May 25 - Lock # 11 (mile 583) to Bellevue, IA (mile 555)

After almost two weeks on the river, today was my first uneventful day. It was a perfect day for being out in a kayak. The temperature was in the low 70s, there was no humidity to speak of, and there was a light breeze from the southwest of less than 5 mph. No rain, no thunderstorms and lightning to hide from, and very little powerboat traffic, given that it was a long weekend. It took only 7 hours to do 28 miles.

Having said that, I didn't take full advantage of the good conditions. To begin with, I started late, around 11 in the morning. I was cold overnight and didn't sleep much, I needed to sort out and dry out some of my gear, and I was admittedly a bit slow and sluggish. Once on the water I couldn't get a steady rhythm going, I was fidgeting and couldn't get comfortable in the boat. On a day like this I should have done better than 4 mph. Anyway, it was good to do 28 miles without having to paddle flat out all day long.

Tomorrow my vacation is over - the forecast calls for 15 to 20 mph wind and thunderstorms for the next few days. I stopped at Spruce Harbor to fill up my water bottles. I didn't see any public areas, so I walked up to one of the cabins. Before I knew it, I was invited in to fill up with bottled water from the fridge. I would have been quite happy to use the hose outside, but people are so consistently exceeding my expectations that I should be getting used to it by now.

My late father was a generous man. He always gave something to people who came to our door - food, money, a drink of water - and he never sent anybody away empty handed. Every so often he would give a person something extra, for no apparent reason. When that happened again one day, I asked him why he did it. I'll never forget his answer: "He had a good story."
I have a good story too, and that also opens doors for me.

I had one of the more surreal moments of my journey this afternoon. I was waiting above Lock # 12 for my turn through the lock. On the Illinois side of the river is a vast, restricted military training area. It stretches for 16 miles along the river, and all the way east to the Burlington-Santa Fe Railroad.

From a distance, the terrain looks a lot like the jungles in South East Asia and along the Mekong river. The illusion was further enforced by a helicopter flying over the area a few miles inland. Below the lock, in Bellevue, a rock concert was in progress, and late 60s and early 70s vintage rock came floating up the river. For a brief moment, I was in the scene from Apocalypse Now where the patrol boat arrives at a forward supply base, with the all the bright lights and music blaring over the loudspeakers. Weird.

A note of caution about the 100% DEET: It will eat through plastic, watch straps, and synthetic fabric; and it should be kept away from small children, pets and dictators who want to acquire weapons of mass destruction.

I started above Dubuque this morning. It's an attractive city; very much a working city, with a number of impressive old and new money mansions spread out along the Iowa bank. Along Harrington Slough and around Spruce Harbor, the houses and cottages look they have been left unchanged since the 50s. One gets the feeling that they are passed on to the next generation, and always stay in the same families.

It would appear that people along this part of the river can not live, work, relax or play without some kind of internal combustion engine. In nearly two weeks, and 300 miles on the river, I saw exactly one - count them - watercraft not powered by an engine. During my second day of crossing Lake Pepin, I saw a guy in a canoe that was rigged with a set of oars like a single scull.
At some point below Dubuque I crossed the state line from Wisconsin into Illinois. There was no sign (or X) to mark the spot.

The landscape along the river changed after Dubuque. The bluffs are lower and the scenery opens up. Below Bellevue, the west bank dropped to only a few feet above the river, and I caught a glimpse of the rolling Iowa farm country beyond the river.

Turkey vultures look very impressive when they circle high up in the sky, but on the ground they are quite ungainly and not at all elegant. They look like chickens or deranged pheasants.

May 24 - Lock # 10 to Lock # 11, 30 miles

I woke up feeling sluggish and a little depressed this morning. I had a weird dream, the kind with a strange mix of people in places where you'd never expect them to be. The part of the dream that upset me was where our dog Flaky came running up to me amidst all the other confusion, stood at my feet and looked up at me the way he does when he wants to get your attention, then trotted off across a meadow until he disappeared in the distance. I am no believer in the power or significance of dreams, but I can't help feeling that I may not get to see him again. The vet did say 'a few months', but that can mean anything.

I had the strongest sustained south wind yet against me today - 20 to 30 mph, with gusts up to 40 mph. I have figured out how the weather service defines wind strength. 'Breezy' means 15 to 20 mph, with gusts up to 30 mph. 'Windy' means 20 to 30 mph, with gusts of 40 mph. Today was definitely 'windy'.

All was not lost, though. Luckily for me, very much so, the river flowed southeast and east for most of the day, so I could stay close to the west bank most of the time, and paddle in relative calm.

Then, early in the afternoon, I got caught in a big thunderstorm. The rain came down in sheets, driven across the lake by the wind. Thunder roared through the clouds, and I could see lightning flashes only a few miles to the northeast. The water was no place to be, more so when you're in a kayak. A lightning strike would light up the kayak like a candle, with me as the wick. I managed to find a tiny area below the trees on the river bank, just big enough to get most of the boat out. I found some cover underneath the trees, hoping the lightning wouldn't hit one of the trees above my head. There was no hiding from the rain, though. It was like being blasted by a fire hose. At times like this you have two choices. You can either become upset, curse your bad luck and feel sorry for yourself; or you can accept the fact that there is nothing you can do about it, find that Zen-like calmness and patience within yourself to wait out the storm, and remind yourself that the sun will shine again.

The storm did pass, and I was back on the water soon enough, and about an hour later the sun was doing its thing up in the sky again, and I was warm and dry.

I was in a time warp most of the day. I thought it was much later in the day when I got caught in the thunderstorm, but when I listened to the weather radio, it was only 1:30. Sometimes it felt like I had been paddling for hours, only to find that I had covered no more than a mile, which meant I was paddling for no more than 20 minutes.

I was in the middle of crossing another lake and kept a weary eye on the wind. But it stayed south/southwest, and the water remained relatively calm during my crossing. My plan was to camp below Arrowhead marina (mile 589) on one of the islands shown on my map, or alternatively two miles further south on a strip of public land on the river's west bank. The islands and the strip of public land turned out to be marshes with a few trees growing in them. The lake's name should have given me a hint. It's called Mud Lake.

As if that wasn't bad enough, I found myself in a fierce rain squall at the same time I was desperately trying to find a place to camp. The wind was driving the rain straight into my face at over 40 mph. I couldn't see a thing - it felt like my glasses were being driven into my eye sockets. I was wearing a cotton T-shirt, which got soaked through and freezing cold within seconds. Cotton has no place on the water. The only fabric that works well in these conditions is 'technical' polyester - it dries in no time, and continues to keep you warm when it's wet. I've already burned a few cotton shirts, and I can see a few more going into the fire soon. Cotton is fine if you're sitting in a coffee shop, feeling good about how 'natural' and 'earth-friendly' you are, not when you're cold and wet.

This part of the Upper Mississippi isn't a river as we know it - it is a series of lakes, ranging between two and 20 miles in length, and several miles wide in places. The conditions on the water these past few weeks were more like ocean kayaking than anything else.

I decided to make for Lock # 11, five miles further downstream. It was still early, and there usually are good spots for camping on the dredge islands below the locks. The lake above the lock is three miles long and the wind was whipping up two and three foot waves, making for yet another rough crossing.

It wasn't my day. At the lock I had to wait for over an hour for a barge to clear, and sat shivering in my wet clothes in the cold wind, feeling just a tad sorry for myself.

