A Swim in the James River

A kayak trip was planned upon the River James
On a beautiful April fifth morning,
Through none of the four acquaintances could a man find rightful blame
Save one for that day not heeding the high water’s forewarning


The Jahnman had toted a great deal of gear with him
In his crate three spinning rods and a five weight fly in stood tall,
Most of the options were for the shad; the chance for striper slim
Though with the possibility, he thought, “Why not bring all?”


This only being the Jahnman’s second trip upon the river,
His choice of anchor: a ten pound dumbbell
To which his fishing companions that day gave a shiver
And said, “That so-called anchor’s gonna give you hell.”


“I used it once already and it worked just fine.”
The boastful Jahnman decreed
“You worry about yours, let me worry about mine.”
He added, though there was no need


Our hero paddled out from Ancarrow’s
With a severe air of arrogance
He’d nary paddled past I-95 where the river narrows,
Though denied any possibility of danger saying simply, “There’s no chance.”


The four men fought the current’s force,
Paddled upstream a-ways before finally stopping
Past I-95, now there was truly no recourse
As on the river’s surface they heard the shad a-flopping


All of the fisherman had caught at least one fish
All except the impatient Jahnman that is,
Who paddled farther upstream with the wish
Of finding the ultimate shad hole to call his


Just past the railroad bridge we went
Before dropping his dumbbell into the abyss
His companions all eventually followed with energy all but spent
With the hopes of ensuing shad bliss


After a short time of catching nothing still
The Jahnman again grew irritated,
And decided to move away from the hill
Nearest the floodwall, deeming it now overrated


Downstream upon the James floated many a vessel
Filled with accountants, doctors and at least one banker,
Keen eyes began to watch the Jahnman wrestle
The ten pound dumbbell he called an anchor


Our champion heeded no Youtube advice on proper anchor readying
He began to pull the line swiftly through the water
His boat turned sideways to the current resulting in unsteadying
Though he pulled and pulled the line much tauter


The Jahnman fought the current all the way to the rope’s end
Where his dumbbell laid stuck just below his yak
He said to himself, “Just one more hefty pull will send,
This dumbbell out of its fixture and back.”


With not one fish yet caught the Jahnman’s yak was tossed
Unpreparedness had led to our poor hero’s demise
The real shock emerged upon realizing everything aboard was lost;
Embarrassingly witnessed by many, many eyes


Well not everything, as the Jahnman is still alive and so is his boat
For which to God, PFD and friend Darren’s tow, he is truly grateful
Heed this warning for those that feel the need to gloat:
The more cocky, tragically, always the more fateful.

Aquatic 4x4

I have spent the shad offseason exploring new fishing opportunities in my portable rock; to coin John McPhee.

Summer 2009—I had been vying for the purchase of a fishing kayak for the past few months, amazingly to no avail. My friend Brendan had posited the idea in my head, an act for which he was promptly thrown under the bus when my appeal’s origination was brought under scrutiny by the boss, Jamie. The initial request had been significantly lessened from a Boston Whaler to a Carolina Skiff, to anything center console, before finally accepting defeat with the realization that something motorized was officially out of the question. A self-propelled craft would have to do. By the fall, my wife woefully agreed that before completing the round trip from Blacksburg following a Tech football game, we should finally bring to Richmond her Old Towne canoe. For the previous five-or-so years the green Discovery 178, abandoned by its rightful owners following their move east, laid on its gunwales in a gravel garden at Bj Lafon’s mother’s house on Brush Mountain. Other than the less than a handful of day trips when being borrowed from one local friend or another, the once majestic ship had spent most of its sad days collecting sun rays, storm runoff, cobwebs, and a transient mouse’s nest. After half a decade my conscience couldn’t take it any longer. The canoe deserved better. I deserved a boat. Not being terribly thrilled about transporting it on top of the family sedan for 220 miles, or the limited storage options back at the urban ranch, Jamie finally gave in after being promised the incessant I want a boat banter would cease following my reunification with the vessel; the canoe being much better than nothing. Positioned atop the Accord’s roof—sitting on special Yakima pads designed for such conveyance, then secured with borrowed ratchet straps, the four of us (dog Casino included) went home. Peaches and Herb played softly in the background.

But don’t go getting all misty-eyed. Thanks to craigslist and a fishing kayak owning family man in Virginia Beach, the moment was fleeting.

Long winded story abbreviated:

About a week later I found a posting on aforementioned site, stating the owner of a sit-on-top fishing kayak was willing to sell his boat or trade it for a canoe (preferably an Old Towne) in good condition. The boss o.k.’d the transaction. Following a round of emails complete with detailed pictures of each respective craft, a verbal agreement of barter was made. That same day, the Discovery 178 found its way back on top of the Honda sedan en route this time to greener pastures, or waters as it were. Now in my possession: a beautiful yellow Ocean Kayak Prowler 13. Best trade ever.

I have since taken my portable rock to a friend’s private pond for some crappie and largemouth, Swift Creek Reservoir for a nice paddle but no fish, Rudee Inlet for the same, and twice to the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel for some delicious striped bass. Next is the mighty James for the shad revival.