Locks, Cities, and Meloncholy

We were quite excited for Coon Rapids to be our last portage. The last week had us loading, unloading, losing and restocking our supplies and gear more times than we ever wanted or expected.  Minneapolis was in reach after close to three weeks on the river.  It was actually somewhat depressing thinking how long we spent just getting to our first major metropolitan area.  We sat under the shade of a tree for a half hour to have lunch. A brave, but stupid Canadian goose crept up close trying to see what we would give him. I’m not fond of giving handouts, especially to foreigners, I chased him away back to the water.

 As we pushed our canoe through a park near the dam, a man in an electric wheel chair asked us the usual, “where ya going?”, we replied with the usual “New Orleans”, I thought I was about to witness a real miracle as he almost stood up out of his chair. He wished us good luck and we walked away to the end of our portage. If luck had monetary value, Toby and I would be very rich, judging by all the luck we have been wished.  We pushed off the opposite side of the dam and were quite relieved to never have to haul our canoe overland again, within a few hours; we will go through our first locks.  Before we left the park area, we saw our mechanical mobile friend again, him in his electric chair sitting prominently on wooden porch over looking the river. I couldn’t help but be jealous that he and his chair could move twice as fast our canoe with two very able bodied young men. We kept paddling under the hot and unrelenting sun.

For the past couple days, the banks had been lined with houses, most of these being quite large and affluent, private docks and boats docked near large and well landscaped lawns. Toby and I passed the time by guessing the home values and judging the quality of the landscaping, Toby being horrified that one homeowner chose to use “rough cut timbers” as a retaining wall instead of stone. “Welp, I that’s gonna be rotten in 10 years”, toby said disgusted. I took a quick mental note for any future walls near rivers I will build.  The affluent homes became sparse and as we paddled on, the bank became more a more industrial, the water more dirty and at times, quite foul smelling.  The sound of traffic echoed through the woods and buildings surrounding the bank.  As we rounded a bend, I saw between the trees the very top of skyscraper. Minneapolis was in sight, but I couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed, we should have been here days ago.

Minneapolis is truly a city that the river built. It was named as such when a school teacher combined the native word for water “ Minea” with the greek word for city, “polis.”  For years it was known as Mill City, home of numerous industries that required the power of a river, sawmills and grain mills.  These industries used the river to not only power themselves, but also transport their products to a ever growing and ever hungry America. One secondary industry that sprung up due to the prevalence of milling was the prosthetic limbs industry. Since milling accidents tend to take limbs, at least 8 separate companies competed for business providing the unlocking mill laborers replacements for what they lost trying to make a buck.

The Mississippi cuts through the center of city. The eons of flow carving out the steep stone and rock cliffs that line its banks.  We navigate through this urban maze, passing under graffiti decorated bridges, rusty old train bridges,  between the concrete jungles of skyscrapers and  constantly hearing the urban cacophony of traffic, sirens and jets flying overhead. The environment stood in stark contrast most of what we experienced in the past few weeks. Gone were the bald eagle and seemingly endless expanse of forest.

St Anthony falls used to be the largest waterfall on the river, creating a headache for not only canoes and boaters, but also the expansion of commerce up and down river. The system of locks and dams is quite an extraordinary feat of engineering, essentially taming the river. River traffic now does not have to worry about such silly dangers as rapids ( we missed the memo), waterfalls, and unpredictable water levels.  We approached our fist look with some apprehension.  We had read what the protocol is but regardless,  we were cautious . essentially this is the process. Canoes  would paddle to a rope, pulling it would signal the lock masters that you wanted to proceed through.  They usually talked in a robotic tone through a set of speakers telling us to wait until the green lights go on. As they open the locks, the current begins to flow toward the lock, we are holding onto a rope extended from the top rail letting us stay in place. The doors open and we paddle into the lock.  The massive steel doors begin to close behind us, slowly, but I can’t help but feel somewhat awestruck. A horn blows and like a bathtub, the water begins to train.  5, feet, 10, feet, 20, 30, 40, 50, the water stained concrete walls now tower all around us. I know how a rubber duck feels when you pull the plug in the bath.  The steel doors, impressive even above water now looked like the gates to Poseidon’s temple, water spewing from top and sides, making me feel nervous about the consequences if they wouldn’t hold.