I passed Cassville earlier in the day. It is a dismal place with two coal power stations - one upstream, one a mile downstream. There was a strong smell of human feces in the air, and the river bank on the Iowa side was a swampy marsh. Still, there were many bald eagles, herons and other birds in the area.

I also saw three raccoons and a whitetail doe. I like raccoons. I've always wanted one for a pet. An otter swam past my campsite at mile 613 in the morning.

I went head-to-head with the 30 mph wind a few times during the day, thankfully not too often. The only thing I could do is continue paddling with strong, steady strokes. I really had to put my back into each stroke, and also push forward hard on the other end of the paddle shaft to boost the power of each stroke. I had to grip the shaft tightly, otherwise the wind could twist a blade and rip the paddle from my hands. It was that bad.

I thought I was getting better at picking suitable campsites, but alas. Tonight's site looked perfect, except I missed the fact that it was sloping towards the river at a 15 degree angle, so I ended up sleeping with the one side of my body one and a half inches lower than the other - not very comfortable.

With almost 300 miles behind me, I have concluded that there are far more good people in this part of the world than bad, I've seen more places I like than I don't, and I've met more people I like than I don't.

Today was the first day the mosquitoes actually attacked on the water. I'll keep the DEET within reach from now on. A number of mosquitoes, spiders and other insects have been finding their way into the kayak's cockpit overnight. When it warms up during the day they wake up and start feasting on my legs. I'm going to spray the inside of the cockpit with permethrine and keep the cover on at night. It's good to keep the boat dry anyway.

I'm not fond of mosquitoes. They on the other hand seem to have unlimited affection for me. It's a good thing the people along the Mississippi understand about mosquitoes. I found 100% DEET repellent at the Wal-Mart in La Crosse. None of the puny 28% stuff we get in Canada. Before my next trip to Africa, I'm going to stop in Wisconsin to buy bug spray.

May 23 - Prairie du Chien to mile 613

The going today was easier than yesterday, but still far from easy. The wind was still up around 15 to 25 mph, but there were more islands and high bluffs for me to hide behind and stay out of the wind. The way the river twisted and turned from southeast to southwest also helped me dodge some of the wind. I still only managed 19 miles for the day, so it was no cakewalk. Whenever I had to cross a stretch of open water, I got a sharp reminder that the wind was still going in full fury. Every so often, I'd pass the tip of an island, and I'd get slammed in the face by a 25 mph gust of wind, and find myself in three foot waves.

I stopped early today, around 4:30 pm. This is one of the nicer campsites I've found to date. It has a wide, low sandbar, out of the wind, with lots of dry firewood. After setting up camp, I waded into the river with my Campsuds for a quick wash. It felt good to be clean - fresh and refreshed. I also washed a few shirts in the river. After more than 200 miles on the river, I know it's clean enough to swim and wash in, but I still wouldn't drink from it without first boiling, filtering and treating the water with Pristine chemical purifier. The same holds true for any river or lake though.

I've come to the conclusion that I'm not good at picking campsites. I tend to end up in the middle of mosquito breeding grounds, spider nests, exposed to the wind or sliding down a gentle slope towards the river.

I prefer to camp on one of the many mid-stream islands, formed by the Corps of Engineers dumping dredging material from the channel. They are planted with indigenous trees, and most have nice sandbars to camp on. The islands are private and safe; nobody knows I'm there, and the only access is by boat. Last night, however, I could go no further against the wind below Prairie du Chien, and ended up on a vacant lot a mile and a half past the town, and clearly on the wrong side of the tracks. I arrived there around 4:30 in the afternoon, and by the time I went to bed all was quiet, there were no people or cars in sight or within earshot, and I was looking forward to a good night's sleep. I was bone weary from the day's hard paddling into the wind, and the 40 miles I did the previous day. I dozed off not too long after 10 pm, after speaking to Christine on the cell phone.

Sometime after midnight, my sleep was rudely interrupted by a loud, drunken argument on the next property. It sounded like a man and a woman were having a heated verbal exchange. Both were in the advanced stages of intoxication, and the man sounded quite aggressive. He was swearing at the woman, and kicking and banging against something outside the house.

After 10 minutes or so I couldn't hear them anymore, so I assumed they had left or gone inside the house. I was mistaken though, for a few minutes later I could hear them stumbling through the trees above my tent, and judged by the sound of their voices, they were coming towards my tent. I thought it best to make my presence known, lest I scare them into doing something stupid. I made a lot of noise getting out of my sleeping bag and unzipping the tent, and when I could see them on the low ridge about 15 yards above my camp, I said, "Hello."

That stopped them dead in their tracks. They stood nailed to the same spot for a while, and I said "Hello" again. The woman spoke first, and what she said was, "Don't worry, we won't hurt you."

That worried me a great deal: why would she even be thinking about hurting people? They stumbled down the ridge to within ten feet of my tent, muttering, arguing and swearing all the time. I was sitting down in the tent's door, and looking up at their Homer Simpson silhouettes against the night sky. When I saw how very drunk they were, I knew I could take them both out quickly and without too much trouble, even though they had a combined weight advantage of at least 500 pounds over me. I wasn't concerned about any threats to my personal safety; I just wanted them to get the hell out of there so I could go back to sleep.

They were pawing one another all the time, and it dawned on me that they were there to quench their beer-fuelled lust on the beach under the moonlight, that it was not the first time they had done so, and that they were annoyed at finding someone camped on their sacred ground. I had the distinct feeling that I was trapped between two mating rhinos.

At that point, he decided it would be great idea if she shared her charms.
"Honey, show him your tits."

I had no desire to see Honey's tits, or any other part of her ample anatomy. Fortunately, she was either too drunk, or she thought I had suffered enough for one day, so I was spared that ordeal.

He then went on to say, " We're just going to sit over there and drink some beer," pointing to a spot 12 feet from my tent.

I said, "Sure, don't mind me, I'm going back to sleep." I made a big show of getting back inside the tent, not sure what to expect next.

I didn't have to wait long. The next thing I knew, they started going through the preliminary motions of copulation - to call what they did foreplay would be heresy. After much grunting, burping, even one of the more unmentionable bodily noises ("let it rip, Honey"), they decided, thank God, that maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all, and they got up and left. But not before coming over to my tent one more time to tell me they were leaving. And the weirdest thing was, they were really apologetic, not about barging into my camp and waking me up, but because they felt that by leaving, they were depriving me of the voyeuristic experience of a lifetime. Did I mention before that strange things happen to me when I travel?

I could still hear them stumbling and falling for a while after they had taken off in the general direction of away, then I went back to sleep.

I passed through Clayton, Iowa late morning. It's a nice looking town, with a single row of neat double story houses spread out along the river bank for a mile or so. South of the town, huge mine shafts cut horizontally into the bluff on the Iowa side.

A few miles below Lock # 10 I came across the first inn with direct access from the river. Actually, it was the first of any kind of accommodation on the river in 230 miles. It goes without saying that I didn't need a place to stay then, nor was I ready to stop for the day, so I continued on my way. It is called Landing 615, and the sign reads, "Gas/Food/Rooms."

My hands have gone through various phases of deterioration and recovery: from blisters to open blisters, to new blisters, to blisters on blisters, to gaping holes and finally to the embryonic stage of callous development.

