Packing and Presenting

With Saturday morning and my departure fast approaching, I am gathering my final pieces of gear. I just picked up my kayak from Detroit this weekend, from the Riverside Kayak Center. I immediately drove it across the road to the Detroit River to make sure it was sea worthy. I launched into the water with my Kokatat spray skirt and life vest, and Sawyer paddle. The kayak was stable in the little current the river produced and my friends Andy Bartes and Reid Barber took some pictures from the shore as I prepared to do an Eskimo roll. I rolled the kayak flawlessly twice, and was delighted. On my third try however, I just couldn't seem to roll back over. I gave it about ten stunted attempt with only my head getting out of the water to take a quick breath. I accepted my failure and pulled off the spray skirt and performed an underwater exit. Being submerged in the sauce did not ruin the maiden voyage, but it did ruin the receipts I had in my wallet. I am literally now at the point of no returns.

Returning back to my home town Elgin required me to prepare for my first presentation at the Gail Borden Library on Wednesday the 9th. I will be talking about kayaking, my trip, the gear, and then I will be giving hopefully a more successful rolling demo. Show up, bring a friend, check out a book!

Well, this is my first ever blog, not as bad as I thought. The passages will become longer when I have more time and no one to talk to I'm sure.

The icing on the kayak

Today a few final sponsors came through, a roof rack to hold the kayak true to the car, a broadband card to keep my netbook online, and and some sweet t-shirts from the Gail Borden Library. On top of that, articles and interviews have been flooding my inboxes as local support and visability gains momentum. The kayak itself started to be test packed today, to be sure that all of my gear will fit. So far so good!

Driving And Day One on the Water: One Step Backward

Well, we made it. After a day and a half of leisurely driving, we arrived at Lake Itasca State Park. The weather was gorgeous with only sprinkled showers and I was ready to begin. However, I did not put my kayak right into Lake Itasca as planned.

Last night, while accepting the hospitality of a Minnesotan family, I was informed of the "true" origin of the Mississippi River. Local naturalists debate that Elk Lake, directly South of Lake Itasca, is in fact where the river begins. And the watershed spreads farther South than that. 

The stoic visionary, Fred Patch, suggested that I bypass the whole dilemma by lengthening my trip by several strokes. This champion of truth convinced me; unwilling to cheapen my trip, I set my kayak into Elk Lake.

I tried to maximize my paddling potential by supplementing my diet with some final fine dining. Fresh Freeze offered me both Fish and Pop so my mind was made up.

And finally I was in the water. I pulled the kayak over some small rocks that separated Elk Lake from Lake Itasca and set into an easy warm up stroke that pulled me close to my campsite for the night about one mile away. I glanced up mid trip to see a bald eagle. A great first day.

Note to Joe: Although I will be sleeping in the same van as you tonight, I WILL NOT BE SPEAKING TO YOU.

Note to readers: Joe, the head of my support team, created an unholy love child tonight by fusing the flavors of an old banana, a loaf of bread, and a wood fire. He took the slices of bread, marinated for many hours in a cooler containing a ripe banana, then toasted them on a pine wood fire. He called his creation Wonka Bread; which spoiled my dinner of beef jerky, protein bars, and fried salami on pita. Needless to say, I will be "field testing" the State Park's facilities at some point before morning.

Monday and Tuesday

The morning was chilly with a fog that hung low on the water. We rose, put the boat on the van, and drove down to the launch just in time to greet the other fishermen. We took the kayak to the shore and began to meticulously load every drybag and other piece of gear into its spot in the hull. Once finished, I said goodbye to my dog Angel who had came along to drop me off, and stopped into the boat rental shack. I asked the girl behind the counter if this was where people went before going to the Gulf. She said yes, somtimes, rather anticlimacticly. I told her I might give it a try then.

Joe helped me lift the heavy boat into the water, and bid me adieu. I paddled away on the calm water, ready to hit the river. A short distace away was the place where you can walk across a bridge of rock to conquer the Mississippi. That is where I ran into my first of many rocks of the day. Indeed discouraging. I was hung up when Joe came wandering down the path, and offered me some encouragement. I then pushed off hard on the rocks and was free, gently gliding down the small river that would take me so far south.

Actually, it seemed like the river didn't want to take me anywhere. It seemed like the river wanted to be left alone. I suffered a wide range of assaults upon my person in that first mile of river. I was repeatedly run amuck (new understanding of that phrase), scrapped against rocks, grabbed at by downed trees that lay across the water, and rushed by the current into channels to narrow for me to turn in. Joe greeted me again at another bridge to shed some light on my future. I had gone little more than 1 mph, had 5 days until the sight that I planned to stay at tonight, and a long distance to go in these poor river conditions.

