tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72159196070996274902024-03-05T20:12:33.418-08:00Urban Kayaking - Mae Sot, ThailandUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7215919607099627490.post-4858722450717047772014-09-01T03:12:00.001-07:002014-09-02T23:34:53.300-07:00Urban Kayaking 101 - Mae Sot, Thailand<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Moei river looking south: would-be take-out point</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;">GUNK DAM</span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> <i>n</i>. technical term</span><i style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </i><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;">commonly used </span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;">in urban kayaking:</span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> a place on a river where passage is obstructed by gunk. </span><br />
<span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That is what makes solo kayaking the Mae Sot river so brazen.</span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So Daedalean. </span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So hellaciously formidable. </span><br />
<span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So boneheaded.</span><br />
<span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Gunk dams. As with any adventure, I knew that kayaking my intended waterway could present difficulties. But when I mounted my bike with an inflatable four meter kayak strapped to the luggage rack one morning, in no way did I suspect that I was embarking on one of the single most physically challenging days of my life. </span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">Many lesser rivers blue line the local landscape, but it is the Moei river that defines this rural region in western Thailand. It is the largest watercourse and forms the regional Thai-Myanmar border. Oddly, it streams north before confluencing with the Salween river, and emptying south into the Andamman Sea. </span></span></div>
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The<span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"> Moei is also the geographical hurdle that thousands of </span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Myanmar </span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;">refugees, both political and economic, have crossed for the past several decades to escape the ravages of military rule and civil war. I had chosen a tributary of the Moei, the Mae Sot river, for my descent</span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span><span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">THE MAE SOT river carves a circuitous path through the heart of this
eponymous border town. It flows west from the slopes of the Dawna
Tenasserim mountains, bending gently to the north before emptying
into the Moei.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLgogvDb9QrG4clvO-T3ovbu3XMdlQ-jTmKUSYSbqfQwzDxOey4fOu07GKtX8uQPep8HkrzvaOGILAJWUwPq2eYcLik7ArPPoiS2F14vLQgswzNe69NdzAXIWuiohq4gp8BjY9mhIk-zU/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-09-03+at+1.17.58+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLgogvDb9QrG4clvO-T3ovbu3XMdlQ-jTmKUSYSbqfQwzDxOey4fOu07GKtX8uQPep8HkrzvaOGILAJWUwPq2eYcLik7ArPPoiS2F14vLQgswzNe69NdzAXIWuiohq4gp8BjY9mhIk-zU/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-09-03+at+1.17.58+PM.png" height="425" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Map of Mae Sot river, with put-in and take-out points. Myanmar, bordered by the Moei river, is located to the west.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">This river didn't waste any time in measuring my mettle. Just
minutes after putting in off the road to Umphang, the first in the series of herculean tasks confronted me. I rounded a bend
and reacquainted myself with my nemesis from the Mekong: water
hyacinth. A few months earlier, as I navigated canals on my approach
to Ho Chi Minh City, a real life <a href="http://youtu.be/uNK0XXukyNI?list=UUGNxzf-wFnfdEUdnE4LosVw">superhero</a> <a href="http://youtu.be/-qNIgf-9dWI?list=UUGNxzf-wFnfdEUdnE4LosVw">helped</a> cut a path
