There are actually 2 Chattooga rivers in Georgia. The more famous one, of course, is the white water destination that tumbles and rumbles out of North Carolina and into Northeast Georgia that was the setting for the book and movie Deliverance that ends up at Lake Tugalo in Habersham and Rabun counties, along with the Tallulah river. The other which starts somewhere just north of LaFayette, GA bares no resemblance to the former. By all accounts it is very much a lazy river winding its way through LaFayette, Trion, Summerville and Lyerly and over into Alabama and beyond.
Although there are 2 newly constructed launch points along the river that were constructed via a grant from the state, my friend and I started our journey much further north close to Hwy 100, gaining access via a field owned by a friend of a cousin of mine. Our original plan was to be on the river by 5 o'clock or so, but, naturally, that didn't happen. After getting held up by work, Atlanta traffic and typical forgetfulness we were finally on the river about 6:45. Not too bad.
This was the maiden journey for both of our sit-on-top kayaks and it was an experiment as well. We planned to spend 2 nights on the river and brought supplies to do such. These kayaks though not large by any stretch did have a storage area behind the seat that conveniently had bungee cords to hold our gear, food, beer and tackle.
After carefully sliding our kayaks into the water from a pretty steep bank and then maneuvering ourselves carefully into them so as to not start out the trip on a soggy note we were on the open river. Our adventure was no where but in front of us and my comrade and I were both pretty excited. But, also a little anxious because we had a lot to do before nightfall.
The heat of the day was waning as the sun was going down and it would've been a perfect time to fish, but we still had to find the right camping spot, build a fire, set up the tent and rig our poles up so we could catch some dinner.
After carefully sliding our kayaks into the water from a pretty steep bank and then maneuvering ourselves carefully into them so as to not start out the trip on a soggy note we were on the open river. Our adventure was no where but in front of us and my comrade and I were both pretty excited. But, also a little anxious because we had a lot to do before nightfall.
The heat of the day was waning as the sun was going down and it would've been a perfect time to fish, but we still had to find the right camping spot, build a fire, set up the tent and rig our poles up so we could catch some dinner.
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After paddling for an hour or so my comrade saw a spot that suited our agenda. It was a fairly level, not too overgrown spot at a point in the river that was probably 4 or 5 feet deep, which is a good depth to catch the channel cats that we were hoping to have for dinner.
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After landing and pulling our crafts up onto the bank we immediately do what we normally do and sit down, crack a beer (which is usually Miller High Life or some other cheap beer) and survey the surroundings for what we need, which is generally firewood and the best possible position to fish from. Being that the terrain was quite rocky we decided to first pull up as many of the surrounding fairly thin, weak weeds that typically grow alongside rivers as we could, and pile them up in order to pad the area where our tent was to go. After about 10 minutes of pulling up weeds and shaking off the dirt clods of the roots we had a good looking padded area to put the tent atop. After getting the tent set up and a fire going it was time to get our fishing poles set up.
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After rigging up our fishing poles, baiting them with raw chicken livers and casting into the near blackness of the river at night it wasn't long before my comrade was getting bites. I cast just up river from him and didn't have such immediate luck - probably because I was more focused on drinking beer and eating pork rinds. Anyway, after a couple of close calls and apparently bites that didn't "run with it" my comrade finally had one that wasn't letting go!
"Oh damn, Britt! This'n feels like a good'n!"
A few more splashes and then pausing to let him run with the line a bit so as not to break it and my comrade had reeled the fish in. It was, indeed, a nice cat fish - probably about 18 inches long and maybe about 2 or 3 pounds; the perfect size to filet. We put him on the stringer - back to fishing. We continued this routine for the next couple of hours and eventually we had 3 nice sized catfish. I feel like we could've caught more, but we didn't want to catch more than we could eat. We were pretty drunk and hungry at this point and cleaning catfish is no easy task.
After we'd cut their heads off, gutted them and skinned them we carefully fileted them so as not leave any of the yummy fishy goodness behind. We even brought a mixture of corn meal, flour, salt, pepper and spices and oil for frying them over the open flame of our riverside fire.
We dumped our batter mixture in a plastic bag along with our fish filets shook it all around and then slowly dropped them into the sizzling oil and fried them up til golden brown, and man did they taste as good as anything we'd ever eaten.
After numerous brews, some delicious fried fish and boiled potatoes cooked in my nifty mess kit it was time to hit the sack. The night was cool and the ground was hard. Our river weed padding didn't help much and I had bruises on my hips the following morning from trying to sleep on my side and tossing and turning.
