Saturday, July 25, 2009
It would be hard to imagine a better day than Saturday for getting out, getting wet and having fun in the middle of nowhere.
People consider Salt Creek Falls to be near Munford Alabama, and technically I think that is the closest post office, as the crow flies. But I don't regard the place as being near there, or Talladega, or Oxford...those are just towns you'd find on the map in the same general area.
It's not but about half a mile walk through private-but-wooded property to get to the falls but it's a walk you have to be ready for, because it involves climbing, crawling, and the occasional controlled butt-slide.
The trail starts out pretty much level, then picks up a gentle slope, then you can see how the creek has done its work to the terrain over geologic time: the slope gets steep and there are deep hollows and overgrown cuts in the ground.
A few yards further and the trail becomes increasingly hard to distinguish from a washout, which it does every time it rains. There's a few spots where you have to crawl and work your way to the bottom...remember crab-walking? Thankfully there are well-worn laurel bush trunks to hold onto along the way.
Of course if you're a 7-year-old boy you think all that is just waaay cool and have to be told repeatedly to be careful and go slow. If you're a 4-year-old girl, all you have to do if ask your 6'3" daddy to use his long arms and legs to help you down, and he will.
Once you make it to the falls, you can choose the upper spot which this time of year features only a knee-deep pool that seems to disappear. The smallmouth bass, bream, and darters you can see in the crystal-clear water seem to know not to get too close to the edge of it.
The alternate last leg of the 'trail' will take you to the lower spot. From there, you can fully appreciate the 40-to-50 foot drop over ancient gneiss and granite that is ever-slimy and mossy from the water that imperceptibly is wearing it away.
Then there's the pool beneath the falls...that's what we were there for Saturday. At its edge the bottom has just enough silt and sand to allow your to stand steady as you contemplate jumping in. But venture more than a step of two and you're reminded how slippery rock can really be...best to just on in before you end of taking a quite undignified and ungraceful dip.
We had gotten off easy when it came to July heat Saturday...it could not have been much more than 91 or 92 degrees...so that clear water was cold and it was easy to remember that it comes out of mountain springs. Griffin told me at least 5 or 6 times that he could swim, but made a point to stay very close by. Carlie was not so confident and insisted in holding on to my shoulders while I swam around on my back...although she did say "I'll be the motor" and added paddling power using her legs.
We checked out each corner of the pool, and it was nice stretching out on the flat rocks and just soaking the place in...we had it to ourselves the whole time...with the occasional shout from Griffin to hear the echo off the canyon walls and gales of laughter from Carlie when her brother learned just what I meant when I told him those rocks were slippery.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
It was one of those weekends where stuff to do with the kids coincided nicely with things daddy wanted to do.
Saturday we went the Alabama Gun Collectors Association show in Birmingham. I first went when was 12 or 13 and have been a gun nut ever since and kept going. By myself I can kill a whole day there, but with Griffin and Carlie with me I have to make it the 'gun show express.
I was lucky, in that the remain happy to go pretty much anywhere, and that there attention spans seemed to have increased since the spring gun show. My first priority was corralling them because of all the 'do not touch' items at the show, but I still got to look around some, too.
Bought a Russian .22 rifle just like the one I sold to the late great Mark Howard years ago, and I was glad to get it. Not just because it is a GREAT rifle at a good price but also because I got to B.S. with the old cat who sold it to me.
Another old gun show fixture, Mr. Emmett Fike, sharpened my knife for me. The Swedish steel is once more sharp enough to cut myself wide open if I'm not careful, and I am glad. I have always grinned when Mr. Fike gives customers his business card, which is printed on a Band-Aid!
Along the way we passed toys and trinkets...Griffin got a slingshot' Carlie picked herself out some especially pretty multicolored marbles.
Back home and we played outside. The grapes and blueberries are in, so we picked and munched down on some.
I had gotten out my box trap (feral cats, coons and possums visit regularly and can be a problem) last week cleaning out my shed and it was still sitting on the porch. Carlie kept asking how it worked and what I might catch in it, so I set it for her and baited it with some cat food. Then she asked, when will something get in it? I told her, if anything gets trapped, it won't happen until it's dark.
I was proven wrong when the trap went 'clank!' We went to check it and there was Tip inside, looking sad and a bit surprised. Hence, Carlie got her demonstration of how the trap worked and Tip did, too.