through the troublesome plants blocking my way. </span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj73YQe5-t5SjbikmX6gygi2_FS076D1wts8quPtv3edAcqCDOUA6wYyOYLWRnEsg4BfBYTtxVGHCBRre2dPBxK15D48yXgf_bUfGqBq2ms5TdlJ_kR6BB6MBReJseSYIdOtHijhyphenhyphen1BHteb/s1600/kayak+mae+sot+put+in+pt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj73YQe5-t5SjbikmX6gygi2_FS076D1wts8quPtv3edAcqCDOUA6wYyOYLWRnEsg4BfBYTtxVGHCBRre2dPBxK15D48yXgf_bUfGqBq2ms5TdlJ_kR6BB6MBReJseSYIdOtHijhyphenhyphen1BHteb/s1600/kayak+mae+sot+put+in+pt.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Mae Sot river put-in point</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">But
on this morning in Mae Sot no superhero would appear. I would have to
manage alone. With my bicycle resting on the bow, for one hour I knelt
on the stern, yanking the plants individually from the water. Slowly,
very slowly, a path emerged, and I squeezed through.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqteuQSGbjClH_SR_LlCdCFn56VxtaMgWk0ferptkLJj4m3hHPOZJDocm5s_QoYIV91tb7LBW8e-oHM0o7dbb9NMfpgt1ONTclB53hWFbIAUWSymt0FESt5mWOP_s0vCEG5yxRp7OVs19/s1600/waterfall+mae+sot+river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbqteuQSGbjClH_SR_LlCdCFn56VxtaMgWk0ferptkLJj4m3hHPOZJDocm5s_QoYIV91tb7LBW8e-oHM0o7dbb9NMfpgt1ONTclB53hWFbIAUWSymt0FESt5mWOP_s0vCEG5yxRp7OVs19/s1600/waterfall+mae+sot+river.jpg" height="178" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Concrete waterfall adjacent to Mae Sot Villa</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">Just moments later I encountered my second obstacle: an eight meter high
man-made waterfall. I solicited the help of Burmese construction
workers building a house abutting the river in the residential complex known as Mae Sot Villa, and we eased the boat down the right
bank slope with rope. Two hurdles overcome; how many to go?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">THE DAY before I did some last minute scouting of the river in town. I
found a five step man-made waterfall, and pondered how I would
descend this section: paddle or walk the boat down on a tether. It
began to concern me. As I lay in bed that night, I tried to reason it
out, to think it through. But by the end of the day that obstacle had
revealed itself as the easiest of all. (I walked it down.)</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvzUYTFYzhH_-3r1lDTsNEII6AAOJlZpZV6Iob40z1EmUW5MEr2-WDsK0cXtATPI9c04dcgWlL26FILf8LuUzqWhTBrtAiy0LpXcWJkRBhfG1Yo1BXVghJRba7iH_UT5Oo0v1b3BjmD3Rd/s1600/step+waterfall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvzUYTFYzhH_-3r1lDTsNEII6AAOJlZpZV6Iob40z1EmUW5MEr2-WDsK0cXtATPI9c04dcgWlL26FILf8LuUzqWhTBrtAiy0LpXcWJkRBhfG1Yo1BXVghJRba7iH_UT5Oo0v1b3BjmD3Rd/s1600/step+waterfall.jpg" height="236" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Five step waterfall</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">The river in Mae
Sot proper laid a handful of concrete structures in my path: a couple
step waterfalls, a slotted wall with a one meter fall, two sluice
gates that were mercifully open. In town, the river was completely
cemented in; the banks became vertical walls, with a one meter wide
ledge just below the river's surface - for safety and access - lining both banks, and a
walkway above, doubling as the back porch of the houses along the
route. But once the cement ended, not far northwest of the river's
intersection with Asian Highway 2, nature had an opportunity to
assert herself. And she did.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixbgDBCVJ40T1cei-Pqe1-kWreNFyiZDLVJT5pXqjy6aMu1oQzV8dQlroxhSE6o4-VubzzcKJf6cZh72h0P__lPIkHC20VUFrbwMjJty-3POENPhV4a-PgtM6SgdeZWcuUIEMjNwfwvnD/s1600/GPSe-140820-131104_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixbgDBCVJ40T1cei-Pqe1-kWreNFyiZDLVJT5pXqjy6aMu1oQzV8dQlroxhSE6o4-VubzzcKJf6cZh72h0P__lPIkHC20VUFrbwMjJty-3POENPhV4a-PgtM6SgdeZWcuUIEMjNwfwvnD/s1600/GPSe-140820-131104_resized.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">One meter drop off</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Two hurdles </i></span><i style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">overcome; </i></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>how many to go?</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #343434; font-family: Times-Roman, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Several
times I had to enter the water, at its deepest chest high, to cut a
path through flotsam and trash. Bamboo stalks, broken branches, or
whole trees laid the foundation upon which human and natural debris
piled up: styrofoam packaging, energy drink vials, beer bottles,
rubber sandals, light bulbs, green coconuts the size of bowling
