her allegiance from the
steering-wheel to the wind, and sidled off in the marshes till she
brought up hard aground. There was nothing to do but to wait for the
rising tide.
Nautica got out the chart again to see where we were. At Weyanoke there
are two plantations, an upper one and a lower one; and for a while she
was busy measuring between the stream and the little black dots that
indicated the plantation buildings. At last, after a final counting up
on her fingers, she announced, "If we can get around six more bends of
this curly stream, we shall be within less than half a mile of the
house at Lower Weyanoke."
As the water rose around the houseboat, we threw out a kedge anchor,
hauled off, and got under way again. Now, Gadabout started at once to
go around the island--but (mutiny again!) she was going around on the
wrong side. The Commodore and the sailor, with long poles, pushed
frantically in the mud striving to set the unruly craft in the way she
should go; but she was determined to take the wrong channel and was
slowly getting the better of us.
"She's gittin' away from us, sir," called the sailor.
"I see she is," said the Commodore, "and I don't believe she can get
around the island on this side."
But away she went, wind and tide carrying her up the wrong channel.
Laughing at the amusing persistence of the craft, all we could do was
to keep her away from the marshes and let her go.
The creek rapidly narrowed; the marsh gave way to woodland; and just
ahead was but a small passage between island and mainland for us to go
through. We pushed in between waving walls of autumn foliage. Branches
tapped on our windows, and crimson sweet gum leaves pressed against the
panes as if to make the most of their little moment for looking in.
Gadabout passed through the narrow opening without a stop, though
carrying twigs and bright leaves away with her. We ran the next
straight stretch of the creek, and at the bend came upon another
island. Here shoals and cypress stumps quite blocked the channel. In a
good, old landlubberly manner we hitched Gadabout to a tree and waited
to see if the rising tide would make a way for us.
[Illustration: HUNTING FOR THE CHANNEL.]
[Illustration: APPROACHING IN A NARROW PLACE.]
Houseboating was taking us into strange places. And yet what a
comfortable way to journey into the world in the rough! Many are the
advantages of houseboating over camping or any other form of outing. In
a floating home one goes into the wild without sacrificing the comforts
or even the essential refinements of life. For women it is an ideal way
to visit Dame Nature.
But now the houseboaters upon Gadabout were becoming fearful lest Dame
Nature had closed her doors on ahead of them and would not receive them
up the Kittewan. It was good news when the sailor called from his
rowboat that he had found a channel for going on around the island.
This tune Gadabout showed a willingness to go just where we wished her
to go, but insisted upon doing it stern-foremost or broadside. We ran
her forward and backward and poled most vigorously; but after all had
the humiliation of drifting around the island wrong end first.
After that there was little trouble in going up the stream. Before long
an old homestead came in sight on a hill to our left, and we knew that
it must be Lower Weyanoke. But an impassable marsh stretched along the
stream, and there was no sign of a landing or of a roadway that might
lead to the house. We kept on, curious now to see how far our houseboat
could go. Suddenly we found out. She turned a bend and, there ahead,
hummocks and stumps occupied about all there was left of Kittewan
Creek.
The head of navigation had been reached for even our presumptuous
craft. An anchor was cast; whereupon Gadabout swung to one side, bumped
against a tree, and then settled herself comfortably in the marshes to
await our pleasure. It would not do to let the falling tide catch us in
that place. Fortunately, there was a marshy cove on one side of us, and
by backing into that we got turned around and headed down stream again.
We found a deep place that would do for an anchorage nearly opposite
Lower Weyanoke, and close beside a little company of trees that
showered Gadabout with red and yellow leaves.
When the tide fell, it disclosed many roots and stumps in the channel;
and the sight of each one added to our sense of importance in having
successfully navigated the stream. Later, some of the men from the
Kittewan farm came along in a rowboat.
"Well, you did make it after all," they said. "We've been looking for
you all along the creek, expecting to find you hung up on a cypress
stump."