The weather service issued a thunderstorm warning for the area last night: "Winds of 60 mph, hail the size of pennies. Move indoors to the lowest floor of your house and stay away from windows." And there I was, in my two pound tent, on a narrow strip of sand in the middle of the Mississippi. Fortunately, the storm passed to the east of the river, and I only got rained on for a while.

I saw two interesting looking birds today. They looked like jays, only smaller and bright red in color. I have no idea what they are.

May 22 - Lock # 9 to Prairie du Chien

It's amazing how conditions can change from one day to the next. I did 40 miles yesterday, and only 16 today, although I worked equally hard today, if not more so. From the first minute after I had cleared Lock # 9, I was paddling into a 20-25 mph south wind, gusting 35 mph at times. It was like pushing against a brick wall. The fact that I made any distance at all today defies several laws of physics and nature.

On 'normal' days, I pick a spot a few hundred yards ahead of me on the bank to measure my progress. Today I was picking spots almost level with the kayak's bow, to make sure I was making any progress at all, and not actually going backwards. I couldn't even stop paddling long enough to take a sip of water; the wind would push me back so hard that I'd forfeit the last few minutes of paddling effort. It was that bad.

I proved that it is possible to go against a 35 mph gusting wind and make some headway. I did everything I could to get on the lee side and at least get some protection from the wind, but it was blowing straight up the river. There was nowhere to hide.

Everybody keeps telling me that the wind is not seasonal, but I have been battling this unseasonal phenomena for almost two weeks now. I'm beginning to think the weather is never seasonal in these parts.

I was feeling the effect of the wind physically today. My head feels numb, my eyeballs ache, and I think it's beginning to affect my brain - I have 'brain fog' tonight. And more of the same tomorrow.

My diet is interesting. I start my day with a cup of Nitro Fire protein and energy supplement from Polar Labs. It's loaded with caffeine as well, so it gives me a good jolt first thing in the morning. During the day I eat Simbree and BumbleBar energy bars, and chocolate bars from La Montagne chocolates whenever I feel sluggish or peckish. At night I load up on protein with Polar and Wellwisdom whey blends, and eat tuna or salmon, the kind that comes in a foil pouch. When I stop over in a town somewhere, I go for the high cholesterol, high calorie foods, in other words, cheese burgers, pizza and fried chicken. And beer. I keep my electrolyte levels up with goZym tablets dissolved in water. It also contains magnesium, which prevents cramps and muscle stiffness, and a few vitamins.

By the time I got to Prairie du Chien I was exhausted. I wanted to stop and explore the historical old town, but in addition to be being bushed, I had my work cut out to make headway against the wind, which was gusting between 25 and 35 mph by then. The first place I could find to pull out the kayak and set up camp for the night was 1.5 miles downstream on the river bank, and not the kind of spot where I could safely leave my gear and walk back to town.

There were two pretty young women sitting on the concrete pier below the old town, trying to catch a few rays from an invisible sun, seemingly oblivious to the wind that was blasting them. Both girls were wearing 'lightweight' bikinis, and I thanked them from the bottom of my heart for their courage and exhibitionist streak. They provided the only bright point in an otherwise trying day.

I received bad news today. Our little fox terrier dog, Flaky, the last remaining of our pet family, was diagnosed with cancer. It is too far advanced to treat, and has spread to most of his lymph nodes. It will be possible to keep him comfortable and pain-free with Prednisone for a while, but the vet told my wife that he has a few months at best. We will not let him suffer, that will be selfish, so we will have him put to sleep before that happens. He is 17 years old this year.

There is a thunderstorm brewing. I've already pitched the tent, even though it's only late afternoon. Most nights up to now I've slept outside under the stars, but with increasing rain, and more mosquitoes, I'll be using the tent every night from now on.The rain will be a relief - the last few hours were very hot and oppressive, in spite of the wind.

My body is holding up remarkably well. Yesterday and today were tough, but I seem to recover well overnight. I don't need too many days like that, though. By the time I reach New Orleans, I'll either look like Stallone, or I'll be a broken man. The jury is still out on that one.

I'm camping on private property tonight. It's a deserted lot, and so far no one has hassled me. I had to choose between staying out on the water in a 30 mph wind, and stopping at the first suitable site with reasonable camping. It was an easy choice to make.

I saw a young otter today, it couldn't have been more than a few months old. I saw the first beaver dam on the river. It was on the small side, so it might have been a muskrat dam. As usual, there were many bald eagles about. One caught a fish less than 100 feet away from my boat. It was neat to watch.

It is nice and quiet now. The wind has died down, and it will be dark soon. It didn't rain, but the air cooled off and that oppressive feeling is gone. And I'm safely in my tent, away from all the mosquitoes.

The food and supplements that make up my diet seem to contain all the nutrients and energy I need. I don't have any deficiencies, and I'm not showing any of the early symptoms of leprosy or anything like that. Nor do I have many aches and pains. I do have some lower back pain, that spreads to my left hip. It might be a nerve pinching; I do spend long hours in the kayak in more or less the same position.

I also manage to maintain a high level of discipline all the time. It is essential in this environment, and for this kind of undertaking. I haven't lost any gear so far, I keep everything organized and I continue to take good care of my hygiene and health. And if you're not mentally disciplined, you can end up doing something stupid on the water. It also shows in my writing - I write every day, and have not fallen behind in my notes and journal entries.

May 21 - Wildcat Camp to Lock # 9

I did almost 40 miles today, but I'm not proud of my achievement. I was out far too long and too late on the big lake above Lock # 9, dodging barges in the dark and trying to find a spot to camp.
I didn't use my map to plan ahead for a camp site, and I got carried away when I finally got out of the wind and the going started to get easier. The river turned more to the south, and I was able to stay out of the wind below the high bluffs on my right. That was the first time in more than a week that I was not struggling against strong headwinds, and I got a little ahead of myself.

I ended up crossing the last 7 miles of an 11 mile long lake in the dark. There was nowhere to camp on the lake. The few islands that showed on my map were just swamps with trees growing out of them. The first - and only - place I could find to spend the night was next to a gravel boat ramp below the railroad track, on the southeast shore of the lake. It was almost 10:30 pm. I had been on the water for over 12 hours, with only one ten minute break around 3 pm.

It was my worst campsite to date, with trains thundering past less than 100 feet from my head, but it was a heck of a lot better than being stuck on a lake for the night. I slept surprisingly well - I was very, very tired. I didn't have the energy left to pitch the tent.

The day started out well. I left Wildcat Landing around 9:30, after saying goodbye to John and Audrey. Breakfast again! There was no wind to speak of, and I crossed the lake above Genoa power station without any difficulty, my easiest lake crossing so far. At some point I crossed the state line from Minnesota into Iowa.

Then things changed. From the moment I exited Lock # 8, I had a 15 mph wind in my face again. I am beginning to feel punch drunk from being pounded by the wind all the time. There were a few pleasant stretches where the river turned more to the east or southeast, making it possible to get out of the wind for a while, but overall the going was slow. I managed less than 3 mph most of the time.

I saw more barges today, 6 in total, still not as many as I had expected. So far I've been able to stay well away from them. Mississippi barges are something to behold. A single tow boat can push (yes push, not pull) up to 15 barges at a time. A 15 barge tow looks like an apartment building coming towards you on the river. The tow boats are powered by mega horsepower marine diesels of all vintages. Some are propelled by modern diesel-electric engines - the kind that powers railway locomotives. A few still use World War II vintage, exposed piston, Fairfield diesels.

