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Skyworks on
the Mississippi River - USA
Saturday 4th July
It was Independence Day, July 4th, the
day that all Americans looked forward to. Well, the ones that
loved a party and a day off work that was!
I had been cycling, walking and kayaking
around the USA for nearly four months covering thousands of
kilometres, now I was about one thousand kilometres down the
Mississppi River averaging over 100 kilometres aday.
A barge passes by my
camp. The brown patches on the kayak are repair patches. The
kayak was crushed in several places along the hull whilst
being freighted to the US. It took me two days in New York
to fix it.
As I approached Alma Lock a barge pod
going through blocked all other river traffic. I could find
no easy way to portage, the concrete walls were too steep
and high to get out, so I had no choice but to wait next to
a broken-down house boat. The family on board fed me ham sandwiches,
grapes, cherries, strawberries, muesli bars and raisins. It
took two hours for the tow-boat to move all the barges through
the lock because it had too many barges to push them through
in one go, and by that time my stomach had swelled considerable
with food. I felt frustrated with the two hour wait as it
had lost me about 20kms in paddling distance. By the time
the lock gates were open for me to go in, twelve power boats
had gathered and entered the lock with me. Ropes that dangled
from the concrete wall had to be grabbed by the power craft
to ensure that they didn't float aimlessly inside the lock.
If the lock keeper didn't insist, I drifted in my own space,
the rope was just a nuisance for me to hold on to. When the
gate opened, and the siren sounded I headed out first. For
some reason the lock keepers wanted it that way, although
I would have preferred to have gone out last.
Whirlpools were created as the gates
opened, but I passed them without problems. The river ahead
was clear and apart from a swift current coming from the weir
gates the water was absolutely still. Each lock had a weir
beside it. The weir allowed water to spill over it or go through
gates so the current was always faster below the lock and
weir.
There is no room left
in a lock when the pod of barges get inside. Some pods are
too big that they can't get all the barges inside at one time.
The sound of the rev of engines filled
the lock, plumes of fumes rose into the air and the race was
on for the power boats. I cringed and waited. With bows high
in the air, the boats accelerated at high speeds either side
of me. Huge wakes and waves from the twelve boats collided.
The still water instantly churned into a mess of turbulence,
and an uneven wave accelerating along the river. The people
on board waved to me as they sped by, oblivious to the danger
that they were putting me in. It was impossible to wave back,
even if I'd wanted to. The boats zigzagged down the river,
eventually leaving me alone.
Before each lock and weir the river
was held back by the structures so small lakes were formed.
In some of those lakes hundreds of islands had been created
and divided the river into a jigsaw of channels and a maze
that would take months to explore. They became important refuges
for fauna and flora as well as bringing beauty to the river.
The Upper Mississippi
River was dotted with islands. Locks held back the water creating
a river that often looked like a lake.
As I approached the next lock I was
able to portage over the spillway which was tricky, but quicker
than tackling the lock itself. I passed the town of Winona,
the home to one of America's largest canoe manufacturers,
as they were preparing for a firework display. After Winona
the river was again a hive of activity with power craft.
Before day's end I was approaching the
city of La Crosse. I had portaged and paddled through five
locks and was more than a little shattered. It had turned
dark, so I switched my lights on. Boats were still motoring
towards the city so I stayed close to the islands to keep
away from them. Every beach was taken up by campers, who were
either celebrating or getting ready to celebrate. Beer cans
and rubbish already littered the sand beaches. I asked the
campers what all the fuss was about and they told me that
a firework display was taking place that night. I paddled
on carefully, getting closer and closer to the city. At the
end of the last island about 650 odd metres before the city
centre, I parked up next to several other boats and waited.
Directly behind me people were camped amongst the flooded
forest claiming any spot to erect their tents that didn't
have water on it. Just a few metres upstream another beach
was also swarming with noisy and drunk people, tents and beer
crates.
Half of the pod of barges
waiting to be fed through the lock
I was feeling quite cold and the mosquitoes
were biting savagely. It had been another long day, yet I
sat in my kayak damp and cold waiting for the Independence
Day firework display to start. I shivered and scratched at
various insect bites as the sky lit up with a multitude of
colours. The reflected light from the fireworks illuminated
the boats so that they were no longer hidden by the darkness.