Well, that set me into motion. I switched to my backup paddle to make me more willing to battle branches and rocks, and I jumped out of the boat and began to jog. The water was low, much lower than I had realized. With me in the boat, I rubbed on rocks ever couple of feet. So I dragged the boat behind me for about two miles as I moved through the muck that crept well past my knees. I was in a hurry to get out of the stream and into the swamp.

In no time at all, there I was in the marsh which zigzaged for miles upon miles making hardly any forward motion. I could repeat the the description of difficulty. But the truth was, I was using a sea-kayak, not a river kayak. I was ridding too low, and my vessel was too long to navigate the nimble turns. I could not gain momentum, and with any break in concentration, I was into the banks, stuck. Many a three point turn was executed in this arena.

On the bright side, the weather was bareable, the bugs weren't terrible, and the wildlife was everywhere. The first day brought me across the paths of many animals that I rarely see back home anymore. The first that came to greet me on the water, was the red-winged blackbird who sounded his warning call that his nest was near. This display was delightful at such close range, but by the 50th bird, I lost slight interest. All around me hummed the dragonflies who worked hard to keep me mosquito free, and I thank them. The ducks were not as interested in a symbiotic relationship however. As I passed one, it began to squawk and splash around in the water, making a horrible show. I crashed around in front of me for about 200 yards, the just flew straight away. I had been wondering what the birdbrains problem was, but I realized as soon as it took off that it was distracting me from its nest or chicks, which it had successfully done. I was not fooled again. Many more ducks emplayed the same routine in an effort to win my attention. Although I did not look for their nests, I knew what was up. I wish they could have relaxed for a second to notice that I was just paddling through, instead of wasting so much energy to lure me away. I guess both me and the birds were in our own worlds.

As I rounded a sharp bend, I saw the brownish- red of a deer as it jumped across the river. As suprised as I was, it stumbled around in the tall grass looking for an escape. This was an excellent sign that I was being quiet in the water. Many more deer fell victim to my sneakiness this day, all having the same response to make a mad dash away.

Yes, the first day reaccuanted me with many creatures I had almost forgotten about. Turtles dropped off of their basking logs as I approached. Frogs jumped into the water or into my kayak when I was ashore. Muskrats and otters played in the water ahead of me, and then dove quickly out of sight, only to reappear a moment later with their head above the water to give them a better view of me. Great blue herons and bald eagles were everywhere, a true sign of the pristine wilderness.

I prepared a close to my day at a location called Coffee Pot. There was a shelter and an outhouse there. I pulled my kayak up on the bank and jumped out to quickly make a fire in the fire ring to repel the bugs. No sooner had I gotten my fire going when I was met be three other kayakers who had been paddling behind me all day apparently, although this was the first I had heard of it. They informed me they were staying the night here, and we discussed our plans over dinner. My new plan was to utilize the remaining day light, and maybe meet up with them again in Minnieaplis. Where they offered me a shower if I made it that far. So away I went, paddling hard hoping to make it to the next campground before dark.

Well, I didn't make it. The next shelter was many miles away when the sun went down, but I continued on until it was dark. I looked for any place to stay, but I was surrounded by swamp, not a dry piece of dirt for miles around. I flipped on my headlamp and paddled on. Two hours into the darkness, paddling switchbacks in the swamp, I heard a banjo. Okay, that didn't happen. Actually, I came across a bridge. I crawled out of the kayak exhausted, and lived my childhood dream of being able to sleep under a bridge. The little patch of mud just inches from the water was all I needed after that 16 hours of paddling and pulling my boat.

15th?

I had to rise and shine early this morning, no not from the incessant mosquitos, the dangers of being found under a bridge, or by the need to continue my adventure but rather because I had remembered in the night why I hadn't slept under a bridge on a previous occasion. Of my favorite stories growing up was "The Billie-Goats Gruff" (my apologies for the mispelling. If you haven't read it recently, do. Long story short, nothing good lives under bridges, and I was lucky to escape this time.

Out on the water again, I found myself nodding off in the kayak. A most reckless venture. I pulled into a campground with a shelter, started a fire, cooked some food, and took a snooze. Revitalized, I hopped back in the boat (which has a name that I keep forgetting to mention) "She-knows-who-she-is," and set off for greener pastures.

Class I rapids sound pretty cool, but in this case they were nothing but trouble. They meant rocks and sandbars, trees and stumps, and just enough pull from the water to make it difficult to dodge anything. I have to say, The first two days were tough, but they sure showed alot of variety. I was constanty jumping in and out of the boat, sliding myself over logs and being glad that there was no one around to witness such graceful actions.

I stopped at a shelter that demanded my attention as it overlooked the marsh. Convinced of its good intentions, I stayed for the night.

Bemidji

Up a little after dawn, as the mosquitos drove me from my slumber. I don't know how they get in, but I am constantly buzzed and bitten by them making it hard to relax. I start a small fire to attempt to smoke them out of my shelter and dress quickly. I pack the boat and head for the town that the map says is 15 miles away. The water was open and fast so I skipped breakfast hoping to make it to a cafe before noon.