I passed by Lansing, IA late afternoon. It is an attractive town, perched below the bluffs along a lazy curve in the river, with a number of restored historical downtown buildings and houses along the riverfront and above the railroad track.

I saw a whitetail buck on the bank a few miles past Lansing. It was less than 20 yards away, and when it saw me it only moved a few feet higher onto the railroad track, stopped and looked at me over its shoulder, showing no concern about my presence. The raccoon I saw earlier in the day had a very shaggy, mangy looking coat (old, sick, or just having a bad hair day?) I saw several bald eagles below Genoa power station.

If you are going to drive a big RV, you may as well go all the way. Near Lansing, I saw the ultimate home-away-from-home, in-your-face-global-warming rig. It was built on an extended five ton truck chassis, complete with a bright yellow Hummer in tow for a runabout vehicle. Only in America.

The main navigation channel is marked by buoys. The channel always has at least nine feet of water, which makes it possible for the barges and recreational craft to safely travel up and down the river most of the year, except where and when the river freezes. I stay out of the channel; that's where you go if want to get run over by a tow boat pushing 15 barges. My kayak doesn't need nine feet of water; it doesn't even need nine inches, about three will do. However, I do stay close enough to keep the buoys in sight. That's how I know I'm on course. There are two rows of buoys: if you are travelling downstream, like I am, the green ones mark the starboard (right) side of the channel; the red ones mark the port (left) side. The first time I saw the green buoys, I had to wonder if that really was such a good color choice. After all, the river is green, the trees lining the banks are green, and green doesn't exactly stand out in the best of conditions. Yet it works surprisingly well. The green buoys are as visible as the red ones, and can be seen from far away.

The water level in Lock # 8 dropped very quickly, causing the none too comfortable sensation that the kayak was sinking under my bottom. It was like a very slow roller coaster ride.

Trip Summary # 2 - June 16

This update is coming to you from Cape Girardeau, MO. I have now completed 792 miles of my journey.

This past week has been one of extremes: I had 40 mile days in almost ideal conditions, 20 mile days with extreme heat and strong south winds, and everything in between. In the space of a few days, I passed through 30 miles of industrial sprawl around St. Louis, and I camped in near pristine wilderness, with coyotes howling in the night.

The heat is becoming a factor. The temperature climbed into the 90s on Thursday and Friday, and it's taking its toll on me on the river. I am planning to change my daily schedule from now on. I'll start out between 5 am and 6 am in the morning, and stop for the day around 3 pm. The hottest part of the day is between 3 pm and 7 pm, and it would be wise to stay out of the sun then. It will give me a few more hours to write everyday, so the time won't go to waste. I should still be able to average around 30 miles per day.

I passed through St. Louis on Tuesday, the 12th. St. Louis is the symbolic halfway point of my voyage. It is also the point where the Mississippi changes from being a series of lakes, to becoming a free flowing river with faster current. I also passed through the last lock of my journey at Alton IL, 20 miles north of St. Louis.

Like the heat, the current is a new variable I need to factor into my planning and paddling. On the plus side, it's helping me along at about 2 miles per hour, and I can now do 40 miles per day with the same effort 30 miles required above St. Louis. It actually feels like I am navigating a river now. My average speed is close to 5 mph now; before St. Louis it was around 3 mph.

On the down side, the current makes it more difficult to cross the main channel, and getting the kayak to a specific point on the bank or an island is more difficult, and requires me to be more pro-active in my approach. The faster current also causes more turbulence and stronger eddies below the wing dams and other underwater obstacles, which can make things more difficult for me on the water.

I broke my good graphite paddle on Wednesday. Christine shipped two spare paddles from Victoria on Friday. With a bit of luck I'll still get them today.

I'm 53 miles away from Mile 0 on the Upper Mississippi. Beyond Cairo, IL the Lower Mississippi begins, and I have approximately 850 miles on the LM before I get to New Orleans.

I'm doing well, still enjoying good health and I have lots of energy and stamina. I continue to meet friendly, helpful and interesting people along the way. Towns and cities are becoming fewer and further apart, so I stocked up on extra food supplies today, and I'll start carrying more water too. I also consume more water because of the heat, so I need to manage my water supply carefully.

It's beginning to look like I will complete my trip before the end of July; a month sooner than my original plan, unless of course I suffer a serious setback or mishap.

May 19 - 20, Wildcat Landing, Brownsville MN

Today I looked into the heart of America, and it is generous, caring, and right here in Brownsville, Minnesota.

The first of several wonderful people I met at the Wildcat Landing campsite was Paul Bray. An ex-marine in his early forties, Paul is planning to start from Lake Itasca in September, and make his way down to the gulf of Mexico, also in a kayak. Like myself, he is an avid and enthusiastic paddler, so we hit it off right away and talked up a storm. Then John Guinne came over from his trailer and joined us. He is taking off upstream from Brownsville in his kayak later this summer. The fact that he is 'post-retirement age', and a bit on the heavy side, poses no problem to him. I have no doubt that he will make his way upriver, whatever it takes.

Later that night, after I had a shower and the tent was set up for the night, Paul came over with a cooler full of cold beer, the best homemade potato salad I've ever tasted and firewood. He even brought me a super comfortable lawn chair. Talk about luxury! It was one of those rare times in life when you meet someone purely by coincidence, and find that you have so much in common. After the beer and potato salad I was so full and mellow, I didn't even go into town for a pizza as I had planned to do earlier. The potato salad was fully loaded: pickles, bacon, egg, red onions, creamy mayonnaise and the secret ingredient: a full glass of milk.

I also met Bill Ginger earlier in the evening. Bill is a real 'Good Old Boy' and very much into fishing. He also chews tobacco - the first person I've ever met to do so. Bill can spit a mighty fine stream of tobacco juice. John later told me an interesting anecdote about Bill. He is from French-Canadian stock, and when he goes into a bar, he becomes Gilluame Gingere, and starts speaking French. Apparently the ladies really go for that kind of thing, and Bill has a lot of success in that department.

John offered to drive me into town the next morning to pick up a few supplies. He and his wife Audrey went to a Bluegrass concert in the evening.

At 6:00 am Sunday morning John walked over to my tent to invite me for breakfast in their trailer. And what a breakfast! Pancakes, eggs, sausages and fresh strawberries coated with brown sugar. I met his delightful wife Audrey, and what lovely people they both are. They are retired from long and successful careers. Both previously married, they have been together for two years and living the good life, seeing the US in their Ford F250 Heavy Duty and large fifth wheel trailer.

After breakfast, they drove me via the scenic route through Brownsville to La Crosse. They showed me all the sights, including the brewery where Audry worked as Communications Manager for 34 years. La Crosse is a fine old city of 60,000, with many stately brownstone and red brick houses and office buildings remaining in its downtown area near the river. Many have been carefully restored to their former glory. It's a very clean city, with well manicured parks and gardens. They then took me to Wal-Mart, where they waited patiently while I shopped for supplies.

We drove back to Wildcat Landing via Hokah, John's hometown. He ran the town's sewage treatment plant for several decades. It was interesting to listen to him talk about how things have changed since the fifties, when cities and factories were just pumping raw sewage and waste into the river, to where we are today, with such strict rules in place that recycled water pumped back into the river is actually cleaner than the river water. He can remember a time in the fifties and sixties, when the river was so polluted that there were 'dead zones' in places where bacteria overgrowth depleted all the oxygen from the water, snuffing out all life in the zone. If I understand this correctly, normal levels of bacterial activity play a crucial role in cleaning pollutants, both man-made and natural, from the river. But if levels of contamination reach very high levels, the bacteria try to cope with their workload by multiplying too fast, and they end up becoming contaminants themselves.