A rat-ta-tat of bangs and loud crackles exploded into a mass
of coloured ashes, which then fell to earth in a multitude
of patterns. Over the next thirty minutes the crowd's delight
was audible with oous and aahs.
My own delight in the display was a
little more subdued, but I was cold and not drunk like most
of the people around me. Halfway through the show I could
feel myself nodding off despite being chilled. I was beyond
caring and felt helpless as my eyelids weighed heavily and
my body went limp. I couldn't afford to capsize as the water
was too cold. So with a great effort I forced myself to concentrate
on the display. The bangs and flashes continued making beautiful
patterns in the sky. Then all of a sudden the show stopped.
I waited for the finale, you know, that last great explosion
you usually get with a firework display, but it was a fissile.
The sounds of engines and voices then
stirred the cool, still evening. The night was still young
for the revellers, but all I wanted to do was to find a camp-site,
erect my tent, rip off my damp clothes, cook a hot meal, write
my diary and snuggle up in my sleeping bag. But first I had
to find a spot. The beach behind me was overflowing with tents
and people in a merry state. Every beach along the island
was packed, and with no guarantee of finding joy further along,
I decided to ask a group of men who were on the beach whether
I could squeeze in there. With their beers in hand and slurred
speech peppered with swearing, I found it a little hard to
understand them, but I gathered by their hand movements that
they were ok about my wanting to share what little room there
was. Though it gave me an indication of what was to come if
I camped there, I was too tired to care and so I was willing
to take the risk. All but one of the men stumbled back to
the party when I beached. In a drunken stupor the lone man
tried pulling my fragile kayak, still fully loaded, up the
steep beach with me still in it! With him insisting on helping
me, I started to think that I had made a bad call.
I was shivering in the chilly air and
dampness had saturated the sandy beach so everything I put
down became covered with sand particles. I unloaded and the
drunken guy insisted on helping. He fell to the ground a couple
of times, stumbled constantly but I only allowed him to carry
my unimportant gear to my tent site. I then insisted I had
everything under control. He respected my wishes, thank God
and returned to his friends.
Just next to my tent a track led into
the forest. I soon found out it was a track that people used
to go to the toilet. I had my concerns about having drunken
visitors in the night, so I placed my kayak in the bushes
so it wouldn't be trampled on and I ensured that I had no
tent guy ropes across the track for any of them to trip over.
I just felt the night was going to be a long and noisy one.
I had no inclination to join the parties
that were happening on the beach. I find mixing with drunken
people very hard to take when I'm fresh and lively, let alone
after paddling 100kms. I had been on the water for 13 hours,
had negotiated or portaged 5 locks, and had sat in the cold
while watching the fireworks, so I was in no mood to talk,
humour and listen to people who couldn't put a sentence together.
Eventually, after cooking up a quick
pasta meal I retired to my tent to write my diary. As the
parties raged and the couple in the next tent argued about
being there, I constantly nodded off as I tried to write the
day's events. Finally it was too much for me and at 12.15am
I fell asleep and heard nothing until morning.
Sun 5th July
I was pretty pleased with myself that
I had slept soundly in the night and survived the 4th of July.
Many of the revellers were still asleep by the time I loaded
the kayak and left at 7.30am, although the couple in the next
tent were still arguing, drinking and smoking. What a way
to live! I just couldn't imagine it.
I skipped breakfast to paddle over to
LaCrosse city centre, where I pulled up on a concrete wharf
and ate my cereal there. Close by, the yearly fun run was
taking place. I walked over, collected some water from the
tap in the toilet block and met a journalist who was covering
the event. He seemed interested in my journey, so I gave him
more details. I told him I had cycled several thousand kilometres,
walked 800 kilometres and kayaked about 1000 kilometres. To
my surprise he gave me his card and said, "When you finish
your trip let me know, I might do a story on you." I
walked away wondering what someone had to get in the local
paper. From that day I never approached any media, I just
did my own thing, enjoyed my own journey and left the U.S.
without any media coverage at all. Feeling a little dejected,
I left the crowd, packed my kayak, and paddled off downstream,
and away from the weekend celebrations.
