I took a winter coat with me when I left Portland for Canada two summers ago. I moved that coat every time I had to get into one of the lockers or sort through clothes and I never put it on once all the way up, down to Coco, FL, and back to Portland so it’s now in my storage unit. If it had been on board when I started down the Pongo Canal, I sure would have been wearing it.
It was a beautiful run though. My first passage through this stretch was with guidebook warnings about snags in my head. Sure enough, I hit something hard not far off the centerline. The return last spring was in the very dark and threatening weather that preceded my Alligator River anchoring adventure so my memory of this stretch is dominated by anxiety.
It’s strange how memory works. I posted recently about the unforgettable sight of the dead straight Dismal Swamp canal disappearing over the horizon. When I went through a few days ago, I couldn’t see that view. It’s actually slightly curved. I realized during the Pongo passage that I had transferred this view of the lower eleven mile stretch north in my mind.
This time, with thousands of miles of ditch running behind me, there was no anxiety about the Pongo. It seemed twice as wide as I remembered and I could fully appreciate its wild beauty despite the cold. There were no bumps and the depth sounder never flickered to indicate any snags on the bottom.
The day gradually warmed and I was thoroughly comfortable and greatly enjoying myself by the time I passed under the Wilkerson Bridge. I discovered later that night that I had passed the place where Lee and Lynn and I anchored at the southern end of the canal exactly a year to the day before.
I’ll now remember this as one of the pleasanter stretches of the waterway.
It was a beautiful run though. My first passage through this stretch was with guidebook warnings about snags in my head. Sure enough, I hit something hard not far off the centerline. The return last spring was in the very dark and threatening weather that preceded my Alligator River anchoring adventure so my memory of this stretch is dominated by anxiety.
It’s strange how memory works. I posted recently about the unforgettable sight of the dead straight Dismal Swamp canal disappearing over the horizon. When I went through a few days ago, I couldn’t see that view. It’s actually slightly curved. I realized during the Pongo passage that I had transferred this view of the lower eleven mile stretch north in my mind.
This time, with thousands of miles of ditch running behind me, there was no anxiety about the Pongo. It seemed twice as wide as I remembered and I could fully appreciate its wild beauty despite the cold. There were no bumps and the depth sounder never flickered to indicate any snags on the bottom.
The day gradually warmed and I was thoroughly comfortable and greatly enjoying myself by the time I passed under the Wilkerson Bridge. I discovered later that night that I had passed the place where Lee and Lynn and I anchored at the southern end of the canal exactly a year to the day before.
I’ll now remember this as one of the pleasanter stretches of the waterway.