The road took us up to the Ridge, where the 'Ridge People' live. They are said to be different from the 'Bluff People' who live below in the river valley. We drove through some of the most beautiful farm country I've seen in a long time. Rolling, wooded hills, lush creeks, green meadows and neatly restored old farm houses and barns.

Paddling on the 19th was tough and slow-going. I started from mile 711, just below Lock and Dam # 6, in the Trempeleau Lakes Wildlife Area. The wind was coming from the SE at 15 mph, and I had to work really hard for every mile of progress I made. It took all I had in me just to make 3 mph. The scenery was nice though, with the Wildlife Area to the East, and the Great River Bluffs State Park to the West. Being the weekend, there were a great many power boats out on the river. As I approached La Crosse, it became a real traffic jam. So in addition to the wind, which wasn't letting up for a minute, I had almost constant powerboat wake to contend with. Most of the powerboats stay in the main channel, but closer to La Crosse the jet ski and powered bathtub crowd were everywhere and coming at me from all directions, cutting across my bow a few times. La Crosse didn't look too inviting from the river. In the city park across from the downtown area, there were a small group of the biker gang/drug dealer/pimp crowd hanging out near the river bank, doing or not doing whatever it is they do. One of the girls, who looked far too young for that kind of company, was quite friendly, and asked where I was heading. I took one look at the tough dude leaning on his motorcycle and staring at me, so I just mumbled something and paddled faster. La Crosse is of course a fine city, as I found out the next day on my tour with the Guinnes.

Fortunately for me, only the 'serious' weekend boaters - pontoons, houseboats and the bass fisherman - seem to venture more than two miles or so from the city. The other boaters stay near the city marinas, where they can show off their toys, make noise and annoy more people. It amazes me that so few people get killed in boating accidents on the Mississippi. It's like letting a bunch of 14-year olds loose on a busy highway after 10 minutes of driving instruction. Life jackets are as scarce as people smoking in public buildings in Canada. The most hairbrained thing I saw so far was a guy pulling a kid on a tube, right into the path of an approaching barge. If that kid had fallen off the tube, there wouldn't have been nearly enough time to pick him up before the barge went right over him. Maybe the guy doesn't like the kid; perhaps it's not his, but still.....

Bass fishing is an interesting business. The more serious bass fishermen have these sleek, flat boats with ridiculously large outboard engines, and paint jobs straight out of a custom bike shop. They have names like 'Nitro', and 'Blazer' and they go like greased lightning. Now it may well be that bass are very fast or dangerous; maybe both, but somehow I suspect that the boats have more to do with outrunning and out-impressing their fellow fishermen, and the power of TV fishing shows/commercials.

There were six police boats spread out across the river about four miles below La Crosse. They were obviously looking for something or someone. I learned from John Guinne the next day that four members of a Hmong family (mom, dad, two young kids) had drowned below Dam 6 a few days earlier. They were in a small fishing boat. The anchor line got wrapped around the propeller shaft, and when their boat drifted too close to the dam, they couldn't get the engine started, and they got pulled under by the strong current caused by the overflow at the dam.

The going has been tough almost every day so far. Having said that, I'm still enjoying myself. I suppose you can call me a pathalogical optimist. I'm still averaging 25 miles a day, in spite of the strong winds and two rest days.

The reason I'm not out paddling today is that northwest wind again. It's blowing at 15-25 mph, and the next leg of my route crosses yet another large lake. Tomorrow's forecast is for a southerly wind at 10-15 mph, which is slower going, but much safer.

Another reason: it's a good opportunity to get some writing done. John and Audrey will give me a ride to the Barnes & Noble in Onalaska, so hopefully I can update my blog and gallery, and check my e-mail. (note: I managed to post two blog entries and 45 photos to my gallery before the bookstore closed at 9 pm).

The campground at Wildcat Landing is the cleanest and neatest I've ever visited. The showers and bathrooms are cleaner than most kitchens I've seen.

An idea is beginning to form in my mind that kayaking the Mississippi is an analogy for how I want to live my life: travel light, don't quit, discover your strengths, manage your weaknesses, never panic - that kind of thing. More on this later, as the idea germinates.

And now...a political observation: All the people I met around Brownsville are as conservative as they come: church-goers, gun-owners, they drive full-size trucks and have probably voted Republican for generations. Yet even here I found a strong and freely expressed dislike, resentment even, for George Bush the younger. They dismiss him as an oil man, who only looks after big corporate interests. We never talked about Iraq, but that too was implied in some of their comments.

For traditional conservatives, it has always been about values; neo-conservatism is based on ideology, even when it is dressed up and wrapped in the flag. Values have always outlived ideology, and it will be no different this time.

Day 6, May 18 - Lock 5 to mile 711, 28 miles

I battled 10-15 mph SE winds all day. The wind seemed to come straight up the river no matter which way it turned. The gusts exceeded 20 mph at times. Interestingly enough, the southerly winds don't generate the same size waves as the northerly winds. It's counter intuitive for me; in the ocean, opposing wind and current create the biggest waves - the faster the current and the stronger the wind it meets head on, the bigger the waves. Not so on the river.

I stopped at a KONA campsite at mile 718 to fill up my water bottles and to charge my cell phone battery. I am becoming a real scrounger and tramp. But I have to use every chance I get to resupply and get what I need. There's no way of knowing when the next opportunity will come around.

People were real friendly at the campground. It was Friday afternoon, and the weekend RV and boat crowd (all regulars) were drifting in. There was a lot of interest in my journey, my kayak and equipment. One guy pointed out the showers, saying that the camp managers wouldn't mind if I used them. I'm sure he was just trying to helpful, but he probably also felt that I needed a shower quite badly.

I've not written anything about the sounds on the river. The sound (noise) that dominates all others on the river is that of trains. There are railway lines on both banks of the river, and trains run all day and all night, sometimes several in the space of an hour. The roaring and clattering of 2 mile long trains hurtling down the tracks, the deep throbbing of the diesel-electric engines that push and pull these modern caravans of commerce along at break-neck speed, and the eardrum-shattering sound of their whistles as they approach towns and railroad crossings, fill the river valley and obliterate all other sounds.

The barges are surprisingly quiet, and unless they pass within 200 yards or so, you don't hear much of anything. Bass boats and other power boats make a lot more noise than the barges. The tow boats that push the barges along sound like submarines - run silent, run deep.

Whenever a highway runs near the river, Harley Davidsons and muffler-challenged V8 pickup trucks dominate the sound stage.

There is a lot of wilderness along the river, most notably on the Minnesota side. However, one is constantly reminded that workaday, industrial America is never far away. Beyond the green and seemingly endless wilderness along the riverbanks, the sounds of the 21st century spill over into the river valley. The monotonous drone of highway traffic drifts towards the river, every so often the growling and whining of earth moving and construction equipment will break free from behind a narrow row of trees left for 'cosmetic' reasons, and the hum of power stations and factories along the river adds to the surreal symphony of the river.

