They say that the Mississippi is a fickle river. Unforgiving in its slow tenacious march to the gulf. Those who have explored her banks and traversed her length speak of it in a tone of endearment gilded with respectful fear. Mark Twain called the river “The Lawless Stream”. In the more than a century that has passed since Huck Finn and Jim had their adventure, the river has been pacified but not yet tamed. Bridges traverse its width and barges loaded with products of industry have conquered its current. Dams have been built and locks have been raised; a leash and muzzle on titan which once split a continent.
I cannot tell you how many times I have been asked why are you doing this? Or, have been told “You are going to have so much fun.”. First, I have no good answer as to why I am doing this. I want to answer, because I can , but that statement contains too much hubris. I should say, because its there, but that statement is too vague and ambiguous, which invites pretentiousness. I must then say, I hope to find an answer. This is not my idea of a vacation because a vacation should not be dealing with blisters, rapids, mosquitos, mind numbing head winds, skin baking sun, toe freezing nights, or the gymnastics that occur when needing to go number two on a canoe.
The aforementioned reasons are probably why I couldn’t convince anyone that finishing the river which I started three years ago would be a fun time. Afterall, Columbus didn’t convince his crew that a journey across the sea would be fun, he promised them a literal boatload of gold would be found if they went. My friends know i’m not rich enough to do that. Nor am I willing to pillage and enslave the the people I come across to meet that promise.
I had purchased the canoe at 9 at night, at Gander Mountain in Iowa. My credit card declined the purchased. Which irked me. However, being from Ohio, I can see why my card provider would think a canoe being purchased in iowa at 9 at night, before winter would look a little fishy. I usually don’t plan ahead much, which explains why I was on the banks of the river the day after actually having had a canoe. Thus, with a life jacket for rapids, a radio for barges, and spray for bugs, I could handle what most the river could throw at me. However they don’t make a spray for loneliness. Some men think that is cologne.
As I was saying Goodbye to Jackie, my mother called, before my mother could even say a word, I hear yell from the river.
Where you going!, a silhouetted figure from a canoe yells.
I put down the phone, my mom still talking as if she has my ear.
New Orleans! I yell back.
The next words were immensely unexpected.
“We are too!”
There are moments in life where bewilderment is product of providence and serendipity. This was one. I yelled back “ I join you!” , to these silhouetted strangers. I was fully expecting to be braving the river alone. With some hard paddling, I catch up to them.
C.S Lewis once said “Friendship ... is born at the moment when one [person] says to another "What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . .” Those who go down river share an near masochistic love of adventure. We call sore muscles, bug bites, hunger, heat and cold, fun. As long as we are going somewhere. Corey and Haley share these sentiments. With new friends, this lawless river just got a whole less lonely.
Day 1: Muscatine to New Boston.
Being back on the river after a three year hiatus is much like seeing an old friend that gave you a hard time. You are mysteriously glad to see them again, but you remember the one time they almost drowned you. Unlike the wilderness from the river is born, the river has matured to level which demands healthy respect. Barges are getting larger, and more frequent and luckily so is civilization. The first day of paddling was filled with conversation, the river miles seemed short and the lack of any wind made each paddle seem twice as fruitful. Corey and Haley and I exchanged our river stories and our lunches, which in river custom, means you are now a team.
At this time of year the sun seems to set much faster than it rises, and canoeing under the moon, while sounding enchanting, is inviting the river to make you miss the next sunrise. We arrive in New Boston, whose tallest building a grain silo by the river, more hungry than we were tired. Setting up the tent in the small park by the river bank at night made me second guess my choices. Tent set ups at night can be about as frustrating as giving a blind person ikea furniture for Christmas. Regardless, it went up.
Day 2: New Boston to Burlington
Corey makes good pancakes. Which is good, because usually I don’t let men make me pancakes in the morning. We set off with bellies full and arms rejuvenated. The weather radio squawked that winds were coming. I hoped for more providence and serendipity. But I guess there's a limit to everything. We fought through mild headwinds. I fought more, being in a canoe by myself, I’m sure my late grandpa wilbur would say something about it building character and that in his day, they had to fight headwinds both ways. We arrived at a marina before sunset in Burlington, IA, which sadly, does not have coat factory. The marina manager was kind enough to let us pitch our tents in a muddy patch of grass and share the WiFi password which me, which, I promptly forgot, leaving Corey and Haley up the creek without the paddle.
