The Tax Man: Solo on the St. Marys

The river always takes its cut.

When you paddle solo, the margin for error shrinks. There is no one to help you pull the boat up the bank, no one to watch the fire while you prep food, and no one to grab your gear when things go sideways.

I launched on the St. Marys for a solo overnight run to scout the water before meeting Tina for the second leg. The goal was simple: test the solo systems, catch supper, and find a rhythm.

The Turpentine Ghosts One benefit of paddling solo is that you notice things you miss when you’re talking to a partner. The banks of the St. Marys are marked with "Catfaced" pines—trees scarred by machetes a hundred years ago to collect sap for turpentine.

I paddled past old clay collection pots still hanging on the trees, left exactly where a worker placed them decades ago. I also found the pilings of a forgotten bridge crossing from Georgia to Florida. No road leads to it anymore. Just thick timber and deep water. It’s a reminder that this river was once a highway for industry, even if it feels wild now.

Campfire Economics Supper was a lesson in patience. I built the fire too late, which meant waiting an hour for the coals to burn down before I could cook.

• Menu: Beef fajitas (cooked over open flame) and fresh catfish.

• The Catch: I threw a worm into a deep hole off the bank and pulled up three catfish in 20 minutes. The river provides, if you know where to ask.

The Tax Man Collects The next morning, the river reminded me who is in charge. I was cleaning dishes and decided to toss a line in one last time. I turned my back for ten seconds. Splash.

I spun around just in time to see my brand new Zebco 33 dragged off the bank and into the deep channel. Gone. A big cat or a mudfish took the bait and the rod with it. I waded out to chest-deep water to find it, but the drop-off was too steep.

That rod is gone. Call it the "River Tax." Sometimes you pay in sweat, sometimes in blood, and sometimes in gear.

The Rendevous I finished the leg by noon, meeting Tina at the landing to start the next section. The solo leg was done. I lost a rod, but I gained a deeper respect for the history hidden in the banks of the St. Marys.