Nature gets its chance too. Whenever the noise of the modern world quiets down, the air is filled with bird calls: the hoarse vek-vek-vek of the heron, the sad but beautiful song of the mourning dove, the occasional whistle of an eagle or hawk, the explosion of geese and ducks taking off in flight, and the harmony of dozens of different kinds of small birds pitching in to create nature's music.

I passed through Winona, a very industrial looking city, as seen from the river. I smelled plastic resin as I came up to RPT Industries - I assume they are a plastics company. On the other hand, if there were no plastics companies, I wouldn't be paddling down the Mississippi in an indestructable plastic boat with my carbon fiber paddle and hi-tech equipment. If I took plastic out of the equation, I'd be swimming the length of the river, naked.

There was black smoke coming from the chimney at the Peerless Chain Company (how do they spot the weakest link?), and there was a hint if coal smoke in the air. A little further downstream, water was flowing into the river from a run-off pipe, and it smelled faintly of chlorine. My guess would be that it is the outflow for the city's sewage treatment plant. Still, just a short distance below the city, all kinds of birds, including bald eagles, were happily going about their business.

Signs aren't always straightforward in these parts; some are downright confusing. I had a National Wildlife Refuge to my right for most of the way below Winona. There were two different signs posted along the shore. One read 'Closed'; the other 'No Entry/Avoid Entry/No Unauthorized Entry'. To me, that meant 'stay out', and 'don't camp here', so I kept going, even though there were a few great spots for camping. Later, when I read the map booklet from the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, I found a totally different explanation for these signs. 'Closed' means closed to duck and geese hunting for parts of the year. The more severe 'No Entry/Avoid Entry, etc.' sign means: 'You may enter'. Go figure. Anyway, now I set up camp anywhere that's not clearly posted with 'no trespassing/no camping'. I can always play the 'I'm kayaking to New Orleans' card if anybody complains.

I have not made a single cup of coffee in the time I've been on the river. It's simply too much of a hassle to get the stove out, find a spot out of the wind to get it going, and to go through the ritual of making coffee. I also need to watch my water supply closely, and coffee also causes more bathroom stops. Instead, I've been taking my Prolab Nitro Fire supplement. It's a blend of amino acids designed to boost physical and mental energy, and it's also loaded with caffeine. That perks me right up, no matter how groggy and sluggish I feel in the morning. And it provides me with a steady level of physical and mental energy for several hours. Turns out I don't need coffee after all, although my wife still maintains that coffee is one of the main food groups.

Speaking of Christine, she really should have been here. Not only because I miss her very much, but because she is a much more practical, and handy person than I am. One example, she insisted that I pack some heavy duty rubber bands. I could see no use for them, but took them to humour her. Would you believe it, I've been using them all the time, for everything from keeping food containers closed, to keeping my glasses on my head, to fixing the deployment cord on the kayak's rudder. Thank you Christine!

I'm still starting too late in the mornings. Before you start referring to me as the Lazy Kayaker, an explanation: It's been freezing cold every night so far, with temperatures dipping into the low 30s. Most mornings, I only warm up after the sun has been out for a while, and it's good to catch some sleep when I'm not trying to keep warm. Still, it would be better if I could be on the water earlier; the wind is normally not too bad early in the day, and I can start looking for campsites earlier.

Trip Summary - June 8

You've probably noticed that my blog updates are lagging a few weeks behind my actual progress. That's caused primarily by the limited opportunities I have had to date to get off the river to charge my notebook's battery and access the Internet, and to some extent by the fact that I've been paddling for 10-12 hours most days in an effort to make maximum progress whenever the wind allowed me to.

In order to bring everybody up to speed with the bigger picture, I've decided to do a trip summary every few weeks. The chronological blog narrative will continue as before. It's probably a good thing for me as well to stop and reflect on my progress once in a while.

Here are a few highlights of my adventure so far:

I have completed 572 miles (858 km) of my 2,000 mile journey. I started at mile 845, five miles upstream of St. Paul on May 13, and tonight I find myself in Clarksville, MO. My journey has taken me through five states so far: Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, Iowa and Missouri. I have paddled through unspoilt wilderness, large cities, industrial sprawl, and everything in between. Mother Nature pulled out all the stops (and continues to do so). I have had 32 degree nights, 90 degree days, balmy days in the mid-seventies, one stifling night with the temperature in the eighties, days in the low fifties, 30 and 40 mph winds, days with non-stop driving rain, several thunderstorms, and even the tail-end of a tornado in Pike County, Illinois last night.

Clarksville is my third 'city' stop. I stopped near Brownsville, MN at the end of the first week, and last week, May 31st to June 3rd, I was forced to stop over in Burlington by severe thunderstorms and tornado activity in the area. I do not regret any one of those days off the river. I was fortunate enough to meet some of the kindest, most generous people I've ever met in my life. Everywhere so far I've been treated like an old friend, and provided with all the help I needed without having to ask for anything. This has given me a glimpse into what makes the US such a great country: people are kind, generous and caring, and they are willing to take a stranger in their midst and see to it that he has what he needs. And they do so without fanfare; without meddling. That is how they are and who they are.

I have become something of a celebrity in Clarksville since my arrival here earlier today. The owners of the Clarksville Inn (where I'm staying) came over to introduce themselves and find out about my trip, all the staff in the Steamboat Inn restaurant know about me - even the off-duty girls wave at me in the street - and I've talked to half the road crew working on the highway above the motel. Of course, it's kind of hard to miss someone who shows up dragging a 17-foot mango-orange kayak up the main street, and then parks his boat outside his motel room. And other than the motel, restaurant, gas station and hardware store, there's not much else here in Clarksville.

Any venture of this nature will serve up its share of surprises; some pleasant, some nasty. I am happy to report that thus far, my surprise scale has definitely tipped to the favorable side. A few of the good ones below:

The friendliness, generosity and kindness of strangers.
More wilderness than I had expected, especially in Minnesota and Illinois
All the bald eagles in Minnesota and Wisconsin!
Relatively little urban and suburban sprawl.
The river is much cleaner than I thought it would be.
Except in Iowa, there is much less litter on the banks and in the river than I expected to see.
Abundant bird- and wildlife along the banks.
I do not have to portage around the dams - I can go through the locks, which saved me many hours to date.
So far, it's been relatively easy to find good campsites on the many mid-stream islands.
I am holding up very well, both physically and mentally.
I've had no injuries worth mentioning, no major aches and pains; not even a cold or headache.
I have had exceptionally good luck so far. The few times I found myself in somewhat precarious situations, luck stayed firmly on my side.
I'm making faster progress than planned. I'm still averaging 20 miles per day, in spite of the days the wind had forced me off the river.
I have the best equipment for the task.

The 'bad' list is short:

The WIND. For most of the past three and a half weeks, the wind has been my nemesis. Most of the time I had 20-30 mph southerly winds to contend with, in other words, headwinds! On a few days early in my trip I ran into fierce NW winds that nearly shipwrecked me during a lake crossing. There were days when I battled into the wind for 12 hours, with only 16 or 18 miles to show for all my hard work.
Cold nights. There have been some unseasonably (so they keep telling me) cold nights. Actually, I've been cold most nights, not being geared up for cooler weather.
It's been very difficult to access cities and towns, and any facilities from the river. This has limited my access to the Internet and cell phone service, and my ability to keep my notebook and cell phone charged. However, I set myself the goal of doing this as a true solo effort, and I'm sticking with it.
I miss my wife Christine a lot, even more so than I knew I would.

