“Not Quite The End”

I had originally titled this column “The End”. It was to be the column that brought our summertime feature “Rollin’ Down The River” to an end as I had planned for this week’s feature to be about the end of the Chipola River. But mother nature and the Chipola River had other ideas, as I had gotten the cart before the horse so to speak.
I thought that where “The Cut” and the Chipola River meet (see Rollin’ Down The River) was the end of the Chipola River. It seemed to me that the Big River was overtaking the Little River and anything south would be considered either part of The Apalachicola River or possibly a new river, like Brothers River as I had heard. But as I paddled the area this past Saturday I conversed with a few of the locals, most of whom were enlightening their thoughts with their favorite malt beverages.
“Nope, that there is the Little River (local slang for Chipola River),” they replied when I asked if the river south of the cut was considered part of the Apalachicola or Brothers Rivers. Brothers River comes in further south and the 18 mile stretch from The Cut to The Big River (local slang for Apalachicola River) is considered to be the Chipola River.
Not that I didn’t trust their information, but I went back and watched the Dick Hinson video about his trip in 1986 with Sonny Anderson down the Chipola. The video has served as a trusted resource for my journeys down the river. Somehow I had not paid close attention to the final portion of the video because the locals were right on the money. The video confirmed that the Chipola indeed runs on south of The Cut before eventually meeting up with the Apalachicola.
What’s all this mean for Rollin’ Down The River? We are not through yet. We still have another section to paddle to complete the entire river, from start to finish. But I had mapped out my trips this summer to wrap up this week, as the onslaught of high school football and volleyball will fill our sports pages.
So I’ve made an executive decision. The “final run” is “on hold” until cooler weather. I’ll also give my buddy Chris Matthews a call to see if he’s up to a fall or winter overnight excursion. I suspect we’d have to do a little camping along the way and right now the heat and gnats are just too much to take. So Simply Put, we are not quite to the end. But stay tuned ‘cause we’re going to make it, just you wait and see.
From the front porch: Uncle Bob said he is getting to the point where he can’t stand people who are intolerant.

“Pistol”

A little while back I noticed a book on Judy Riley’s desk at The Times’ office. The book was about a sports hero of mine. Judy told me that it was an excellent book and that she would let me read it when she was through.
I got the book, “Pistol – The Life of Pete Maravich” by Mark Kriegel a few weeks ago. As I began to read the book I realized Judy was right when she said it’s the kind of book that when you start reading you don’t want to put it down. I think it would be great reading for anyone, but for those of us who grew up pretending to be “Pistol Pete” in our backyards it is even better reading.
I can remember watching Pistol Pete play on TV during his college days at LSU. The things he could do with a basketball inspired us kids to want to be like him. All of a sudden we were trying behind the back and between the leg passes to our buddies. When the passes occasionally happened to work, we would hoot and holler call ourselves Pistol Pete.
As the book details, his professional career was hampered by bad teams and bad knees. But he was still Pistol Pete, and he could still make all the fancy moves and shoot the lights out. But the book spends much more time detailing his relationship with his father.
In some respects, Pistol Pete and I had something in common. His dad, like my dad, played college basketball, went on to become a high school basketball coach and wore a flat top haircut. The similarities ended there though. Pete’s dad had an obsession with the game of basketball and passed that on to his son. My dad had a passion for the game of basketball and passed that on to his sons. Make no mistake, there is a big difference between an obsession and a passion.
But that obsession is what drove Pete’s dad. And it drove Pistol Pete to become one of the greatest to ever play the game. But by his own admission, Pistol Pete was never really satisfied with his performance. He had a hard time enjoying the game because his obsession always drove him to think he could have done better.
Some might say his sudden death at age 46 was tragic. But I think the final few chapters of the book, and his life, however brings everything into real focus. After never being satisfied with his performance and after trying everything under the sun to find happiness, Pistol Pete accepted Jesus as his Lord and savior. He finally found true happiness. He found purpose. He found a passion and not an obsession. And he spent his final days on this earth fulfilling that purpose and living out that passion. Simply Put, what a wonderful ending to the fantastic book and life of Pistol Pete.
From the front porch: Coach said laughter is the closet distance between two people.

