Photo Essay: Flooded Out
- This topic has 8 replies, 9 voices, and was last updated Apr 14, 2008 at 5:58 pm by
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Hey guys –
So I was supposed to be fishing the Flint River with Kent Edmonds and my fishing buddy Richie today, but we had to call it off after our tent camp got washed out at 4:15 this morning. Here’s what happened:
We went down to Gay, Georgia (great name for two dudes going camping and fishing together, I know). There’s a sweet WMA there called the Joe Kurtz WMA, which is right by the Flint River and near where we were supposed to meet Kent.
We drove through the WMA looking for a place to camp: anywhere is open in Georgia WMAs, so we briefly explored an old freestanding chimney site, but the road to it was closed. We knew weather could be on the way and we wanted to have the truck close by, so we ruled it out.
When we got the the official camping site, we found ourselves in a big, pretty, open field. There was a nice pond, lots of grass, lots of wood, and no one there. I gather this is a deer season camp from the bones and the block and tackle rig by the entrance.
We set up a pretty sweet little camp, as you can see:
We then set about doing some fishing in the pond.
I immediately started getting strikes on a big crease fly, but it was clear the pond didn’t support anything big enough to swallow the fly, so I stepped down, ultimately catching a few bream and small largemouth bass on poppers. Right after Richie called out from the other side of the pond that he had spotted a tom turkey, I hooked up with something that pulled *way* too hard to be a little bass.
Wouldn’t you know it, I caught my first catfish on the fly! Those suckers are weird! You can tell I wasn’t quite sure how to hold one. 🙂
So we got done fishing and went back to camp. The frog chorus began as we grilled burgers and drank beer and listened to the end of the Atlanta Braves game. No rain was falling yet; the fire was big, and we had a thoroughly relaxing night. When a hen turkey started calling her tom, Richie whipped out the turkey call and got a couple responses from her.
Right after I wiped my face and brushed my teeth for bed, the rain started to trickle down. I called Lauren and she assured us there was still a line of storms coming, but I figured it would break up. [Insert Tragic Hubris Here]. The bugs were still coming to the lantern and there was no sign of any rain.
(This is the camp on a long exposure. Doesn’t look like a gully, does it?)I bedded down. 30 minutes in, still trying to get comfortable on a 75-degree humid night, the heavens unzipped themseves.
(This is what the fire looked like and how dry it was right before bed).Now my tent has not been out in a while, so it was pretty dried out and the rainfly wasn’t looking so great. I’ve had the tent for 10 years; some of the seam tape on the windows is coming loose, but I figured it was still water-tight.
Well… it is water-tight, now. Last night when the rain started it was like an old dry wooden boat that needed to soak for a while to seal up. Thus, the first thirty minutes of rain fell right on my face. I ended up in a full mummy bag – still 75 degrees – with my waders laid over me like a blanket. Boy was bringing my waders a lucky stroke.
It stormed and STORMED all night long. Thunder, lightning, frogs screaming in between bursts: a thoroughly liquid hell.
At 4:15, having slept not a wink, I noticed something weird. All my stuff was getting higher. The floor was rising. Now I was totally dry, but when I put my hand down, I realized my tent floor had become a waterbed. I could push it down four inches in places. Oh shit, I thought.
I immediately phoned Richie (between the frogs and the rain, there was no yelling at him, close as he was).
Zach: Dude, my tent is a waterbed.Richie: Hahaha, that sucks dude. How did that happ…oh crap my tent is too!
Zach: I am going to unzip my tent now.
That’s the scene in my vestibule. My boots were all trying to float away. While the field looked perfectly flat in the daytime we had ignored the #1 rule of military tent camping: choose high ground. We were in the sluice of an entire 40 acre field. Four inches of water everywhere. Our fire had *floated off.*
🙂
So, needless to say, we had to abandon camp. Here’s the text message I sent to Kent at 4:20AM:
four inches water under tent escaped in waders lets reschedule
I found myself stumbling around in waders with no boots on, rolled halfway up, frantically trying to move as much stuff as possible to the truck in the middle of the driving rain, which thankfully let up long enough for us to break camp and high tail it.
By 6:30 we were in a Waffle House trying to decide if the professional bass fisherman sitting in the booth next to us had actually porn-named himself “Rod Benders,” as his shirt collar appeared to suggest, or if we were simply in the presence of some kind of team member. I voted porn name.
Richie was not a happy camper.Zach….I fished that area since I was a kid….and anytime there is that much rain…the river is typically too muddy to fish. Oh well. All those UGA insignias jinxed you guys.
Lets see…Gay Georgia and Rod Bender……probably ajoke there somewhere.
Enjoyable read Zach.
My 3 day weekend is a complete wash. Between spring thaws and 48 hours of rain everythin is flooded. Small clear creeks were raging chocolate milk up over their banks. Hopefully the sun will shine a bit day and while fishing is out I might get to the range and do some 3D shooting.
/prays for a break in he rainthe last photo really says it all….
One more scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, now dunked.
Zach…
I’m laughing Zach. I was once in a group that got caught in a storm line like that. Of 7 tents, only 2 remained standing, and all of them were flooded out. We nicknamed that one “Hurricane Eureka” after the tent brand. 😉
Even happens to the best of em’! 😉
Everyone should have a story like this…builds character.
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