Kayaking - Sóc Trăng to Nhơn Mỹ

by Paul Bourne

The morning was overcast and only warm, not hot and sticky like it might have been – perfect for a long paddle along a canal in the Mekong River delta of southern Viet Nam. This was to be my first long paddle in Viet Nam. My trusty kayak had been built for such adventure, but the hassles to find launch spots, and the visible pollution around the towns, dampened my enthusiasm. But, the universe operates in strange ways. I recently had to move into a new house, as my landlord’s granny needed my old place. Out of the blue came an offer from Ms Hạnh, the OIC of the admin office downstairs from where I work, to take care of my kayak, if I would like that. The location was perfect – an uncharacteristically large yard to store the kayak, and, a water frontage. The day after dropping off the kayak, I checked-out the canal with dear friend and co-worker Tú.

Tú and I had a slow, and hilarious, 13 km cruise on a beautiful day, packed with precious discoveries – an introduced snail and its eggs (now a pest), blossoming flowers, fisher-folk, farm workers, the refreshing cool liquid from a freshly cut green coconut, what it’s like to swim in the canal, fishing nets, firewood carriers and people washing this and that. And, paddling was a snack, aided by my tireless and non-stop co-paddler. Now, what would be the next paddle?

There are canals everywhere in the Mekong delta, everywhere. But it made sense to start exploring the canals connected to the one where I had ready access to. So, where to? The magnet was Sông Hậu, otherwise known as the Bassac River, or the southern-most arm of the Mekong River. How far would it be – mmm, by the Google Earth ruler, only about 23.8 km. The catch – it would be a return voyage, and timing the trip to fit the tides would be a good idea. A check of the tide chart gave the thumbs up for Saturday 10 August – out-going tide to Sông Hậu, and the flood tide back – too easy.

The paddle began at 7 am. Ms Hạnh’s husband had built a wharf, made of a coconut stem with guide rail, just for launching the kayak (how kind is that!) Ms Hạnh presented me with four rice cakes made by her mother, for snacking-on on the way, then she, her hubby, and daughter Xuyên, bid me farewell.

After 20 mins steering a course through clumps of Water Hyacinth (Eichhornia crassipes), I passed under the QL60 road bridge, and ten minutes later, came to a four-way junction. I was to take the second channel on the right, where the flow would be going. Hey, but the flow was coming towards me. Hugging the side of the channel, to avoid the incoming tide as much as possible, I enjoyed the scenery – men and women out in the fields and gardens, frisky doggies barking my arrival, eucalypts and acacias, and even some riverbank “fretting” (homework to Google).

Even though this section of the journey was a dead straight canal 8 km long, it had beauty. There was much lush vegetation, and the occasional tree leaned right out over the water. At last, after 1¾ hours of paddling, the tide began to ebb (yay!) and ten minutes later, the channel veered left. I passed under a quaint make-shift footbridge, and soon after came to a fascinating 3-way concrete bridge.

A little further along, on the right bank, I glided past a boat-building place, and five minutes later, the channel began to veer right at its confluence with a lesser channel, where a team of workers was unloading a large barge. Fifteen minutes later, the river made a very sharp left hand turn, and I was amazed to spot a black dog swimming along with the current, and although looking around, not attempting to land.

The lush greenery of the river banks, where trees and shrubs prevailed over farmland, held a certain charm. Houses appeared often on their own, but also in small settlements, and as I progressed along the river, small motor-bike ferries began to appear. I was on the waterway known as Rạch Mọp, and the tide was racing out. It seemed like no time at all before I was looking at the big Ðường Nam Sông Hậu concrete road bridge at Nhơn Mỹ.

Soon after, I reached Sông Hậu, or the Bassac River – the southern-most arm of the Mekong River. It was 10:50. I had been paddling, with snack breaks, for about 3¾ hours. Time for lunch, so I pulled in to the point looking across to Cồn Mỹ Phước and Cồn Lý Quyên (Mỹ Phước and Lý Quyên Islands), with the kayak resting in shallow quite waters, out of the current, and amongst the pneumatophores (air-breathing roots) of the mangroves.

