Downstream into Danger

By Susan Davis Herring

A pleasant camping trip in Tennessee turns into a race for survival for Jenny, a freelance writer who specializes in equipment and site reviews for outdoor magazines. While testing kayak paddles, Jenny stumbles across a hidden drug cache, witnesses a freak lightning strike that almost kills two of her fellow campers, and meets two friendly fly-f

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Davis Herring
• Release date: May 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737134800

Susan Davis Herring

Susan Davis Herring is a long-time whitewater canoeist, hiker, and outdoors enthusiast. Her garage is filled with six canoes and four recumbent bicycles; when she is home her SUV is parked in the driveway. She lives in north Alabama and has paddled on streams and rivers in Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee, North Carolina, and Colorado. A retired academic librarian, she has a BA and MA in English and MA and PhD in library and information science.

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DOWNSTREAM

INTO DANGER

Downstream

Into Danger

Susan Davis Herring

Copyright © 2021 Susan Davis Herring

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. The characters and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-7371348-2-4

DEDICATION

Dedicated to the memory of James C. Herring, Jr., and

Perry Hume Davis II, my guides and inspiration.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

Jenny cruised slowly through the east Tennessee campground, examining each site. She found an empty spot close to the lake but still convenient to the bathhouse and pulled her Jeep into the parking spot. Getting out of the dusty car, she stretched and looked around, admiring the sparkling water of the clear lake, the blue-green hills, and the tall, straight pines reaching toward the late afternoon sky.

It was late September, and the noisy, rowdy crowds of summer had deserted the campground. Schools were in session, so most families with children were back at home, picking at each other in the privacy of their own homes. The few people who camped out at this time of year were mostly retired people traveling for pleasure or fishermen enjoying the serious pursuit of trout. Occasional travelers pulled in for a single night, avoiding the cost of a motel room. Unlike most of her fellow campers, Jenny was there to work.

She walked around the campsite, selected a smooth, level spot for her tent, and spent a few minutes tossing stones and branches into the yellowing grass to make the spot more comfortable. With that done, she retrieved the blue nylon tent bag out of the Jeep, spread the ground cloth out, and stretched the tent on top of the it. She fed the tent poles through the sleeves and loops that held them in place and popped the pole ends into grommets at each corner of the tent. After moving it into the right position, she staked the tent down and tossed the rain fly over it, attaching the fly to the stakes. The shapeless pile of limp blue and yellow nylon had been transformed into a small, sturdy, arched structure that kept her protected from insects and bad weather and served as her home much of the year. Each move was practiced and efficient. The entire process took her less than eight minutes.

With her tent up, Jenny walked back to the campground office and registered. After she filled out the registration form and paid, the campground manager handed her a single-spaced, double-sided list of campground regulations with a stern warning that alcohol and glass bottles were forbidden, to pick up her trash, and not move picnic tables, garbage cans, rocks, or fire pit grates. She tried to maintain a serious expression while assuring him she would obey the rules.

Strolling through the campground, she looked at the various tents, trailers, and RVs, waving at the few people who were visible. She counted only 24 sites in use out of the 76 available. It was late afternoon, so most of the anglers were still on the lake, the day hikers were on their way back to camp, and the people who had been lounging around camp all day were starting to prepare dinner. The cars, trucks, and RVs sported license plates from across the country – Washington, California, Oklahoma, Indiana, Florida – but mostly from states around the campground, primarily Tennessee, North Carolina, and Alabama. Some of the RV owners proudly displayed decals from all the states they had traveled through, badges of honor in the RV world.

An older woman, pulling cooking gear out of a big green plastic bin, waved at her and called out Hello! Did you just get here? Taking this as an invitation to enter the campsite, Jenny walked over to the picnic table.

Yes, I’ve only been here long enough to set up my tent. I thought I’d walk around and get my bearings, and see where everyone’s from.

That’s always fun! We’re from Florida. How about you?

Northern Alabama. She looked at the neat trailer with its canopy extended over a folding table and group of three chairs. Three plastic bins were stacked under a tarp. You look really well prepared for campground life. Have you stayed here before? It’s my first time at this park.

Yeah, we generally come here twice a year. We stay for about a week on our trip north in the spring and again coming south in the fall. It’s one of the nicest places we’ve found, as long as you avoid the really busy season. The woman looked like she was old enough to be retired and spent many hours outdoors. Her skin was tanned and her face was lined and leathery. She was tall and thin, and well muscled for an older woman. Jenny guessed that she worked out and probably swam and played tennis, too.

Where do you spend the summer, if you don’t mind my asking? I’m just curious.