So, here is sit in "Minnesota Nice Cafe" eating a spinach wrap slowly, stalling for my computer to recharge.  The air conditioning is helping to dry my wet clothes. Two men next to me were just praised heavily by an adoring aged female fan who saw them last might in the local performance of Paul Bunyan. She gave them an A+ + + and bought them dessert. I wish I had been in the show last night.

However, I am sure that I am relishing my food much more than the two starving artists. I paddled four over 4 hours straight without getting out of the kayak to arrive here, and went through the buggiest section I have met yet. I spent the majority of the morning battling through a wooded area, where trees had fallen from along the shore making it often difficult or impossible to pass. At these places I employed a mixture of dodging, ducking, and getting up to full speed to push over the downed logs. Almost at the end, I met two motor boats filled with men and chainsaws. They asked me how the river was, I said buggy. Then I realized that they were there to clear the down trees that I had just fought through, one day late.

-Bemidji Continued -

I left that delightful cafe only to find that part of my journal had not been uploaded or saved (about an hour and a halfs worth,) but as the waitress told me, "No worries."

Before setting out across the lake, I decided to take a picture of Paul Bunyan and Babe, apparently the big thing in Bemidji (pun kinda intended.) As I walked back towards my kayak, I noticed that I was actually in hot pursuit of a man down on his luck. He also appeared to be interested in "She-knows-who-she-is" and I planned on offering him a hand, just to see how things panned out. Instead, he paused next to the kayak, turned to me like he knew I was there and said "she's a beaut." We then talked about canoeing and the Mississippi at greater length than I have with anyone on the trip. As he received a call on his phone, he began to rise and walk away. I noticed that the first thing he told the caller was the exciting adventure I had planned. A man who lived in the moment.

I kayaked west across the grey troubled waters. Not the cleanest waters I had seen by any means, and prepared for the end of the day. When I reached the other side of the lake, the river was no where in sight however, and I combed the banks, through thick reeds, until I cam to a bridge. There were people sitting on the bridge wearing swim suits, and I tried not to ponder the issue. As soon I passed under the bridge, I heard a huge splash. I was a witness, well I had circumstantual evidence of the occurance of bridge jumping. A good passed time.

The houses that crowded the river here were proud and housed many a pontoon boat. The water was much clearer now that flow had picked back up. My next stop was further than I thought, and altough I hadn't done as many miles as I wanted, I was ready to stop. I pulled into Stump Somethingerother, and laid all of my gear out to dry. There were almost no bugs and I took a dip to clean up a bit (didn't last one minute but oh well.) I captured some memories and went to bed.

The bugs found me with no problem against all odds. I don't think I even smell human, so I am impressed. I was convinced to poke my head out of my sleeping bag to see that it was raining. More sleep. Raining. More sleep. Then there was a break in the weather. I packed up everything, got out on the water, paddled 100 yards when I heard thunder. No good, so I pulled off into someone elses campsite. They were all hunkered down in their tents, and never knew I had come and gone. I sat out the thunder, lightning, wind, and hail next to these silent tents that had a large number of international flags hung around them in the trees. I will not think to hard on what was going on there... And back onto the water.

A day for storms. I must have witnessed at least 8 opposing fronts. Nor-Easterns, Sou-western, every direction but in the one I was paddling it seemed. Ah yes, the wind was always against me. There was a break in the day however when I had my first real protage. I went ashore to scope out the plan of attack on the Otter Tail Dam. An old hydroelectric dam that did little good to fuel the high maintence homes I had passed. Well, here the sun was blistering hot, as I tested my portage cart, which worked, to pull my kayak some 200 yards. Back into the water, and the storms. The storms made me get on and off the water several more times because although I hope one day to be struck by lightning, this seemed neither the time or the place.

I cut through some more beautiful lakes. Wolf Lake wouldn't be a bad place to live, and I think I saw more bald eagles than any other bird while I was there. The water was clean and my spirits were high as I entered Cass Lake to look for my campsite on "Star Island, the biggest island on the lake with its own lake inside." As I searched for my campsite I saw a huge white bird that I hadn't seen before. Several large flocks of white pelicans I spied much to my suprise, and bothered them little with several snap shots. I hadn't found my campsite by nightfall, but came across it at the last diminishing light. No shelter?!?! I had become spoiled. So was forced to camp our right on the beach. Rats.

Cass Lake to Big Winnie

First order of business, one that I have been putting off way too long.

Seaweed Report: *the issue of seaweed and the undenieable danger was revealed to me by two more wary adventurers last Wednesday. Since that time I have come into close contact with this danger  and have thus far lived to tell. Henceforth, there shall be a Seaweed Report that shall reflect poor facts but high levels of observation and imagination regarding these aquatic plants.