Before too long, the front lock doors open and we were level with the river, back again into the urban jungle of bridges and buildings. The river meanders through the city, hiking and cycling trails following its path.  We stopped at a park and decided to make camp in a little grove of trees beside the river. Although it was partially hidden, we hoped people would assume we were bums and leave us alone.  Although, the mosquitoes didn’t care if we were bums or not, blood must taste just as good despite socio-economic status.

We woke up later than what we wanted, and saw the first tow boat and barges of our trip. Although these behemoths move slowly, they displace so much water with their thrust that it looks like white water rapids behind them. We noted that we should stay far away from the rear of these floating hulks.  We pushed of after cold breakfast and continued through an urban river. I was amazed about how much industry still relies on the river, barges filled with raw materials, metal, sand, wood, and a white powder which Toby claimed was cocaine were being pushed, loaded, scooped and heaped all along the river.  We passed through Minneapolis’s twin city, St. Paul, dodging more barges, one bridge was being repaired and as we passed, one worker must have recognized the authority of my captains hat and saluted him. I guess I should have saluted back, but I was mid paddle. All I could offer was a very awkward wave and a smile.

The river has changed immensely. It has doubled in width.  Large islands and log jams dot its surface, and now, instead of seeing what we will be paddling into 3 minutes before we get there, we know what we will be paddling for the next hour.  We also have to keep a keen awareness of barges, carefully planning our route long before they even pass us. The heat and sun are nice to have, when compared to the cold, but they are taxing.  Toby said they we will have completed week 3 on Sunday, “ So how far have we gone?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear the number. Toby looked at the map, did a quick calculation, “520 miles by the end of the day.” My jaw proverbially dropped. “that’s nothing!”.  I could do that in one day in a car, 5 days on a bike, but 20 days on a canoe and that’s all we have? We paddled more, in silence, somewhat melancholy at the situation. We had thousands of more miles ahead of us. Most who do this trip have a open ended time limit, allowing themselves at least three months to enjoy the river, as well as a budget that fits that time limit. We so far, have exceeded no only our budget, but also the budgeted time for x amount of miles. The plan is still to shoot for new Orleans, but we are realizing that it might take more pain and frustration then planned. We decided to stop in the small town of Hastings, MN. Tomorrow we have to concur the skinny, but 23 miles long lake of Pepin. We both hope to feel better about our adventure after some rest.  The Wisconsin border will be our right shore tomorrow, but our goal is to leave Minnesota as soon as possible.

Journey So Far: photos III

Parks Are Nice...

Drying out

Early Start in Aiktin

Oreos don't take rapids well

Das Jaeger Schnitzel

Dam Portaging!

Aaaand We're Off...Again.

               

With our egos healed enough and some of our replies replaced, we needed  to get back on the river, we were glad to have spent a wonderful evening with Heidi and Heinrich, but every mile we gain gets us that much closer to getting out of Minnesota, and closer to New Orleans.  We had a great experience with our double bucktoothed taxi driver the day we tipped so we called him up. He dropped us off, for a fee less than the day previous, which had me wondering if he really was driving in circles before. Regardless, we were happy and relieved to see our canoe was still moored to the bunch of trees we tied it too. Half a foot of rain water sat in boat so while toby bailed out water, I hung up various things to dry out. We managed to save even more groceries that were in our cooler, giving us far more hotdogs than we can currently eat.

The sun was out, the wind was calm and the water was flowing.  And we began to paddle. We only paddled for a mile or so before we came to our second to last portage, lamenting the fact that we should have crossed this two days ago. This would be another 300 yard portage, but at least we commented, we have a little less stuff to carry.  We hauled our belongs  to the top of the bank, and then the canoe. We scouted the portage and steeled ourselves to make a few trips down a path, up  a hill, down some stairs, down some jagged rocks to the foamy water below the dam. The portage path lay below a privately funded botantical park, two large green houses full of various flowers stood beside the portage trail. As we were prepping our gear, a man in Gator ( For those who don’t know what a gator is)  and offered to help us portage. It truly felt like Christmas. Gator Gary and toby took the first load of our equipment over and came back and loaded the canoe across the bed of the gator, with me sitting off the back. It felt great not having to pull, push and heave our equipment just to get back in the river.

