In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Chapter 11 seeking damaged waters I don’t confine myself to the pure and unadulterated in rivers—“scenic,” “unspoiled ,” or any of those other adjectives that we use to separate the idyllic from the homely ones, those rivers we’ve judged less deserving of being set aside and protected. At times, particularly on trips out west, it was a relief and great comfort to find a place as secluded and cold and clear as Platoro Lake/ the Conejos River in the San Juan Mountains, where I spent a quiet Fourth of July in 2008 (see chapter 8). But often, less than pristine rivers are just as interesting, if not more so, than the beauty contest winners. Foremost, someone ’s got to document the trash on a river, to make people aware of what’s out there that is visible from the intimate perspective of a canoe or kayak on the theory that a sustained cleanup effort will follow the awareness. On our 2003 trip down the length of the Cumberland, Randy Russell and I saw sections of unexpected beauty on the first one hundred free-flowing miles in eastern Kentucky . We also saw pipes that pumped raw waste into the river. Alongside the deeply wooded shorelines and the sheer rocky bluffs, amid the roaring rapids, flashing white, we cataloged discarded or misplaced objects unique to our species : appliances such as washing machines (no dryers!) and televisions; dozens of vehicles half-submerged, hood first, as if pausing for a drink from the river; vestiges of construction, plastic cones, broken concrete, lumber, and some kind of fabric waving like curtains from trees for miles; the usual detritus of recreation, plastic and glass bottles, tires, lawn furniture, all of it evidence of our energy in acquiring and consuming as well as of our laziness in disposal— crazy stuff such as the toilet seat hanging suspended in a tree on the lower river in western Kentucky, a memorable vision for the last day on the river. I documented this in my second book, Coldhearted River: A Canoe Odyssey down the Cumberland, feeling it was my duty to give a complete picture of the river, 146 Seeking Damaged Waters not just the pretty parts. In 1996 Vic Scoggin, who grew up near Nashville on the river, had swum the length of the Cumberland. What he saw and felt and smelled and tasted was no doubt worse: he mentioned raw sewage, dead cows, and chemical and industrial waste at a level that convinced Randy and me that there had been some cleanup since Vic’s trip. Apart from the need to document damage that can be perceived by the senses—what any ordinary paddler can do, if willing to embark upon a damaged river—I also must admit a more detached interest in the phenomenon of trash: how it gets into a river or onto its banks and what it says about us. What is the process by which cars arrive at river banks? If they still run, why abandon them there? If they don’t run, wouldn’t it be a lot of trouble to deposit them in these remote locations, far from roads? What is the thought process that takes place when someone who fishes, swims, or boats a river finishes an Egg McMuffin and drops the greasy wrapper into the water? Or, more commonly , finishes a cigarette and deposits it like sizzling bait onto the surface of a river that was a childhood companion? Don’t tell me that those folks just aren’t thinking. You have to be conscious to eat, drink, and smoke, and you have to cognizant of the deliberate decision to add visible advertisements of your consumption to the flora and fauna of a lake or river. Some items defy explanations and imagined scenarios, such as the bowling ball in the Cumberland near Burnside, Kentucky. Did you know that bowling balls can float? Paddling damaged rivers, these smaller questions lead to larger ones. How does a coal-fired steam plant affect the experience of paddling a river or lake? Jasper and I, on our Tennessee River trip, camped next to a bay warm as bathwater, smelling like wet, dirty rags, as a result of the plant’s discharge. By now we also know that retention ponds holding coal ash can fail and result in epic messes on rivers, case in point the Emory in Roane County, which underwent a massive cleanup that has taken years. I paddled a portion...

Share