The Crazy Kayaker - Mississippi Challenge 2007

Last journal entry - for now

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Tue, 15 Jan 2008 17:22:00 +0000

It took me five weeks to complete the 1,270 miles from Burlington, IA to New Orleans. I reached New Orleans on Wednesday, July 11. My journey ended at Audubon Park, a few miles from downtown and the French Quarter. I had paddled a total of 2,742 km (1,704 miles) in 59 days.
This will be my last journal posting for a while. I am currently working on the book about my adventure, and all the time I have for writing will be taken up by the book for the next few months. I will post excerpts from the manuscript from time to time (if my publisher agrees) and will keep everyone posted on my next planned adventure.
I will announce my next river adventure soon...

Thank you!
Jacob, a.k.a the Crazy Kayaker

June 3 to 6, beyond Burlington

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Tue, 15 Jan 2008 00:57:00 +0000

I called my friend Chris in South Africa from my B&B in Burlington. I hadn’t spoken to him in a while. He was going through a very tough time. His younger, and sole surviving brother, had committed suicide a few weeks earlier. It was one those bizarre and very tragic incidents we never expect to happen to people we know. Apparently, he and his wife had, in a moment of dark despair, decided to kill themselves and their two young daughters with a highly toxic agricultural pesticide. It’s not entirely clear what happened next, or what the sequence of events was. Both he and his wife took the poison, but, thank God, didn’t descent into the abyss of madness far enough to give the poison, mixed into an orange drink, to the two girls. He called an ambulance for his wife, then got into his pickup and drove into a nearby corn field to die. She survived.
As if that wasn’t enough, Chris is struggling to stay afloat financially on his 3,000 acre farm on edge of the Kalahari desert. And all of this came short on the heels of a messy divorce, and the deaths of his father, mother and 30-year old youngest brother in the space of a few years. If I was prone to superstition I would begin to think he was cursed, or being punished, or put to the test by some god, like a biblical Job. I felt really bad that I couldn’t be there for him, or at least talk to him on the phone more often.
I saw two young squirrels playing on the railroad track. Did their parents not warn them that it’s dangerous? It was not a bad day for paddling. There was a 15 mph wind blowing from the west; nothing that I couldn’t handle by then. The river is flanked by beautiful Iowa farmland. The forecast called for thunderstorms in the early afternoon ― I hoped that I could avoid being struck by lightning. Access to cover wasn’t too bad; it looked like I’d be able to get off the river fairly quickly and sit out the storm in the relative safety of a few trees. There were a couple of powerboats out on the water, but nowhere near as bad as the week before.
I enjoyed looking at the farm country, whenever I could catch a glimpse beyond the riverbank, that is. The corn was standing up to a foot high in places, even though it was still very early in the growing season. Soybean fields were sprouting green everywhere, the little plants already two to three inches high. I watched eight turkeys grazing in a field near the river.
I was really glad that the weather had forced me off the river for a couple of days. I had a good time, relaxed and recharged my body, and, with hindsight, realized that I was actually quite tired and a little burnt out. The wind and the big lakes had taken a lot out of me in the weeks before, and I was definitely suffering from river-fatigue. I had pushed myself hard every day since leaving Brownsville ten days earlier. I wanted to keep my daily average distance above 25 miles, in spite of the wind, and that made for long days of hard paddling. My nerves were getting a little frayed, and to me that’s always an early-warning sign that it’s time to take a break. And Burlington turned out to be the perfect place to hang up my paddles for a few days. I can’t claim that I had planned it that way. Just plain old good luck.
Speaking of luck: on Wednesday, May 30th, I camped a mile upstream from Muscatine, Iowa. On the Friday, when I was safely in Schramm House, a tornado ripped through Muscatine, turning over trailers and knocking down trees where I had slept in my two pound tent less than 48 hours earlier. According to reports on the news, the wind got up to 150 mph at times!
For a while I thought there are no bald eagles in Iowa. I couldn’t recall seeing one after I had crossed the Minnesota-Iowa line. At first I thought this was because the Iowa bank is quite heavily industrialized in places, but so is the area below St. Paul, and there were plenty of eagles. Then, over breakfast on Sunday, I learned from Bruce’s friend JD that the eagles migrate south along the river when it freezes over further north. They settle around the pockets of open water in the more protected backwater areas, where they nest and feed for the winter. So the good people of Iowa had not exterminated all their bald eagles after all.
In spite of the increased industrialization (and more litter) on the Iowa bank, I remained impressed with how clean and unpolluted the Mississippi is. People who know me will vouch for the fact that I am, ahem, a little squeamish when it comes to dirt and germs. Yet I had no problem stripping naked at the end of each day, and wading into the river with my biodegradable Campsuds to wash off the day’s sweat.
A mother duck tried to lure me away from her brood of six tiny ducklings. She seemed panicked and ended up splitting the group, which caused her to get really flustered. One of the babies picked up on her panic, and took off towards the middle of the river. I tried to hold back to give them a chance to regroup, but they kept milling around in front of the kayak, and I had no choice but to push on and scatter them even more. I’m not sure what kind of duck it was; it was shaped a bit like a wood duck, but with different coloring. My knowledge of birdlife is not entirely encyclopedic….
Power boaters do seem to like one another. Maybe it’s just their herd instinct that makes them flock together like sheep. I counted 20 boats, moored hull to hull, along a narrow strip of sand, on the tip of one small island. And this in an area where the river is several miles wide, with literally dozens of islands and sandbars only minutes away by powerboat. Now I’ve always thought that boating is about getting away from other people, but I’m obviously misguided.
I did the first five miles below Burlington in what seemed to be no time at all. My perception and experience of time seemed to be changing. I couldn’t tell anymore whether an hour, or two or three had passed, and my normally good ‘feel’ for speed was gone.
Twelve miles below Burlington I passed one of the many small cottage communities that line the west bank. A boisterous group was gathered around a cluster of charcoal barbecues, and a Sunday afternoon fish cookout was in full swing. It smelled wonderful, and even though I had a large brunch just a few hours earlier, my appetite stirred noticeably. After the usual back and forth shouting: “…where are y’all coming from…going to etc.” they invited me to stop for lunch: “Hey, you want something to eat? We’ve got fish!” So, of course, I said no thank you. Don’t ask me why. I waved them goodbye, and continued on my merry way, saliva dribbling from the corners of my mouth. Still, it was a kind and generous thing they did; not their fault that I was stupid enough to decline.
I think the book’s title should be “Shut up and paddle”. That’s how I feel sometimes. “Paddle! Don’t panic” would be a good one too. Or maybe I should go with “How to lose 20 pounds in two weeks.” I’m losing weight at an incredible rate; I can almost feel my flesh shrinking. I am not consuming anywhere near the calories I need everyday. I estimate I burn about 6,000 on average every day, and when I add up everything I drink and eat it comes to less than 3,000. Big deficit―I don’t know how long I can sustain that.
It started raining fairly heavily about two hours after I had left Burlington. Fortunately the wind wasn’t very strong―around 10 to 15 mph from the south. The rain stopped soon enough; it was one of those so-called ‘scattered’ thunderstorms. I was starting to feel that ‘scattered’ means wherever I happen to be on the river. I get rained on a lot. The sun came out 20 minutes later, and I was dry and warm in no time. Polyester rules!
There was a lot of debris floating in the river: leaves, branches, trees, the inevitable plastic and polystyrene flotsam, and a bloated, dead dog. The water was a nasty red color and very muddy. It must have been quite the storm that passed through the area. Thank goodness I was sitting out the storm in safety and comfort in Burlington at the time.
Sandy had given me a supersized bag of homemade oatmeal cookies for the ‘road”. I ate half the bag in one sitting. I needed those calories.
Dan Geiger paid me a nice compliment at the end of my WCCO radio interview Saturday night. He said, “Don’t worry, this guy knows what he’s doing.”
Hurricane season officially started last Friday, the first day of my Burlington R&R break. Talk about good timing: on Friday a tornado tore through Muscatine, Iowa, where I had camped on Wednesday night. According to the news report the wind got up to 150 mph, and overturned a trailer, ripped out trees and caused a lot of property damage. A two pound tent pitched on a sandbar is not a good place to be in those conditions.
As soon as the sun came out powerboats started appearing on the river, seemingly from nowhere. Do powerboats have nests along the riverbank, I wonder? Where they lie and wait for the sun to come out and for unsuspecting kayakers to pounce on. Soon I was bouncing around in the wake, working hard to keep the kayak in a straight line and my head pointing the right way, i.e. upwards.
I had stocked up on food at Tom’s Market in Burlington. It was a rather interesting shopping exercise. I normally shop based on healthy choices and value for my money. This time I was going for the highest calorie/weight ratio, which made for some interesting selections: cereal bars with the highest sugar content (hint: the cheaper brands contain the most sugar), canned fruit in syrup (surprisingly hard to find; most brands are canned in juice nowadays), beef jerky and Spam. Yes, Spam: a can of regular Spam has more than a 1,000 calories. Add apple sauce and you can paddle 20 miles on a single can of Spam. I still had a good supply of energy bars and chocolate left, so I had that covered, but I was a little concerned about getting enough protein in my diet, even with the protein supplements I take every day. When you push your body that hard day after day, you have to feed your muscles, otherwise you start losing muscle mass and strength very quickly, something I could not afford. So I also needed to find something with a high protein/weight ratio. Tuna and salmon in foil pouches fit the bill perfectly, and most varieties are pretty tasty. Let’s just say my diet is somewhat eclectic.
Just before Dallas City on the Illinois side I got rained on again. Thunderstorms can form and move rapidly in these parts. I learned early on that it’s no use trying to outrun them. This storm was pushed towards me at a healthy clip by a strong south wind, and the rain moved up the river in a solid veil of water. I couldn’t see anything beyond the storm; everything was grayed out. The rain started coming down with a vengeance, driven straight into my face by a strong southeast wind. The visibility was terrible; I couldn’t see anything more than a few yards ahead. Pretty soon the kayak was pitching and rolling in three foot waves, and I had my work cut out to keep going in the right direction. Thunder rumbled through the clouds a few miles to the east, but not close enough to worry about, so I stayed on the water. The storm lasted about 20 minutes.
I’m running low on AAA batteries. For some reason I had packed more AAs than I’ll use on three trips like this one, but very few AAAs. My digital voice recorder runs on AAAs (and chews them up fast), as does my VHF radio, not exactly an unimportant piece of equipment. I’ll need to buy a couple of packs in the next town I can get to from the river.
Watching TV in Burlington, I was intrigued by the upbeat way the news and weather reporters announced the start of hurricane season. They all made it sound like they were announcing the start of baseball season, or the holidays: “….and yes, Dianne, tomorrow is the official start of hurricane season!” Pack a cooler! Woohoo! Obviously none of them have any appreciation for what it means to the people on the ground when a hurricane rips through a community. On the other hand, it is consistent with how news is presented nowadays. Smile for the camera: “Making news today: Five US soldiers got killed in a roadside bomb blast today…” Ooh, look at me! I’m such a good news anchor; I’m so attractive; I’m on TV ooh ooh ooh! Look at me! I don’t have a clue what I said just now. I’m so pretty! Talking heads, most of them.
