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kayaker in Cossatot River white water

Click on the kayaker and to to our original post

“Gustav (the hurricane) was not quite finished when I left for the Cossatot River. The skies were still overcast, a misty drizzle was falling and winds were still whipping through the trees.”

That’s how I began my comments on September 14, 2008. This verbiage came as a result of my hurried trip to the Cossatot River after watching a big storm on radar pelt the area the night before. That meant the river was in its Class V stage, during which only world-class kayakers should venture forth. The shoot was on.

Turns out, my friend and superb photographer Chuck Harralson of the Arkansas Parks and Recreation Department had made arrangements for three expert kayakers to negotiate the white water while he, and then, we, shot after we both arrived within minutes of each other. I had no idea he would be there. The kayakers made several trips through and it was a thrill to watch and shoot.

See some of the shots and read the original post here.   See the start of the story and a full size version of the picture you see above at Corndancer dot-com.
Here are links to three galleries of where you can see three world-class kayakers coming through the white water: Tommy Wingard, Jason Mellor, and Sabrina Mellor.

Thanks for dropping by,

Joe Dempsey,
Weekly Grist for the Eyes and Mind


2 Responses

  1. Almost a carbon copy of the house where my grandma lived in rural Reeves, Allen Parish, Louisiana before her poor health required her to move to South Arkansas to live with us when I was about 9. Main difference is that hers was a 3-room cabin, no dogtrot but with a sleeping loft above the living area. Recalling visits in my earliest years I remember she had a water pump in the kitchen and cooked on a cast iron wood stove, and that her fireplace was also mud-chinked. My mother had two brothers who were 10 and 20 years older than she (there had been four others between who died before teens, most in infancy) and she lived alone there after my grandfather died (when mother was 6).

    She raised sheep (shearing was frightening and fun!), cows, chickens, swine, and her own vegs. The younger of her two sons, my uncle Dusty (Andrew) Bush lived next door with his family, was crippled from childhood polio, drove the school and church bus, and was the postmaster! The oldest, my uncle Winfrey, lived in Alexandria and was a car salesman and had been gone from home for many years before I was old enough to visit and I didn’t know him well. I thought uncle Dusty the handsomest man in the world because he had the prettiest teeth, which I came to soon know were false. After that, the game we requested was for him to remove them, then try to make his lower lip touch his nose, which he was happy to try!

    This revived some root memories – thanks, Joe!

  2. What a great story Weez,

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