follows the river.


Day Two: Clarington, OH to Fly, OH Up at 5 a.m., I walked under the dawn’s gray light to a nearby gas station for coffee. Unshaven and rumpled, I sat outside on the curb. A customer stopped short and asked with concern, “Are you OK?” “I’m fine,” I smiled. “Canoeing the river and charging my phone. Tanks for asking, though!” I leſt Clarington in thick fog, the shore barely visible. Above,


dripping trees driſted like ghosts through the swirling mist, and the air, heavy with moisture, carried the earthy fragrance of a tropical rainforest. Te day began to brighten, pale sunlight parting the thinning


mists, and suddenly blue sky appeared. Te sparkling river re- flected the sunrise, and the hills soared high above, green as a jungle. It felt good to be on the river with the morning sun on my face, living an adventure I’d long dreamed of. Like giant stair steps, six dams and locks along the Ohio


PREVIOUS PAGE— Just below Wheeling, WV old steel girder bridges span the Ohio, River as the author begins his journey south.


OPPOSITE (CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT)— At Fly, Ohio the author relaxes with (oblig- atory) morning coffee beside the still waters of the Ohio. A sign post points the way to various locations up and down the Ohio River Valley and beyond. A fisherman is dwarfed by a massive cooling tower at Willow Island, WV. During construction in 1978 one of the towers collapsed killing 51 workers


the distant, bluish haze. By the early 1800s this valley became the gateway to westward


I was originally drawn to the Ohio for its history rather than its beauty, but once on the river I realized how lovely it is.


hold back the water in ponds to control the flow of the river. For miles above the locks the water “pools” and the current slows. Here the river becomes like a lake. Te dams are massive structures, eleven hundred feet wide, spanning Ohio with eight sluice gates to control the river’s flow. Two locks are built along the shore, one for large tows measuring up to 1200 feet, and another for smaller vessels measuring less than 600 feet. At the Hannibal Lock and Dam I stepped down to the next


level of the Ohio. As a cruising sailor I’ve gone through hun- dreds of locks on the Erie Canal, the Welland Canal and the Soo. But this was the first time I’d locked through in a canoe, and I was a bit nervous. A mile upstream I called the lock mas- ter on VHF, Ch.13 and requested down-bound passage. He directed me to the “little” 600-foot lock. A green light let me know it was safe to enter the enormous


lock chamber, and once inside I tied up to a floating mooring. As the massive gates closed behind, I felt smaller than a minnow in a swimming pool. Te water began to recede, the glistening concrete walls rose high above, and I was lowered gently down twenty feet. When the downstream gates opened, a loud horn alerted me that I could proceed. “Tank you, sir!” I called on my VHF, then paddled out safely onto the next section of the river. Piece of cake—and it sure beats portaging. Tese are Federal locks, paid for by taxpayers, so passage is free of charge. At a tidy riverside park in Sisterville, WV I talked with a re-


tired librarian. “Tis was once a booming oil town.” she told me. “In the early 1900s, a hundred steamboats crowded the shore— most were used to house the workers.” And, she added, “Years ago, before the dams were built, the river was not so wide. In some winters, horse carriages crossed from one side to the other on the ice.” Today, Sisterville dozes by the river, and its residents sit quietly, watching the towboats pass by on the wide Ohio. I’d now entered The Long Reach, so-named by George


Washington in the diary of his 1770 survey voyage. Tis is the straightest course of the river—nearly 18 miles. Here, the view continues unbroken till the hillsides and water merge as one in


30


expansion. Millions traveled its waters seeking land and fortune in the newly opened territories downstream. My own ancestors likely traveled this route on their way to southern Illinois in the 1850s. In 1870 Wheeling, WV was one of the busiest ports in the United States, and millions began their journey west from its shores. Te Ohio’s banks


are steep and often filled with riprap or


covered in thick undergrowth. Tis makes finding a campsite a challenge. Tere are numerous islands in the river, but most are designated as a National Wildlife Refuge, and landing on them is prohibited. Just below the one-horse hamlet of Fly, Ohio, I found a rare


stretch of flat gravel and set up camp. Nearby, a little stream splashed down to join the Ohio through an opening in the willows. On the river, a fish jumped, breaking the water’s quiet surface, and the setting sun varnished the hilltops with a warm glow. Far from city lights, bright stars shone through the tent’s mosquito netting and fireflies floated on the warm, night air.


Day Tree: Fly, OH to Belmont, WV. I woke to a cool, clear morning. Mist rose in a veil from the still water as the eastern sky brightened behind dark hills. Te beauty of the scene belied the fact that the Ohio is one of America’s most polluted rivers. Steel mills upstream foul the river with nitrate compounds, and although clean-up efforts have helped, the river is still a toxic brew of heavy metals and farm run-off. Eating fish from the Ohio is not recommended. I was originally drawn to the Ohio for its history rather than


its beauty, but once on the river I realized how lovely it is. Te high hills, the picturesque towns, and the verdant valleys branch- ing away from the meandering stream are stunning. Much of the route took me past Ohio’s Wayne National Forest and its thickly forested, mostly undeveloped, hillsides. Aſter the morning calm, headwinds slowed my progress. I


tucked in along the shore for protection, but there, the current was less, so back I went toward the center with better current, but also stronger winds and bigger waves. Sometimes you can’t win. From a clear sky, the June sun hammered me with a tropic


ferocity. I kept well protected with a wide hat, a neck gaiter up to my eyes, sunglasses, sun shirt, gloves and pants. I’ve always been careful about sun exposure. I reminded myself to stay hydrated, but the five-gallon collapsable water container I’d brought so fouled the contents that I couldn’t drink from it. Fortunately, I’d brought a one-gallon jug and found plenty of places to fill it


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