My main source of weather information, warnings and forecasts is the NOAA weather channel on my VHF radio. It automatically tunes in to the nearest regional NOAA station, so you always get local information and forecasts. I cannot emphasize too strongly how important accurate and timely weather information is if you want to survive a trip like this. During the first three weeks on the river, paying heed to the weather forecast and weather warnings kept me out of harm’s way on at least four occasions. Don’t ignore the forecast!
The weather report includes the river’s water level at specific points, and the water temperature. River level is not critically important to the kayaker, but it is good to know if the river is rising or falling when picking a spot to camp for the night, and to safely clear the many wing dams in the river. And of course, I want to know of any floods upstream or local flash floods. The river level typically starts dropping this time of the year, and continues to do so until the fall. The water temperature was in the low 60s when I set out from St. Paul; it’s up to around 73 degrees now. At least I don’t have to worry about hypothermia should I end up in the river.
I figured out a way to safely use my digital voice recorder while I’m on the river. It fits nicely in the Aquapac case I got for my handheld GPS. The plastic is ‘dialed’ in to a frequency that allows sound waves to travel through without distortion, so I don’t need to remove the recorder from the case to use it. The cord attached to the case is long enough to go around my neck, so I can’t lose the recorder overboard.
I certainly feel much stronger and more energetic after my three day rest stop in Burlington. The break did me a lot of good.
The Burlington Hawkeye ran a story on the weekend about a fisherman who had caught a 74 pound Chinese carp in the river near Oquawka, IL, the day before I passed by the town. That’s a mighty big carp. The picture in the paper showed the guy straining and barely able to hold the fish up for the camera. His back was bent and twisted at a crooked angle and his legs were bent like a retired rodeo cowboy’s. The fish was clearly causing him more pain than pleasure at the time. His nine year old daughter was posing with daddy and his big fish, and, as the Hawkeye pointed out, she weighed 20 pounds less than the fish. The things you learn on the Mississippi…..
Judged by the general tone of the paper, George Bush isn’t too popular in this part of heartland USA either. Apparently there aren’t many FOGs (friends of George) among the local media barons. The front page lead story in Friday’s paper was on W’s recently announced plans to curb global warming, and let’s just say the story was reported with no less skepticism than you’d get from NPR and other members of the liberal media.
Two miles past Dallas City the wind started picking up again. Yet another thunderstorm was moving in from the southeast. Before long I was bobbing up and down in three foot waves and paddling against the wind. Luckily for me this storm was moving across the river in a northwesterly direction, and it missed me. The river was still very unsettled, with lots of debris floating everywhere, and the water had an ugly rusty red color.
The bridge above Fort Madison was the second double-decker bridge I saw over the Mississippi. The other one is located just below the Davenport lock. Both bridges have a lower level for trains, and an upper car level. They seem to have been built around the same time, late 1800s/early 1900s I’d guess.
Seen from the river, Fort Madison is an ugly, dismal place. Rust-stained factories, utility lines and a power substation litter the Iowa bank like a debris field. The whole place has a disjointed, post-apocalyptic look and feel to it. The industrial area morphs into a bastardized waterfront/strip mall along the riverbank, that is only marginally easier to look at. South of the city is what I presumed to be the original fort that gave Fort Madison its name.
Below the fort there is yet more industrial sprawl, and a seemingly endless row of moored barges along the Iowa bank. I was glad to have Fort Madison behind me.
I camped on Devil Island, two miles downstream from Fort Madison. I was beginning to despair of finding a place to sleep by the time I had passed the city. It was getting dark, and the sky was heavy with storm clouds, the wind was picking up and the temperature was dropping fast. Then, almost out of the blue, I saw a narrow strip of sand up ahead, which meant a place to drag the boat out and pitch the tent. My map didn’t show the sandbar, so it was a pleasant surprise, and a relief, when I saw the dying daylight reflected by the yellow sand.
June 4:
In the news last night: A death row inmate in Texas has launched a joke contest on the Internet. He wants to use the winning entry as his last words when he dies by lethal injection on June 26. He got the idea from a fellow inmate who laughed when he was led to the execution chamber, and said, “Where’s a stunt double when you need one?”
Nauvoo perches high on the Illinois-side bluffs. Above the town the Mormon temple dominates the skyline like the Taj Mahal. The town was settled by Joseph Smith and his followers from around 1839, when they were ordered out of Missouri by that state’s governor. They thrived, but in 1844 some of Smith’s followers, resenting his power and political clout, broke away and something close to a civil war ensued. A group of non-Mormon vigilantes seized the opportunity to drive out the Latter Day Saints, and in June of that year managed to kill Joseph Smith. Defeated, the Mormon’s started the exodus that eventually ended at Salt Lake City in Utah. Religious differences and their practice of polygamy served as official justifications for driving out the Mormons. The fact that the Mormons had a monopoly on portaging around the Nauvoo rapids (which in those days made navigation on that stretch of the river impossible), and that they became very wealthy as a result, may be closer to the actual truth of what had motivated their enemies.
Interestingly enough, during the past couple of decades, the Mormons bought up land in and around Nauvoo, and in 1999 they started work on the new Nauvoo temple, on the exact same spot where the old one stood. The temple was dedicated in 2002. Who said there’s no money in religion?
Near Keokuk, Iowa the landscape takes on a gentle, rolling quality. Impressive houses, many in the mansion class, overlook the river from their vantage point on the bluff. The lake above the Keokuk dam was the last of the big Upper Mississippi lakes I had to cross. What a relief! The 16-mile crossing wasn’t nearly as bad as I had anticipated. The wind stayed below 15 mph, and while choppy enough, it was nothing near as rough as some of my earlier lake crossings. Having said that, it had the same demoralizing, discouraging effect that all the big lakes on the Mississippi seem to have: you paddle and paddle and paddle and you never seem to make any progress or get any closer to the other side. But I did it, and it’s behind me now.
The lock at Keokuk (Lock # 19) drops 37 feet! The downstream gates are lowered into the river, instead of swinging into the lock, the way they do at all the other locks. I figured there is too much water pressure for it to push 37 feet of water back into the lock. Dropping almost four stories in a few minutes is not a comfortable feeling. I sat like a tiny plastic duck in a giant bathtub, hanging on to a floating moorage buoy for dear life. The water dropped so fast it felt like the kayak was falling away from under my bottom – the same feeling you get when flying in a small aircraft in turbulent summer air.
Past Keokuk a massive petrochemical plant lines the Iowa bank. It covers several acres, and steam and miscellaneous vapors pour into the sky from its many cooling and ventilation towers, most likely pumping its share of mercury and other noxious fumes into the air.
I crossed the Iowa/Missouri state line today. Just at the point where I reckoned the border was (it’s not marked) I got caught in heavy rain for five minutes. Welcome to Missouri. No lightning, though.
At Lock 19 one of the young lock attendants came out to talk to me while I was waiting to be locked down. He is a canoeing enthusiast, and goes on a 100 mile canoe trip in the Ozark Scenic River Wilderness every summer. It was a pleasant change to deal with a fellow paddler at the lock – he understood how difficult and dangerous it can be to wait above a lock in a kayak or canoe, and got me through the lock as fast as he could. He even radioed a northbound tow boat to hold off a few miles below the dam to give me a chance to clear the area safely.
I didn’t see a lot of wildlife along the riverbanks today. I saw one faded-looking raccoon today. Herons are the only birds that seem to thrive here; they’re like barn pigeons. Turkey vultures are few and far between; not much for them to eat, I guess.
I found myself on another stretch of the river where getting off the water was impossible. The steep banks were either lined with stone revetments or steep muddy walls, and the few islands were no more than swamps with trees growing from them. They look promising on the map, but offer no refuge or even a place to pull out the kayak onto solid ground. I had no choice but to keep going. Eventually I found a private boat launch where I could drag the kayak out and stretch my legs for a while. Well, sort of stretch – I was knee deep in mud.
The weather is getting hotter everyday. Today was around the mid-80s, and humid. I started using more water the last few days. The bladder in my hydration pack was empty by late morning yesterday and today. I know I’m drinking more (I pee more often) but I’m also beginning to suspect that one of the reservoirs may have sprung a leak. I’ll have to check that next time I fill up with water. I’m also going to need more water bottles if my water consumption keeps going up.
You don’t get anything for nothing on the Mississippi. Any notions I might have had about getting a lot of help from the current were dispelled in the first few days. The Upper Mississippi consists of a series of lakes, and with the wind and waves, conditions are more akin to ocean kayaking than river paddling. So far I had to work damn hard for every mile I logged.
There is so much history along the river; many layers of history really. I’m looking forward to reading up and researching the Mississippi’s history for the book.
There are more exposed sandbars around the islands and towheads, and along the riverbanks. The river level drops a few inches everyday, exposing more sandbars and making it easier to find good spots to camp. For a while today it was like following a long stretch of beach along the coast – I could literally stop anywhere to camp. It goes without saying that I passed the best sites in the middle of the day when it was much too early to stop for the day. And so it goes, to quote Kurt Vonnegut.
I pass several grain elevators every day, erected at strategic intervals to collect and store grain from the farms along the riverbanks and beyond, and to feed the many barges that feed the mills and factories that feed the world. These structures have nothing in common with the quaint elevators that dotted the prairies in the 19th and early 20th centuries; modern elevators are huge steel and/or concrete structures, built on an industrial scale to move and store megatons of grain inexpensively.
Pain!! I got stung by some kind of insect or creepy crawly that had found its way into the kayak’s cockpit. I hope I didn’t have a bee in the boat; I know I have one in my bonnet. Ha ha. Turned out it wasn’t a bee. I knew this mainly because I didn’t get an immediate and violent allergic reaction. Yes, I’m allergic, and no, I didn’t pack an EpiPen.
I felt tired and sluggish in the afternoon. The increasing heat and humidity are having an effect on me. Hopefully I’ll acclimatize before it gets really hot. I’ve never done well in the heat, though, so it’s going to be tough as I get further south and the temperature and humidity start heading towards triple digits. You’d never guess I grew up in South Africa.
If this was the early 1860’s, most young men who found themselves on the Mississippi would have been on their way to war, and many of them would never make the return journey. The river was a key strategic artery for both sides, and a lot of blood was spilled on and around it.
Mississippi Trivia: there are 216 unique species of fish in the river, more than in any other fresh water system in North America. Not sure how many are introduced species, but still, an impressive statistic.
Things didn’t look promising at Lock #22. There was a “double tow” (a tow boat pushing 15 barges) waiting at the lock ahead of me, which meant a wait of at least two hours, and finding a campsite in the dark. But hey, the lockmaster was a decent fellow, and he radioed the tow pilot to ask if I could go first. The pilot turned out to be a decent sort too, and I was on my way in 15 minutes. And so it goes….

