Just after breakfast, we passed a spot where geography and history tangle like roots underwater. This is where the Red River becomes the Atchafalayaâwhere a meander of the Mississippi once captured the Red, and later, human hands sliced it back open, inserting control structures to keep the rivers separated, but not disconnected. A crossroads of hydrology, power, and compromise.
By afternoon, we tied up on a sandbar near Simmesport and set off on an epic hike into town. We met John and Bret Strong, two old Cajun brothers cutting up catfish in their front yard, while Bret clearly wished he’d perused his singing career. They told us about fishing for a living and the rhythms of the river.
Later, we met a boatbuilder named Elliot, known as âpas bonâ in Cajun French. Heâs built boats for people all over the worldâthough he seemed more proud of the ones that never left Louisiana.
And then Jabari. A young man with a warm grin who offered us a ride and became, within an hour, our newest honorary crew member. We spent the rest of the day swimming, drinking, smoking, and fending off alligators with a slingshot (as you do). Somewhere in there we loitered in the beer cooler of a gas station and forgot what day it was.
The river may be engineered now, but the people who live beside it are still wildly, wonderfully unpredictable.
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