So tonight I finished my homework--I threw in the towel, in other words--and was cruising around via Google when I did a random image search for "mulberry fork kayak." You see, yesterday was one of the first days of spring, and spring means rain, and rain means kayaking. For close to six months now I've had to watch my boat gather dust in the corner of my den, alternatively serving as a coat rack and beer can receptacle/target. And I'm
tired of it. So I wanted to see if there were any pictures on the web of my favorite Alabama river. And darn if it wasn't a picture of me. Now, I know it's hard to tell who the fella in the boat is, but that's me in my old blue Inazone 230, before I got a real playboat. When I worked the night shift at the newspaper in Birmingham, I used to get up early (10-11:00 a.m.) and head out to the river with Scout, only 30 minutes by highway if I didn't stop for barbecue along the way. I'd usually just go to Five-O, one of my favorite playspots, and just surf for hours, chatting with whoever came by. A lot of people did. The Mulberry Fork of the Black Warrior River runs through Blount County, winding among small canyons, shoals and oak-lined beaches, a clear green thread lining the heart of the county. It's a pure joy to paddle.
So one cold day in December I was there, surfing, talking with the other paddlers who were lucky enough to have night jobs (or no jobs at all), when this guy comes down and starts taking pictures of us. Naturally, I paddled over and struck up a conversation, and after a while he introduced himself as David Haynes, and if I liked, he'd email me some pictures of myself cruising in the wave. I said sure, gave him my address and promptly forgot about it. Well, he wasn't joking. Turns out one of the shots he took of me was the December 4 photo of the week, making up part of his year-long photographic documentary, Alabama 2000: The Millennium Project. His work is top-notch. I remember him saying something about taking old-style photos, which explains the developing technique he mentions on the front page. The images are stark, insightful. Sad, even. Maybe it's just the sepia tint, but there is a sort of tragic humility in many of his images, if that's not going too far. They remind me of the sort of photos Eudora Welty took throughout the South during the 1930's.
Check his site out, and live for a bit along the roadsides and backyards of Alabama the Beautiful. I'll be out on the water.