May 31 to June 3 - Burlington, Iowa

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sun, 30 Sep 2007 18:26:00 +0000

I only had 9 miles to paddle to Burlington. The weather forecast called for severe thunderstorms and wind for the next few days and I planned to wait out the weather in the city. I also needed to re-supply and take a break from paddling and camping. Near Burlington I asked a fisherman in a boat about lodging close to the river. He didn't know about any place specifically, but pointed me to the downtown Welcome Center, a stone's throw from the gently sloped boat ramp. I left the kayak on the ramp and made my way to the Welcome Center. Now for a moment picture what I looked like: I had been on the river for ten days, without shaving or showering, or changing my clothes. I was barefoot, and a damp fragrance rose from my body like steam from a Florida swamp. And yet the welcome I received in Burlington couldn't have been friendlier or warmer, had I been wearing a $3,000 suit and expensive European cologne.
Joe and Shelly at the Welcome Center offered coffee and cookies. Shelly got on the phone to find me a place to stay. When she learned that the only B & B near the downtown area had no vacancy, she called Sandy Morrison at the Schramm House, and she agreed to put me up for a few days, even though they had stopped operating Schramm House as a B & B several months earlier! That's taking hospitality to an entirely new level. Joe offered to give me a ride in his pickup, and half an hour later I was standing under a hot shower in my very luxurious en suite bathroom at Schramm House.
Burlington turned out to be an interesting city, and a very pleasant place to spend a few days. It is very much a 19th Century industrial city. It started life as a logging and timber mill town. It forms one end of the Burlington-Santa Fe railroad, and engineering works and factories followed. Many of the old factory buildings are still standing; a few are still in use, mainly for research and development work. Most manufacturing activity had relocated to the modern industrial parks outside the city, or to other countries.
On Friday morning I made my way up the hill to Tom’s Market to stock up on food for the next few weeks. They didn’t serve breakfast at the deli, and the lady at the checkout wasn’t sure where a good place would be to go for bacon and eggs. I left it at that, but next thing I knew she fetched the store’s owner, who not only provided directions, but offered to drive me to Frank’s Main Lunch, where they serve an honest working man’s breakfast. I followed her to a big Ford F250 parked outside the store (this is Ford country, no doubt). I was surprised to see that the key was in the ignition, and the windows were rolled down – heck, we don’t even do that in Canada anymore! The ride was over all too quickly. Becky, my female knight (knightess?) in a shining truck is a very attractive young woman, with striking green eyes and a lovely smile, with an outgoing personality and friendliness to match.
Frank’s Main Lunch, locally famous for its breakfast offerings, is on the wrong side of the tracks―literally―and decidedly ‘down-market’. It is a true roadside diner, with décor, or lack thereof to match, and it has nothing in common with the overpriced, yuppyfied pseudo diners you find in malls and tourist towns. It’s a small place, no more than 15 feet wide from the front window to the back wall, with most of the space taken up by an L-shaped counter with a worn-through pink melamine top. All the cooking is done in the cramped space behind the counter, by a mother and daughter team who are not sized for submarine duty. It was packed, and I sat down on one of only two vacant stools. The locals were not friendly. My cheerful ‘good morning folks!’ was acknowledged by two nods, a grunt and a few suspicious glances in my direction. And they were the ones who responded. At least I didn’t feel underdressed, in my ‘dress’ shorts (the clean pair), T-shirt and sandals.
Everybody in the place smoked. Hailing, as I do, from the West Coast of Canada, where the New Prohibition has been in effect for almost a decade, this was quite a shock to my senses, to say nothing of my nose, eyes and lungs. One lady on my left couldn’t even put her cigarette down long enough to finish her breakfast. She was sucking on a Marlboro between mouthfuls of bacon, displaying a remarkable ability to inhale and ingest at the same time without choking.
Menu choice is limited to number of eggs and adding bacon. Toast is extra, as is coffee. Eggs are served one style—soft—and the toast is white. Asking for whole wheat will get the same response as shouting ‘Obama for President!’ And we thought McDonald’s invented limited customer choice. Be that as it may, I had two eggs, a good helping of fatty bacon, two slices of toast and coffee for $3.85. That’s what I call an honest breakfast, and exactly the kind of high-cholesterol, too-much-salt, but otherwise wholesome food my body craved. And nobody said anything when I spread ketchup on my toast.
I was interviewed by Dan Geiger on WCCO Radio in Minneapolis on Saturday night. I was on the air with him for half an hour, and I had such a good time, it felt more like I was having a few beers with him and talking about this crazy adventure of mine. My wife Christine listened in on the Web from our home in Victoria, BC, so that was neat. Dan promised to keep in touch. They will try and track me down via my cell phone once a week or so, and I'll give them a quick update on the air. It is a good feeling to have so many people take an interest in my Mississippi challenge, and follow my progress. On Monday morning, June 4th, I go on the air with Fred & Seven at KCPS out of Burlington, Iowa.
I've been seeing this weird sign attached to the sides of some of the moored barges: 'Danger. All Voids are Covered Spaces'. Huh?
The hunting and fishing club where Bruce and Sandy took me for breakfast on my last morning in Burlington is called the Carthage Lake Club. It is located across the river on the Illinois side, six miles from Burlington. The clubhouse is a spacious, almost sprawling building, with a roomy, comfortable lounge and dining room, and a commercial grade kitchen. It overlooks the river, and its deck is a perfect to place park for a drink. Lou, who operates the kitchen concession, serves up a mean breakfast on Sundays. I indulged in hot biscuits with sausage gravy, two eggs and a good helping of crispy bacon. And to top it all, JD and Sherry, friends of the Morrison's I met at breakfast, came prepared with all the ingredients for Bloody Maries, so I started my breakfast with a very, very tasty Bloody Mary. Sadly I could only accept one—I had a boat to catch.
Bruce dropped me of at the boat ramp below the road bridge just before 1 pm. He helped me offload all my gear, and stayed to keep me company while I got the kayak loaded up and ready. They are two great people, and I would love to come back and visit with them again in Burlington. They treated me like an old friend, rather than a guest at their B&B. I'm too embarrassed to even tell you how little they charged me for my stay, even without adding in all the extras, like giving me a guided tour of Burlington and the surrounding area, treating me to a great breakfast at their club, and just generally being friends to me and providing me with a home away from home.
It felt good to be back on the river again, even though I was sad to leave my new friends Bruce and Sandy Morrison behind. I got back into paddling with a vengeance —no easing back into it for me! Even though I only left Burlington at 1:30 in the afternoon, I still managed to make my way to a spot two miles below Fort Madison; just over 30 miles for the day, or rather half day. My good progress wasn’t entirely by choice; there was nowhere else to camp for the night. Fort Madison is very industrial, and quite ugly and uninviting from the river, so I gave it a miss. By that time I was getting a little worried about finding a decent campsite for the night—the sun was dipping low on the horizon and some nasty looking storm clouds were building in the west. I couldn’t find anything on the chart within five miles that resembled an island or sandbar, so I pushed on with more optimism than my situation warranted, and not much of a plan either. My luck held, yet again! Two miles past Fort Madison, I was greeted by the welcome sight of a wide and gently sloping sandbar, with easy access from the river and a small but level spot for pitching the tent. The sun disappeared from the sky as I dragged my kayak and weary body onto terra firma. I was cold and wet; it had rained on and off during the day. There was plenty of driftwood lying around, and I built the mother of all fires. A river otter swam past to inspect my fire, and a couple of beavers were fooling around close to my camp. It was Sunday night, and my first night on my own after my three day break in Burlington. I was feeling just a tad lonely and quite tired. I went to bed early, and set the alarm on my cell phone for 6am to be awake for my KCPS radio interview.
Monday morning. Had my radio interview with Fred and Seven on the KCPS morning show at 6:30. It was typical morning show, wise-ass, everything’s a joke format. Still, we talked for 30 minutes, and I gave as good as I got. Plus, I happen to know that Fred and Seven are the on-air personas of a really nice young guy called Chip.
We had a lively debate about the merits of Burlington. They seemed to think I was being somewhat less than sincere when I said I liked the city. Whether I convinced them or not remains an open question; I enjoyed my stay in Burlington and I’m looking forward to my next visit.
