Down The Kentucky River On A Log Raft

By J. Gordon Combs - about 1980

(Editor's Note: The following is taken from a small book, A Touch of Royalty, about the Combs and Landrum families written by the late J. Gordon Combs of Clayhole. The North Fork of the Kentucky River passes through the heart of Breathitt County and on into Lee County where it joins the Middle and South Forks to form the main Kentucky River near Beattyville. Logs were once rafted downriver to mills at Ford in Clark County and to Frankfort in Franklin County. After the sale of logs, the mountain men would usually walk back through the hills to their homes in Breathitt County.)

Pap (Nathan Combs) never lost his love for logging, and would leave one member of the family to mind the store while he bought timber and rafted logs to Frankfort and later to Beattyville. The "rivermen" to me were as romantic as the pirates of the high seas. Each raft that went out I would beg to ride it with Pap. At about age 12, I got my chance. (about 1929)

The logs were cut in February and March, but no rain came that spring. The logs were rafted at the mouth of a creek on Buckhorn. They laid in mud and water part of the time and in the broiling suns of summer. Many years we had July floods, which I awaited with great expectancy. July passed and no tides. Pap and Uncle French (Combs) both had a raft and a crew ready at a moment's notice to "ride the river." "Surely there'll be a November flood," I heard Pap say. November passed, December and January passed, but no tides. "I don't like this," Pap would say. "Those oar pins may rot or the bored holes in the logs cut will rot away from the wood pegs that hold her together." Each raft of logs had an oar on the bow (front) and on the stern or back. The logs were placed side by side, a hickory sapling (young tree) was split to tie the raft together. An inch and one-half hole was bored through the hickory down into the beautiful oak or poplar logs, there must be enough poplar to make the raft float. The heavier oak logs were not buoyant, therefore, about every other log was poplar.

One night in February I heard the raindrops on the board roof. The lightning flashed and peal after peal of thunder rolled over the hills. Rain fell in great torrents and lulled me into a deep sleep where I dreamed of floating the rafts, but not on the river. It seemed to be riding on air currents high above the river. I felt Pap's hand shaking my shoulder and heard him say, "Get out of there, Phillips, we've got to ride the river today."

I was up and dressed and gobbled down my breakfast in short order. Mother said I hadn't eaten enough so she had stirred cow butter and jelly together and filled a couple of big biscuits with this. This I ate as I rode along behind Pap on "Old Beck." We arrived at the place where the rivermen were to meet us, but the waters were rushing from bank to bank and some of the crews could not make it. Novices were quickly gathered, and Pap and Uncle French debated about starting with water so high. I was miserable and had almost given up hope when a man came galloping on his horse at a furious pace and told us that one raft had already broken loose and the other might break soon.

We travelled up Troublesome Creek to the mouth of Caney Creek and found the raft lodged on a great boulder, but it was about to wash off again. Quickly, five of us boarded the surging raft. With Uncle French as the steersman, he stood in the middle and called out the orders. His son, Bedford, and Willie Roberts were on the bow oar, and Granville Hardin and I were on the stern.

"Everybody walk to the outside of the raft," called Uncle French. This we did, and immediately I felt her scrape and heave as she dropped free. We were on our way.

"Pull up the bow, hold the stern tight," Uncle French yelled out as we entered a bend of the river. Frantically, we dipped in the long lathe oar and held the stern close to the middle of the stream.

No sooner did we round the bend than we saw a long stretch of straight water ahead and heard the steersman, contentedly, call out, "a bow, a stern." The handles of the oars were lowered, and the blades rose dripping from the muddy water. They were left in this position until another bend approached. The countryside whized by as we maneuvered without any trouble until we reached the Clayhole Bridge. A great concrete pier stood menacingly in our way.