Count: 12-15 types have been seen thus far.

Location: In the water, often rising up to great the surface with their greedy tendrils.

Disposition: Poor, I literally was stopped by a group of the Weeds working in 2-3 plant teams. Had I been a smaller ship, I undoubtably wouldn't have escaped.

Cons: The regualarly attack my paddle and slide between my toes when my feet enter the water.

Pros: When I cannot tell the flow of the water due to other factors. The submerged seaweed shows me the way.

Conclusion: The seaweed although unusualy honest is not to be trusted.

Well that should answer that huge build up of emails regarding seaweed for now. On to the water. I woke up to a windy day, and threw on my most intense gear. New paddle, sprayskirt, pfd, sunglasses; I looked legit. I needed to because I was about to cross a very rebelious lake. I pushed out looking to cross in about two hours, and was struck by waves 3-4 feet high and constantly increasing in size. Perhaps a bit more than I was used to, especially being on the lazy river for so long, but the white caps brought out the best in me. I paddled hard reached the next portaging area in an hour and a half.

I went to scope out the area, looking for the path of least resistance to pull the kayak over.  I saw a sign that talked about this part of the camp grounds, and how the site hosts were Ron and Kathleen. I assumed they were located at the only trailer in the region, and that they were not there, it being morning and no car being parked nearby. I began to fill up water and prep myself for the next tn task when all of a sudden, Kathleen (I think) emerged from her abode, offered me a howdy, jumped on here riding mower and rode out of site. Interesting.

Really long story short, I put "She-knows-who-she-is" back in the water, and paddled the most windy day of my life. I lifted my paddle the wrong way acouple of times and the wind almost pulled me overboard for it. I passed though the part of the river known as "the meadows" and saw even more bald eagles, and then entered Lake Winniebigoshish (the third largest lake in Minnesota.)

Even the eagles were having trouble flying in the strong winds, and I had just about given up when I mad a wrong turn on the lake and paddled for about an hour into the wind in the wrong direction. I then turned around and rode out some 5-6 foot waves to get to my campsite, which I couldn't find. Now, I am on a small sandy beach for the night. Surrounded by stinky snail shells and the bugs that eat them, too tired and sunburned to move, waiting for morning.

If you read this before morning, wish me luck. I am going hoping to cut straight across Lake Winnie, dangerous and highly discouraged, to get some real adventure in. No Worries.

Hoist Sails for the High Seas

[If you would please do me the favor of enriching this next segment by pretending that it is being read to you in a pirate voice. If you choose to ignore this suggestion, I would like to apologize for the poor grammar, but it be in me blood.]

Me wristwatch tolled the hour. My bed of snail shells and seaweed made my blood boil enough to help me raise anchor at tree tirty in the morn. Me provisions for the journey across the sea were set out on deck and my first mate stowed the cargo to set sail at four tirty. Me stump leg pushed us off into the dark abyss of the Lake called Winnie. No sooner did I get my sea legs than my first mate called "LAND HOE!!!!" from the crows nest. The captian immediately set the sights on land due East. Perhaps an angels face, maybe a beacon of a lighthouse, or more likely the security light of a garage door was my light at the end of the tunnel. The ole sayin' "red sky at night, sailors delight; red sky in morn, sailor take warn" hung heavy in my mind. The sky was not red las' night, and there was no sun up yet to make the sky red this morn.

I pulled at me oars briskly, the swiftest ship in the whole isle. Infact, the only ship in the isle. It be far too cold, windy, and early for the ole' seadogs. One half of one hour, my arms grew fatigued but no grog or hardtack could be mustered for the bow rocked with a violent roll. The wind was to me back, and I kept one eye forward and me other eye, well under its eyepatch of course. The water demon was a cruel temptress giving me the types of waves perfect to surf on. So surf I did, me and "She-knows-who-she-is" balanced atop the most promiscuous rollers as I was tossed from starboard to port and back again. Yet no fear be in me heart for a Lake named Winnie. My craft was true, my deck sealed and me oars was the finest cedar feathered blades.

Aye, when the captain called all hands on deck mid way through the voyage, me thought he was crazy. He ranted about the lose of his parrot in the midst of the heavy mist rolling in. Stark raving mad, we had brough no parrot, and lost none but me sweat and tears to feed the fishes. At two hours, we approached the fairest sight for me one eye to behold, ye ole High Banks Resort. She stood like a mermaid mere feet from where the waves broke on the rocks. We prepared to board the planks. After securing the vessel we talked to the inn keeper and the traveling sailors of our wretched travels.

The fates smile upon me and me crew giving us hot chow and two dogs, Zoey and Maggie to keep our spirits high. Two hours and eight miles of open water behind, a large portage and dam ahead. ARRRR.