A wise person once said, “You look at the scenery, but you live with the people.” How true. Taken at face value, one can argue that Burlington is not the most scenic city in North America. That is not to say the city is without visual charm: it hugs the high bluff on the west bank of the Mississippi; the downtown area is cluttered with brownstone and brick buildings from the 1800s, and almost as many churches; the residential streets that climb the steep hill above the city are lined with stately 19th century mansions, giving the place a gentrified feel; and the city is bordered by rolling Iowa farm country. On the downside, many of the old downtown buildings are vacant, run down and badly in need of restoration, and a local satanist (I suspect the only one in Burlington) had burned down one of the historic churches two months earlier, leaving only the charred skeleton standing. Now I’m all for religious freedom, but leave the architecture alone! And the city is bordered by Iowa farm country—beauty, after all, is in the eye of the beholder.
But, as I pointed out above, the people make the city. Everybody, Joe and Shelly at the Welcome Center, Bruce and Sandy at Schramm House, Becky at Tom’s Market, Chip at KCPS, and everybody else who crossed my path in Burlington were kind, friendly and generous to me. OK, except maybe the crowd at Frank’s Main Lunch, but then I made no effort to engage them in a conversation, so who knows? They did me no harm, either.
My first meal in Burlington was at The Drake, a pub/restaurant in a renovated warehouse building near the riverfront. That was Thursday afternoon, after I had spent an hour in the shower at Schramm House, getting rid of ten days worth of accumulated grime, and spending another half an hour shaving my18 day old beard, without disfiguring myself too much. The Drake is a pleasant enough place, in a conventional, generic sort of way. My burger was tasty, the portion size average and the beer $3. For supper that night I yielded to my cravings, and picked up a six pack of cold Red Rock and two big bags of potato chips, carefully selected for their high salt, trans fat and artificial flavoring content.
After my breakfast at Frank’s on Friday, I returned to my room at the B&B, and bunkered down to do some work. I had 173 e-mails to read and quite a few to reply to, I had to write and send out a press release, and I wanted to update my blog. So, I was good and worked through most of the day. I went for a late afternoon walk, took a few photos, and did some more work in the evening. Then I settled down in front of the television with beer and potato chips, like normal people do on Friday nights.
More work on Saturday morning, Then, at 11am, Bruce saved me from overwork and took me on a grand tour of Burlington and surrounds. There definitely is more to the city than meets the eye. Its industrial area is quite extensive, with most of the old 19th century plants still in use for R&D and engineering, and modern plants distributed through a number of industrial parks, built by the local government to attract investment. These plants seem to be used mainly by assembly or so-called ‘light’ industries, so they don’t bring a serious pollution problem with them. We took a detour through the surrounding countryside. The city ends without warning, and immediately beyond the city limits you find yourself in beautiful farm country, where a few smaller family farms in the 200-300 acre range still hold out. The landscape reminds me of where I lived as a young child in South Africa. I saw several turkeys; apparently they are more plentiful now than they’ve ever been, even before man’s encroachment on their habitat. Mmmmm……turkey.
Bruce showed me the Great River Medical Center in West Burlington, a state-of-the-art, modern hospital and health-care center that includes a 380-bed hospital, pharmacies, a medical equipment center, a dialysis center, several clinics, a long-term nursing care unit for patients with Alzheimer’s disease and dementia, a cancer treatment center, and a rehabilitation center that also doubles as a fitness center for paying members. The entire complex is heated from a thermal pond on the grounds, and they claim the lowest energy cost per square foot for any facility of its kind in the country. Even more impressively, the hospital was built debt-free, and remains so to this day. Oh, what free enterprise can do when you give it a chance!
Early Saturday evening I went for another stroll through the city, down Snake Alley towards the railway line, and down the hill to the Mississippi. The sun was out but there were enough clouds in the sky to make for interesting light. I took a few dramatic photos of the burnt-out church, outlined against the clouds and evening sky. Then off to Napoli’s for dinner, and another cultural adventure, well sort of.
The restaurant is in an old brick building near the tracks. Everything about it screams early-seventies: the faded neon-sign, the wooden veneer paneling, the furniture, the cigarette smoke; even the people. It was also packed, and clearly the kind of place people flock to for good, cheap food, and lots of it. I tried to get a waitress’s attention on the other side of the restaurant—it’s a big place—but she looked kind of baffled. When I held up my index finger to indicate a table for one, she started laughing. I suppose at that distance she couldn’t make out clearly which finger I was holding up; good thing she thought it was funny. I eventually I figured out that I should seat myself, and settled at a table by the window. There was one, and only one, pretty waitress in the place, and the only one under 250 lbs for that matter, and she waited on me (I’ve always wanted to say that).
No beer!! They’re not licensed @$!#&%!! I settled for a coke. Sorry, only Pepsi. I settled for a Pepsi, no ice. I got a Pepsi with extra ice. I settled.
The front cover of the tattered menu read ‘Since 1972.’ I believed them; the menu had definitely been on that table since 1972. Napoli’s offers a full selection of fried, grilled, battered, sauced, cheese-smothered and otherwise wholesome and unhealthy food. They have no fear of trans fats in these parts. Listed at the top of the menu, they have a relatively small selection of pizzas, which was kind of surprising, since they are known as a pizza place. The more interesting ‘specialty’ choices include the ‘Napoli Special’ (sausage, green pepper and onion), the ‘Supreme’ (sausage, pepperoni, green pepper, mushroom, beef and onion), and the ‘Just Meat’, which, true to its name, comes fully loaded with beef, sausage, bacon, Canadian bacon and pepperoni. It’s also the cheapest pizza on the menu. Go figure. And in case you were concerned that your pizza won’t come with enough cholesterol and saturated fats, you are assured, in black and white, right there on the menu, that ‘ALL PIZZAS INCLUDE CHEESE’.
I decided on the ‘Supreme’, and ordered a small, which, according to the menu is 12 inches in diameter. The waitress strongly recommended at least a medium, the small being way too small in her opinion. When my ‘medium’ pizza arrived it was the size of a mid-size SUV tire! Was it ever good. The crust was thick, but light and crispy, and it was piled high with sausage, tasty ground beef and lots of other good stuff, and about a pound of greasy, gooey cheddar. I made my way through little more than a third of the pizza before I was absolutely stuffed. And believe me, I can eat pizza! It cost $12, which I thought a bit pricey before I saw it, and by the next night when I was still eating leftover pizza, I began to think it was a true bargain, and I was getting a little tired of cold pizza.
While I waited for my pizza I scanned the menu. It always astonishes me how cheap food calories are in this part of the world. Welcome to the land of plenty, where you can be obese on a budget. From the Napoli’s menu:
Hamburger (and they’re BIG) $2.25
Cheeseburger $2.75
Tenderloin Sandwich $3.25
Hamburger Platter (fries & one side included) $4.25
Ribeye Steak Dinner $7.95…..to name but a few
When I had finished studying the menu, I shifted my focus to the people. They represented an interesting demographic mix, ranging from the lower end of the socio-economic scale to a small contingent of the local gentry. I managed to sneak a photograph, and looking at it now the scene is dominated by indifferently dressed, overweight people eating greasy food and smoking, and noisy children milling around, many of them seasonably plump.
The few ‘upmarket’ customers were noticeably uncomfortable in the place. What always gives people away in situations like that is the way their eyes are constantly moving around, but they don’t move their heads, lest somebody notice they’re looking at them. And they always keep their gaze just a fraction below the horizon to avoid making eye contact with anybody, and they sit just a little further forward on their chairs than they would in other surroundings. I left Napoli’s stuffed and content.
That night, after my radio interview with Dan Geiger, I drank three glasses of wine from the box in the guest fridge at Schramm House, and enjoyed my last night in a bed, and under a roof, for a while. The river beckoned.

May 30 - Mile 434 to Lock # 18. Wind, luck & vultures.

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Mon, 30 Jul 2007 01:30:00 +0000

I will never again complain that I don't have any luck. Luck, that difficult to define, unpredictable and all-important element, the X-factor if you wish, that can change lives and the course of history, cannot be ignored when undertaking an adventure of this nature. There are so many variables and things that can wrong when you paddle a small plastic boat on one of the world's biggest rivers, that it would be arrogant to think, or pretend, that luck plays no part in the outcome. It does, believe me!

