Weather conditions:
High: 70
Low: 43
Skies: Rain showers in AM with some sun in the afternoon
Winds: NW 5-10 mph
Today’s mileage: 20
Total mileage: 100 miles
Where we traveled: Island on the edge of Robinson Lake to Bass Camp below lock 5, mile marker 737
Ate:
Breakfast: Granola
Dinner: Beef BBQ, baked beans, au gratin potatoes
Dessert: apple pie
4:00 a.m.
As is his routine after the alarm blares, John checked the radar, which showed a few pop up storms in the area. The wind rustles the leaves, but the forecast calls for a decrease by 6:00 a.m. We will leave the tent up in case we need to run for cover.
4:00 p.m.
Twelve hours after our alarm sounded this morning, we are relaxing in our Helinox chairs at Bass Camp below Lock 5. I sneak a potato chip from John’s bag now and then. We pulled Ripple ashore about 2:00 with plans to top off with water, but Kate, the owner, offered us a camping spot close to the restrooms and showers. We (I) couldn’t resist. Since we arrived, I’ve savored an ice cream bar and John has guzzled two cartons of chocolate milk.
Oh, John also bought a toothbrush. I won’t have to share mine tonight.
Let’s recap the day beginning with this morning. The southerly wind died down and became a northwesterly wind. As the wind slowed, the bugs increased. Our headlamps attracted the moths, gnats, mosquitoes, etc. I’m sure I noticed a few extra crunches in my granola.
The predicted (and prepared for) rain didn’t arrive, but a gorgeous sunrise did. Sunrises on the river are the best.
Keep us upright and safe.
We were on the river by 7:00 and enjoyed a light tail wind, pleasant temperatures, and a quiet river—perfect paddling conditions. We passed through Lock 4 with no issues and continued. I anticipated traveling thirty miles or more.
Then we hit Weaver Bottoms.
The wind increased. The river widened and twisted. Bends, open water, and wind do not mix well. The good news is the wind was at our backs. But even a tail wind has its challenges—following seas. The following seas moved Ripple unpredictably, making steering exhausting. John has taught me that speed gives him the momentum needed to turn the canoe more effectively. I picked up my pace but used my thirty-mile day energy in about a mile.
After the last bend, a small village was nestled on the right bank. John said, “I think this is Minneiska. There should be a landing here where we can take a break.” If I could have reached him, I would have kissed him. With the prospect of stopping, adrenalin energized my body. I could push one more mile.
After my initial joy, I questioned the situation. “How can there be a landing? There’s a railroad track bordering the river.”
We continued past the cute houses. Nothing. My adrenalin faded. Pushing one more mile decreased to one more stroke. I didn’t see any escape from the river.
John pointed to a break in the vegetation next to the railroad track. “That looks like a tunnel under the tracks. Do you want to check it out?”
Usually I am all about checking it out, but the checking-it-out part of my brain was out of order. “Not really. Let’s try that island ahead.”
As we approached the island, John said, “This isn’t going to work. The banks are too steep. Do you want to turn around and look for the tunnel?”
“Not really. I don’t want to fight the waves upstream.”
“I think we should. We can’t stop on the island. Lock 5 is coming up and I don’t think there will be any place to stop before we get there. This is our last chance,”
“OK.”
We turned around and paddled against the wind and current. It took a multitude of strokes to gain any momentum (well, it felt like it). Remember, I had used my energy quota before we turned the bend. We looked and looked and looked and looked for the tunnel. The bank was solid greenery—no breaks, no tunnel.
“I can’t go any farther. I’m done.”
John said, “Let’s turn around. I’m sure it wasn’t this far upstream. Maybe we didn’t see what we thought we saw.”
We turned around but continued to scan the banks. I wanted to find the tunnel, not because I felt adventurous, but because I didn’t want to spend my limited energy with nothing to show for the effort.
Then, there it was, obvious when approaching from upstream.
The tunnel opened before us… a dark patch amongst the greenery. It was short but still dark, requiring our eyes a moment to adjust. Water dripped from the top and sides, causing us to wonder how well it was holding the weight of the speeding freight trains that frequented overhead. Old unkept hurricane lamps affixed to the brick and stonewalls lit the way in some distant past… but not today. The end of the tunnel opened to a calm shallow lagoon, which appeared to be fed by a tiny inflowing creek. Ripple slid to a stop on a boat ramp that provided locals (in SMALL boats) access to the Mississippi.
The shoreline was essentially a stone and grass parking lot… devoid of all but a distant port-a-pot. On the far hill, a few houses were perched in the distance.
After visiting the port-a-pot, we sat on the pier. With our legs dangling in the water to keep the flies from biting, we ate our peanut butter wraps and caramel nuts for lunch.
Then back to the river to tackle the tail winds. The island I had hoped to stop on was just as John had predicted—unreachable, but Lock 5 was in view. We were almost there. We paddled, rested, padded, rested…, but I swear the lock was floating down the river. The erratic waves made me question the stability of Ripple. I planned the steps I would take if either John or I fell in.
I changed my focus from emergency procedures to paddling. With the tailwind trying to alter our course, I needed to give John speed for maneuvering. Head down. One, two, three, four,… thirty. Switch. One, two, three, four, five,… thirty. Switch. My goal—Lock 5.
We reached the lock after what felt like twenty miles. John radioed the lockmaster. “This is Canoe boat Ripple. Southbound. Over.”
The lockmaster said, “We’ll get the gates ready for you. Be about ten minutes.”
We back paddled so the tailwind wouldn’t force us into the wall or the gates before they opened. Red light. Yellow light. Gates opened. Green light. Go.
A couple on the observation deck videoed us entering the lock. A towboat would have been more exciting, but the lockmaster said there was only one in the area today. He said fewer tows are traveling the river right now because the crops are still in the fields.
While we held onto the cords along the wall, John asked the lockmaster, “Is there somewhere we can fill up our water?”
He said, “Bass Camp is on the right. You can get water there.”
Gates opened. Horn blared. We paddled. Bass Camp was on the right.
We landed at the camp. Met Kate. John bought milk, chips, and toothbrush. Kate convinced us to stay in a spot 30 yards from the train track. (A small price to pay for a shower.) I devoured my ice cream (Rest rooms, shower, AND ice cream. What more could a girl want?).
Speaking of showers. I think I will check them out now.
8:15 p.m.
We are cozy in the tent. I am so tired. Even the trains rumbling down the track behind us several times an hour can’t keep me awake. 5:00 alarm set. Where will we stay tomorrow night?