Hatching Some Enthusiasm for West Tennessee Rivers by Elmore Holmes October, 2003      My mom's parents, who spent their entire lives in rural West Tennessee, were country farm folks to the core.  They lived off the fat of the land--literally.  I remember watching my grandfather eat breakfast, which for him always consisted of just what you might expect on a farm that raised pigs and chickens.  Even at my young age, I was a little troubled by the amount of cholesterol going into "Popa" as he sopped up the greasy gravy on his plate with his egg and toast.      "Health and fitness" was something my grandparents didn't have much use for.  My grandmother, in particular, scoffed at the very idea of exercise.  When I started running cross country in high school, she pretended to be supportive, but I could tell she was secretly shaking her head, wondering when I would be through with that nonsense.

Elmore's columns appear monthly at the Outdoors, Inc.,website: www.outdoorsinc.com

     And so, I was a little surprised last year when I learned that the Hardeman County Chamber of Commerce wanted to put on a canoe and kayak race on the Hatchie River near Bolivar.  They had contacted Joe Royer, the director of the Outdoors, Inc., race here on the Mississippi each May, for advice, and he told me about it during one of our daily paddling sessions last summer.  "They like what our race here in Memphis has developed into," Joe said.  "They'd like to make Hardeman County a destination for all kinds of outdoor sports: paddling, mountain biking, triathlons, stuff like that."
     Imagine that, I thought.  It seemed so un-West Tennessee to me.
     But who was I to ask questions?  Any time somebody wants to host a canoe and kayak event in the Mid South, I consider it my duty to support it.  And so on September 28, 2002, about 31 other paddlers and I converged on the U.S. 64 bridge over the Hatchie outside Bolivar for the start of this 8-mile-or-so race.  Even though I'd spent most of my life only about 50 miles from this place, it was a new experience for me.  I had driven through Bolivar perhaps once or twice, and I had never spent any time on the Hatchie.  The gun went off, and we paddled into the woods to discover what the river was hiding.
     Tropical Storm Isidore had just dumped several inches of rain on the area, and so we had a nice, healthy flow to carry us through the woods.  The first thing I noticed was that even though it was a bright, sunny day, the rays rarely landed a direct hit on my head.  This section of the Hatchie flows through a rich hardwood forest, and a lovely canopy of trees provided abundant shade for the entire race.  The timber industry has a long history in the area, and the race was in fact being held in conjunction with Hardeman County's annual Forestry Festival.  If you walk into any house in the Mid South, chances are pretty good that it will have hardwood flooring that was milled in Hardeman County.  As a woodworker I have a keen appreciation for lumber products, but during the race I was pleased to find plenty of trees still standing in the Hatchie's swampy bottomland.
     As they approach the Mississippi, West Tennessee's streams have all been channelized--particularly the Wolf and the Loosahatchie as they traverse the Memphis metro area.  But this section of the Hatchie still meanders unmolested.  Though the race course runs in a northwesterly direction, we paddled north, south, east, and west at one time or another.  Some maps, such as the Tennessee Atlas and Gazetteer, represent this section not as a single riverbed but as a braided labyrinth of swampland, and because the river was spilling out of its banks in some places, it was not always obvious which way to go.  Joe, who had scouted the course a couple days eariler, had told me to go left anytime there was a choice.  But Wayne Lichliter, one of our paddling buddies down on the Mississippi, apparently didn't get the memo.  He found himself in a distributary channel that bypassed the finish line and spit him back into the main river about a quarter-mile downstream.
     We paddled in forested isolation for the entire race.  One saw no evidence of civilization until he rounded the last bend before the finish line, which was the Tennessee 18 bridge.
     We took our boats off the river and drove into Bolivar for the awards ceremony, which coincided with the Forestry Festival celebration in the courthouse square.  Here we found the West Tennessee I knew: I had no trouble finding some fried chicken and soda pop.  I settled down in a shady spot, played with little Crystal Nouwen (daughter of Julie and Wim), and listened to a band of oldsters saw a few bluegrass favorites on their fiddles.  Yes, canoe and kayak racing did have a place in rural West Tennessee.  My fellow paddlers and I savored what I hope will become an annual tradition on the Hatchie River in Hardeman County.
     This year, the Hatchie River Canoe and Kayak Race will take place on Saturday, October 25.  The fellas at the Chamber of Commerce moved it back a month to coincide with the autumn colors.  Should be beautiful, though I predict the water will be full of fallen leaves… paddlers with rudders beware!
     Word on the street is that over twice the number of racers at last year's race have registered for this year.  If you're not registered yet, you can download an entry form on the Outdoors, Inc., website.  Don't miss out!  Good times are certain.