My luck has been consistently good so far. Not to say that I had no challenges or mishaps - I had my fair share. The real test for luck lies in the outcome of bad situations. My flight instructor years ago used to say that any landing you walk away from is a good one. I walked away from a few incidents of uncertain outcome these past few weeks because I was lucky.

When I got caught in a thunderstorm a few days ago, I was conveniently close to a good spot to pull out the kayak, and minutes after I had found safety under the trees on the bank, lightning was striking all around me like special effects from a Lord of the Rings movie. The next time I was caught in a storm, I had three miles of lake to my left and a steep 15 foot stone revetment to my right - I couldn't get off the water. This time however, there was no lightning to speak of, and the wind, although 'breezy', never reached dangerous speeds. At Lock & Dam # 4, I got pushed too close to the dam by the wind and current, and had to paddle upstream into a 25 mph wind to the relative safety of a tiny island a mile away. I started running out of steam and strength after about 400 yards, at the exact spot where a 19 foot Sea Ray powerboat was waiting for clearance to approach the lock. Saved by Luck again! I was able to grab on to the Sea Ray, the skipper lassoed the bow of my kayak with a strong nylon rope, and I waited for my turn at the lock in relative safety, if not comfort. In all three cases things could very easily have ended badly for me. But they didn't.

I passed Muscatine, Iowa yesterday. The town is right on the river; its main street runs down the gentle slope of the bank all the way to the river, serving as a boat ramp for the last 30 yards. Old factories and warehouses, dating I suspect from the 19th century, line the downtown streets. A few have been restored and pressed into service as shops and restaurants, most notably, and visible from the river, is the Woodfire Grill. My craving for a good steak may have influenced what I saw and remembered at the time. Anyway, I didn't stop. It was early in the day, I had plenty of food and water, and I couldn't justify wasting time on an unscheduled stop.

A turkey vulture follow me for part of the day. I didn't like it. I'm not superstitious by nature, but the bird made me uncomfortable.

Wind Wind Wind 20 mph 25 mph always in my face the going is slow slow slow

I camped on a sandbar below Lock # 18. The place smelled like crap - the human kind. Rainstorm at night. It smelled like wet crap in the morning.

May 29 - Lock # 16 to Mile 434. Heat, wind and religion.

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sun, 29 Jul 2007 21:37:00 +0000

Another day of paddling into a strong south wind - 10 to 15 mph in the morning, 20 plus in the afternoon with gusts of 25 mph at times. The heat was a factor for the first time today. The temperature reached 88 degrees Fahrenheit in the afternoon and I was running low on water. I had no more than about a cup (200 ml) left at the end of the day. There was nowhere I could stop to fill up my water bottles. The humidity wasn't too bad though, so I coped reasonably well with the heat and lack of drinking water. Mind over matter works well up to a point, though. I will need to get drinking water early in the day tomorrow.

There are hundreds, if not thousands, of snapping turtles about. They hang suspended in the water with only the tips of their heads sticking out above the surface. When you approach within a few feet of them they snap their heads back into the water. I guess that's why they're called snapping turtles.

There are duck hunting blinds everywhere on the river. I can picture the hunters heading out before dawn on a freezing winter morning, feeling their way through the fog in their flat bottom boats, protected against the wet cold by layers of camouflaged clothing, waterproof boots and waders. If you look closer you'll see the coffee flasks, the bags full of plastic decoys, the 12 and 10 gauge shotguns with 3 inch barrels and cases full of shotgun shells. On many boats you'll find an excited black Labrador retriever standing in the bow, with his nose in the wind and wagging his tail, eagerly anticipating the excitement of the hunt. With first light the calm and quiet of the early morning gives way to duck calls, shotguns firing in rapid succession, dog whistles and the sound of hundreds of wings in flight. I would like to come back one winter to experience a real Mississippi duck hunt.

I made fairly good progress today, in spite of the strong headwinds that stayed with me all day long. With my improving navigation skills, and a large measure of luck,
I managed to dodge the wind for part of the day. I am getting better at proactively picking routes that keep me on the side of the river that offers the most protection from the wind, and I am more comfortable taking chutes and sloughs away from the main navigation channel.

I decided to set up camp early today and take things easy for the rest of the day. The heat took its toll on my body and I felt tired and drained of energy. I found a great campsite and the ideal spot to spent a hot afternoon. It was in the middle of a sizable island covered with tall trees. A large, level area in the middle of the island has been cleared by previous campers. The tree canopy provided much-needed shade, the surrounding trees protected me from the wind and prying eyes, and there was enough firewood around to last me a month. There were signs that a group of people had camped there on the Memorial Day long weekend, but the site was clean and litter-free. It would have been a perfect place to camp, if it weren't for all the mosquitoes and biting flies. It wasn't only that they were present in vast numbers, which they were, but they came at me with an aggression and tenacity that I haven't experienced before, not even in Africa. I managed to keep some of the mosquitoes at bay by drenching myself in 40% DEET, but the biting flies paid no heed to it and continued feeding on me like I was a buffet laid on for their enjoyment. Later in the afternoon the wind died down and the heat became stifling among the trees. There was a bit of a breeze close to the river and I sat out there for a while, only to come under attack from even more biting flies! It seemed that I couldn't win this battle, so I retired to my stuffy, 90 degree Fahrenheit tent.

I saw the first bald eagle in several days today. There definitely are fewer birds and animals along the Iowa/Illinois stretch of the river. There are lots of herons - they are like barn pigeons in these parts. This may be a good thing: apparently herons have a taste for baby ducks and geese, and, like almost everywhere else in North America, there are more ducks and geese than the habitat can support. They not only impact the immediate environment with their voracious feeding and droppings; they wreak havoc on the fragile ecosystem of the arctic tundra when they return there to breed. It's not because they are particularly destructive by nature; there simply are too many ducks and geese alive at any given point in time. With fewer people hunting in these politically correct and 'sensitive' times, even the most efficient predator, man, is unable to control the exploding populations of these feathered pests. Many US states and provinces in Canada are increasing bag limits and extending hunting seasons for ducks and geese, but there are only so many birds a single hunter can kill in a year. We need more hunters, and more herons.

Barge traffic is increasing every day. I counted 12 today, excluding the ones that passed by my campsite after I had set up camp. With more barges around, my wait times at the locks are getting longer too. Tow boat pilots are a breed apart. They seem to resent anybody else travelling on the river; the smaller your boat, the bigger their resentment. Having the smallest boat on the river, bar none, I warrant their full, unmitigated and unconstrained resentment. I get the idea they feel I shouldn't be on their river in a small plastic boat, and some of them act like I don't exist. They don't wave back at me and they won't let me go ahead of them at the locks. Some of the tow boat pilots call from miles away and insist that they be locked up or down first, even though a 'double tow' (a tow boat pushing 15 barges) can take more than 2 hours to clear a lock. It takes 15 minutes at most to get me through a lock.

I was thinking today about all the powerboats I saw on the weekend, and all the RVs, trucks, jet skis, ATVs, lawnmower tractors and generators. I've come to a startling conclusion about USA. Even though most people here regard themselves as a religious, predominantly Christian nation, this is an illusion. Their real god is the internal combustion engine, and they are prepared to sacrifice the earth to feed their deity. And they will find new ways to continue fuelling their religion in future, but first they are going to use up all the oil on the planet, for that's what all their toys are designed for. In more than 400 miles on the river, I saw one canoe, 12 small sail boats in a race by Davenport and tow sail boats, that is it! All the other boats, and I saw hundreds, had internal combustion engines.

There definitely is more litter on the Iowa side of the river. And not just the accidental jetsam and flotsam that get washed overboard or end up in the river by accident, but real, intentional littering. Twelve Budweiser cans don't end up in the same spot by accident. I saw evidence of actual dumping: PC monitors, garden furniture, rusted steel drums and other household items. A PC monitor doesn't just float downstream and land on the riverbank - somebody had to dump it there.

There are mourning doves in the trees. I never see them, but I hear them calling all the time. They remind me of where I grew up in South Africa; there are lots of doves there too.
So far Iowa gets the lowest ranking in my book as custodians of the Mississippi.

My diet is interesting, albeit a little unconventional. I take three different kinds of protein supplements. I take Nitro Fire (from Polar Labs) in the morning. In addition to all the amino acids that boost physical and mental energy, it's also loaded with caffeine. At night I take either the whey-based protein blend from Wellwisdom, or Polar Labs Lean Mass Complex, sometimes both. Throughout the day I eat BumbleBars, Simbree energy bars and LaMontagne chocolate bars whenever I feel peckish or sluggish. At night, after I've had my protein shake, I usually eat tuna or salmon from a foil pouch; some nights I'll have beef jerky and my desert consists of canned fruit or a chocolate bar, sometimes both. I also packed some dehydrated stew mixes for the trip, but it's just too much of a hassle to unpack the stove and go through the entire ritual of cooking and washing dishes. It's good to have the dried food for an emergency though, and it doesn't weigh much. I also take goZym electrolyte supplement - it also contains vitamins and minerals. My body seems to be getting everything it needs. I'm healthy and I have energy to spare, and my digestive system is happy. I have lost a lot of weight, but who wouldn't after paddling ten hours a day for more than two weeks? I seem to gaining lean muscle, which is another good sign. I'm not suffering from any of the diseases commonly caused by nutritional deficiencies, and I don't have any early leprosy symptoms, which is good. I'm not consuming enough calories; I need to up my food intake. I'm burning approximately 6,000 calories per day, and my intake is less than 3,000.