Lunch consisted of the glutinous rice cakes given to me by Ms Hạnh, bananas and a few cashews. It was so peaceful, looking out over the river, but half an hour later, it was time to head off. I paddled over to the opposite point of the river mouth, to have a fishes-eye view of the pagoda, Chùa Hiệp Châu.

The tide was still running out as I worked my way upstream, hugging the bank to avoid the strongest current. Just after passing the big bridge, I came across serious erosion of a concrete tiled section of the river bank.

As paddled along, I passed a small boat laden with fish traps, and a friendly guy giving the hull of his boat a fresh coat of paint.

 

After a while I came across a boat laden with green coconuts. I had passed this boat on the way down, and had taken a photo. This time, as I approached, I was waved over. Next minute, this amazing guy expertly trimmed the top off a fresh coconut and handed it down to me. As I drank the cool sweet liquid, and it trickled down my chin, I could only think of how kind some people are. The drink was delicious, made more so than usual perhaps, after paddling against the current on a warm day. As I finished drinking, this kind man reached down to hand me another coconut to take on my journey. The coconut was trimmed neatly, not cut open, but with a little flap of husk that I could lift up to make a drinking hole. With waves from the captain and his wife, I continued on.

Although progress was slow against the current, the journey was fascinating. I passed fishermen winching-in nets on mooring buoys in the fast-flowing stream, boats laden with sand, and boats travelling down-river with a load of fruit on board.

After a little over two hours into the return journey, the wind freshened. This meant rain. Five minutes later, the storm hit. The rain pelted down, lashed with wind gusts and accompanied by claps of thunder. I was next to a clump of Nypa palms (Nypa fruticans), and as I nudged into the clump to get out of the weather, it revealed a tiny creek. I snuggled in to this welcome grotto and listened to the storm pass by. After 25 minutes I was off again. I paddled past a quaint curved concrete bridge over a small creek, and saw a small bridge about to be made – primitive formwork had been set up ready for the concrete pour.

The project I work for has been trialling the use of bamboo fences packed with brush to reduce coastal erosion. So, it was interesting to see a section of riverbank apparently being protected against erosion using a similar concept. Brush had been stacked behind poles along the river bank. But who knows, maybe this was just stock belonging to a firewood-seller. And, the tide was still racing out.

With some relief a came upon the three-way bridge again, this meant that after only a few more curves I would be on the second-last homeward reach, and after those 8 kms, only another 3½ to go.

Hugging the riverbank meant that I would spot things that I otherwise may have missed. And so it was that I was rewarded by a display of the fruiting bodies of a colony of bracket fungi, beautifully celebrating the efforts of their hard-working hyphae as they recycled the remnants of a bygone riverbank sentinel.

I passed by a couple of women expertly rowing their sampans standing-up, facing forward and pushing the long-handled oars to make the stroke, which is the opposite to the way which I am familiar with. I had also passed other women on boats, driving long-tailed motor-driven skinny boats and steering large barges. I admire them.

As I paddled along, thinking: “Mr Paul, you are not used to long paddles now”, a shared moment with other river travellers, a family of ducks, was a welcome diversion from my now very weary body.

Even with tiredness, I could not help but appreciate the gift of the canals. They have a unique life of their own – the plants are so green, there are pleasant surprises everywhere, and there are all sorts of people to say “hello” to. It, it, it is just good to be there.

I arrived back at Ms Hạnh’s place at 16:50. The return trip had taken almost 5½ hours, including stops. I enjoyed a simple noodle and fish dinner at home that evening, and fell into bed at 8 pm for ten hours of self-indulgence.

A map of the kayaking trip route appears overleaf. The red line marks the route.

Kayaking – Sóc Trăng to Nhơn Mỹ