Down the Wild Cape Fear: A River Journey through the Heart of North Carolina

Chapter 4

47 We get a later-than-planned start from Raven Rock—8:40 or so. We’re slugabeds. The kayak campers are just getting roused out of their tents when we shove off from the muddy bank into a lovely morning. Proceeding downriver, we tend to stay in the shade of the trees on the east bank in the morning and then, after lunch, shift to the shade of the west bank, unless we’re in fast water and need to thread the rocks.We’re careful not to run too close under overhanging branches, for fear of snakes dropping out of the trees into our boats. Amy lolls out of the canoe, feet propped on the gunwales, taking photos. Ethan hardly has to paddle—he keeps the paddle almost always on the right side and, with a repertoire of deft strokes, can steer it in one direction or another. They glide along, and we let them go ahead and wait while we catch up. Nobody is talking much yet, just listening to the river wake up around us. The country remains wild, and it takes us a few minutes to paddle beyond the boundaries of the park. Today is a “push” day—we have a lot of miles to cover if we’re going to be within striking distance of Fayetteville tomorrow. The plan is to go through Fayetteville and about six miles farther south to a Wildlife ramp on Old Route 87, variously called Wilmington Highway and Elizabethtown Road, named for two of the destinations it will take you to. If we are running too late—Ethan has a Friends School board meeting at 6:00 p.m. in Wilmington and will need about two hours to get there—we will take out at the Riverside Sports Center on Person Street upstream, where there is a ramp. Our Plan B is an uncomfortable reminder of just how hard it is to break free of the surface tension of contemporary life, in which all of our schedules seem ridiculously crowded and it’s hard to map out a blank space of time even for a few days.The river gives us the best excuse to shoehorn some free outdoor time into our indoor calendars. But push day or not, we find ourselves stopping in midstream just a little ways below Raven Rock, somewhere near Cedar Rock, spectators to a remarkable aerial drama. We paddle in place and stare upward. An osprey has appeared, a brown gliding shape, flashing white on its undersides, cir4 48 The M iddl e R e ache s cling, lower and lower, then climbing. Even high overhead, its wingspan looks enormous—probably five feet. All at once, it dives on the river ahead and comes up with a fat silver fish in its talons. Its great wings grab air and lift the fish-­carrying bird off the riverand high overour heads, almost in slow motion. Suddenly, a bald eagle appears out of nowhere, largerand faster, and blindsides the osprey with a bodycheck.The osprey loses its hold on the fish, which falls wriggling from its talons.The osprey tumbles, wings flapping wildly, then recovers.The fish free-­ falls earthward.The eagle is swift: It swoops down and grabs the fish, then rockets off to its nest high in a tree. The osprey follows, circles the nest, feints and dives repeatedly, trying to lure the eagle out of the nest.Buttheeaglestaysput,posturing,wingsenfoldedacrossthenestandthe fish. The ospreydives, swoops, circles, dives again, at last gives up and flies away. It’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen in nature, thrilling, delightful, utterly mesmerizing. Nobody says anything fora long minute, then somebody says,“You could spend your whole life on the river and never see that again.” Osprey, fish, eagle.That’s why we came. We have one more set of mild rapids to negotiate, Rahds Falls, on a straight run into Lillington. By 11:30 a.m. we spot the high bridge going into Lillington, full of the racket of fast cars on the highway that carries U.S. 421, U.S. 401, N.C. 210, and N.C. 21. The bridge is named for Highway Patrol Trooper Harry T. Long, a twenty-­ two-­ year-­ old rookie who was killed by a hit-­ and-­ run-­ driver in 1959 while making a routine traffic stop. I suppose a bridge is an apt memorial—so many are: a literal metaphor of connection to the“other side.” We pull...