I noticed a rash on both my forearms yesterday - probably a heat rash. I took some Claritin last night and this morning I applied zinc oxide sunblock to my arms to prevent further problems. The rash is going away; it looks my like diagnosis was correct.

I've been caught in the rain a few times in my first few weeks on the river. It's actually not too bad if it rains when I'm on the water, as long as there's no lightning or strong wind. My paddle jacket keeps my upper body dry, my hat keeps most of the rain out of my face, and my lower body and gear stay perfectly dry inside the kayak. So I usually keep paddling when it rains, except when there is lightning in the area, in which case I get off the water immediately. When I can't get off the water because the bank is too steep, or when I'm alongside a stone revetment, I try to get as close to the bank as possible, in the hope that the trees on the bank will provide me some protection. Hail is another danger when you're as exposed to the elements as I am. Golfball-size hail is not uncommon in these parts, and it wouldn't take more than one or two hitting my head to put a premature end to my time on this planet. The only thing I can do if I get caught in a hailstorm is to hold my life jacket over my head and pray my kayak doesn't drift into the main navigation channel.

May 28 - Davenport

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Thu, 19 Jul 2007 19:16:00 +0000

Today was my easiest, least eventful day to to date. The wind was still blowing at 10 to 15 mph, but I was able to stay on the lee side of the bank and a chain of long, narrow islands that dot the river along this stretch. Today was the first time the current was helping me more than the wind was hindering. I did 36 miles for the day, from Lock # 14 to Lock # 16.

I passed through Davenport, Iowa late morning. It is the largest city on route since the Twin Cities and an attractive river city. The area immediately downstream from the city is very industrial. I didn't know that Iowa was so industrialized. I've always pictured it as a rural, agricultural part of the Union. There is a lot of agriculture, to be sure, and processing and handling farm products account for much of the industrial activity - Cargill and AMD are omnipresent. But there is a lot of heavy industry too: chemical plants, steel works and several coal fired power stations along the river.

I haven't seen much wildlife in these parts. There are very few bald eagles compared to Minnesota and I haven't seen any deer around, although there are some tracks on the sandbars. Herons and geese are about the only birds present in significant numbers. There is a lot more plastic littering the banks and the river than I have seen so far.

A sprawling red neck 'tent park' sprouted from a narrow strip of an island a few miles below Davenport. They had pitched every tent and shelter they could get their hands on, including a camouflaged hunting blind. The tents were arranged in a tight cluster with their sides touching. The family that camps together stays together....

A group of people were sitting around a dead fire drinking beer and smoking. A boom box was blasting away and at the lower end of the island a generator was belching electricity and exhaust fumes. One of the woman almost waved at me. The guy next to her couldn't decide whether to wave with his beer hand or cigarette hand, and in the end just yelled something at me. The others just glared in my general direction.

The day was overcast and there were hardly any power boats on the river. I suspect many of the people with the flashy and fancy power boats have somewhat limited navigational skills. Anything beyond going 300 yards in a straight line on a bright sunshine day may be too much for some. I was nearly run over by two jet skis. I am beginning to feel about jet skis the way I feel about ATVs, and it's not a positive emotion. In my opinion the only purpose both serve is to make noise and destroy the environment. But the thing that most annoys me about jet skis is not the danger or the pollution. It's the noise they make, much like the whining noise a mosquito makes when it circles around your head when you're trying to sleep and you keep slapping yourself in the face until your ears ring without hitting the mosquito and you can't find the DEET and it's too hot to pull the cover over your head. It's that annoying.

Past Davenport the river banks are only a few feet high and I caught a few more glimpses of the rolling Iowa countryside. There was a sail boat race in progress in Davenport. A dozen or so Lazer class dinghies were duking it out on the river. South of the city I saw two 24 foot sailboats on the river. These were the first sail boats I've seen on the Mississippi, and except for one canoe I saw on the fourth day of my trip, the only non-motorized vessels I've seen to date. Viva internal combustion!

May 27 - Lock # 13 to Lock # 14. Power boats.

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sat, 14 Jul 2007 19:37:00 +0000

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.

May 26 - Bellevue IA to Lock # 13. Rain, wind and big lakes.

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sat, 14 Jul 2007 17:09:00 +0000

The sky was grey and overcast in the morning, with rain and fog, and that's pretty much how it stayed the whole day. It was not an ideal day for kayaking. Of the 12 hours I spent on the water, it rained for more than eight.

I passed by Savannah, IL. It's located south of the Savannah military area, and from the river looks like a fairly nondescript town. Further downstream, on the Iowa side, is an interesting looking small town called Sabula. It is firmly stuck in the 60s. Everything from the houses, main street buildings, the vehicles and even the people seem to have missed the last 40 years. I half expected to see a few Good Ole' Boys leaning on their pickup trucks in Main Street and complain about 'those dang hippies on the old Smith farm'. Talk about a time warp.

The pub on the riverfront is a little frayed around the edges, but it sure looked inviting from where I was sitting. All along the riverbank, more than a hundred flags fly from 20 foot flag poles, with a small white cross planted at the foot of each pole. It made me sad.

To get to Lock and Dam # 13 I had to cross Pond 13. 'Pond' is Corps of Engineers speak for the group of lakes found above each dam. The numbering system follows Lock and Dam numbers: Pond 7 is above Dam # 7, etc. Pond 13 is the widest of the ponds - it's over three and a half miles at the widest point.

It was not a good day for lake crossings. I got caught in heavy rain and a 25 mph southwest wind 11 miles above the dam. I couldn't see a thing. For a while I literally navigated by the wind in my face. I knew the wind was coming from the southwest, and the lock was south of me, so if I kept going into the wind I would at some point hit the dam, and I could then follow the dam to the lock. It wasn't a bad plan, except I got stuck on a sandbar. I can usually spot sandbars from a distance by the grass and other plants sticking out above the surface, or birds that appear to be walking on water. Not this time, though.

I managed to get the boat off the sandbar by pushing down with both hands onto the sand and 'walking' the kayak backwards to deeper water. I couldn't go forward, so I turned the kayak around and retraced my route. The rain eased a bit, and I was able to spot a green buoy in the channel. I had no choice but to stay close to the channel with the the buoys in sight from that point on. And that's how I ended up crossing the widest lake on the Upper Mississippi: right down the middle in a 25 mph wind and four foot waves.

By the time I reached the lock it was almost 7pm and dark storm clouds were building up over the area. There was a tow boat a few miles behind me, and I didn't think for one second they'd lock it down before me. But the lock attendant on duty turned out to be a real asshole, and he made me wait for two and a half hours while they locked the 15 barge tow downstream. It would have taken all of 15 minutes to get me through the lock. It was dark, the wind was freezing and I was wet, cold and very tired. And a fierce-looking thunderstorm was approaching fast from the west. All in all not a comfortable situation to be in. Later one of the lock staff, I think he was a security officer, came out to check on me and keep me company for a while. It was dark by then, and the storm was still looming. I think they were getting worried about me and realized that they had screwed up by not locking me down before the tow boat. He went to check the radar and fortunately the storm was passing to the north. It was 9:30pm by the time I had cleared the lock. There are dredge islands with sandbars below most locks, and Lock # 13 was no exception, so at least I didn't have to paddle around frantically in the dark to find a place to camp. It was past midnight by the time I got to bed and I was freezing. There was no dry wood to be found, so no fire to warm up a bit.

The one redeeming factor about the day is that there were no power boats on the water on account of the bad weather, although I was a tad uncomfortable at times being the only small craft out on the river.

Arrived in New Orleans!

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sat, 14 Jul 2007 01:44:00 +0000

I reached New Orleans Wednesday, July 11, at 1:30 pm CST. My journey ended at Audubon Park, a few miles from downtown and the French Quarter. I paddled a total of 2,742 km (1,704 miles) in 59 days.

It was quite the adventure, and a wild ride at times. I did 1,467 km (912 miles) in the last 23 days, without a break. Between Cairo, IL and Baton Rouge, LA the Mississippi is a big, wild river with nobody around, and very few towns on or near the river. It is wilder in some places now than it was 100 years ago. It certainly is one of the more challenging things I've ever done, but also one of the most rewarding. And I'll do it all again.

I held up very well. I stayed motivated and disciplined throughout the journey, and never became demoralized, not even on the really hard days, of which I had my fair share. I never once thought about giving up, nor did I doubt that I would reach my destination. I am a lot thinner, and hopefully a little wiser too. I remained in good health throughout, and never had as much as a headache, in spite of all the strain on my body, being on the river for 10 or more hours every day, and hundreds of mosquito and other insect bites.

Thank you all for your interest in my crazy adventure, and for the material and moral support. I have posted new images on my photo gallery, and will be posting more journal entries to my blog soon

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

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sun, 17 Jun 2007 22:28:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sun, 17 Jun 2007 22:16:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sun, 17 Jun 2007 22:00:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sun, 17 Jun 2007 21:48:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sun, 17 Jun 2007 21:25:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sun, 17 Jun 2007 21:18:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sat, 09 Jun 2007 04:53:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sat, 09 Jun 2007 02:43:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Fri, 08 Jun 2007 23:19:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sat, 02 Jun 2007 23:02:00 +0000

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....

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sat, 02 Jun 2007 19:27:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sat, 02 Jun 2007 03:19:00 +0000

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

Day 2 - 31 miles in 8 hours

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Mon, 21 May 2007 02:00:00 +0000

I met my first fellow traveller on the Mississippi today. Blissfully unaware of each other's existence, we shared the same postage stamp of an island last night. River kayakers tend to be tired and quiet at night.