"Pull her to the left on the bow, hold back the stern," were the orders barked by the steersman. Yet, Pap had guessed right; the oar pin snapped leaving the oar a worthless piece of wood in their hands. We hit the bridge a dozen times or more, and, finally, the bow caught on a great snag and allowed the stern to ram the bank on the other side. All, except Uncle French and Bedford, jumped to shore, but they were unable to get off the sinking raft. Suddenly, as if pushed up by great hands, the raft rose and righted herself and began drifting with the current. We ran along the river bank until we had a chance to swim to the raft again. The front oar was switched from one side of the broken pin to the other as the need indicated. On sped the raft, seemingly, with ever increasing speed dragging the willows here and striking the river bank there. In a short time we had passed the "neck," the "bald hornett," and the shoals beyond. But, luck deserted us as the bow struck one side and held while the stern swished, violently, to the other side. Both stuck and instantly the raft began to sink. Bedford and Uncle French were left hanging in willow trees, some 30 feet from the shore. Granville and Willie, alertly, ran to shore on the other side. I was not so fortunate. One of my feet got caught between two logs, and I felt myself being drawn beneath the wrath of the flood. I concluded this must be the end as the water got to my mouth. Then a wonderful thing happened. Pressure against the sinking logs caused my end of the raft to bow up loosening my foot. I swam to safety and knew I would never be on a raft again. My fears were soon allayed. Next morning, before dawn, I was ready to "ride the river" some more.

Sound timber had been readied and new oar pegs were soon inserted. The river had fallen which allowed the raft to float placidly as it rode high on the swirling waters. Pap assumed the steersman's position, George Washington Allen and Bedford took the stern, while Big Clinton Centers stationed himself at the oar.

"Turn her loose, if all hands are at ready," yelled Pap. Someone along the shore untied the great sea-grass rope and threw it on the raft. We were off again.

Soon I discovered there was more work than romance on a raft. The weather had turned bitter cold, but it was evident only when we were riding on the long straight "wretches" of water. Pap had foreseen this and brought aboard dry wood and coal in a burlap bag. He built a fire near the center of the raft, where, one at a time, we could come to warm our freezing toes. Always at least one must be at the oar to prevent the blade from dropping into the water and possibly be broken.

Everyone soon learned to strictly obey orders as soon as they were barked out. All, except my cousin, George Washington, or "George Wash" as we called him. It didn't take Wash long to learn the hard way. Leaving Troublesome Creek we spurted out into the North Fork of the Kentucky River. Where the two waters joined they created violent whirlpools. Pap cried out, "all hands raise oars." George Wash exclaimed, "What for, Uncle Nath?" Just at this moment the swirling water picked up the recalcitrant and deposited him about 30 feet from the raft. When last we saw him, his feet were in the air, and he was quickly sucked under. Our fears for him were great. We doubted that we would ever see him alive. We watched and scanned the water for too long, it seemed. Finally, the river threw him into the air almost ahead of the raft. Back into the water he fell, but he was thrashing as hard and fast as ever a man could. We, finally, got him back aboard the raft, but he was one of the most frozen and repentant boys I have ever seen.

Soon we came to Jackson and I was elated. I was wet, tired, and every muscle in my young body ached. The day was almost gone. A cold mistly rain soaked our bodies and added to our discomfort. We expected to hear the order to pull ashore. Instead, Pap called out "hold her straight boys, we'll round the Panbowl then tie up for the night."

"How far is it around the Panbowl?" I asked. "Five more miles will take us just on the other side of that little point," he said raising his finger to a thin strip of land known as the Panhandle.

As the shades of night fell, the wind raised and pelted us with rain, but Pap failed to relieve me for even a moment. I realized that he expected me to be a man now and bear my own fair share of the load. I felt some self pity, but had little time to think of it since we had reached the stiffest bend of the river.

"Pull that bow to the left. Hold the stern up tight," he barked. "Come boys, come, don't lost her now." "Big Clinton" was a massive man, and I feared I was not matching his strength and agility. Yet, I exerted every pound that could be mustered from about a 90-pound body.

"Pull her to the shore at that big sycamore yonder," he called at last. I watched him roll the great rope in coils around his arm in just the right way. The raft was dragging the shore, and all hands were heaving to hold it there so that he could leap ashore at the tree. He threw the rope ashore and leaped at the same time. Grabbing the loose end of the rope, he quickly threw a "hitch knot" around the tree. I felt the rope growing thin and stretching until I felt it certainly must snap. But, it held firmly and the oars were secured above water.

We then marched all the way across Jackson to Uncle Cola Hudson's boarding house. Uncle French had reached there first. That boarding house was filled, but Uncle Cola had made arrangements for us to stay at a nearby home.

Hot supper was waiting when we arrived. We ate ravenously since our lunch consisted of cold pork and beans, bologna, an onion, and some cold corn bread.

