Because the tide went out as we started our glide, when we returned to our put-in place, there was a good 50 feet of mud that we had to walk across to get to shore. We found an old partially submerged log, and walked on top of it, most of the way. Otherwise, we would have sunk down about 8 inches in the mud, with each step. I got out of the canoe first, and pulled a strong rope as I walked along, pulling George in the canoe. When I could pull no more, he had to push with his paddle, to get the canoe up onto the mudflats as far as possible. I was very concerned that he would get mired, and not be able to walk out. Fortunately, mud boots (ordinary garden variety) allow the feet to just slide out if he was, and he would have to slide across the mud on his belly. He did make it, but fell once, covering half of his snowpants in the most retched smelling muck. Dead salmon and carp were lying along the shoreline, twisted in the most gruesome skeletal contortions with mouths gaping. Imagine, struggling to get out of that muck, and being greeted on the low bluffs by the dire image of salmon skins, with eyes eaten out by the crows. Oh my.