I will update my gallery later tonight, and I'll try to post one or two regular blog entries.

Thank you to all my sponsors, friends (old and new) for your support and encouragement!

May 17, day 5 - first rest day

I decided to take a day to rest, reorganize my gear and fix the kayak's rudder. I also needed to catch up on my writing. I've been taking notes in my Rite-in-the-Rain journal, but I needed to get the notebook computer out and do some serious writing. I've not been able to use the voice recorder in the windy conditions I've had every day, so whatever wasn't in the journal was still floating around in my head somewhere.

It was a nice spot to stay over for a day: wide sandy beach, good shade under the trees and not too windy. Very clean too. I took out the Sun Shower, filled it with water from the river, added 40 drops of Pristine chemical purifier and hanged it against a tree in full sunlight the whole day. I had a wonderful hot shower late in the afternoon, my first in 4 days. The small things in life can sometimes make a huge difference. The only challenge with my shower came from the mosquitoes. As soon as the I started washing, my usual layer of DEET came off with the dirt and river grime, and I was left defenseless. And naked. In the middle of swarms of mosquitoes. My solution, quite a creative one I might add, was to wash a small area, towel dry very quickly, squirt on some fresh DEET, and get to work on the next part of my exposed anatomy.

My kayak's rudder needed some serious work. The deployment cord had snapped on the second day, and although I had fixed it a few times, it wouldn't hold together for more than a few hours. A better solution was called for. First I had to shorten the entire cord so there was sufficient tension to hold the rudder in place when deployed. And I had to find a way of joining the two ends of the cord so they stayed connected. Shortening the cord was fairly easy: I folded a loop in the cord and wound some nylon string around the loop to keep it in place. I then secured the string with a few rubber bands. My wife had insisted that I pack a bunch of heavy duty rubber bands. I thought it was a silly idea, but I keep finding new uses for them every day. Thank you Christine!

Joining the two ends was more difficult. I had to find a way to prevent the one end of the cord from slipping through the knot all the time. Then, a brain wave! I removed one of the little pressure clips from a ditty bag and attached it to the tip of the cord. Voila! It couldn't slip through anymore. To be on the safe side, and to turn it into a contraption worthy of Heath Robinson, I wrapped several bright pink and blue rubber bands around the joint. Ugly, but strong, would be a fair descrition.

Sitting below Dam and Lock # 5 for an entire day, watching the controlled flow of the river below the dam, made me think about what it was like before all these marvels of engineering tamed the Upper Mississippi.

Long before European settlers came to the area, the river was an important trade route for Native Americans who lived along the river and beyond. They used birch-bark canoes and log dugouts, called pirogues, to transport trade goods on the river and into the backwater creeks, streams and sloughs. I imagine they also travelled up and down the river to hunt, relocate or to simply visit other villages. And to go to war, naturally. Early white explorers, hunters and fur traders adopted the styles of canoes used by the Native Americans. They could be loaded with 2,000 pounds of cargo, and were well suited to negotiate the big lakes, the shallow backwaters of the Mississippi, and everything in between. The boats were light enough for portaging around rapids and waterfalls.

With more permanent European settlement came new modes of river transportation. Flatboats and keelboats were used to ship goods downriver. Most flatboats were sold for lumber at their final destination; it was just too difficult to get them back upriver. Keelboats were moved upstream using a laborious method called 'poling'. This involved 10 to 20 men, armed with 20 foot poles, who pushed their poles into the river bottom and walked the length of the deck to move the boat upriver.

The introduction of steamboats on the Upper Mississippi was limited by sandbars, low water, seasonal flooding and underwater snags. In the 1840s, river communities started expanding, and mining, lumber and grain distribution activities increased, and with it the need to control the river for safe and reliable navigation. Before river modifications started, the Upper Mississippi was a confusion of channels, rapids and shallow areas that made navigation in large boats all but impossible.

Starting in 1930, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers constructed a system of locks and dams to facilitate navigation on the river. The locks and dams regulate water levels to maintain a 9 foot deep channel for barges and other boats. The dams create a series navigational pools, and each dam is a step in the river as it descends to the Gulf of Mexico. A pool is the stretch of water between two dams, and typically consists of a series of lakes. Pools are numbered for the dams at their downstream ends: Pool # 7 will be above Lock and Dam # 7.

Locks are used to lower or raise boats to the next navigational pool. A lock is basically a huge bathtub with massive steel doors on either side. Once a boat is inside the lock, water can be drained from the lock to lower a boat to the downstream pool, or added to the lock to raise a boat to the upstream pool. There are 27 locks and dams on the Upper Mississippi, between the Twin Cities and Cairo.

May 16, day 4 - Lake Pepin, continued....

The wind had died down overnight and the lake was dead calm, like a polished blue mirror. It looked like a completely different place from yesterday. With my spirits somewhat lifted, although still broken in body, I got ready to take on the remaining 11 miles of my favorite lake. How tough can 11 miles on be on a perfectly docile lake?

It was already 10 am when I managed to launch the kayak. I was slow in getting up (I was cold all night), and with still too much stuff it took forever to load everything in the kayak. And by then the wind had already picked up to a breezy 10 mph or so. It kept increasing in speed steadily; by the time I was 3 miles away it was blowing at 20 mph. It very soon became the longest 11 miles I've ever done in a kayak. Lake Pepin is a series of crescent shaped lakes each a few miles in length, separated by small peninsulas. This meant I couldn't see beyond the stretch of water I was on, and every time I entered the next lake, I was greeted by the intimidating sight of yet another large body of rough water looming ahead. It seemed to never end. It brought back some long repressed memories of my military service in the early 80's. In a moment of youthful stupidity, I had decided to enter a training program for infantry officers. Part of the selection/weeding out process was a 100 mile, 4 day forced march through some of the most inhospitable mountain desert terrain imaginable. The most discouraging thing was struggling up a long hill, in the hope that it will be the last one for the day, only to find yet another intimidating hill looming on the other side. It was like the concept of hell where you find yourself trapped in the same place or with the same people for eternity. Lake Pepin stirred up all those strong emotions and memories in me because it simply wouldn't quit.

By the time I had reached the end of the lake above Lock and Dam # 4, the wind was blowing at gale force strength. I was catapulted across a sandbank extending out from the shore like a novice Hawaii surfer. The kayak rolled onto its right side so far that the Pepsi bottle I had stowed under the deck mesh was ripped away, never to be seen again. I came very, very close to flipping the kayak on its head. I somehow managed to salvage the situation, and made my way to a calmer spot against the right bank of the river to stop and catch my breath. What a wild ride!

I managed to stay out of trouble for a while, but as I started getting closer to the lock, the river opened up into a mile wide lake again, and I again found myself at the mercy of the wind. By the time I had the lock in sight, I was being pushed all over the place by the wind and waves. As luck would have it, there was tow boat with barges in the process of clearing the lock, which meant at least a half hour wait. I limped over to the south side of a tiny island, in the hope of getting out of the wind and sitting tight until I could approach the lock, but that wasn't to be.

The strip of land was too narrow to provide any protection from the wind, and I got pushed out onto the open water again, my kayak drifting towards the dam at an alarming speed. You do not want to go anywhere near either side of these dams in a small boat, ever. The flow of water through the gates and the architecture of the dams create powerful hydraulic forces near the dams that will suck a small vessel under the surface like a giant swimming pool pump. So here I was, in the smallest boat on the river, being pushed towards the dam by a 25 mph wind and a 2 knott current, with only muscle power available to me. And adrenaline, a lot of adrenaline!