Time Flies.....

It has been a couple of days since the ole pirates tale, and I haven't taken notes, so I hope I can recount some stories effectively. But first comes first.

Seaweed Report:

Community: Appears to be still growing in diversity and now overall coverage.

Comparison: I paddled near a canoeist or two, when in a seaweedy section. They mockingly pointed out without my prompting, that the seaweed was getting stuck on my paddles, but not the canoe paddles. It just became personal.

In other news, I have received emails addressing deficiencies in font size and the amount of time spent describing trees. If there are other such issues, feel free to tell me. So, segway into a summary of the trees thus far on the trip.  Thus far, the trip has been primarily the usual mixed northern hardwood/ coniferous forest. However, I don't think I have seen a maple tree, or I am not paying close enough attention. There are high counts of Quaking Aspen, Paper Birch, Red Pine, and White Spruce. There have been some White Pine, Balsam Fir, and Burr Oaks to fill in the gaps.  The pines seem to have been allowed to have grow straight and tall, giving the waters edge a feel of wilderness. Today when passing a paper-mill, I saw more saw-logs (8ft long logs) stacked up than I had previously been able to imagine. The trees are neither impressive nor disappointing, and I will inform you of the next change. 

I have portaged three dams since last we spoke, and none of that business is ever enjoyable. Yet, it always seems that there is greener pastures (food) on the other side. So I grin and bare it. In the last couple days I have really begun to encounter the fabled river hospitality. I was sponsored and fed by the resort, filled up at a church fish-fry, traded companionship and wisdom with fellow trekkers, received free cookies and a take-out box at a buffet today; all in all, I like it here.

A mean storm rolled in today after a portage and the lightning once again drove me off the water. I pulled up "She-knows-who-she-is" on someones lawn, and sought shelter in an open garage. After removing the threat of hypothermia, I knocked on the door to inform the occupant of my trespassing and to ask permission for continues haven. The man who entered the door frame, silhouetted by a screen, looked gruff and had a cigarette dangling from his lips. As I briefed him of the score, his expression remained stoic. I worried that my call for help was going unheard, but as the thunder clashed behind me I figured that I couldn't spice up my story any more. He opened his mouth, almost dislodging his smoke which held onto his lip by the saliva adhesive only an expert can control, and said "well, yeah" in a way that made me feel stupid for questioning his humanity. So I stood under his aluminum awning, feeling slightly more safe, and noticed that his house, within my view, sported 18 bird feeders. I was impressed glad that I had stopped there.

I have some information to pass on. This is a mixed emotion event, that hopefully does not repulse you from my journal. I have encountered 3 people within the last 2 days that are all canoeing the full length of the Mississippi. I shall say no more, besides that we analyzed each others trips, and decided that we will all succeed. However, I still feel I fill a unique niche regarding my age, vessel, and communication level. I am trying to grow out of my competitive nature in trips like this, so I turn my thoughts and word to today's pizza.

To town I go after a much too long portage. My silent plea was heard when I was granted the vision to spot an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet. I spoke about the hospitality already, to the decor I shall now proceed. The family owned restaurant was located on the corner of a strip mall, and the inside felt familiar. The space was conservatively colored and the bathroom had a wilderness wallpaper trim. The music clashed with the scene but did not spoil energy of my eating; 70's rock'n'roll. I have been to this place a thousand times, and you have too I'm sure. But something was slightly different. It wasn't that there were more employees working than people eating, or that they seemed to forget we were there, and their ages simultaneously, reverting to childish games to pass the time. No, the new piece was the art on the walls. Dave Bjerk photography coated the room with photos printed onto canvas's turning normal persons poses into timeless masterpieces. The more I studied the better the art became. I am currently viewing his website and so far am impressed by his provoking images. I am not positive what I feel comfortable linking, saying, or suggesting for you to find on the Internet however.

I need to go to bed because it is almost 11pm and I am going to be too pooped to paddle in the morning.

Photo by Jen a fellow river navigator.

Paddle all night, sleep all day

Up in the mornin' and workin' the old arm muscles. I plan to stretch everyday before I begin to paddle, but I always forget. Initially, this forgetfulness goes unnoticed, but at about mile 2 of the day (very early on,) I remember, and feel like I shot myself in the foot. Good transition. My feet. Covered in bug bites because I have chosen to use no bug spray, My feet take a horrible beating when I decide to don footwear essential to enter towns. Not many complaints, but feet, hunger for strangely fatty foods, and discomfort in my lower back  (from not stretching) are on the top of the list. Not bad for a guy who sleeps under bridges...

More Burgers

It is a little past midnight as I type this in, catching up on the blog. May I keep it concise? Thanks.