I paddled a Sission Evolution
Classic, a multisport kayak. Being more unstable than a sea
kayak I strapped on home made foam pieces to give me more
stability when crossing rough lakes and open water. There
were no bulkheads so I just used dry bags, pushed in the front
and rear.
Downstream there were several sand beaches,
motor boats were out in force and several turtles lying on
logs. I arrived at Genoa Lock 8 at the same time as a huge
barge, so I had to portage or I would have been waiting there
for hours. Since leaving Minneapolis I hadn't been allowed
to go in a lock with a barge so I was always pleased when
there were no barges at the locks. A man who worked at the
lock had a quad bike, so he offered to take my kayak to the
portage end. It saved me a lot of time and the energy required
for lifting, so I was very grateful to him.
As I moved away people were fishing
in a polluted backwater below the lock. It became windy as
the river widened and with all the holiday makers zooming
about in power boats the river became rough.
As I paddled once again into the wind
I rounded a bend to find the pleasant town of Lansing and
a big bridge. A few miles further on the river traffic diminished
and after I crossed a lake I arrived at Lynxville and the
number 9 lock and dam. I waited 10 minutes and just as the
sun was setting the lock was free to go through.
By nightfall I had paddled about 90
kilomtres and portaged two locks. The moon was hidden so it
was darker than usual. I kept paddling and searching for a
campsite but the river was so high all the beaches were underwater.
I could see very little around me. It now felt a lonely river
as all the boats of the Independence Day long weekend were
gone and I was back in my own world. I had no idea where I
was going to sleep that night, like many other nights, but
it brought out that pioneering explorer spirit in me. My paddling
rhythm returned and my thoughts continued to scurry along.
It had been a long day and it would get even longer because
the water was now higher than the forest floor and I couldn't
find a suitable dry campsite.
The flooded river on
this section made camping difficult
I searched as a succession of thunderclaps
reverberated around me. The skies looked black and threatening
and the forest around me started quivering, as wind shifts
scattered and rattled the leaves. There was no sign of life
for miles and amongst those darkened forests I could feel
a sense of mystery and apprehension. I quickened my pace wanting
to get away from the storm and to find a camp-spot before
the deluge. Lightning flashes zigzagged across the dark gloomy
sky, momentarily lighting up the river and making me wonder
if a bolt would strike me! I couldn't really escape as the
shores were still inundated with water and landing was near
impossible. I rounded another bend wondering what the night
would bring, when again the sky, some miles ahead lit up,
this time with fireworks. From then on the thunderclaps from
the fireworks took over from the thunder of the storm.
For a few minutes I thought I saw a
beach on the other side of the river but as my eyes strained
to see through the darkened night, it turned out to be a raised
railway line that ran beside the river and at times was carved
into the steep cliffy shores.
Disappointed I headed again into a dark glum evening. The
flashes of fireworks fizzled out. Then suddenly a huge, bright
spotlight appeared around a distant bend. I couldn't figure
out what it was. A bulldozer working at night, a train coming
around a corner - the light gleamed intensely and just kept
coming closer. Then the huge spotlight moved to and fro across
the river and scanned the river bank, the trees, the rocks,
the railway line and across the water. Although still distant,
the light momentarily flashed towards me and my heart beat
faster. It was like a searchlight from a forbidden spacecraft
and I felt as if it was after me. It reminded me of a scene
from the "War of the Worlds." As the light moved
closer I realised it was coming from a towboat pushing a long
line of barges and it was using the spotlight to ensure it
kept within the bounds of the channel. I kept well out its
way as it passed.
With the excitement over I continued
to search every island for a beach but they were all under
water. I was now ready to stop. Two miles from the Marquette
Bridge my luck changed, I found a picnic area next to a road.
It was 11.15 pm, it was stormy and I just had to take the
opportunity to stop. It was a grassed area next to a road
and the railway track but to get to it I had to climb a rocky
bank but beggars can't be choosers. I struggled to take my
gear from the kayak and up the sloping rocks as I was pretty
tired. The wet and gusty night also had me chilled. I pitched
my tent quickly, stripped off my clothes and tucked into cold
cereal, uninviting maybe, but it was just too late to cook
something hot. I soon snuggled into my warm sleeping bag and
after paddling about 105 kilometres for the day I had no trouble
getting off to sleep.
The road bridge opens
up to allow barges to pass through
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