The river seems to be getting wider as we head south, the banks now are taller and steeper and the tress surrounding them more lush. We can tell we are getting deeper into civilization, houses dot the banks, allowing us to scrutinize the various states of backyards as one of the river pastimes. We decided to aim for a campsite on an island, but a few miles before we got there, I spotted a lovely little park, the gazebo made out of dark logs, and the grass looking intensely green. I couldn’t help but assume this would be a better place to camp than a Island. Although the park technically closes at 10, we hope to either go unnoticed or at least, use our charm to get an exception if confronted. 

A whole herd of mothers and their kindergarten aged kids were having a graduation ceremony in the park. The kids all wore red caps and gowns and the mothers were swooning with cameras. I figured that these silly ceremonies are more for the fawning parents benefit than that of a child. Maybe I will see the point when I become a parent, creating incredibly boring situations for your child just so you can think they are cute.  Toby and I decided to look at this little town, hopefully finding a place where we could find relief from the 90 degree heat as well as a power plug for our phones.  Personally, stopping for two days was discouraging. Minnesota is feeling like the state that never ends, it’s either too hot, or too cold, too windy or too wavy, never can it be Just right. We will be going through our last portage tomorrow and hopefully our first lock, which will lift my spirits.  Tomorrow we hope to get close to 60 miles, so depending on how I feel, I might hold off on writing. Take care everyone.

Act IV and V: Licking our Wounds and Heinrich, Heidi and Das Jaeger Schnitzel

Act IV: Licking our Wounds

I am currently reading a book about how the Portuguese explorer and his fleet was the first to circumnavigate the world.  The book starts by describing only one tattered ship pulling into port after years at sea, only a skeleton grew who were emaciated, weather worn, and quite traumatized from the entire journey. I imagine that this is how we looked as we limped our swamped canoe and entirely water logged gear to shore.  It was apparent that it was a dog park, because the sight of such a strange looking object pulling up onto shore caused confusion and stress in the pack of dogs running around, their owners trying to calm them. I stepped off into the sand, barefoot, trying not to look at the people staring at us just as confused as their canines.  I felt a pain on the bottom of my foot, looked down and saw a few gashes on the bottom, no time to worry about them just yet. We unloaded the canoe and spread our gear on the grass, trying to avoid setting it in the prodigious amounts of dog poo which littered the enclosed space.  The shock and disappointment started to set in. In the first few minutes we were just glad that our life jackets worked and we didn’t get stuck in a recycling current, happy we managed to retrieve most of our important items, but only now could we feel slightly upset that we lost the most valuable item, Toby’s phone, and all our food stores which we just bought the day before.

                We mingled around checking our equipment, in a depressed daze, toby looking more upset than, after all, I still had my phone. For the most part, our water proof bags did their jobs, a little damp is better than soaking wet, but I’m doubt the “proofness” of anything relating to water.  I spread my damp sleeping bag on the ground which was immediately trampled by a pack of dogs chasing a dog, at this point, I didn’t care. We made small talk to some people, but for the most part, everyone remained oblivious to the unorthodox placement of a canoe in the middle of a dog park or even the presence of two men looking like they spent the last hour in an industrial sized Maytag washing machine.  My foot was hurting, well bleeding, so I decided I should probably not walk barefoot in a dog part with an open wound. I sat under tree and began to proverbially “lick my wounds”, which then a curious dog came near and literally licked my face.

                After processing our situation, we decided that getting back on the river was not an option.  Luckily, I actually had cell and data coverage. We found the cheapest hotel we could online and called a cab.  It was as if providence had planned the day would snowball into drudgery because thunder storm was brewing in the distance, thunder rumbled, and we hoped the cab would come soon.  Thankfully it did.  Out stepped mark, tall, tattoos up his arm, a sweat stained hat around his oily long hair. When he talked I noticed his only two teeth, a pair of yellow and brown stained buck teeth which protruded prominently from his mouth.  Mark was his name, according to a little plaque in his car.  We had found a cheap hotel online only 3 miles from us, but had too much stuff to carry there. We tied our canoe to a tree and hid it in some bushes by the river bank, and let mark take our sorry selves to the hotel.  He drove slowly, intently listening to our adventure so far. I watched the payment numbers growing and growing, I wondered if buck tooth mark was driving in circles to make up for a slow day.

