The rain sheets fell down as the river rolled under us. I sat in the stern of my canoe with my friend Medaline in Dhanush. My father, Joel, followed his long red ocean kayak. We instigated the previous dropping branches, which were tried to hang them downwards as current.

I can’t help, but was laughing. I traveled Georgia To see how wild the Altamaha river was still. Now, four days of our six-day source-to-C paddle, the river was showing its strength.

About one hour and one half in the south SavannaPaddles can find a forgotten gem. The name of Georgia’s “Little Amazon”, 137-Meal Altamaha River with hardwood forests and the marshes of the old-development saru, with the Cordgrass Marsharslands before emptying the river-cut rocks in the past and the Atlantic. Endemmed, crossed the roads just five times, and homes for over 120 endangered species, Nature Conservancy calls this river one of the 75 “last great places” in the world.

The best way to enjoy Altamaha is by boat. In 2010, Georgia River Network launched the Altamaha River Cano Trail. Today, this mark spreads the length of the river and provides 29 access points.

We started our journey with one night in a primitive campsite at Towns Bluff Park. A guide in three river outdoor helped us take our car down Deryan Before seeing us on our way in put-in in Hinson’s landing. Three rivers provide everything for 10-day trips for a two-hour directed tour from shuttle to kayak.

I spent a year in researching Altamaha, curved, hard-to-navigate tributaries, dense swampland, strong streams and touches, large catfish and giant crocodiles.

The journey was not disappointed. On our first night, we set up a camp on a wide beach in one of the many scattered camp areas of the river. I picked up Deavberry, while Medaline caught the coastline, pushing a large redbreast sunfish and smallmouth bass from the water.

For dinner, we feasted on fried fish, pasta and berries. We sit on the soft sand, watching the sun’s sink, while walking through the ice-white igres shallow water, their bright yellow legs offer their long-term glow.

During the next few days, we fell into a pattern. We woke up early and barely jumping, seeing solitary sandpipers running along the mistor coasts, the Asprase saw us over the dead trees from our nest.

We spent our lunch in darting in water for a quick swim in casting lines and water, while resting on the sandbar of Ultmaha, walking deeply for the outline of a crocodile.

In the afternoon, Silver Molett jumped with black water next to our boats. On a memorable occasion, one bounted my father’s kayak deck with a loud thunder.

Each night, we listened to the owl forbidden on our familiar song, “Hu, Hu, Hu, who cooked for you, as they increased between Spanish moss-wave branches.

Our biggest crocodile vision came on the afternoon of our third day. “Medaline, Medaline, Medaline!” I panicked that whatever I had taken, he started charging below the bank next to us. It broke through the complicated willow and drowned in water, its huge form textured waves that were wrapped against the canoe. Medaline smiled back to me. “What did you expect from me?” He said.

We spent our last night on the river in Altamaha Regional Park. After another round of torrential thunderstorms, a hot bath and a cup of coffee never felt so good.

The next morning we found in the park store, which hosts a delicious dinner tucked in the back corner of the fishing tackle and the shelves of the Camo shirt. Local sorbet syrup, fried eggs, crispy hash brown, with grits and sausages at the breakfast of Waffles, local Anglers told us that we have to check the rifle cut.

It provides relief from streams and tides at the mouth of the narrow, mile-lumbar canal river. It is adorned with bright wildflover, small scooting crabs and broths. Although beautiful, it has a deep history. In the 1820s, the canal was lost by slaves to shorten the Timber Mill’s route in Darian.

After the cut through the cut, the river pulled us back into a cruel mixture of wind, current and tide as we entered the deren.

We caught our first glimpse of another group of paddlers on the river before making the last turn. Now, directly ahead of us, they were in trouble. Caught in a strange mixture of current and tide, they flipped their canoe. Without a life jacket, they clung to the capsized canoe, and we hurried to help.

My father put one behind his kayak. With the help of another kayakar, we were able to get another man and his canoe unlike the dirty bank nearby and just over the takeout.

The travel medaline and I ended in different boats. I took a man to my canoe, while Medaline and my dad have a nervous, tired man in our bow. He sat on the balls of his feet and clung to the gunwalas, causing a gear-laden canoe to tremble. Somehow, Medaline made it with him.

Altamaha was a adventure work till the very end.