All in all, I must say, there is not better time in life to do something, that something for me is to try and finish this river. I’m blessed that I have met people. I look forward to the adventures ahead.
I cannot tell you how many times I have been asked why are you doing this? Or, have been told “You are going to have so much fun.”. First, I have no good answer as to why I am doing this. I want to answer, because I can , but that statement contains too much hubris. I should say, because its there, but that statement is too vague and ambiguous, which invites pretentiousness. I must then say, I hope to find an answer. This is not my idea of a vacation because a vacation should not be dealing with blisters, rapids, mosquitos, mind numbing head winds, skin baking sun, toe freezing nights, or the gymnastics that occur when needing to go number two on a canoe.
The aforementioned reasons are probably why I couldn’t convince anyone that finishing the river which I started three years ago would be a fun time. Afterall, Columbus didn’t convince his crew that a journey across the sea would be fun, he promised them a literal boatload of gold would be found if they went. My friends know i’m not rich enough to do that. Nor am I willing to pillage and enslave the the people I come across to meet that promise.
I had purchased the canoe at 9 at night, at Gander Mountain in Iowa. My credit card declined the purchased. Which irked me. However, being from Ohio, I can see why my card provider would think a canoe being purchased in iowa at 9 at night, before winter would look a little fishy. I usually don’t plan ahead much, which explains why I was on the banks of the river the day after actually having had a canoe. Thus, with a life jacket for rapids, a radio for barges, and spray for bugs, I could handle what most the river could throw at me. However they don’t make a spray for loneliness. Some men think that is cologne.
As I was saying Goodbye to Jackie, my mother called, before my mother could even say a word, I hear yell from the river.
Where you going!, a silhouetted figure from a canoe yells.
I put down the phone, my mom still talking as if she has my ear.
New Orleans! I yell back.
The next words were immensely unexpected.
“We are too!”
There are moments in life where bewilderment is product of providence and serendipity. This was one. I yelled back “ I join you!” , to these silhouetted strangers. I was fully expecting to be braving the river alone. With some hard paddling, I catch up to them.
C.S Lewis once said “Friendship ... is born at the moment when one [person] says to another "What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . .” Those who go down river share an near masochistic love of adventure. We call sore muscles, bug bites, hunger, heat and cold, fun. As long as we are going somewhere. Corey and Haley share these sentiments. With new friends, this lawless river just got a whole less lonely.
Day 1: Muscatine to New Boston.
Being back on the river after a three year hiatus is much like seeing an old friend that gave you a hard time. You are mysteriously glad to see them again, but you remember the one time they almost drowned you. Unlike the wilderness from the river is born, the river has matured to level which demands healthy respect. Barges are getting larger, and more frequent and luckily so is civilization. The first day of paddling was filled with conversation, the river miles seemed short and the lack of any wind made each paddle seem twice as fruitful. Corey and Haley and I exchanged our river stories and our lunches, which in river custom, means you are now a team.
At this time of year the sun seems to set much faster than it rises, and canoeing under the moon, while sounding enchanting, is inviting the river to make you miss the next sunrise. We arrive in New Boston, whose tallest building a grain silo by the river, more hungry than we were tired. Setting up the tent in the small park by the river bank at night made me second guess my choices. Tent set ups at night can be about as frustrating as giving a blind person ikea furniture for Christmas. Regardless, it went up.
Day 2: New Boston to Burlington
Corey makes good pancakes. Which is good, because usually I don’t let men make me pancakes in the morning. We set off with bellies full and arms rejuvenated. The weather radio squawked that winds were coming. I hoped for more providence and serendipity. But I guess there's a limit to everything. We fought through mild headwinds. I fought more, being in a canoe by myself, I’m sure my late grandpa wilbur would say something about it building character and that in his day, they had to fight headwinds both ways. We arrived at a marina before sunset in Burlington, IA, which sadly, does not have coat factory. The marina manager was kind enough to let us pitch our tents in a muddy patch of grass and share the WiFi password which me, which, I promptly forgot, leaving Corey and Haley up the creek without the paddle.
All in all, I must say, there is not better time in life to do something, that something for me is to try and finish this river. I’m blessed that I have met people. I look forward to the adventures ahead.
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