balls. The current sent them all crashing into the heap, complicating
the passage. It was a mess.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">The
river was so serpentine that I could see only a short distance into my future. As I rounded each bend, fear of another bout with a gunk dam enveloped me. At any moment, I could
have met the end of my adventure, created by an impassable
obstruction of gunk.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE6_CO5f8sTNqeRmLnrteygPB35U-vOjmG9tb6CpRFd5tegzsp5UXN7bAUBVKrENG9D2MzZ6YCfvx5JJp5onfIv6i4jeFPSgCMma7oSFc9zdyL5Dn2ztPLhHkK9A4lGKaLaPRK5YQbWLIa/s1600/mae+sot+river+asian+hwy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE6_CO5f8sTNqeRmLnrteygPB35U-vOjmG9tb6CpRFd5tegzsp5UXN7bAUBVKrENG9D2MzZ6YCfvx5JJp5onfIv6i4jeFPSgCMma7oSFc9zdyL5Dn2ztPLhHkK9A4lGKaLaPRK5YQbWLIa/s1600/mae+sot+river+asian+hwy.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">At far left: Asian Highway</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">But
that moment never came. Instead, impending darkness ended it. </span></span>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">By
2:30 pm. I had skirted under four lane Asian Highway 2, a section of the mammoth infrastructure project that connects Indonesia with Europe. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">Descending the
river in Mae Sot proper had taken me over five hours. I had estimated
that amount of time to arrive at the take-out point, just north of
where this water flows into the Moei river. </span></span>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">But at this point in the course of the river, with vegetation along the banks unimpeded by flood control
measures, natural obstacles began to mount. I dodged overhanging
branches, and vines caught on by bike and swiveled the boat around. Much,
much worse, however, were the gunk dams.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2i0ntC68tyso2aH2rAm-LJKUJ46wkJk5YLBTkYAUrQun7fEnB4odllYBfpGXwgSFuvHX01xouf7YC2wfffTZR1PDj975hHd7ZtHII4gBNdpTP4-w4LvlOtSkxl5xb_GIkWIbUm-SbDWc/s1600/sluice+gates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2i0ntC68tyso2aH2rAm-LJKUJ46wkJk5YLBTkYAUrQun7fEnB4odllYBfpGXwgSFuvHX01xouf7YC2wfffTZR1PDj975hHd7ZtHII4gBNdpTP4-w4LvlOtSkxl5xb_GIkWIbUm-SbDWc/s1600/sluice+gates.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sluice gate</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">One,
a 6 meter wide impasse, required a full hour to remedy. I stood in
front of my kayak, scooping up the gunk with both hands, jaw-like, and
tossing it aside. Once, I uncovered a waterlogged teddy bear.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">Then,
just moments after I traversed that gunk dam, another heap blocked my progress. I used the
paddle to clear the styrofoam and other debris, which the river's
flow soon returned to press tightly against the boat's tubes.
Eventually I learned: clear a path from the downstream side. In this
way the current aides removal of the debris. </span></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2vS0NLTo2bKFmcj1U0JbiAjfAgGFJsa2SO5EPvS_-QuMV9TEjoBn72sNftr638_DhQzHdp7yDMeMPCnEVRBE8EPG7D_YYz7cuDEpdg74ugPSMB2t9GTJHwWOd79Fln4HRyb1FGFS07XeH/s1600/GPSe-140820-155351_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2vS0NLTo2bKFmcj1U0JbiAjfAgGFJsa2SO5EPvS_-QuMV9TEjoBn72sNftr638_DhQzHdp7yDMeMPCnEVRBE8EPG7D_YYz7cuDEpdg74ugPSMB2t9GTJHwWOd79Fln4HRyb1FGFS07XeH/s1600/GPSe-140820-155351_resized.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Gunk dam</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">As
twilight inhaled the day, I stopped twice to mount the muddied
banks, two meters in height, to ascertain my location; I wasn't sure
my GPS was working properly. From shore all I saw were cornfields. No
roads. No people. No possibility of returning home by wandering
through crops. My worry grew taller than the stalks. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">IN MY ENTIRE life never have I been forced to spend the night outdoors
unprepared. My gear on this trip was minimal: a rain jacket, pocket
knife, some rope, a smartphone. Provisions were scant: a small tub of
peanuts and three bottles of water. Although it was mid-rainy season,
little precipitation had fallen in the preceding days. I could
certainly survive the night. But I was not relishing the thought of
roughing it. With the weight of lead, twilight was upon me. I was