The woman smiled. No problem. Our kids live in the Great Lakes area, one in Illinois and two in Michigan. We try to spend time with them every summer, then do some travelling just for fun, to see the sights, go somewhere we haven’t gone before, go hiking or diving or something interesting like that. Winters we spend at our home in Florida.

Jenny nodded. It was the kind of response she had expected. She had spent enough time in other campgrounds, talking to other campers, to recognize the pattern.

How about you? The woman asked. You don’t look old enough to have grown kids in other states.

Jenny laughed. No, you’re right about that. I actually spend a lot of my time in campgrounds on business, strange as that may sound. I’m a free-lance writer, and I mostly test and review a lot of outdoor gear for travel and outdoors magazines.

The woman looked at her as if the idea was foreign, but sounded wonderful. What a great job! Do you get assignments, or do you have to come up with ideas on your own?

I’m at the point now where I generally get assignments from magazines that know me. It was a lot harder when I started. I used to have to spend more time selling ideas to editors than I spent traveling and writing, but now people are familiar with me and my work. I even have to turn jobs down sometimes, ‘cause the time frame conflicts with another job or I feel like I just don’t have time to do it well.

You must really like what you do.

Oh, yes, it’s a great job. She watched the woman arrange plates and napkins on the table. By the way, I’m Jenny Waterton.

Nice to meet you, Jenny. I’m Beth Stokes. Are you here alone?

Jenny always dreaded that question. Telling someone that she was on her own made her feel vulnerable, but campgrounds were too open and sites too close together to lie about it. Sometimes she wished she had a dog for companionship and protection, but dogs took a lot of care and not all the places she visited would accept one. Yes, I’m by myself.

That would scare me. Beth shivered. The world’s gotten so violent and crazy.

Well, that’s one of the nice things about camping, Jenny said. The people you meet are usually real friendly, and I almost never run into anyone in a campground who seems threatening. Maybe I’m just lucky, but I really don’t worry about it too much, especially when there’s a campground manager and other campers around, like here.

Well, I would still be scared, Beth said. Thankfully I always camp with family and friends. Jenny heard the sound of boots tramping and scuffling through the leaves to her right and looked over to see two men approaching the site. And here they are, back from fishing. Welcome back! The men waved.

Jenny, this is my husband, Ron, and his fishing buddy Prentiss. Boys, this is Jenny Waterton. She’s just set up her camp. The two men put down their tackle boxes, leaned their fishing rods against the table, shook Jenny’s hand, and smiled.

I’m in site 6, about three sites down, Jenny explained. You probably passed it walking up here, if you came from the boat dock.

Beth’s husband nodded. Yep, a little blue and yellow tent and a green Jeep?

That’s right.

Like his wife, Ron was tall, thin, and muscular, with the weathered skin and squinting eyes of a man who spent hours on the water. His friend Prentiss was shorter and a little younger, but his skin was just as tanned and leathery. His bald scalp bore the small scars of numerous cauterized skin cancers. Both men smelled of sun block, bug spray, sweat, and fish.

Well, Ron said, hope you have a good time here.

Jenny recognized this as a dismissal and smiled at him. I sure hope so, too. It was nice to meet all of you. They waved goodbye and she walked around the loop to her tent.

After fixing dinner, Jenny called the magazine editor who had commissioned her current assignment.

Hi, Harry. Just wanted you to know that I’m here at the campground and plan to start testing those take-apart paddles tomorrow.

Hey, thanks for checking in. Looks like you’ll have good weather.

Yeah, September’s usually pretty nice around here. You got anything particular you want me to focus on?

Not really. The paddles are aimed at beginners, so write for newbies and don’t expect too much performance. Try not to break them!

Right. I’ve almost never seen a take-apart paddle that an experienced paddler would use, anyway, unless they broke a good paddle in the middle of a trip.

Harry chuckled. You’re right about that. Oh, by the way, there’s a rumor going ‘round about drug trafficking near where you are. Don’t know how serious or real it is, but be careful.

Will do. I’ll talk to you in a few days when I have something for you.

Jenny cut the connection and wondered about the drug trafficking rumor. She knew illegal activity took place in the area; drug arrests were common and there were still occasional raids on illegal stills, but she doubted the veracity of this rumor. She decided to keep the warning at the back of her mind, but not worry about it.

CHAPTER 2

After eating breakfast the next morning Jenny pulled the duffle bag holding her inflatable kayak out of the Jeep. She unpacked the kayak, hooked her air pump to the Jeep’s battery, and let the kayak inflate while she retrieved the three take-apart paddles she was testing. Once the kayak was rigid she carried it to the water’s edge. She put on her life jacket, assembled the first paddle, stowed the other two in the kayak, still disassembled, and slid the boat into the quiet water. The calm lake was a good place for her initial testing; she would take the kayak and the paddles to the nearby stream for testing on easy whitewater later.