I paddled to the next big town, singing all of the morning at the top of my lungs to the cows I passed. Stopped at lunch for a ppb and J (protien powder, peanut butter and jelly.) More paddling, tired but excited as I entered the next campsite which the map said was supposed to have a shower. I didn't. I grabbed a ride into town an missed an all you can eat spagetti dinner by seconds ( I think I made it...) and the hoofed it to McDonalds where I ordered 4 burgers. Then I ordered 2 more. In the last 24 hours, I have eaten 9 burgers, 6 large cream filled donuts, and five pop tarts. I am lying belly down in my tent battling to keep down the mistakes I have made.

How does the wind choose where to blow?

Answer: Whatever direction I am facing.

It is hard to remember what has happened since the last time I touched this keyboard. It feels like weeks... but as I scroll up, I realize it has been three days. My food has been running low in anticipation of my support teams arrival so I have been making frequent stops into towns to get a bite. This makes for a diversity in adventures compared to the eat, sleep, paddle dream I once had, and I don't mind it in the least.

Hmmm I believe the next step from the burgers lead me to a very long day paddle. The details are hazy but I know that it happened. No doubt that I was tired, got a bit of a sunburn and saw eagles. I pulled into a swamp-ish cove called the Half Moon campsite. First order of business was fire to battle the bugs. Then I began dinner. Two cans of tamales with sloppy joe sauce left over from lunch. Ah, lunch. I thought I bought a can of sloppy joe's. But I actually just bought a can of sauce for the meat. So my lunch was white bread smothered in the sauce in an attempt to use the whole can before I got back on the water. Barely made a dent, and ended up strapping the open container to the top of the boat with bungees. Back to dinner; dinner was great. Filling and warm, independent of the fast food joints that consumed my imagination. I laid out my clothes in order to beckon rain for the night, and went to beddie-bies. The bugs greeted me in the morning with mosquito's and ticks reeking havoc on my ankles pushing me quickly into "She-knows-who-she-is" to head for Brainerd.

Brainerd at lunch. I hurried to shore for a feast, and left the boat launch near the cemetery hoping for my first hitch hiking experience. I stuck my thumb up and started to walk south. A minivan with a man and a little girl looked like it was going to pick me up, but didn't. I can't blame them. But, one block down the road, I passed them where they parked at their house. I considered asking for directions to food, but it seemed like too creepy a coincidence. So I moved on. and on. I walked quite a ways and ended with a Jimmy John's for a gourmet sammy. Time for a thorough tick check in Jimmy's mirror. Nothing! Wait, on the side of my body, looking like a freckle, a small tick with a white V on it's back was sunk in deep. I pulled it, and with no success. Then I really pulled it; it stretched my skin out about two inches in a tense battle between the ticks teeth and my need to return to my unfinished sandwich. It didn't let go, so I just yanked the chunk of skin out with it. Flushed the bugger, and left the small tiled room. I was greeted by the man who had been knocking for the last half hour on the door. He was pacing back and forth, but I feel like I had the right of way.

I asked the employees how to get back to the cemetery, hoping for some strange looks, but in this small town I received oddly specific directions and well wishes. On the commute back to "What-ever-her-name-is" I passed a sign regarding my recent encounter it stated "Little Tick, Big Problem; limes disease." The shop keeper came out and I told him I just found one of his enemies and he asked "Was it in you?" I was taken aback. Then realized that yes it was. I continued on and was besieged in full force by a small canine who apparently didn't like my faddish footwear. I did the Irish jig and considered punting the football sized assailant, but heard the owner nearby so I ran; to fight another day. This little incident reminded me of a saying about dogs "if it can fit in a microwave, it belongs in a microwave."

I jumped back on the first super-highway and took my exit for the night at Crow Wing campsite. They gave me the run around as well. A huge sight with poor maps. I ventured past many points of interest but took little time to indulge my cultural curiosity. However, there was a Catholic mission, the earliest in the area. It was located literally a stones throw from a Lutheran mission, the earliest in the area. A bit of friendly faith competition I'm sure. Well, I found a shower and it had some hotel shampoo in it so I took the bait and showered quickly before someone returned for the soap or before returning to the boat for a towel. I drip dried as I filled my water and ate dinner. I had plans for the night. Full moon= night paddle.

To my left was the state park, and to my right was Camp Ripley, the military instillation that happened to be preparing for a deployment. As I stroked through the darkness, my eyes beheld and my ears beheard the pregame for 4th of July. Shells boomed and flares lit the sky the whole night letting my mind imagine countless scenarios of adventure for myself and the men in the woods. I made it 28 mile through the night until I hit my next portage and stopped for breakfast.

