The idea for Coldhearted River evolved from my previous book Paddling the Tennessee River, about a similar journey on what I thought would be a similar river. Three elements made the Cumberland voyage much different than I had expected: the weather, the physical scenery and character of the Cumberland, and photographer Randy Russell.
Because my previous companion, Jasper, a German shepherd mix, was too old for this trip, I asked Randy, who agreed, a bit too eagerly, maybe. An excellent photographer and an experienced outdoorsman, I knew he was tough enough physically to complete the trip, and I suspected he had similar obsessive tendencies that I had, tendencies that would propel him on a long, impractical canoe trip.
Together, we paddled down nearly 700 miles of the Cumberland, from Kentucky, through Middle Tennessee, and then on to western Kentucky, where it finishes at mouth of the Ohio. We endured steep, weedy campsites on other people’s land; curious cows, raccoons, beavers, geese, dogs, rats, otters, and snakes; aggressive flies, ticks, and mosquitoes; impenetrable fog and freezing water; hostile campground managers; and the occasional motorboat skipper oblivious to the effects of his passage on our tippy boat. Randy and I also endured each other with varying amounts of good humor and peevishness, most of the crankiness coming from my end of the boat. Randy was always in a good mood, and to show it he often sang along to “today’s country” on the transistor radio we carried. I preferred yesterday’s country (Johnny Cash), or the music of the water or the wind. We competed for who could make the best camp supper. We competed over who could find the best campsites. I did not, however, attempt to compete with his neatness and high level of organization
The Cumberland will never be the same.
The river took us through storms that battered us and kept us in our tents for long periods, once 15 hours straight, the one point when Randy’s spirits sank. It jostled us over submerged boulders and carried us past cliffsides bleached bright in the sun far above us. We swam in the river’s cold embrace, and we puzzled over some of its mysteries, such as the tiny fog tornados on Lake Cumberland and the flashing white light coming from the ground near Hartsville, Tennessee. We mourned over the trash.
We were mostly glad to make it to Mile Zero, in Smithland, Kentucky, where our families met us, and we had one last big argument, on a muddy bank, in the heat of the day, with a beaver the size of a small bear watching us with mild interest. —Kim Trevathan
![]() |
Coldhearted River Add to Cart |
![]() |
Paddling the Tennessee River Add to Cart |









“Somewhere along these last decades global warming has become not just a potentially significant problem—now it’s showing up in the real world. Glaciers all over the world are melting. Within 15 years there will be no snows of Kilimanjaro. . . . . The same thing is happening in our own Glacier National Park. Within 15 years, it will be the ‘park formerly known as Glacier.’”—Former Vice President Al Gore from “Riders on the Blue Marble Must Confront Climate Change” in Cleaning America’s Air