Weather conditions:
High: 75 (now 44)
Low: 63
Skies: abundant sunshine
Winds: SE 5-10 mph
Today’s mileage: 19
Total mileage: 119 miles
Where we traveled: Bass Camp to Forest River Campground, mile marker 718
Ate:
Breakfast: Granola
Dinner: ham and beans, cornbread croutons
Dessert: apple crisp
8:30 a.m.
We are sitting on a cement wall outside the Bass Camp office, willing the fog to lift. Before we knew a cloud hung low over the river, we had skipped our coffee with plans for an early start on calm waters. We had expected to be miles down the river by now. Again, Mother Nature had other plans.
Last night wasn’t the peaceful night we would have enjoyed had we camped on the riverbank, but the toilet, shower, water, trash, and hospitality made the sacrifice worth it. Even though nature was miles away, animal life entered my world. In the middle of the night, I felt something move under me. I thought, “I hope that isn’t a mouse.” So, I wiggled my butt in hopes of smooshing whatever was there. I even turned over in case it was a muscle twitching. The creature under me continued to thump. I turned back over and wiggled. The movement stopped. I either I killed it or it moved on—success.
I forgot about the incident until this morning when I crawled out of the tent and stumbled. On a MOLE hill!
I thought I would sleep well despite the train, but I was wrong. I lost count of the number of trains that passed our campsite last night even though I felt the rumble of each one in my chest. This morning, as another passed, John grabbed my hands, looked in my eyes, and said, “Listen.” I expected him to reveal some deep inner thought. “Can you hear the voices of the lost souls screeching and moaning amongst the sounds emanating from the cars?” I hate to admit it—I did. John has a way of changing my perspective on ordinary events. Now, I won’t hear the normal screech of the train without listening for lost souls.
I think I will read as we watch for the trees on the other side of the river to come into view—the official end of a fog delay on the river
8:41 a.m.
Here we go… (In my opinion, it’s still too foggy. I can’t see the trees, but John is getting antsy.)
Keep us upright and safe.
4:20 p.m.
Once on the river, we hugged the bank, our eyes scanning for boats. Fishermen’s heads floated above the low rolling fog. We passed towboat W. Red Harris waiting along the bank. Later, she passed us at Fountain City—a ghost ship fading into the clouds.
The quaint towns nestled in the bluffs invite me to visit. I think we should to take a road trip, walk on their streets, and spend more than a brief passing moment there. Experience the land view.
Since it is Saturday and we passed through bigger towns, such as Winona, we expected to battle the wakes of pleasure boats. This didn’t happen. A different genre of people in this part of the Mississippi? September activities not focused around the playing on the water? Cold start this morning? Even though they were absent on the water, boats occupied several beaches. Were these private beaches? What a great way to spend a lazy September Saturday. The boats that interested me the most were the houseboats with generators dotting the beaches next to them. More than a day cruise? We’ve talked about living on a houseboat.
Along the bank in Winona, two otherwise normal looking houses on platforms were attached to poles with corresponding sliding rings, allowing the buildings to rise and fall with the river. Just below Winona, a cove sheltered a community of these flood-resistant houses, complete with boat garages. Road access?
The river widened below Winona, so even though there was only a moderate breeze, the waves increased and influenced Ripple’s course. Navigation required more attention and effort.
With the larger river came substantial islands. From a distance, the lower branches on the trees on one island appeared dirty, as if the area had flooded recently. Since there wasn’t any other evidence, we knew that wasn’t the cause. As we neared, a few cormorants flew over. Then, we noticed thousands, literally thousands, more cormorants watching us pass by from their perch. The dirt was bird poop—a lot of bird poop.
After about 17 miles, John said, “The river narrows in a couple of miles. We’ll wait until then to look for a place to stop. I don’t want to start on this large expanse tomorrow. I also don’t want to get stuck here without access for Dennis to pick us up.”
“I really need to pee.”
“Hang your ass over and pee from the boat or use your funnelly thing. I just don’t see any other option right now.”
Unfortunately, once the river narrowed, the beaches disappeared, as did my peeing options. John looked at the map. “There should be a KOA on the right.”
I looked to the right. Swampy grass. Then, something shiny gleamed in the distance. A camper roof, perhaps?
“I think there’s an opening in the grass. Let’s see where it takes us.” (Unlike yesterday, I was all about checking out the opening.)
We meandered through the grass to a campground. (Not a KOA, but definitely a potential camping spot.) A lady on their pier glanced at us and continued fishing.
John said, “Excuse me. Is there a boat ramp?”
“No. Just use the beach.” She continued fishing.
“Is this a campground?”
“Yes. But it’s just permanent campsites.” She continued fishing.
“Is there any place we can pitch a tent?”
“I don’t think any of the managers are here. You’ll need to check out Forest River Campground on line.” She continued fishing.
“One more question. Is there a restroom my wife can use?”
“There’s a port-a-pot by the playground.” She continued fishing.
As soon as we pulled Ripple on the beach, I was off.
When I returned, John had sequestered a spot at no charge by the mucky backwater slough. (He’s always performing miracles while I’m away.)
Before the lady left us, John asked, “What’s your name.”
“Shelly. My boyfriend and I may come over to talk with you. We like to do this sort of thing. Boundary Waters.” (John really did perform miracles.)
We pulled Ripple to our home for the night, unpacked, and hung out our cloud-drenched items.
Right now, I’m trying to keep the swarm of gnats from flying in eyes. (Why are gnats attracted to eyes?) At least they don’t bite.
6:47 p.m.
We’ve reached a difficult decision. Based on the 10-20 mph forecasted winds for the next two days, we’re afraid the winds will chase us off the river in a place where Dennis can’t access us. So, we’ve asked him to pick us up here tomorrow. We are going to use the extra time to take a road trip, visit a few towns we noticed from the river, and go to Lake Itasca. We won’t paddle as many miles or experience as much of the river as we had planned, but we will set eyes the source of the Mississippi!
I am disappointed our last night on the Mississippi is at a campground and not on some remote shore. Had I known today would be our last day on the river, would I have paid more attention to detail? To the swaying of Ripple. To the splashing of the waves s against her frame. To my river view. Things I should pay attention to every day.