Oct 9, 2012

The Odyssey Has Begun...

Passing the ruins of
Monte Ne




The Indians living along its banks called it Unica, which means "white,"  referring to how clear it was.   French colonists later memorialized it as the Riviere Blanche.  Today we call it the White River, the queen of the Ozarks and the king of Arkansas Delta.

Ballad Hunter: Listening To the White River is a river journey by author-photographer, Chris Engholm, who is canoeing the 720-mile length of the White River  from its headwaters in the Ozark Mountains to its mouth where it marries the Mississippi River.

Along his river journey, Engholm is meeting with families who have lived in harmony with the river, in many cases since before the Civil War. He is encountering remnants of the old 'cracker culture' in the hills and hollows of the Ozark Plateau and vestiges of plantation life in the Delta, meeting itinerant  musicians, curmudgeonly fisherman, cantankerous environmentalists, and even "rewilders"---young people going back to the land, getting off the grid and settling along the river.

A swimming hole near the headwaters of the
West Fork of the White River


A Liquid Legend

Few Americans outside Arkansas have ever heard of the mighty White River, minus a contingent of savvy fly fishers who know its Bull Shoals tailwater as America's trout Mecca. When I first met the White it was love at first cast.  This was partly because I'd been imagining a river like it for most of my life.  This site tells the story of my personal journey to comprehend  this mighty waterway, its natural rhythms, flora and fauna, and how man has lived in tandem with it for centuries.

 





The hook-shaped White River and the places
Chris Engholm has visited and floated so far. 
         

Chris Engholm can be reached at
chris@chrisengholm.com



Oct 8, 2012

Big Bite: A 100-mile Paddle from Batesville to Augusta

Ee gad, don't try this at home unless you're either insane or a person of your convictions.  We put-in below the dam (#1) at Batesville at 9 in the morning.   After passing the city's waste water treatment plant, we started a long journey out of the foothills of the Ozarks into the Central Delta of Arkansas.  I tried to make 33 miles per day and do the trip to Augusta in three days, but suddenly, around Oil Trough, we lost the current and the wind cranked up out of the north. Every northbound reach was perilous and exhausting.  I only made 23 miles the first day.  27 the next.  31 the third. We made Augusta in the early afternoon on the fourth.  My body was gone; fingers cracked and oozing from the bitter wind and constant wet.
Passing a half-sunk barge near Newport on the
White River. (Photo: Jim Fortune)
The river changed on this trip from clear and green to turbid and pea-green.  There are observable causes for this that I'll write more about later.  For now, let it be a warning to floaters from Batesville south: the current right now slows to 1 mph and fighting a headwind here leaves no muscle untested.  The good news:  only 200 miles to go.