Dear Reader, This morning was freakin cold at 38 degrees. And at 4:30am a truck pulled into our campsite. Early fishermen who don’t mind the cold? That was my hope until we heard the drunken “yeehaw,” but then they left, thank God, blaring their horn off in the distance. When we next awoke, mist was steaming off the river and we forced ourselves out of our sleeping bags and began to pack. John was feeling better and was ready to go. Leaving Campsite X, the Crooked River soon turned north while we turned south towards the Ocklockonee River, which would …