That morning we restarted the fire, brewed our coffee up and had Lunchable french toast for breakfast. We took down the tent and packed up all our gear and after getting in a little fishing that proved fruitless we were set to continue our journey.
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We had quite a ways to go before we got to our takeout point. We didn't have enough food, bait to fish with, beer or water to stay another night without making a trip to the store and would have to get a ride if we wanted to do so. But another problem was also facing us as neither of us had brought our wallets. We were both pretty hungry and thirsty and only had one more bottle of water, a few beers and nothing to eat at all. I clearly did a poor job of organizing this excursion and we'd also have to get in contact with my father or my cousin to come pick us up at Lyerly-Dam road. I also failed to tell either of them the day before that we were going to need a ride and neither of them were answering the phone. My comrade suggested we just flag someone down for a ride, but I wasn't quite to that point, yet. The beer we'd already been drinking made me fairly accepting of the current situation.
My comrade was not so patient - as usual. "GD, when we gonna get off this damn river!? I need a beer and I'm running out of cigarettes!". He repeated a phrase similar to this numerous times.
I decided to stop and check my phone, which required me to retrieve it from my dry bag - which was a little bit of a process. This took a few minutes and of course my comrade didn't wait around. By the time I found our coordinates on my phone's GPS he was about 200 yards up ahead and telling me to hurry up even though he's the one who told me to check my phone, which of course required me to stop paddling. Commands such as this were not out of the ordinary.
I finally caught back up with him when he stopped to fish around some branches beneath a rocky outcrop and not long after that my father called just to chat and I informed him that we'd need a ride in about an hour and told him to meet us at Lyerly-Dam Road. He said he'd be there.
My comrade and I paddled like we were in a race. We came around a curve and saw some steps on the right side of the river that led up to a clearing. We pulled our kayaks up to the steps, tied off and walked up to the clearing and after walking up a dirt road a bit realized we were in some sort of industrial area and that this was not Lyerly-Dam road and not where we needed to be.
We hopped back in our kayaks and continued our frenzied paddling pace. We could just taste a cold Miller High Life and barbecue sandwich at this point and that's what kept us going. After 20 minutes or so of this pace I stopped to check my phone again and my comrade kept going. He was perhaps 50 yards ahead and around a bend in the river and suddenly I heard - "Oh, shit! Damn! Whoa!". This had me puzzled. The river had been a cinch thus far and I figured my comrade had simply stopped paying attention and run into a branch or gotten caught up on a rock and possibly flipped. After coming around the bend myself and seeing that there was a steep drop in the river I now knew what he was hollering about. I was coming up quickly on the drop myself and I scrambled to get my unsecured gear situated so as not to lose it when I went off the ledge. I surveyed my options for a moment and realized there was no going around this waterfall and tried to go over it without leaning to one side or the other. That didn't happen and I damn near flipped to my left as I was going over and my backpack with my keys, extra clothes, and some other odds and ends went overboard. I couldn't believe that it was staying afloat and I grabbed my paddle trying to snag it. After several tries I realized this tactic wasn't going to work and I hurried to paddle over to the bag before it sank and I'd have to go diving into the unknown depths of this river in order to retrieve it and my car keys which would be another rigmarole in itself if I were to not recover them. I later learned that this drop off was in fact the old Lyerly Dam.
Finally, I was able to reach it with my hand and when I had the elusive backpack back on my slight craft I was doubly relieved to turn around and see that there were steps just up ahead passed the bridge. I also realized that there were people standing on the bridge and on the bank that apparently watched my the whole backpack ordeal and my frantic struggle to retrieve it. For a second, I felt a little silly from all of these people observing my clumsiness, but then I realized no one cared or even realized how worried I actually was and I looked up to see my father on the bridge waving me over and I knew mine and my comrade's bellies would soon be full and our thirst quenched.
"Oh damn, Britt! This'n feels like a good'n!"
A few more splashes and then pausing to let him run with the line a bit so as not to break it and my comrade had reeled the fish in. It was, indeed, a nice cat fish - probably about 18 inches long and maybe about 2 or 3 pounds; the perfect size to filet. We put him on the stringer - back to fishing. We continued this routine for the next couple of hours and eventually we had 3 nice sized catfish. I feel like we could've caught more, but we didn't want to catch more than we could eat. We were pretty drunk and hungry at this point and cleaning catfish is no easy task.
