Today was an emotional day as we visited the beginning of the Mississippi river.
The day began with breakfast at the hotel, followed by a trip to Starbucks where John’s order reminded us again of regional differences.
“A red eye, please.” When the barista stared at him blankly, he knew he wasn’t in Indiana. “Coffee with a shot of espresso.” I wonder if that’s the look I would get if I ordered a Bloody Mary with a beer chaser at home.
We left St. Cloud at 10:00 on our way to Lake Itasca. Clouds, wind, and sprinkles confirmed our decision to end the canoe part of our trip early and take a detour in our car.
As we traveled north, the landscape became flatter, with more pines. Eventually, even the pines became shorter and scrubbier as the water table rose.
Following a recommendation at a gas station in Menahga, we stopped at the Royal Bar in Park Rapids. They also tout the best burger in Minnesota. When John ordered his usual plain hamburger with limited toppings, the waitress asked, “Fried or raw onions?” Apparently, we discovered yet another regional food variation.
As we waited for our food, I was tempted to order a Bloody Mary to check my hypothesis—automatic beer chaser. I didn’t give in. But someone at the table behind me did, and a 4-ounce beer accompanied the red drink on the tray.
After driving three hours, we reached Lake Itasca State Park—the source of the Mississippi. The beginning of The Big Muddy differs from that of the Wabash River in Northwest Ohio. (These are the only river sources I have seen.) To reach the Mississippi, we walked from the paved parking lot, past a visitor center, restaurant, and restrooms before reaching a manicured path leading to the river. A sign carved in an artificial tree post announced…
Here 1475 feet above the ocean, the mighty Mississippi begins to flow on its winding way 2552 miles to the Gulf of Mexico.
Slightly beyond the sign, the Mississippi spills out of Lake Itasca. Many tourists walked across the mighty river on strategically placed rocks. We walked 10 feet downstream before crossing on a split log.
When we started our journey on the Ohio River in 2015, we traversed a turkey farmer’s field to the origins of Wabash River. No people. No signs. Only a drainage tile and us.
Today, as I watched the water trickle over the rocks, I reflected on our plans that have floated away. We had started preparing to launch at the headwaters two years ago and paddle the upper Mississippi to at least Cairo, Illinois (where the Ohio and we joined the Mississippi in 2015). COVID, drought, John’ business, etc. delayed and changed those plans several times until we finally canceled (even though I had all the food ready). The amount of tourism and lack of launching area confused us. How did others launch here? There would be too many eyes watching us pack a boat and put it in the water. Nerve-racking.
I sent a text to our friends who paddled the entire Mississippi.
Me: At Lake Itasca now. Where did you launch? Can’t see a place to put in by the “rock crossing.”
Linda: The rock crossing would involve walking for a long way. We put in downriver two miles from there.
So, this wasn’t the only launching site. Back up the path to our car in the paved parking lot. We found the non–touristy spot beside a bridge. No people. No sign. Just the river and us.
We searched the shore for boat access and finally found a small clearing in the tall grasses. I cried. I could imagine packing Ripple, placing her in the water, and meandering our way on the small stream as we disappeared through the wild rice. Hmm… We had four days of food in the car—enough to get us to Bemidji. I wanted to see another personality of our river. The river continued to call. Maybe another trip?
The next stop on our agenda was the fire tower. If there’s a fire tower, climb it—it’s a law. From the bird’s-eye view, the fall colors popped against the green of the trailing summer trees. The coat I wore didn’t offer enough protection against the wind in the open steel box 100 feet above the ground, so we snapped a few pictures and descended the stairs.
We are staying in St. Cloud at the same hotel as last night. At dinner, I ordered a Bloody Mary but was disappointed a beer chaser didn’t magically appear. (Really, I don’t drink this much, but I am conducting an experiment.)
To bed. Tomorrow, we start our journey home.