The Altamaha River forms at the confluence of the Ocmulgee and Oconee rivers, and its current pulls in multiple directions from that point — on this trip BWJ found island camping scarce, scouting several sites before finding a workable sandy spit just past the Highway 132 bridge.
The gator came off the bank like it had business with us. Slid into the brown water and swam straight at the canoe. River Dog saw it first. I back-paddled hard, Tina braced, and the thing passed under us close enough to touch. The Altamaha does what it wants.
We'd pushed off from the confluence that morning — Ocmulgee and Oconee becoming one river. The current pulled three directions at once. Brown water, big banks, the kind of flow that doesn't let you rest. Passed under the old train trestle and started looking for camp.
Nothing. The Altamaha gave us nothing for miles. Scouted one island too small for the tent. Kept moving. Then just past the Highway 132 bridge, there it was. A sandy spit with enough flat ground and a ring of willows blocking the wind. First island camp we'd ever made.
Frank was tied up in the channel nearby. Old johnboat, cane pole, cooler full of bream. He told us where the slow water holds the catfish, pointed downstream toward a snag we should avoid. Then he was gone around the bend.
We set the tent on sand that was underwater a week ago. River Dog circled three times and dropped. Somewhere downstream, the Altamaha kept moving without us. I could hear it pulling at the island's edge all night.
At the confluence of the Ocmulgee and Oconee rivers, where the two become the Altamaha.
Not necessarily — on this trip BWJ scouted for miles, ruled out one island as too small, and only found a workable sandy spit with a willow windbreak just past the Highway 132 bridge.
Yes. A gator came off the bank and swam directly toward the canoe, passing close underneath before continuing on.
A local fisherman (met in an old johnboat near the campsite) pointed out where slow water holds catfish and flagged a downstream snag to avoid.