After we'd cut their heads off, gutted them and skinned them we carefully fileted them so as not leave any of the yummy fishy goodness behind. We even brought a mixture of corn meal, flour, salt, pepper and spices and oil for frying them over the open flame of our riverside fire.
We dumped our batter mixture in a plastic bag along with our fish filets shook it all around and then slowly dropped them into the sizzling oil and fried them up til golden brown, and man did they taste as good as anything we'd ever eaten.
After numerous brews, some delicious fried fish and boiled potatoes cooked in my nifty mess kit it was time to hit the sack. The night was cool and the ground was hard. Our river weed padding didn't help much and I had bruises on my hips the following morning from trying to sleep on my side and tossing and turning.
That morning we restarted the fire, brewed our coffee up and had Lunchable french toast for breakfast. We took down the tent and packed up all our gear and after getting in a little fishing that proved fruitless we were set to continue our journey.
We had quite a ways to go before we got to our takeout point. We didn't have enough food, bait to fish with, beer or water to stay another night without making a trip to the store and would have to get a ride if we wanted to do so. But another problem was also facing us as neither of us had brought our wallets. We were both pretty hungry and thirsty and only had one more bottle of water, a few beers and nothing to eat at all. I clearly did a poor job of organizing this excursion and we'd also have to get in contact with my father or my cousin to come pick us up at Lyerly-Dam road. I also failed to tell either of them the day before that we were going to need a ride and neither of them were answering the phone. My comrade suggested we just flag someone down for a ride, but I wasn't quite to that point, yet. The beer we'd already been drinking made me fairly accepting of the current situation.
My comrade was not so patient - as usual. "GD, when we gonna get off this damn river!? I need a beer and I'm running out of cigarettes!". He repeated a phrase similar to this numerous times.
I decided to stop and check my phone, which required me to retrieve it from my dry bag - which was a little bit of a process. This took a few minutes and of course my comrade didn't wait around. By the time I found our coordinates on my phone's GPS he was about 200 yards up ahead and telling me to hurry up even though he's the one who told me to check my phone, which of course required me to stop paddling. Commands such as this were not out of the ordinary.
I finally caught back up with him when he stopped to fish around some branches beneath a rocky outcrop and not long after that my father called just to chat and I informed him that we'd need a ride in about an hour and told him to meet us at Lyerly-Dam Road. He said he'd be there.
My comrade and I paddled like we were in a race. We came around a curve and saw some steps on the right side of the river that led up to a clearing. We pulled our kayaks up to the steps, tied off and walked up to the clearing and after walking up a dirt road a bit realized we were in some sort of industrial area and that this was not Lyerly-Dam road and not where we needed to be.
We hopped back in our kayaks and continued our frenzied paddling pace. We could just taste a cold Miller High Life and barbecue sandwich at this point and that's what kept us going. After 20 minutes or so of this pace I stopped to check my phone again and my comrade kept going. He was perhaps 50 yards ahead and around a bend in the river and suddenly I heard - "Oh, shit! Damn! Whoa!". This had me puzzled. The river had been a cinch thus far and I figured my comrade had simply stopped paying attention and run into a branch or gotten caught up on a rock and possibly flipped. After coming around the bend myself and seeing that there was a steep drop in the river I now knew what he was hollering about. I was coming up quickly on the drop myself and I scrambled to get my unsecured gear situated so as not to lose it when I went off the ledge. I surveyed my options for a moment and realized there was no going around this waterfall and tried to go over it without leaning to one side or the other. That didn't happen and I damn near flipped to my left as I was going over and my backpack with my keys, extra clothes, and some other odds and ends went overboard. I couldn't believe that it was staying afloat and I grabbed my paddle trying to snag it. After several tries I realized this tactic wasn't going to work and I hurried to paddle over to the bag before it sank and I'd have to go diving into the unknown depths of this river in order to retrieve it and my car keys which would be another rigmarole in itself if I were to not recover them. I later learned that this drop off was in fact the old Lyerly Dam.
Finally, I was able to reach it with my hand and when I had the elusive backpack back on my slight craft I was doubly relieved to turn around and see that there were steps just up ahead passed the bridge. I also realized that there were people standing on the bridge and on the bank that apparently watched my the whole backpack ordeal and my frantic struggle to retrieve it. For a second, I felt a little silly from all of these people observing my clumsiness, but then I realized no one cared or even realized how worried I actually was and I looked up to see my father on the bridge waving me over and I knew mine and my comrade's bellies would soon be full and our thirst quenched.
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