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

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.

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

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.

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.

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!

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