exhausted. </span></span>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiRXrzu4sQrz5elhv9L-D17g-rfePRDkwUIqJvcLBaBSnCQzzbsxRrnMTdRzsjOXBSkwaFenDqwNbSnLvc9PWk-bztSd7K-Uw1-EL4z1DsDQwiXsNUSa9sXBDnCtm3JIlK4wZQsaL9q5O_/s1600/GPSe-140825-135921_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiRXrzu4sQrz5elhv9L-D17g-rfePRDkwUIqJvcLBaBSnCQzzbsxRrnMTdRzsjOXBSkwaFenDqwNbSnLvc9PWk-bztSd7K-Uw1-EL4z1DsDQwiXsNUSa9sXBDnCtm3JIlK4wZQsaL9q5O_/s1600/GPSe-140825-135921_resized.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Cornfields: No way home</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">What
to do but press on? I knew I had to stop, and find a take out point
as soon as possible. But there was none. Forcing a take out could
land me in a deeper fix than continuing through the veil of night. I
paddled on, dodging overhangs. A grayish spider of frightening size
and muscularity landed on my neck – presenting one tussle, by
contrast, that took me mere moments to win. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9PExP6_GncrUhqh0uskshPUoKknBPnBVJERvs3Gd3Q6AA4bXK6hIzwGukmN26ZBCOuGc5Bk8dwl4j9rl_hdpvKav2LRJ4VTgZmSNCyv6MkGoFPzYd8fXQhdykZ4HZ52XeUOKnjEyLtf9g/s1600/GPSe-140824-141016_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9PExP6_GncrUhqh0uskshPUoKknBPnBVJERvs3Gd3Q6AA4bXK6hIzwGukmN26ZBCOuGc5Bk8dwl4j9rl_hdpvKav2LRJ4VTgZmSNCyv6MkGoFPzYd8fXQhdykZ4HZ52XeUOKnjEyLtf9g/s1600/GPSe-140824-141016_resized.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Take out point</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">Soon
thereafter, standing in the river, I tugged the kayak over a pipe,
half a meter in diameter, running partially submerged beneath my
boat. Then, not too distant, the sound of civilization: a barking
dog. Given my circumstances, a pleasing sound. I rounded the bend shrouded in onsetting darkness and heavy
foliage. On the left bank a figure came into view: a lad bathing. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3csoq8pcESYQC234gEflbBJbM0SnbhUG2xDE6PGo-Bciv6DvTZ3JQl5IH9gYUgbKvhDwssQnW8JKSXU5JrUX8XL5lj3tBLaf-jXcl2LxmKPYrBdOx0-o3RjbYzYEX03NaOxf0-tPkBN3R/s1600/Mae+Sot+River+family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3csoq8pcESYQC234gEflbBJbM0SnbhUG2xDE6PGo-Bciv6DvTZ3JQl5IH9gYUgbKvhDwssQnW8JKSXU5JrUX8XL5lj3tBLaf-jXcl2LxmKPYrBdOx0-o3RjbYzYEX03NaOxf0-tPkBN3R/s1600/Mae+Sot+River+family.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Aung Thein Mon's family</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">With the weight </i><i style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">of lead, </i></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>twilight was upon me.</i></span></div>
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Chuay
dai mai</i></span></span><span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">?
Unabashedly I asked for his assistance. Aung Thein Mon, 14, helped me pack
up my gear and roll up the boat. He carried it single handedly up the
bank, past his family's palm fronded shelter, and tied it securely to
the luggage rack of my bike. Then, while I pulled, he pushed my bike, boat, and gear up
the narrowest of paths through the cornfields, until we came to a
wider, dirt path that led back to Asian Highway. I could nearly taste the leftover <i>panaeng</i> curry stored in my fridge.</span></span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOkQZ_mybQ9Kzvrb8GUPybExAXM6-r1s8tWcuXq3Tj1zFYOQqnWj9Qo_CVw-ypPYqkv6jQRycUYFsQaWMtIT0kdz3u97yqG3G8Cub2bsSzSCUBxAkglrkOlsCpfeNDINTQkZRhJiS1IfeE/s1600/GPSe-140815-131457_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOkQZ_mybQ9Kzvrb8GUPybExAXM6-r1s8tWcuXq3Tj1zFYOQqnWj9Qo_CVw-ypPYqkv6jQRycUYFsQaWMtIT0kdz3u97yqG3G8Cub2bsSzSCUBxAkglrkOlsCpfeNDINTQkZRhJiS1IfeE/s1600/GPSe-140815-131457_resized.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Moei river - would-be take-out point, looking north</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #343434;"><span style="font-family: Times-Roman, Times New Roman, serif;">I
peddled home. Hunger harkened. My battle wounds were trivial: multiple scratches on my limbs etched by branches, a cut and bruised elbow, a
tender ego. While delighted to have made it as far as I did, I had not arrived at my goal. A few more kilometers of Mae Sot river remain
before it confluences with the Moei – clearly, a
future gunk dam adventure. </span></span>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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