The sounds of silence – or something like it – echo in the Mohican River Valley

So there I was, paddling my canoe on a Friday afternoon, surrounded by raft flotillas, inflated barges laden with overinflated human cargo. I realized then that “solo canoe trip on the Mohican River” was an oxymoron.

But you can’t beat it for free entertainment.

I consoled myself that, once I paddled past the canoe livery take-outs, I’d have the river to myself.

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I was long overdue for a solo trip. No offense to those I’ve been paddling and camping with lately. Great times and great company to be sure. It’s just that I crave solitude and the prospect of a few days and nights alone on the river.

This trip would take me from Coulter on Black Fork of the Mohican River to Mohawk Dam on the Walhonding. Three days and two nights.

Don’t look for Coulter on the map. It’s one of many ghost towns along the river — ghost towns once occupied by native and non-native Americans. If memory serves, it was once a populated crossroads built around a gas company facility. Perhaps some of my history buff readers can bring me up to speed on this.

It’s located where Ashland County Road 1075 crosses Black Fork, for those of you following along on your maps. These days, Mohican Adventures uses it as a starting point for one of the canoe trips they offer. Please note this is private property and not public river access.

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If you’re looking for a stretch of river away from the raft flotillas, I’d highly recommend this section of Black Fork. It’s a narrow stream, nestled in mature forest, with a nice canopy arcing over the river. A combination of that and the surrounding hills give this part of Black Fork an intimate feel. In the summer, the vegetation muffles the sounds of traffic on state Route 39.

Channel surfing on the Mohican River without a radio

It’s been a long hot summer, so the cool breeze wafting up the river corridor sure felt good. It’s one of those days you want to take off your shirt — even if your torso is a bit overinflated — and drift lazily down the river.

Not that there was anyone around to see me. I didn’t lay eyes on another soul till I floated into Loudonville. The liveries were putting people on the river, mostly in rafts.

I stopped at the Main Street Bridge, tied off my canoe, and climbed up the bank to the Mickey Mart/Subway. I grabbed an Italian BMT and a tall boy, stowed them in my canoe, and pressed on. Downstream, I stopped at property belonging to friends of mine and enjoyed shore lunch in the shade of a big oak tree.

As the flotillas and kayaks drifted by with radios blaring, it struck me that being on that part of the river was like channel surfing — an audio montage of country, rock, hip-hop and God knows what else. I have to admit that the high point of the afternoon was hearing a few verses of “Sounds of Silence.”

Such tender words and harmony in a cacophony of blaring guitars and anguished voices.

For the record, I do NOT take a radio on canoe trips. Nature’s music is all I care to hear. Someone once asked if they could bring one on a canoe trip I was organizing. My response was, “Only if I can test the radio to see how well it works underwater.”

The music faded after I drifted past the canoe livery take-outs and Wally Road campgrounds. At last, the sounds of silence prevailed. I pressed on to Greer, hoping to enjoy a solo canoe trip — without a crowd.

To be continued.

This article originally appeared on Ashland Times Gazette: Sounds invade solo canoe trip on the Mohican River