May 17, day 5 - first rest day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May 15 - How not to cross Lake Pepin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 2 - 31 miles in 8 hours

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

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!

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

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