I sulked a round a bakery wearing my complete paddling getup looking like a mix between the red Baron and a homeless vampire. They opened at six and I downed a donut or four ate a sandwich and battled sleep in the comfortable booth. I headed back to my portage spot with a long way to pull the boat when a nice gentleman pulled up in an ATV and offered to help me. He sped away and returned back with a trailer loaded me up. He told me that he had helped 8 people with the same destination. The "Can Man" snapped some shots of me with a thumbs up as by his trailer then pulled away happy to help out. I then set up camp in the middle of the towns park and went to sleep. I overheard many a conversation about kayaks that mingled with my restless dreams as the heat of my rain fly in the midday toasted me. (sorry for the run-ons, this coffee shop closes soon.) I did some more stuff I am sure, then I set back into the water around 4 to move towards a big dam.

This dam gave a portage on the map; to the left of 300 yards. Lies! The portage was a joke: up, down, paved, trail, bugs- not for me! I went to the right, crossing the dam buoy's illegally and took a pass around that was much closer to 300 yards. The back side of the dam was impressive and I debated all sorts of fishing/ eating/ camping there. Instead I met an older gentleman who had the facial hair of the hunter from Jumanji. He lived up stream but hung around the dam for kicks and he regaled me of more tales than I had heard in a long time. The main focus was on a rock that speckled the shore. The cross stone. Found only three places in the world, this stone had grains that crossed, occasionally resulting in rocks perfectly shaped like a cross. The possessed lucky properties and were worth some deal of dough to collectors. We scoured the shores, burning my precious daylight and filling me with a rejuvenated impulse to paddle. I got a pocket full of the pieces and worked on camp. The stones were good luck. But the man must have put a curse on me. Seeing him has had the coincidence leading me to the most annoying ailments of my trip. I cut my foot open in the water. Cut my thumb deep enough to not be able to stop the flow of blood. Spilled my cook pot and all of its contents right after I finished cooking them. Swallowed a bug. Had a bug fly into my open eye. Hit some rocks in the water in the following paddle and well, just wanted to throw the rocks away but couldn't risk it. I left the cursed dam at dusk and did not plan on going back. The old man said that he had found three bodies there and connected it to some graffiti on the concrete. I made camp down the river at a pay sight. I didn't pay.

 I woke up early to evade arrest. Accomplished two painful portages today and increased my mph to around 4.5. I sit in St. Cloud and the coffee shop is closing. I promised to sing a Taylor Swift song for the open mic night. And I am up. The sell out that I am.

Peace.

Love Letter and Updates

My dearest "She-Knows-Who-She-Is,"   (The name of my kayak in case you are confused or presumptuous.)

I love you. Not a mere childs fancy or a far away admiration. No. You and I are one. Together I have no fear of man or mother nature. Sealed seemlessly together we can undergo the roughest seas and the hottest sun, never faltering in our conviction. You body rises high above the others. Your nose is held high; cutting through the obsticles that seperate you from your destination. You are the steed I ride into battle, you are the blanket I lay out for a picnic. I would rather spend 60 days with no one else. A dream come true. Simply Beautiful.

W.

Updates: Safe and sound in the Twin Cities. A climactic enterance into the urban area as factories with barges waiting packed the coast. Few boats were moving, and the ones I saw, including myself were mostly going upstream. Yet again the wind fought against me today and more than canceled out the current of the water. The locks and dams held the water high allowing whitecaps to form forcing me to battle the 3 foot waves for many hours on end. The bridges were immense and ornate compared to the utilitarian designs I had gotten used to.

The last couple of days have been melancholy with change as I said goodbye to the most part to the eagles and loons that had been constant companions. But they have been replaced by faster paddling times and ever interesting graffiti on the waterfront. I have spied some new critters, but I don't count on them becoming too common. A group of elegant sand hill cranes fished on an island I passed, and a scraggly grey fox jaunted along the shoreline watching me fearlessly as a struggled by.

In my quest to meet up with Joe, I timed in with a 6.5 mph time (personal best) and encourage you to begin to follow his blog more closely. He will undoubtably bear the brunt of the story telling as I aim to pick up some steam. We are also planning on reconfiguring some tabs of the website to make things smoother. (No More, or less scrolling way down to read) And Maybe soon we will fill out the video, gear reviews, and individual sponsor sections. Stay tuned.

Stowaways!

I am going to start with items of most importance.

Seaweed report:

Twice in as many days, I have noticed a startling behavior out of the aquatic vegetation. The first time I was hailed by a fellow river men; I was stringing along about ten feet of seaweed with a tinsel consistency. Today, A large clump hooked on my skeg and was not easy to dislodge. Conclusion: regardless of intent, whether it likes my style and wants to hitch a ride, or it is creeping up in my blind spot to strangle me and take control of the ship, the seaweed is a stowaway. I will request to speak with an ambassador before I make my next move.