She spent most of the day on the lake, paddling two miles up the lake and two miles back, paralleling the shore. She followed the same route three times, once with each paddle. Then she returned to shore, ate a sandwich and apple, and picked up her personal paddle. She followed the same test route on the lake with her paddle, alternating it with the test paddles. Her custom-made wooden paddle was reinforced with graphite and fiberglass, unlike the test paddles which had composite blades and aluminum shafts. Hers weighed significantly less than the others and the wooden shaft gave it a warm feel and slight flexibility that placed less stress on her elbows and shoulders. It provided an ideal comparison. By the time she was done she was able to make detailed notes on the efficiency and feel of each one and rank them. She was grateful that the weather had stayed consistent throughout the tests, sunny and pleasant and with almost no wind, making the tests fair and reliable.

While she was paddling back and forth on the lake she saw fishermen scattered along the shore and standing on the sides of two boat ramps, focused on their spinning rods, lines, and floats. Several of the spin fishermen were successful at reeling fish in. A few of them gently released each fish back into the water. Some of them measured each fish before returning it to the lake, and one of them photographed each one. She recognized Ron and Prentiss fishing from a small aluminum jon boat outfitted with an electric trolling motor, creeping across the lake, occasionally pulling in a fish as it splashed in desperation. Two fly fishermen wearing waders were standing in thigh-deep water, flicking their lines across the still surface of the lake. She didn’t see either of them catch anything, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Jenny was not an angler, although she had grown up fishing with her family. For her parents, fishing was an excuse to sit quietly, enjoy time at the lake, watch the birds and woodland creatures, and soak up the sun. Catching a fish was an unnecessary interruption to a nice day, even though it might provide dinner. Jenny learned about different types of rods, reels, and lures; how to cast, set, reel in, and net a fish; and how to clean, filet, and pan fry her catch, but she was much happier sitting on the shore with a notebook or drawing pad instead of a fishing rod and net. She had not dropped a line in the water since she first moved away to attend college, over fifteen years earlier.

With the initial paddle tests completed, Jenny returned to her campsite, ate an orange, and wrote up her notes on her laptop computer. She was almost finished typing when she heard someone approaching the site. Looking up, she saw a man in damp nylon pants, tall neoprene boots, and a lightweight long-sleeved shirt pausing at the post marking the campsite. Hello, she said. Can I help you?

Well, he said, walking up to the picnic table, didn’t I see you paddling around in a kayak on the lake earlier?

She smiled. Yes, you did. And didn’t I see you fly-fishing?

He laughed. I admit it. I’m guilty.

Did you catch anything?

Nope. Got a few nibbles, that’s all. I really wasn’t out to catch any fish, you know, just to enjoy the day. Jenny nodded, agreeing. I’m Josh Snyder, by the way. I was wondering if I could look at your kayak? I’ve been thinking about getting one for fishing.

Sure. Jenny introduced herself and led him over to the kayak, laying in the grass by her tent. It’s a one-person, high-performance inflatable, self-bailing, pretty responsive and maneuverable. Do you know much about them?

He shook his head. No, I’ve just started looking at them. A buddy of mine got one recently and he let me paddle it on his pond. I think it was bigger than this one, wider maybe.

Yeah, if you’re going to be fishing out of it you’d want something wider, so it’ll be more stable when you’re standing up to cast or leaning out of it to net a fish. This one is designed more for river-running, where it needs to be more maneuverable and quicker, so it’s narrower and shorter. She showed him the various features of the kayak and talked about different designs until he started to look overwhelmed. You probably need to go to a dealer where they’ll let you try several of them out, she concluded.

He nodded. Sounds like there’s more to it than I realized. He looked around the camp, noticing her laptop computer. What are you working on?

Jenny explained what she did for a living and that she was doing a product test on the three take-apart paddles that were leaning against her Jeep. What do you do when you’re not fly-fishing? she added.

Oh, he said, looking embarrassed, nothing as interesting as what you do. I’m a research chemist.

Oh, I think that sounds really interesting! What kind of things are you researching?

Josh explained that he was working on developing materials that could be used for absorbing pollutants out of water. Like cleaning up toxic spills, agricultural runoff, leaks in waste storage tanks, stuff like that.

That’s fascinating. I’d love to write an article about your work, if you’d be willing.

Sorry, but the company I work for won’t allow that. A lot of what we’re working on is proprietary, and they don’t want any details to get out, especially before it’s patented.

Jenny understood both the explanation and the rationale. Products and procedures like the ones he was talking about could