“Southern Hospitality”

In this week’s Rollin’ Down The River feature I profile a recent kayak trip on the Chipola from the Highway 20 Bridge to Scott’s Ferry. Chris Matthews and I made this journey two weekends ago and as usual had talked several times during the week about the plans and details of the trip. One of my jobs was to bring Saturday night’s supper entrée. Now while I love to cook at the house, especially on the backporch grill, cooking on camp outs is usually stream line to the basics. So the Saturday night entrée was going to be hot dogs, the great American staple food for camp outs.
Well the hot dogs somehow got left in my refrigerator, along with the jelly for my peanut butter and jelly sandwhiches, the other great great American staple food for camp outs. But Chris had a back up plan as we would be roughing it at a cabin at Scott’s Ferry and there is a little store at the Ferry. The store has frozen pizza that they can bake up right there. So it appeared our supper plans were in order.
After we had arrived at Scott’s Ferry and unloaded all our gear in the cabin we saw a large crowd gathering at the large pavilion. One of our sources leaked some information to us that there was going to be a fish fry taking place at the pavilion. As Chris and I made our way up to the store to pay for the cabin, we concocted a plan to use our social skills to see if we might garner an invite to the fish fry. When walking by the pavilion we spoke to the “chief fish fryer”. There was some small talk about us being on a kayak trip down the Chipola and he did not bat an eye before he uttered the magical words “Want y’all come eat some fish with us tonight,” he said. It turns out the family was gathering to celebrate the 65th birthday of “Nanna.”
If that was not good enough fortune, when we got back to the cabin we struck up a conversation with our neighbor. He had been frog giggin’ the night before and had down right nicely. When asked where he was from he replied from Cottondale. Of course we advised him we were from Marianna and started trading names to see who we all knew. It came out that his wife worked at Jackson Hospital, which is where Chris’s wife Debra works. Turns out that they actually work together in the same department at the hospital. Our neighbors, Gary and Robbie Finch, had also gotten an invite to the Birthday celebration.
So that night, instead of hot dogs or frozen pizza, we dine on fried mullet, fried scallops, french fires, hushpuppies and baked beans. I ate so much fish and scallops that I could not eat any of the 7 layer chocolate cake for desert. When it was all done we wished Nanna happy birthday and thanked the head chef. Simply Put, there is nothing like living in the south and that good ole Southern Hospitality.
From the front porch: Coach said laughter is the closet distance between two people.

“Strike It While the Iron is Hot”

The Times has been running a Yesteryear feature for the past three weeks dealing with Catgut Canyon. And this week’s Yesteryear is also on Catgut Canyon, so that is four weeks in a row about this mystical place in Marianna. In the 1 ½ years we’ve been doing our Yesteryear features, none have stretched into a four week run. And while some of our readers may have wished we’d moved on from the canyon by now, there have been a lot of readers that have expressed their enjoyment in recalling this former childhood playground.
So many folks, in fact, have called, e-mailed or talked to me that I felt we should run another story again this week. Clearly these articles have brought back a lot of fond memories. And I am proud that our paper could be a part in so many trips down memory lane.
It’s not a great secret that my job as Sports Editor at The Times is just one of three jobs that I hold down. I have a full time job, two part time jobs and a family. And to be honest there are days and times when all the work begins to pile up and I wonder if I can continue to juggle three jobs and a family.
But along comes a story like Catgut Canyon. Even though I have basically lived in Marianna most of my life, I had never even heard of this place until a month ago. But Al Padgett called with the idea and the rest as they say is history. So even though juggling this job at The Times can be tough, when I can be a part of something that brings so much enjoyment to our community, it reminds me why I do this job. Sure the extra money helps, but the main reason that I’ve continued to persevere is that it allows me the privilege and chance to bring enjoyment to the community in which I was born, raised and now live and raise my family. Thanks you to all those folks that have expressed their enjoyment to me.
If you’ve watched football you know that sometimes the offense runs an off tackle play for big yardage. So the offense runs the play again, then again and yet again, figuring we’ll run the play until the defense stops us. Well Catgut Canyon is kind of like that. Folks have been enjoying it so much that I just figured we’d keep running it until the readers stop us.
So this may be the last week or it may not. You, the readers, will decide. If anyone else has anymore Catgut Canyon stories, let me know. Simply Put, we’ll strike it while the iron (Catgut Canyon) is hot.

From the front porch: Uncle Bob said the man who complains about the way the ball bounces is probably the one who dropped it.