Onward. I haven't been keeping you in the loop for a variety of reasons. Let's pretend that the main reason is that I don't like to journal angry, similar to the eating and sleeping rule. That being said, I made little progress the last few days as I battled the wind and the deeper open water. I would paddle for hours at times making no measurable progress and then drag myself onto shore exhausted and defeated. I have gotten a nice cycle of cramping going. First my shoulders and arms feel like I pulled a muscle. Then my forearms start a dull ache. This is followed by a pain in my palms from pushing the paddle. Finally, my lower back and fingers start early and last the whole day. Stiff and sore they have become a staple of my time on the water. If I don't closely ignore them, they consume my mileage and make my strokes apathetic.

Today however, the dam broke. Well not literally. Me and the support team, after a night of rest and firework gazing. I got up and out early and made good mileage. I averaged 6 mph for over 10 hours, went through 5 locks, and avoided dehydration and sunburn.

I try to grab a bite to eat and a good drink of water when I hit the locks to use them as a much needed break. On my second lock today, I was chowin down on some tortilla with peanut butter. The tortilla was white and soggy. I held it loosely as I scanned the lock. I sensed a motion near by food holding hand as something floated by in the water. A dead fish, belly up, the same color as meal floated a mere 5 inches from my hand. This normally would gross me and most people out. But instead, I ate 4 more peanut butter roll ups as the fish hovered close by.

On the topic of close by, I had a close encounter another small craft this afternoon. As I scooted across an open part of the river, a small orangish plane circled twice overhead. I waved hello. About five minutes later I heard a motor behind me and turned to look for a boat. Rather, my eyes were met with the same orange plane as it dove down out of the sky. It sped straight at me and dipped close to the water. I could have reached my paddle into the air and touched it as it zipped past my head. I felt like I was in an action movie and let out a yell of excitement. Apparently, although I was surrounded by boats, no one seemed to have noticed. When I arrived at the lock, A younger man came running out of the building grinning. He yelled down to me to ask what had happened. He said from his view, that it looked like I dropped out of the plane, or that the plane skimmed the water. We traded phrases of awe and left the encounter be. I might have figured it out though.

I worked on into dusk and followed a barge for about two hours as it moved only a bit faster than me. The wake gave me no trouble and I feel confident in mine, my kayak's, and my gear's ability to withstand some tremendous comotion on the water. It almost came to that yesterday as I chose to ignore a tornado siren. I think it was meant to scare all of the yachts and houseboats off the water for me.

I am moving faster.

Quick Update (My Brother is Amazing)

Hey really quick check out the progress map my brother made of my trip thus far. Gosh, he's the best. The map is on the kayaking the Mississippi - The Trip page for now.

Joe called it a rhythm

I hope not. The days seem longer as I loose the variety in my strokes. It is just one hard pull after another; passing fishing boats and coal power plants. The heat has been getting to me as well. My thoughts have entered a new depth. I am no longer satisfied with watching movies in my head and singing snippets of my favorite songs. I mostly think about the future. Education, occupation, inspiration, all of the horrible things that I have been avoiding committing to. At first, all of the realizations were saddening as my poetic youth will be over with this trip. Debts and responsibilities are here and there is no more avoiding them.

Spoiled Rotten

This last week has held more in the way of food, showers, and beds, than all of the last three weeks combined (maybe even more than my normal life.) I have been seeing family and friends, stopping at hotels, eating at buffets and doing things that are only exciting when you are used to sleeping out under the stars.

As previously told, I entered Iowa and spent an evening at St. Columbekille's Catholic parish, where I was fed and re-fed, provided with washin' water, and my first real life bed. I recieved many blessings and a generous donation towards the food fund. Me and Joe were able to catch up with our Uncle Gabriel, as we devoured everything in his refrigerator. I notable night, that I will reminisce about for many days in the future.

That visit was followed up with a relatively suprise visit from my mother and Paul and Carol Burris. They drove to the Quad Cities and got hotel rooms for all to stay in. We went out to dinner and caught up on the best stories. But the river called me out again the next day. Paul Burris had brought his kayak from home, and he paddled in front of me, at a brisk pace of 5.7 mph, for about thirty miles. It was great to have company for the day, and I think we both enjoyed the good weather.

Today I got up slowly, but still managed to crank out about 60 miles. We should be in Missouri by tomorrow, and the miles went alot faster than they used to. This might be because the support van is piled to the ceiling with groceries that were bought for us. And so everyday, I get to eat a big breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I relief from the 1 meal a day plan I had been on. I think they are trying to fatten me up, while at the hotel, we found a scale and I apparently lost about 15 lbs. I think most of it from my legs. I wonder what the affects of only paddling are besides the obvious sunburns and bulging biceps....

A Paddle Off the River

I have let myself stray from the computer a little too long. Have no fear, my memory and my brother will make sure that you miss ne'er a moment of adventure. Okay, well there were some legitimately uneventful happenings in the last week. Same old story there, long days with lots of paddling (it seems like that is all I do out here.) However, I will try to fill in the timeline.