Imagine my surprise then, when out of thin air, a much suntanned and slightly bewildered young man appeared on my one-man island. He introduced himself as 'Xander, and asked me if I knew the distance to West St. Paul. When I took out my map to check the exact distance, I realized that he may not be fully prepared to be on the river.

"I need one of those," he said, pointing to my map. It turned out that he was making his way to New Orleans in a small Extreme plastic kayak with an open cockpit. He needed to get back upstream to St. Paul because his dad had to go in for surgery. 'Xander had set out from St. Paul on Saturday, May 11th, and managed to make about 22 miles the first day. The second day he spent 8 hours paddling around in circles on 'some lake', completely lost. I figured he must have been on Spring Lake, from the general area he was in. I got the distinct feeling that he wasn't overly disappointed when he got the call about his dad. We chatted for a while, and when he left I couldn't resist asking him how long he reckoned it would take him to get to New Orleans.
"Oh, I figured about a week and a half, if I paddled 15 hours a day."

I wish him well, but I don't think he'll be taking off on the Mississippi again any time soon.

I have too much gear and supplies. My kayak is way too heavy, and it feels unbalanced. I took a photo of all my kit at my first camp site. It looks like I offloaded a houseboat. Nothing much I can do about it now. I can't burn everything, and I'm not in the habit of dumping stuff at camp sites; I'll just have to wait until I get to the first town where I can ship some of my unwanted stuff home.

We'll, I wanted a challenge and an adventure. Today got of to a very rough start. I crossed the first substantial lake of my journey today - Spring Lake. And it was whipped into a witch's brew by a 20 mph East wind. The wind was blowing the same direction as the current, and the way I was going, which made for a kind of fast and furious paddling that has too much in common with surfing for my taste. These joint forces were pushing me along so fast that my kayak started pitching and rolling in the waves. When I checked my GPS later today, it showed a top speed of 9.4 mph - much too fast for an overloaded, top-heavy, badly balanced ocean kayak. I turned the boat 45 degrees into the waves to slow it down a bit, but this required a fine balancing act; turning into the waves too much in a 3 foot swell and a 20 mph wind can cause the kayak to capsize if you get broadsided by a rogue wave. And to top it all, halfway across the lake my rudder deployment cord snapped at one of the joints, and the two lines went flying towards the back of the kayak. With more luck than skill, I managed to grab hold of the important piece that lowers the rudder, so I was able to keep the rudder where I needed it - in the water.

I got a lot of respect for the Kodiak's stability, heavily loaded and badly balanced as it was. I'm also a tiny bit pleased with my skill in handling the kayak on that lake today. If I was less experienced, or inclined to panic, it could have ended badly for me.

A few miles below Spring Lake I passed through the first of 29 locks between here and St. Louis. My first lock was Lock & Dam no. 2, at river mile 815 (I started below Lock no. 1 on Sunday). Going through a lock with a 17 foot muscle powered kayak is not without challenge, as you'll see shortly, but it sure beats the alternative - portaging 160 lbs worth of boat and gear around a dam. This could take three hours or longer at some locks.

Lock no. 2 is at the right side of the dam, so I paddled closer after making sure there were no barges in the lock or vicinity. The procedure for approaching a lock, according the instructions that came with my navigational charts, is as follows: "If no traffic signal light is on, approach the lock and signal for lockage. If the red signal light is flashing, stand clear and do not approach. You can signal for service by pulling the signal cord located at mid-point on the upper and lower guide walls."

I paddled up to the lock when I saw no red light, confident that this won't be any more difficult than riding an elevator. Not quite. Figuring out which wall was the guide wall, posed the first obstacle, and I could see no sign indicating a signal cord, nor could I see the actual cord anywhere. Finding no clue of where to go next, I drifted around for a while, hoping that someone in the control tower would spot me and clear me in. But the lights stayed dim and the tower looked deserted. Then I decided to go into the area behind the big red sign that says "No boats beyond this point. Restricted area." That got their attention. Next thing the yellow signal light was flashing and the lock gate started to open.

The lock master was not pleased with me. I pleaded ignorance and inexperience, being a lock virgin and all that, and eventually he softened up a bit. He showed me where to locate the signal cord (hidden behind a yellow ladder, and in this case, tied 2 feet too high to reach from a kayak or any small boat). He also told me that I can call ahead on channel 14 on my marine VHF, and he even offered to test my VHF. But his parting words ruled out any possibility of a lasting friendship:" You going to New Orleans in that thing? I'll be surprised if you make it." I'm going to send him a postcard from New Orleans.

Below the lock I passed through Hastings, not a particularly memorable place. Two miles downstream is Prescott (I wonder if they pronounce it Prescutt, like the one in Arizona?), where the St. Croix river enters the Mississippi.

The rest of the day I paddled alongside a vast State Wildlife Management Area. I am amazed at how much wilderness there is in Minnesota. The scenery along most of my route today is really beautiful. I took a lot of photos on the calmer stretches of water, when I could take my camera out without risk of losing it in the river. I saw a woodchuck today, on the right bank, not more than 20 feet away. I also saw a good variety of birds: at least a dozen bald eagles, 3 redtail hawks, common (white) egrets, and many herons and turkey vultures. Sand pipers and other shore birds are all over the place.

I passed through Lock no. 3 without incident very late in the day, almost at last light. The lock master pointed out an island 400 yards downstream, towards the left bank, and that's where I set up camp for the night.

I also had my only real moment of panic for the trip so far. When I stepped out of the kayak, I was swarmed by hundreds of mosquitoes. I must have landed right on top of a breeding area. Within seconds I had a dozen bites on my legs, arms and face. And I couldn't find my DEET. I had no clue where I had packed it. Even after I had unpacked all the dry bags, I still couldn't find it. I found the all-natural, all-organic stuff that smells like flowers and has absolutely no effect on mosquitoes. I emptied half a bottle, mainly by aiming it directly at the mosquitoes and trying to drown them with the stuff, but the mozzies kept on coming. In the end I gave up looking for the DEET, made a smoking fire with some driftwood, green branches and a lot of Coleman stove fuel, and parked myself downwind in a cloud of smoke. I stayed put until the mosquito activity had died down for the evening. Not all of them went away though, and throughout the night they were doing the kamakazi thing on my head. I didn't sleep well.

On the River - Day One, May 13

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Mon, 21 May 2007 01:21:00 +0000

Seventeen miles on the first day. It may not sound like much, until I you learn that I only got to launch at 4:35 in the afternoon (I have a witness, Brian Glader from Midwest Mountaineering was there to help me on my way), I battled a 20 mph headwind most of the way, and I still managed to set up camp just after 9 tonight. I'm hoping to average just over 20 miles per day - it bodes well for the future.

When Christine, my wife, asked me during our first 'river' cell phone call what my introduction to the Mississippi was like, I said, "magic!" It may not be grammatically correct, but that's exactly how I felt. Very rarely in life does the reality look or feel like the dream. From the very first time I dipped my paddle into the surging green water on Sunday afternoon, I felt such a powerful sense of deja vu that I could almost believe I've been here before.

But before I tell you about my first few hours on the river, I have to tell you about the good people at Midwest Mountaineering in Minneapolis. I've never been to the Twin Cities before, and I don't know a soul there. I was very much in need of a place where I could have equipment shipped to, and where I could stage all my gear and supplies before my trip started. I also knew I'd need some help with the logistics on that side. Landis Arnold from Wildwasser Sports, who is supplying my Prijon Kodiak kayak and all my paddling gear, offered to approach Andy Knapp at Midwest on my behalf. Andy didn't hesitate to offer me all the help I needed, including having my 63 lb kayak shipped to their store. He also agreed that I could hang around the store on Saturday to meet with some of his customers, and local media and PR folks. So I had a 'home' in Minneapolis for a day.

And what a home it turned out to be. When I showed up at their door at about noon on Saturday, Rudy, the manager on duty, had all my packages lined up and ready to go, and my kayak was waiting in their back lot. He told me make myself at home, ask for whatever help I needed (turns out he really meant it), and gave me free run of the store. I had brought along a few cases of Elliott's Amazing Juices (thanks Elliott!) for use by the store staff and customers, but that doesn't come even close to being a proper thank you. And that's not all.

Today (Sunday), Rudy relieved one of his staff, Brian Glader, from his normal duties take me to Pike Island in Fort Snelling Park with my boat and all my stuff, and see me on my way. Brian not only dropped me off at my starting point; he spent more than 4 hours with me, helping me get all my gear organized and packed. He also helped me install the rudder cables and control cord, and everything else he could think of to do. I had just met Brian today just before noon; yet we parted like old friends. What a guy!

To Rudy, Brian, Andy, and all the other folks I met at Midwest Mountaineering on the weekend: You are good people.

Back to the river.

I launched from Pike Island, five miles upriver from downtown St. Paul. As mentioned above, I got off to a very late start, because it took more than three hours to get everything ready to go, the boat loaded and the rudder cables installed. Some of the equipment were shipped directly from the suppliers to Midwest, which meant that some things were brand new to me. This also complicated the sorting and loading process, and slowed me down even more. But sometimes, things turn out for the better, even if they don't work out as planned.

All day long there was a mighty strong wind blowing from the southwest, almost straight up the river for most of my route for today. It was reaching 20 mph and more at times - not the kind of thing I needed on my first day. Luckily for me, by the time I was ready to launch in the late afternoon, the wind had eased up considerably, to a more manageable eight to ten mph. And the day was really hot and muggy - I was working up a good sweat getting my boat and gear ready. After about 40 minutes on the water, it started cooling off quite rapidly.