I tried to entertain the idea that I did not want to continue on the raft. As soon as supper was over, we sat by the great pot-bellied stove, and our clothes began to dry. I dozed off, but after a short while Bedford awakened me and wanted me to go to a movie picture show with him. I looked at Pap and received an approving look so we journeyed to see my first movie. The show was about a fox being followed by a terrible pack of hounds and horses carrying red coated riders. I had hunted and trapped foxes since I was big enough to set a steel trap, but my sympathy and concern was for the fox to evade the dreadful hounds and hunters of the movie. This was accomplished by the fox running to the beautiful girl who saved him. A cartoon was shown after the movie ended, and I thought that was the funniest thing ever to be made.

We left the warm theater and walked out under the lights of the city where the wind blew fiercely. It seemed that the buildings just formed a funnel to direct the wind and spitting snow in our faces. We ran the distance to our boarding house, but had difficulty in finding the right one. They all looked the same in the storm. Finally, we saw a door open and the kindly lady of the house called for us.

When, at last, we readied for bed, homesickness returned. Forlornly, I yearned to be in familiar surroundings. Especially, since I was ashamed to remove my britches to get in bed. We told the lady that we always slept in our britches, and, reluctantly, she allowed Bedford and me to go to bed with them on. The lights were extinguished, but we could not fall asleep due to the wet cold britches. At long last, when we heard snoring from every direction we removed our britches and dropped into a deep sleep.

We were awakened before dawn to smell a piping hot breakfast. Some of the men had already gone to the two rafts. We rushed to be sure we could push off with dawn's first light. The cold morning wind passed through my clothes to the very marrow of my bones.

When we reached the rafts, the one farthest downstream had become entangled with the willows and held onto the bank. This was solved very simply. When the other raft floated by we threw them our rope and with little trouble the raft scooted over the slick mud and we were again on the water. "You've got mean water from here to the mouth, boys," Pap said, "and it will be a long day."

I had heard the rivermen tell of the trip down the river so many times that it really wasn't too strange.

At the Si-Bend we saw two great boulders that appeared to be alongside each other, and the river was too narrow for the raft to pass between. When we drew closer we realized that the larger boulder was actually down river from the other. "Old Buck and Berry just ahead," announced Pap. "Hold her over, but be ready to throw her back when we pass Buck," he yelled with great concern. We fought the oars hard, and then we reversed our runs to make it through the slough. "Throw up hard! Come there boys! Come!" Pap commanded. Every hand did all humanly possible and they rode high and easy. "A bow, a stern," floated across the raft until swirling waters were defeated and calm prevailed.

The river and its channel widened and the raft rode the crest, which is in the midstream.

Pap called me to his side as he smiled approvingly. "You'll make a riverman, given a chance," he beamed. "You have the worst ahead now, Phillum, can you make it?" There was assurance enough in his voice to make me believe I could do anything. "What's ahead?" I asked. "The 'nars' (narrows) and some of the swiftest water you'll ever see," he replied.

The rain had stopped and occasionally the sun could be seen, but the lowered clouds were rolling and boiling like scalding water on an open flame.

The food was opened and each worker ate ravenously. There was corn bread, fried side meat, one-half gallon of cooked pinto beans, about a dozen large onion heads, biscuits and jelly, as well as a quart of pickled beets, and other staples that I am now unable to recall.

I had not mentioned the boat that Pap bought for emergencies. It was a 12-foot row boat that was pulled upon the raft when not in use. Pap slipped the boat over the side and said, "Watch her, Phillum, I'll get some water from that next hollow." I noticed how swiftly he rowed, how quickly he filled the jugs and returned to the raft. Later, I learned the cause of his haste and I learned the hard way.

We soon saw God's phenomena, the Narrows. The hills seemed trying to squeeze the river and cut its flow, succeeding only in causing the water to speed through the narrow gorge in screaming torrents. Great cliffs, or canyon walls, perhaps 300 feet tall, stood menacingly. Yet, we could see homes, barns, and people aligned along the rims of the great cliffs. Some of them threw rocks at us. We had no way to defend against it since we were fighting the oars with a frenzy not before known to us. I wondered how people could be so cruel, for surely they knew that a hit would kill us. I heard later that Uncle French stopped the rocks quickly by emptying his .38 special revolver among them.

The ride became thrilling, but scary. Pap knew where every rock, twist, and turn were, and we had the raft ready for whatever we approached. The "devil's backbone," a long razor sharp rock was passed. Hieronymous Shoals that caused the river to buck like a wild bronco tried, but could do nothing to halt our fierce race.