                The storm that was brewing finally let lose. A torrential down pour fell, winds picked up and we were all glad were not in a canoe, trying to piece together any remnants of optimism we could.  We walked in the lobby still soaked, the rain pouring outside, I’m sure the Indian man at the desk wasn’t use to seeing paddles being dragged in.  We tipped buck tooth mark and crashed in our room.  I wasn’t sure what to think about the hallways smelling like Lo Mien Noodles, but I knew behind the odorous halls, a soft, probably clean bed, was waiting.

Soggy clothes dripped from various racks and outcroppings, toby set up the tent to dry out, and we went about deciding what to do.   We decided in the morning we would rent a U-Haul Pickup truck to run around town because it would be so much cheaper than a taxi.  We lounged around, enjoying being out of the elements.  There was a pub next door which was closed for a one day remodel, and the rain was too heavy to find food any place else. We ordered pizza, and crashed in bed. Very very glad to end a day filled with far more adventure than needed or wanted.

Act V:  Heinrich, Heidi and Das Jaeger Schnitzel 

                It felt good getting our own truck to ride around town, having the freedom to get what we need without having to worry how much we could carry. Our plan was to replace Toby’s phone,  and replenish the supplies we lost to the river.  It felt awkward being in a mall in our river attire, a random assortment of jeans, boots,t hsirts and long sleeves, obvious that we gave little thought to matching or coordination. We at least smelled better than usual.  Suzi the AT&T rep was incredibly helpful in getting toby set up with a new phone, our conversation evolving to the point to where we had to explain that all Amish are Mennonites but not all Mennonites are Amish. I even decided to change providers to AT&T since T Mobile has wretched service down the river.  Although the price tags were entirely crippling to our estimated budgets, we understood the necessary sacrifice, as well as the lesson that IPhones work better when they float.

                After the mall we got lost in the materialistic labyrinth also known as Wal-Mart, piling our cart high with food we lost in the rapids. Hot dogs, noodles, rice, butter,  beans, and bacon soon filled the cart. Checking out was painful, seeing a whole week of budged food be tallied up for the second time in two days. We loaded up the truck and dropped off our supplies at the hotel, taking back the truck which proved quite useful in our day of recovery.  Getting back, I couldn’t help but notice the seedy bar was finally open. Now just to clarify, ( Mom and grandma), I’m not a fan of seedy bars specifically, but I am a fan of finding a good adventure or story to tell, and seedy bars are never short of those. Toby did not feel like going, and I didn’t want to go without back up, so I bribed toby and said the bill was on me. 

                A “skywalk” connected the hotel to the restaurant, if a in closed hallway 15 feet off the ground and that smells like grandmas basement can be called a skywalk.  I was prepared to walk into the bar and see more seedy bar stereotypese named nelson, bubba, glen, but it was entirely empty. A strip of neon lights lined ceiling, the furniture was a light mint green, whose upholstery had seen much better days.  A lady was at  bar texting, I assumed her name was barb.  I tried to look like a regular as I sauntered up the bar, but everyone knows us Mennonites can’t pull off the bar look well.  “Busy night eh?” I said, testing how much humor the barmaid was capable of. She laughed at least, so I felt more comfortable.  Like everyone we happen upon, the jaws began to drop at our journey. Barb the bar maid though didn’t jus sit and listen, she interjected her own experiences between each part of our story, creating a collage of recollections which confused even me.  We told her about the weather, the lakes, the owls, the rapids, and she told us about her RV, her crazy ex-boyfriends, her friends friend who loves to dress up like a Nazi but only for “historical” reasons. “ Oh you guys need to meet Heinrich!, he would love to bullshit with you guys, he likes adventurers like this,” “Who’s that” we asked, “ The owner!”, I asked if he was German, Heinrich being a very specific type of name. “Kind of, Austrian” she said. Although the bar we were at was generically named “Michaels”, resembling a place where serial killers come to unwind after night of murder, it was actually an establishment which offered an extensive menu of authentic Austrian cuisine.

