Reelfoot's Glory Hole Canoe Trail

      Faint light began to spread across the early morning sky before the Sun finally broke the horizon. The steady hum of the dual exhaust on my husband's truck in my ear as we navigated our way Southeast. 

                Sunrise in the sideview

     Less than two hours after daybreak we launched our kayaks into Reelfoot Lake. A flock of white cranes and a wayward racoon greeting us as we made our way down Grassy Island and the start of the Glory Hole Canoe Trail. 

    Canal at start of Glory Hole Canoe Trail

    Summer was upon us as was the usual heat and humidity of the South. We hoped to beat the worst of it by launching early and it seemed the weather would accommodate us. 

     A cool breeze greeted us as wet set off, following channel first hemmed by reeds and Lilly pads with gnarly Cypresses jutting from the water. The sounds of frogs calling for possible mates and a Bluebird nestled in the branches sang to us. 

    Sun peeking through the Cypress trees

   The breeze brought with it the smell of fresh clean linens, so crisp and fresh as only Nature can smell. We meandered down the canal, dodging off track to explore a rather impressive knook of Cypress. Duckweed floated upon the surface but with it pink flower petals from bushes that clung to the knobby knees of the Cypress and the Sun shine down through their branches casting shadows about. 

           Flower petals atop duckweed

  Calm and quiet enough to hear the buzz of the bees feeding on the pollen of the pink flowery bushes. We continued on staying left as the channel opened up into Buzzard Slough. An otter quickly dropped off the base of Cypress and slid into the dark waters. Further down a Bald Eagle flew from his perch and followed the channel until he was out of sight. 

       Marker on Glory Hole Canoe Trail

  The waters quickly became soupy with duckweed, making paddling arduous. The decision was made to turn around and head left further down into Buzzard Slough. Ducking through Cypress we headed South, actually choosing to paddle between the gnalred bases of Cypress rather than the open waters of the channel. 

  Paddling among the weathered and flared bases of the Cypress we marveled at their sizes and shapes. The gaping holes wore into their bases, the flowering bushes that seemed to filter tiny bits of soil from the water with their roots which formed micro biotic islands nestled in the bases and knees of each Cypress present. The bark of some twisted and wrapped around the trunks while others ran vertically and even a few Cypress that shot out horizontally along the waters surface. 

                Dead Twisted Cypress

  A fishing boat began to make its way by us in the channel, I expected some waves from its wake given the short distance between us. I was surprised to find very small waves had actually made their way to us, so small they were of little notice. 

  We continued on further, paddling between the Cypress before crossing the channel and turning back North. Here the bases of the Cypress seemed larger with less bursh and bush about their bases. The other unfortunate part to this side of the channel at this point in the morning was the lack of shade. We quickly crossed the channel again seeking the long shadows of the Cypress for solace from the rising Sun. 

              Finding the shadier spots

   The Sun began to creep toward it's crest in the sky and the humidity began to cling to our skin. We paddled on, navigating our way back into the narrow channel between the Lilly pads and reeds with our arms aching and the breeze had dropping too the occasional status. 

  We made our way back to the foot of the small boat ramp we had launched from. Our arms ached, sweat glistened on our skin, and our love and respect of Reelfoot had only intensified. 

   I am enchanted by this little quake lake so full of life, decay, and beauty all mixed into it's shallow waters. I'm curious as to how it will marvel me upon my next trip, for it never fails to do so.