"Tea Table coming up," yelled Pap, as we rounded a curve and saw a giant rock that was much like a table that sat menacingly awaiting our doom. But, Pap knew exactly where to have us approach and evade the great boulder.

As we left the narrows we saw the valley open up, leaving room for the river to widen and slow its pace. Great fields of "pipe canes" lined the hillsides. We could see that the choicest fishing canes could be taken for free. Bedford, being a great fisherman, and I decided to use the boat and cut some. Pap reluctantly agreed, but cautioned us to be fast or the raft would leave us. We got into the forest of canes and searched to get the exact size needed to fish in Troublesome Creek. Each got three canes and returned to the boat. The raft was still in sight so we began paddling the boat as hard as possible, but no progress was made. The heavy raft, half sunken in the stream, received the full force of the water and steadily left us behind.

Paddling soon grew monotonous, especially since the raft had left us far behind. We placed the paddles in the boat and drifted with the tide. Without working at the oar the cold soon became almost unbearable. Our toes felt like icicles and a deep chill set in causing no little concern.

I heard it, from far away. I could faintly hear a voice, or was it the cry of an animal? Gradually, the sound became louder and apparently came from up river. Peering and listening, we soon saw the source and the noise became much more intelligible. The bow of a raft came into view then soon the entire craft heaved into view. It bore down on us as though it had sails as another means of power pushing it.

The steersman was singing an old familiar tune, but ceased when the raft overtook us. "Who goes here?" boomed out a great gruff voice. We explained out plight. They pulled our boat aboard the raft and beckoned us to the roaring fire that soon dried us and thawed our beings. We felt renewed to life.

They told us they had come out of the Middle Fork River, whose mouth we had just passed a short while ago.

Great flocks of crows flew, cawing, overhead on their way to their rookery somewhere in the canes of the great cliffs. Darkness began to creep down the hillsides and over the river. A burdened concern overcame me. Where was our raft? Where was Pap, and where could we find shelter and warmth for the night? Some of my questions were soon answered, for directly ahead the river was covered with rafts. Some were tied to other rafts.

I could see only one person walking on the rafts. A great sigh of relief came from me as I realized it was Pap waiting for us. "Throw your rope," he called. The rope was thrown, he seized it gingerly, and secured it to another raft. We felt the raft heave, and heard the cracking of the tremendous tugging as the raft came to a halt.

Pap urged us to hurry and maybe we could find food and shelter for the night. We found the remainder of our crew huddled around a small fire trying to stay warm.

We all climbed to the top of the hill, passing many men huddled under an outcropping of rock or cliff. They had decided that all available homes were filled with many rivermen.

Darkness had settled down like a downy black blanket. Lights could be seen here and there about the countryside. Each house we visited had already filled to capacity. One family offered to allow us to sleep in their barn, but one of their sons said that there were no "river rats" at the home just over the hill. We continued in the rain and drizzle hoping and praying he was right even though he referred to us as "river rats."

He was correct. The almost destitute family took us in. The walls of the house were thin, but the stove in the middle of the room was cherry red. They fried corn bread in a great iron skillet and we had molasses and lots of churned butter. I ate my fill and laid down on a featherbed on the floor. I was asleep so soon I never knew with whom I slept.

There seemed to be no night. I could feel Pap shaking me saying, "Up and at 'em, Phillum." I arose with the smell of bacon in my nostrils. The crew had lined up to wash their faces and hands in cold, icy water. This was reviving whether it removed the dirt or not. We ate both corn bread and biscuits, milk and butter, side meat, and gravy.

Pap paid the lady of the house and gave her a dollar tip, which pleased her very much. We walked out in the darkness where the cold stars above were still shining and the full moon hung just above the trees. The walk to the rafts was brisk and snappy. All the rivermen were busy preparing to cut loose their moorings and deliver the timber to the mill at Heidelberg. I thought everyone was astir, but looking closely I saw the groups who found no shelter the night before were lolling around dead fires in a drunken stupor. They had little brown jugs aplenty, and the men reeked from the smell of moonshine liquor.

It was amazing how the rafts were ravelled out and floated serenely on the swelling waters. The crews on our two rafts continued to Maloney Bend where we pulled the two rafts side by side and secured them together. We then were rowed ashore leaving Pap and his brother, French, to float on the slack water to Heidelberg while we walked up to the railroad to catch the next passenger train to Haddix. Pap allowed me to carry the money to purchase the tickets. I took a deep breath expanding my chest and then and there, declared myself a man.