On any other day, today would have been perfect for kayaking: sunshine, blue skies, temperature in the mid-70s, a light breeze and low humidity. Unfortunately it was also Memorial Day weekend Sunday, the first boating weekend of summer, and everybody with a boat was on the water. I also found myself in one of the busiest recreational areas of the river, close to Davenport and with several marinas and vacation homes on the river. It was insane. I had expected to encounter boat traffic - I listed power boats as a primary hazard in my pre-trip notes - but wasn't prepared for what I encountered today. It was like riding a small bicycle down the middle of a busy highway.I was paddling in constant wake. The waves were coming at me from all directions, in all sizes and at different speeds, making it impossible for me to do anything proactive. All I could do was take the beating and do what I could to keep the kayak right side up. The kayak was rocking, rolling, pitching and yawing like a light aircraft flying in bad turbulence. Wake, the waves caused by passing boats, can swamp smaller craft, my kayak being the smallest of the smaller ones. Wake size depends on boat size, speed and hull shape: a 30 foot cabin cruiser with a deep v-shaped hull, screaming past you at 40 mph will create much bigger waves compared to a 16 foot flat bottom fishing boat, making 10 mph. At times it felt like the kayak was going to shake and twist apart, but like a 747 or a trusty old Cessna 172, I knew it would hold together. We both did. But it made for a very tiring day.
I reached Lock # 14 late in the day. There was a tow boat with 15 barges in the lock, but no other boats in sight. I thought it was strange, given all the power boats on the water. I called the lock on the VHF to request lockage, only to be told that they were locking pleasure craft at the auxiliary lock. The auxiliary lock is at the end of a slough west of the main lock, which meant I had to turn around and paddle upstream for two miles to where the slough branches off, and then make my way down to the lock for another three miles. My request to use the main lock fell on deaf ears (another asshole manning the lock) and I had no choice but to turn back.
When I entered the slough I found out where all the boats had gone. Row after row of power boats were moored in the slough. Groups of boats were clustered together, loud music blaring and blending into one loud noise, and everybody drinking or drunk, or drunk and drinking. It was a spring break tailgate party with $100,000 boats instead of cars. The more expensive the boats the younger their occupants seemed to be - kids with a lot of their parents' money to burn.
I made my way into the lock with ten power boats of various sizes and decibel levels. One of the $500k plus cigarette boats came complete with a weekend rent-a-stripper dressed in what must have been a very cheap bikini, because very little fabric was required to make it. When her boyfriend-client cranked up the music she acted true to character and started dancing and gyrating on the deck of the boat. She incorporated the grapple pole in her act with good effect, getting so carried away that she forgot why she had the pole in the first place. She was supposed to keep the bow end of the boat from colliding with the lock's concrete wall. So in addition to her daily professional fee, she also cost the poor rich guy a few grand in paintwork damage to his boat. It was a good show though and she clearly enjoyed having a captive audience for a few minutes.
When the lock gates opened all the boats just took off at full throttle and shot past me in the lock. I was closest to the exit, and had hoped that they would give me a chance to get away from the gate before they all came charging out, but no, not this crowd. With boat after boat speeding past me less than 30 feet away, I found myself in an ocean of waves with no room to get away from it or turn the kayak's bow into the wake. I had to paddle frantically to keep from being slammed into the stone revetment along the bank. There was a small sandbar less than a hundred yards below the lock, and since it was late in the day, past sunset, and I really wanted to get off the water, I decided to stop there for the night. It was not ideal, not being on an island but on the bank, with an access road. There was a group of teenage louts nearby, drinking and trying to talk the only girl in the group into having sex with them all. When they weren't drinking or engaging in clumsy mating rituals, they howled at boats coming out of the lock. They left after dark and I had peace and quiet for the rest of the night.
Below Clayton, IA the river flows through a heavily industrialized area. Beaver slough just south of the city is lined with grimy plants of the smokestack variety. There is something European about this part of the Mississippi. Industry, cities, suburban and recreational areas co-exist and share the same space. In some places marinas and houses look out over duck hunting blinds, and expensive mansions line the banks a short distance away from factories and power stations.
I did 30 miles for the day. Next long weekend I'm staying off the river.
I reached Lock # 14 late in the day. There was a tow boat with 15 barges in the lock, but no other boats in sight. I thought it was strange, given all the power boats on the water. I called the lock on the VHF to request lockage, only to be told that they were locking pleasure craft at the auxiliary lock. The auxiliary lock is at the end of a slough west of the main lock, which meant I had to turn around and paddle upstream for two miles to where the slough branches off, and then make my way down to the lock for another three miles. My request to use the main lock fell on deaf ears (another asshole manning the lock) and I had no choice but to turn back.
When I entered the slough I found out where all the boats had gone. Row after row of power boats were moored in the slough. Groups of boats were clustered together, loud music blaring and blending into one loud noise, and everybody drinking or drunk, or drunk and drinking. It was a spring break tailgate party with $100,000 boats instead of cars. The more expensive the boats the younger their occupants seemed to be - kids with a lot of their parents' money to burn.
I made my way into the lock with ten power boats of various sizes and decibel levels. One of the $500k plus cigarette boats came complete with a weekend rent-a-stripper dressed in what must have been a very cheap bikini, because very little fabric was required to make it. When her boyfriend-client cranked up the music she acted true to character and started dancing and gyrating on the deck of the boat. She incorporated the grapple pole in her act with good effect, getting so carried away that she forgot why she had the pole in the first place. She was supposed to keep the bow end of the boat from colliding with the lock's concrete wall. So in addition to her daily professional fee, she also cost the poor rich guy a few grand in paintwork damage to his boat. It was a good show though and she clearly enjoyed having a captive audience for a few minutes.
When the lock gates opened all the boats just took off at full throttle and shot past me in the lock. I was closest to the exit, and had hoped that they would give me a chance to get away from the gate before they all came charging out, but no, not this crowd. With boat after boat speeding past me less than 30 feet away, I found myself in an ocean of waves with no room to get away from it or turn the kayak's bow into the wake. I had to paddle frantically to keep from being slammed into the stone revetment along the bank. There was a small sandbar less than a hundred yards below the lock, and since it was late in the day, past sunset, and I really wanted to get off the water, I decided to stop there for the night. It was not ideal, not being on an island but on the bank, with an access road. There was a group of teenage louts nearby, drinking and trying to talk the only girl in the group into having sex with them all. When they weren't drinking or engaging in clumsy mating rituals, they howled at boats coming out of the lock. They left after dark and I had peace and quiet for the rest of the night.
Below Clayton, IA the river flows through a heavily industrialized area. Beaver slough just south of the city is lined with grimy plants of the smokestack variety. There is something European about this part of the Mississippi. Industry, cities, suburban and recreational areas co-exist and share the same space. In some places marinas and houses look out over duck hunting blinds, and expensive mansions line the banks a short distance away from factories and power stations.
I did 30 miles for the day. Next long weekend I'm staying off the river.
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