Newnan's - Near Windsor

Now I know where all the gators go to get away from the hunters atop their deafening airboat thrones.  The east side of Newnan's is as silent as the south side is loud and I would imagine the gators have been chilling here during Gator Season as long as there have been airboats.  I didn't get 10 feet past shore before seeing several sets of eyes and nostrils drop below the water line.  Fresh bubble trails (nature's sonar indicating "gator below!") greeted me for the rest of the way as I hugged the eastern shore paddling south.


I love paddling out of canals and into the expanse of a lake, especially with the sun bearing down behind me and onto the water ahead. The light creates the illusion that the water rises gently, physics be damned.


And then at once, I see the entire lake, get my bearings, and try to find the dead tree on the west side that sits in the belly of the kidney that is Newnan's shape. The tree is a landmark that all Newnan's boaters are familiar with and I remember it especially since that was where I spoke with some gator hunters a week or so ago.  They couldn't figure out why the hunting spot that was allegedly so fruitful last year brought them nothing this year.  I kept my mouth shut when one of them told me the kayaks were scaring the gators away.  It should be noted I had this conversation looking up at ten feet of airboat.


But back on the east side, the bulrush and hyacinth are so thick, blocking as they do both the sight of the lake and its ripples, that it felt like a river at low ebb. On a day when I'm feeling more brave, I'll try to get in between the broad cypress and into the dark swamp at the lake's edge.


And as long as I'm making bold promises to myself, I plan to circumnavigate Newnan's one day. By my estimate, that's about 15 miles, with nary a current to help me along.  Ever so slowly, I am getting to know and love this historic lake, one that I'd previously dismissed as gator infested, phosphate choked, and overused.  All that is certainly true, but so is the fact that millennia of human beings have lived at its edges.  There is something here that still draws us.


Back out of the water, I discover a front left tire nearly flat to the ground.  That slow leak must have sped up a bit but now I am outside of Windsor and have no idea where the nearest gas station is.  I take my chances and head for Hawthorne Road.

Tomorrow: River Styx again toward Orange Lake.  A more experienced paddler informs me that it does indeed go all the way through.