We are way up the Chattahoochee River, trying to find Tommy Biffle.
In the 25 years I've followed Biffle, he's had the knack for getting away from the crowd in the uncharted stuff.
He's outdone himself this week. We are miles from anyone, and our run here encompassed skimming over a couple sandbars, dodging a myriad of floating timber and bouncing over enough unseen stuff to make a mother or insurance agent cry. And we're still not there.
I talked with Biffle last night. He was worried the water would be too muddy after yesterday's storms. His worries look like they are confirmed. It's muddy. But not enough to turn him around. We will have eyes on him soon.