Getting out on the Mississippi for the first time felt like meeting an old friend again after many years. But if the river welcomed me like a friend, it also commanded my respect from the very first second. The way it gripped my kayak and swept it into its powerful current left no doubt about who is in charge. I immediately realized two things: I'll have to work with this river for every one of its 2,000 miles, and I'll have to be fully alert for every second of my journey. But I also knew right away that I can do it; the old friend will be there too for my journey. It feels good to be here.

I am pleasantly surprised at how scenic this part of the river is. For a river that is not officially designated a wild river, it sure as heck has a lot of wilderness. The five mile stretch from Pike Island to St. Paul cuts through a state park, and the cottonwoods and most other trees are already wearing their green summer foliage. I was struck by the absence of suburban sprawl along the river banks above St. Paul. Cruising past downtown St. Paul in my kayak was great, albeit a little surreal. The tall buildings and revetments blocked the wind, so I was able let go of the paddle for a few minutes and take some interesting photos of the city from a water level perspective. As I cleared the city, I came eye-to-eye with the first river barges of my journey. Fortunately these were all moored. That's the other good thing that came from my unplanned late start: barge traffic and power boat traffic had slowed down to the point that I effectively had that part of the river to myself for 17 miles. I saw two power boats in the first 30 minutes or so, but that was it. That meant one less variable to deal with on the first day.

I had quite a few new things to deal with today: a brand new kayak, new paddle and different spray skirt. And the river, of course.

In the spirit of limiting the variables, I opted not to use my rudder today. I don't usually use a kayak with a rudder, and the cables and deployment cords need a bit more adjustment. I'll do that before I take off in the morning.

The ten miles downstream from St. Paul is very industrial, but surprisingly clean. I realize that all is not visible to the naked eye of a meandering kayaker, but still. I definitely expected both the water and surrounding landscape to be visibly polluted. But no, the water looks and smells clean, there appears to be no shortage of fish or people fishing from the banks, and the bird life is quite impressive. In the twelve miles downstream from the start of St. Paul's industrial area to my campsite for tonight, I spotted two bald eagles, a redtail hawk, at least a dozen turkey vultures, and various shore birds. And I saw most of these within site of active industrial operations.

The (very) first impression is of a river that is being worked hard, but at the same time cared for really well. Like a thoroughbred race horse, in a way.

I'm camping on an my very own midstream island tonight. The beach is to steep to drag my (too) heavy kayak all the way up to my camp site, so I had to unload everything first and then drag the boat up on the beach as I could. Not too many mosquitoes about yet, but that will no doubt change soon. The evening is nice and warm - I won't need to set up my tent. I'll just sleep under the stars.

As for the strange incident on my flight to Minneapolis: I'm afraid I can't post that on my blog. This is after all a 'family' blog. You'll have to wait for the book to find out what happened. All I can say is that it was very funny, and shall we say, somewhat unusual.

On My Way to Minneapolis!

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Sun, 13 May 2007 14:47:00 +0000

So far so good. Or as the lady said who put on her hat before getting into the bath: what is done is done. Alea iacta est - the stone is cast; it is done. Well, not all of it of course. I still have 2,000 miles of river to paddle....

I'm often asked how I 'feel' about my venture. Honestly, I can't say that I've spent a lot of time analyzing things on an emotional level. And I've been so busy with the practical, and sometimes mundane, aspects of planning my trip that I had no time for introspection. So I dodged the question or kind of waffled my way through a response, usually along the lines of, "I'm excited/really looking forward to it/not scared/not worried about alligators", or something to that effect. But today, my wife asked me that same question just before we said goodbye for the next month or so, and this time I couldn't fake it. I had to dig deep inside and find an honest answer, both for her sake and mine. This is how I feel about my crazy, 100 day, 2,000 mile river odyssey:

I will miss my wife very much, and I already can't wait for her first visit, hopefully in the next few weeks. This is not the first thing I said when I answered her, but it should have been.
I am excited, very much so. It is after all a childhood dream come true, if you'll allow me this one cliche. Close to three decades of adulthood have not stripped me of my ability to enjoy my excitement, and to be excited about the things I enjoy.

I am not apprehensive, scared or nervous. I am well prepared, very well equipped, and I know I have the physical and mental stamina, and common sense to complete my journey safely and successfully. And I'm really not afraid of alligators.

I'm looking forward to writing about my adventure and the river. I'm not even on the river yet, but already the words are flowing as if through a wide open pipe with no obstructions in sight. And it's about more than writing a book and earning money from it (we all have to make a living); it's about being able to share my experience with so many people as it unfolds, in near real time via my blog and web site. I have both the privilege and a responsibility to share my adventure with others.

I also feel a sense of gratitude. The generosity, support and sincere interest of corporate sponsors and individuals alike blew me away. You know how people always say when they accept an award, "this wouldn't have been possible without so-and-so, etc?" Well, in my case, my adventure really would not have been possible without all the donations, assistance and support I've received to date. I've mentioned above that I'm very well equipped for my trip. Everything from my Prijon Kodiak kayak, to my paddling and camping gear, to my suntan lotion and energy foods, everything is top of the line, quality brand products. And all of these things came to me because others share in my excitement, and because they believe in my dream so strongly that they have invested their money and time in my dream. I'm also pleasantly surprised, and not a little pleased, by growing number of individuals who have made cash donations on my web site. If people continue donating at this rate, I hope to actually have some cash left over at the end of my trip to donate to a worthy cause.

Strange things always seem to happen to me when I travel. Usually I end up next to really weird individuals who insists on sharing their life stories in great detail during a ten hour flight to ......(fill in the blank), I get more than my share of religious nuts and obese food enthusiasts, and I once shared a cross-atlantic flight with a failed , very inebriated ex-boxer who wanted to take on the entire coach section and cabin staff to show that he still had what it takes. I even had somebody die on the same flight once. That was the fastest deplaning of a 747 I ever experienced.

What happened this time takes the prize though, by far. But I'm afraid you'll have to have to wait a few days for the story......I have a boat to catch. I just over two hours I'll launch my kayak on the Mississippi for the first time. Wish me luck!

More pre-trip planning and preparation

noreply@blogger.com (Jacob van der Merwe) — Tue, 01 May 2007 20:00:00 +0000

I went out yesterday with my good friend Ted Gornall to do a pre-trip photo shoot. My adventure is beginning to attract media attention, and I realized last week that I have very few kayaking pics of myself—I'm always the one behind the camera. The photo shoot also gave me an excuse to try out and show off some of my cool new gear. We launched from Island View beach, a few miles north of Victoria, BC. The day was kind of windy and overcast, but we still managed to get about 150 good photographs. I've posted 16 of these new images to my gallery. We were both rather pressed for time, so I didn't get a chance to set up the tent and unpack all my camping gear. But there will be plenty of 'live' camp images once I get underway. And I haven't received all my gear and supplies yet; some of my stuff is being shipped directly to St. Paul. I'll also pick up my Prijon Kodiak kayak there, so I'll be taking on the Mississippi in a different kayak, not the one I used for yesterday's photos.

When I talk to reporters and friends about my trip, the question of danger and personal safety enevitably comes up. There are five factors that can make kayaking dangerous: currents, tides, wind, boat traffic and stupidity. Of the five, boat traffic is the most unpredictable, and stupidity the deadliest. Large freighters and cruise ships can be intimidating to most inexperienced kayakers, but in reality they pose little threat. You can see them from miles away, so you have plenty of time to get out of their way; they stay in deep water, usually far from the shore and sensible paddlers; and they track a steady course and change direction slowly and deliberately, again giving you plenty of warning. As a rule, with a few notable exceptions on record, larger vessels have professional and sober crews at the helm, which removes another variable from the equation. I worry most about recreational power boaters when I'm on the water. Whenever horsepower and speed meet with a lack of common sense and consideration, somebody suffers—in this case the kayaker.

Kayaking is, generally speaking, one of the safer recreational activities. Very few people have died in kayak-related incidents, in spite of the exploding popularity of ocean kayaking in the past decade. Most, if not all, kayaking deaths are caused by errors of judgment and a lack of common sense, collectively known as stupidity. People get into trouble or die because they go out on the ocean without understanding tides and currents; because they don't take five minutes to check the weather forecast, or because they ignore signs that the weather is changing. Some drown because they take off without life jackets and spray skirts; others are killed by their inexperience, or more accurately, their ignorance of their inexperience.

The value of good navigation charts for this kind of undertaking cannot be overstated. I love maps, the more detail the better, and I am one of those rare individuals who enjoy map reading and navigation for their own sake. The US Army Corps of Engineers have been custodians of the Mississippi for more than 170 years, and they have the most accurate and up to date navigation charts. The charts show all the navigation features I need for my trip: navigable sloughs, open channel areas, hazardous areas, historical sites, small boat harbors, wildlife sanctuaries, state and national parks, campgrounds, locks, dams, and other features. The maps have a scale of 1:31,680. This translates into one inch on the map for every half mile of river, which allows for great detail. I will also be using a handheld GPS receiver.

I must confess that I'm a bit of a technology enthusiast, so I will be taking a fair number of gadgets (I prefer the term 'equipment') with me on this trip. I'll be making my way downstream fully armed with notebook computer, cellular phone, hands-free digital voice recorder, GPS tracking device, and on the other end of the technology scale, but still very cool, waterproof notebooks and paper. The GPS tracking is really neat: it will be possible to follow my progress in real time on my web site, courtesy of Eye-On GPS tracking technology, provided by The Real Security Company. I hope to have that up and running by the end of next week.

So far everything is on track to set off from St. Paul on Sunday, May 13th. Check out my web site for media news and press releases.

Jacob van der Merwe, a.k.a The Crazy Kayaker