                I was taking a swig from my stein when Heinrich walked in, an old man, white beard white hair, who walked intently and with purpose, dressed in black slacks and grey button up. Barb, whose name we found out as Heidi, quickly gave him the rundown of us, he sat behind the bar and began to ask us questions. I pulled out the only German sentence I know, “Vo zint die welden frauen?, which translates as “where are the wild women”, he was impressed at least. “Ver did you start”, “Oh zast is incredible!”, Imagine Arnold Swartzenegger with a heavier accent and higher older voice and you have Heinrich.  I asked inquisitively, “So how did you get to the states?”, “Vell, on an Aero plane!” he said without missing a beat.  I was hungry so I asked Heidi what as good. She said today’s special was her favorite, Das Jaeger Schnitzel , I only caught that it came with homemade cream and fresh mushrooms, but anything like a name like Jaeger Schnitzel must be good.  The cook, named randy, came out of the kitchen, fat, balding, and in a stained white tee, he grabbed our order and shuffled into the kitchen to begin whatever process makes Jaeger Schnitzels.  We “bullshited” with Heidi and Heinrich more while randy was in the back. The jaeger schnitzel came out hot and ready.

                Like many northern European foods, they are not entirely colorful, but they are quite hearty. A slab or pork covered in cream and mushrooms  filled a plate.  A side of purple cabbage and Austrian dumplings called Spaetzles.  I was not sure what was the Jaeger and what was the schnitzel, but I greatly enjoyed it.  I sat there wondering how Mennonite could ever separate beer from this type of regional food. Cleaning off my plate, Heidi told Heinrich that they need to give us a parting gift to warm up. I didn’t assume she was reaching under the bar for warm socks. She pulled out a bottle of what looked like chocolate milk. I assumed it was “hard”.  They watched us closely as we downed the drink.  “Now, vhat du you sink it ist, Milk Chocolate, Chocolate cream, Chocolate mousse?”. Mousse sounded more European so I went with it. Mousse?” no. Cream? No. Milk? No. Each wrong answer had him enjoying the questions more. “ Zis ist Choco-vine!, chocolate infused wine!”  Barb then explained that if we needed to seduce any women, choco-vine would do the trick. 

The meal was done, and I was feeling a little dizzy from the large plate of schnitzel, Toby said it was probably something else.  I told Heinrich I will send him a postcard from new Orleans. He smiled and reached in his pocket. He pulled out his card and handed me two dollars for stamps. I took that gift and said in my halting German, “danke”.  We said our goodbyes and we walk out the door glad we decided to take a risk and scout out the seedy bar. Tomorrow we are back on the canoe, resupplied, and our egos mostly healed. No more sinking Iphones, just more paddling.

Long Story Short: We Fought Rapids and Lost, In Three Acts

Act I: Portage

The difficult portage yesterday had us quite prepared for the two portages we had left today. The river was quiet and calm as we paddled into the town of Sartell. The damn was not as imposing as Blanchard dam, but the paper plant next to the plant made up for that. However, it seemed as if a bomb went off in the plant. The entire center was demolished, jagged heaps of steel supports, metal pipes and falling walls of brick made it look like war zone. We paddling to shore and scouted our portage. The official portage was around 300 yards away, down a steep grassy hill, around 8 feet of jagged boulders, the water. The water itself was raging and turbulent. “ No way”, both of us muttered, quite frustrated we would have to travel down the road more to find a better put in. This mean more distance we would have to carry our supplies and canoe.

                We strolled leisurely down the road, hearing people talking but not sure where, a police car was parked on the bridge, but we were not sure why. As we rounded the corner, we got our answer. There was a Memorial Day ceremony going on at the war memorial. The sidewalk took us right past them. We awkwardly walked past a crowd of silent and stoic people, having the same feeling you get when having to walk out of church during the sermon.  We talked to a police woman who was directing traffic and she informed us of a better put in, about a half mile more down the road. It was much easier so we decided to bite the bullet and haul our canoe and stuff a mile down the road. We hoped by the time we would pass the ceremony, it would be over. What better way to distract a sentimental moment than dragging a canoe on wheels through it. We loaded our backs and arms with whatever we could, put the canoe on its portage wheels and down the street we walked. People stared at us like they’ve never seen a canoe pushed down the road before. I guess they were justified.