I turned the kayak around, into the wind and current, and I paddled like I've never paddled in my life before. There was no way I could make it back to the little island to try and hang on to a tree stump or a handful of grass. Luckily, very much so, for me, there was a little 19 foot Sea Ray boat waiting for the lock halfway to the island, or about 200 yards from where I found myself. I decided to make for the boat and hang on to its side. And I made it, with a reserve of strength I didn't know I had. There was a guy in his fifties and a younger Spanish speaking lady on the boat. They lassoed the bow of my kayak to their boat and let me hang on to the side of their boat until we entered the lock. They were real friendly - the young woman was very concerned about me; I thought the guy looked a little bemused. Anyway, his presence there saved my bacon.

Below Lock # 4 the river becomes more of a river again, and I could stay out of the wind and make fairly good progress. With hindsight, I should have looked for a place to camp right there and then. But it was still fairly early, conditions were good and I was making 4 mph, so I continued on, until late in the afternoon, I once again found myself on an open lake, with nowhere to camp, or even get off the water. My only option was to try and make Lock and Dam # 5, almost ten miles away. I've seen enough locks by then to know that there usually are dredge islands with sandy beaches below the locks that are good for camping. But it was late, the sun was setting fast and I was rocking and rolling in the wind, and very tired by then. But it's like riding a roller coaster - once you're on, you don't get off until it's over, so on I went.

When I got the lock, the sun had set, and there was a barge making its way through the last stage of lockage. I called the lock attendant on channel 14 on the VHF. With the wind noise, our combined accents and a constantly fading signal, it was not a hugely successful exercise in wireless communication. At least he got the idea that I was above the lock and in desperate need of getting to the other side. He let me through after the barge had cleared. I suspect I had drifted too close the the barge's exit route from the lock: a barge hand walked out onto the front row barge closest to me and shouted at me to get the f*** out of the way. I got the f*** of the way, real fast.

It was almost dark when I had cleared the lock. I could just make out the island to my left and spotted a nice beach with a level site for camping just behind it. I had traveled 36 miles for the day, in very trying conditions. I decided to stop there for a day to rest and re-organize my gear. My rudder was still not working properly - the deployment cords had to be fixed so they don't keep on snapping and the cables needed to adjusted. I had not done much writing to date, so I thought I'd catch up a bit.

The temperature dropped to 33 degrees F overnight. I did not sleep well.

May 15 - How not to cross Lake Pepin

My third day on the river started leisurely, almost idyllic. I completed the first 12 miles very quickly. It was really calm on the water. Although I was aware, from listening to the weather radio, of a strong NW wind blowing, I was able to stay on the lee side by hugging the east bank of the river. With hindsight, that lulled me into far too relaxed a frame in mind.

I drifted through Red Wing, MN, a picturesque town with lots of old red brick buildings near the river, and the river curving lazily past the downtown area and ADM soy elevators. I even saw a young whitetail doe on the river bank just outside the town.

And then I got to Lake Pepin, a 20 mile long, 3 mile wide lake above Lock and Dam # 4. Once on the lake, there was nowhere to hide from the NW wind, which was blowing upwards of 20 mph by then. I have learned the hard way that a heavily loaded ocean kayak does not like the wind and waves pushing hard from behind. These boats are designed to track into the wind and oncoming waves; they're not intended to be surfboards. The situation didn't look too bad though: the wind was coming at a slight angle to my intended heading (ESE), just enough to take some of the edge off, and the waves were only around 2-3 feet high. I know from past experience that I can handle 5-6 feet waves with reasonable comfort, albeit with a lot of effort, out in the Pacific.

What I didn't realize is just how much the waves get amplified by the combined effects of the wind and current going roughly in the same direction, and more seriously, I was caught off guard by how quickly the wind can pick up speed and shift direction. I soon found myself surfing on top of 4 feet waves, pushed by wind gusts of 30 mph and more. I decided that my safest bet would be to try to get closer to the shore. If I get separated from the kayak, I could still make it to shore in more or less one piece. I pointed the boat's nose SSE, and paddled like mad. My plan seemed to work well, until about 30 yards from the shore, the wind shifted and started gusting God knows how fast, and the weirdest thing happened: I got blown right off the water! Literally. My kayak hit the rocky beach anywhere between 10 and 15 mph. I didn't quite know what the heck to make of the whole business. I just thanked my lucky stars (and some foresight on my part) that I was in a strong plastic boat. If I was in a fiberglass or Kevlar kayak, or even a lesser polyethylene one, I'd be waiting somewhere for a replacement boat, and most likely be nursing a few bruises; even a broken bone or two. So thank you Landis Arnold at Wildwasser Sport USA, and the good folks at Prijon who make these wonderful, indestructable boats.

Nor was this the end of my troubles. With the wind and the waves slamming into the beach relentlessly, there was no way I could get back onto the lake. The only option I had was to portage about a mile and a half, around a small bay, to an area that was a little more protected from the wind. I got the kayak onto the cart, fastened the straps and started dragging its 160+ pounds across, the soft, uneven, rock-strewn, debris-covered beach. It did not go well. The kayak was too heavy, the beach too soft, and my muscles too tired after the ordeal on the lake. Still, I plodded on, measuring my progress between rest stops in feet, not yards. After almost two hours, I reached a point where the beach sloped upwards about 15 degrees, and that stopped me dead in my tracks. I had to remove all my stuff from the hatches, carry everything over the hump, and haul the empty boat across the last 200 yards. That took another hour.

All my efforts were almost in vain. By the time I was ready to launch, the wind had shifted yet again, and I got swamped by three waves in rapid-fire succession before I had a chance to attach my spray skirt to the cockpit. That left me sitting in almost five inches of water. It is not pleasant to sit in five inches of water, and it completely messes up the kayak's balance. The water sloshes around every time the boat rolls, effectively shifting its center of gravity. I could not head out on the lake like that, so I slowly made my way to a spot only 40 yards away, beached the kayak again and set to work pumping out the water. After yet another forty five minutes, I finally managed to get back on the water with a kayak that didn't resemble a water tanker, in rough, but manageable conditions.

It took almost three hours to cross the next eight miles, to Lake City. I couldn't go on beyond that point. The wind was driving into my back at 20-30 mph, it was freezing, the waves were galloping along, pitching and rolling my kayak all over the place, and I was tired to the bone. The wind was blowing so hard that I couldn't make it around the small peninsula above the town to get out of the wind, so I had to camp in the howling, arctic wind blowing straight out of Canada. I dug in as best I could behind some logs and settled down for a chilly, uncomfortable night. There was no way to pitch the tent in that wind, so I had to sleep out in the open on my groundsheet, with my sleeping bag pulled close over my head like a potato sack. I didn't sleep well.

Strangely enough, my legs were more tired and sore than my arms and shoulders. I was working the rudder pedals so hard my legs felt like I had pedalled a mountain bike for 30 miles. It was a bit like landing a light aircraft in a 40 mph, gusting crosswind. You just keep pumping away at the rudder pedals and hope that you're doing more good than harm. And all the time it feels like the kayak is going to slip away from underneath you and leave you with your ass hanging in the waves.

I only had 22 miles to show for 12 hours of very hard labor. This lake should be renamed Lake Pepain