                The ceremony thankfully ended before we walked by, although the crowds lingering all turned their heads.  We arrived at the put in sweating profusely, intensely thirsty and read to go down the river. We got a great deal on hot dogs at the gas station and sat around joking that rest of river can’t get any harder than yesterday ( Add foreboding music hear).

Act II: Rapids

                We set off, the river had great currant, and the sun was sweltering. Hot enough that I slipped off my boots and socks and enjoyed the weather. We knew about the possible rapids, but everything we have read and been told had been that they were negligible. Class 1 at the most, and unless you actually tried, you couldn’t even tip a canoe on it. Even the Minnesota department of resources claims that this section of river has known rapids. We also assumed that since the river was quite high from recent rain, even the minor rapids would be somewhat inundated enough to be rendered passive. We rounded a bend and heard constant and loud drone. Ahead about 1000 feet were the rapids, the looked much more aggressive then we assumed, but not so aggressive that would make us think they would be impassable.

                We aimed our canoe for what appeared to be the easiet section to pass, and prepared to paddle hard.  Entering them we soon realized this was far more complicated than any waves we encountered.  It very techiniqal, requiring us to coordinate eachothers movements switching paddle strokes, left to right, right to left, quickly and perfectly. We were actually having a lot of fun, waves breaking against the bow, water splashing in the boat, but we were near the end, and still glad. Then it happened. We both saw it at the same time, a wall of water shooting almost straight up, about 4 times the height are canoe is actually out of the water.  We couldn’t paddle out of its way, and knew we had to go through, straight through. We shouted before we hit, “Go straight! Go Straight!, I tried to steer in the rear, but our luck ran out, the currant pushed our canoe parallel to the wave 3 second before we reached it. Toby and I instinctively through our weight into the side of the wave as we hit it, hoping we could get lucky once more and not tip.

                As the wall of water pushed the side of our canoe up, and my body far beyond any point of recovery, I could only think “ Oh wow, we are actually tipping…”. I was still in my seat as we plunged into the turbulent water, my adrenaline pumping so much I don’t even remember the temperature. All I remember is having the same feeling as being in a blender.  I immediately thought what important things I need to grab, an instant split second checklist. My phone was in a water proof bag tied around my neck tucked in my vest, a bag I just bought yesterday luckily.  I came up from a wave and glimpsed everything we had violently floating all around me. I finally spotted toby clinging to the boat, and then my blue plastic dry bag. I grabbed the canoe, the bag and held on,  I saw the paddle float by and grabbed that too. I spotted Toby’s paddle but only had two arms, so I let it all go. I was absolutely sure all was lost, our trip over, and that this was the beginning of a sad journey home.  We asked each other if we had our phones and wallets. I didn’t know where my wallet was, so I assumed swimming downstream. Toby unfortunately lost his new phone. 

                Since my provider is awful outside urban centers, we relied on Toby’s phone for navigation and internet access to post on this blog.  He had it in a water proof, shock proof and dust proof case. Unfortunately, it was not sink proof.   I was lucky I had taken off my shoes just moments earlier. I could swim much better as we moved further down river. The current slowed and we kicked hard to get to shore, me holding the last of our possessions: The canoe, my paddle, my lap top bag.  Trying to stop a sinking canoe, I put my bare feet on the river bottom, something cut my foot, but we managed to stop. We flipped the canoe as fast as we could, bailed out the water, and got back in. I paddled hard to get to our stuff.

           The river looked like debris filled, floating bags, a cooler, a couple portage wheels and much more of our precious equipment.  We spent the better part of a half hour paddling up and down the river retrieving what we can. It’s actually quite funny seeing your floating soaks, a bunch of bananas and a bag of oatmeal going for a swim. You find out what you value the most when you have to go fishing for it, for me, I saw my captains hat, grabbing that before even my sleeping bag.  As we zigzagged around the river, in the city of St Cloud, I saw that the hospital on the bank, whose windows faced the river, had crowds of people looking out at us. I waved to them and got many waves back, from almost every floor. I hope we provided some comic relief to some sick people.

We managed to salvage 90% of our gear, losing most of our food various equipment. The canoe was very low, the water logged men and equipment weighing it down. We pulled into a park nearby to dry out and process what happened.  We managed to capture the aftermath on video.

Act III: Licking our wounds: Coming Tomorrow