“Do you have the charger for your phone?” Ryan asks me as we get ready to board a cab at the Cape Giraredeau boat ramp. I respond “Yes of course” as I had brought the charger with me from Nashville several days earlier. He askes again still unsure, “Do you have the cigerette charger for your phone?” I responded louder “Yes!” But that wasn’t the question that Ryan actually wanted answered. What he really wanted to know was if I had the cigerette charger with me. As we get into the cab, he asks for the phone and charger which of course I don’t have. A short yelling match ensues with no real resolution. Ryan thinks I lied–I think he asked the wrong question.
We’re on our way to Walmart to fill a prescription that Ryan needs immediately. During the short ride I silently steam about why this little prescription issue couldn’t have been resolved while Ryan had a five day layover in St. Louis. Such is the personal side of two people paddling the river. My friend Ruthie took me aside before we left on this journey and suggested “You guys need to figure out a strategy for solving disagreements with each other.” I suppose she would know after raising two boys of her own. The truth is that we never really worked out a system for solving problems, but we each certainly have our own style for disagreeing. Ryan generally snaps loudly with a string of expletives and I generally state my position defiantly and make snide follow-up comments. It’s not a perfect system but we’re still paddling from the same boat right now so I suppose it’ll have to do for now. I begin to think: What if we got so mad at each other that we have to split up the boats to finish the trip. Ahh, that wouldn’t work as there is only one boat pump. We eventually make it to Walmart and return four hours later still without the necessary prescription. I really want to yell at someone, anyone after wasting all that time but it wouldn’t do any good now. That’s the thing about wasted time–you can’t get it back.
As Ryan explained a few days ago, paddling is a team effort. When we are alligned toward a common goal such a bouy or a point in the distance it works great, but two people paddling in different directions just leads to frustration and anger. After an early morning launch from Wickliffe on Tuesday morning, Ryan set a goal of reaching a certain boat launch which was over 50 miles downriver. He’s been fantising about this particular bend in the river since we left Minnasota. This boat launch is right on a nearly one mile wide neck which can be portaged to save 20 miles of paddling. Ryan believes we can move our nearly 500 pounds of gear in only two trips and therefore thinks this would be a great spot to unload and camp for the night. I disagree and believe the portage wouldn’t save any time at all because I feel it will take as many hours to move the gear as it would to paddle the 20 miles. It’s nearly dark and we’re still at least 4 miles from the launch. I suggest several possible camping sites, but Ryan lobbies to push on and assures me it will not be completly dark yet when we reach the launch. We reach the site in darkness and discover it’s not a great camping location. There is a long rocky bank and the ground is very hard on the top. We have set a personal paddling record of 50 miles today so I’m glad that Ryan pushed for reaching this spot today. Tomorrow will be a different story as I’ve already made up my mind I don’t want to portage. We’ll just have to fight about that in the morning.
My new trend of using modified movie names as blog post titles will continue throughout the final month of our journey. In tonight’s update I’ll tell you about our next three nights on the Mississippi river.
After my long night at World’s Worst Campsite, I was ready for some more comfortable camping. The lower Mississippi has tons of sandbars and river beaches that seemed to be made just for travelers like ourselves. This is a huge contrast to what I was used to in Minnesota which was pretty much all mud and mosquitoes. On Thursday after meeting up with Ryan, we paddled leisurely for awhile and made camp before dark on a huge sandbar on the side of the river. The soft sand felt great underneath my toes as I carried all our gear from the boats up to the campsite. We momentarily debated building a fire, but that seemed unnecessary since the weather was warm and the lights from the factory across the river created enough light to see all the way across the river. I zipped up my tent door and shut everything out from view for the night.
As I unzipped the tent door after a peaceful sleep, I looked out to very different scenery. The bright factory lights were gone, the river was gone, and the boats on shore were gone! All there was in front of me was a seemingly endless expanse of sand. An early morning fog had settled over the water blocking out everything surrounding us from view. It was very surreal to look around and see nothing but sand in nearly every direction. After the fog lifted, we began paddling again silently farther downstream.
In an effort to make better time and get to New Orleans by our new deadline of October 6th, I’m pushing for a much more grueling paddling pace. So ever as nightfall came, a full moon lit the way as we continued into the darkness of the river. Paddling at night is more dangerous, but it seems quieter and safe right now. Ryan tries to rest while I keep lookout for other boat traffic. Then my attention turned to trying to figure out what color the upcoming buoy is? There are red and green channel markers which guide barge traffic and keep them in the deepest part of the river. I leaned over the edge of the kayak to try and see the color as we swept past the buoy. My concentration was then suddenly broken when a barge passed swiftly by not 20 yards away! Ryan jumped up from his rest to help paddle in what looked like a mild state of terror. So much for being the lookout guy!
We pulled off the river after that little scare and camped on another even larger sandbar. But even before I could fall asleep a crack of thunder in the distance alerted me to what was about to happen before dawn. As the rain beat upon and came into my flimsy tent, I realized sleep would be impossible so I let my mind wander: This tent is green and purple. Even though I put it up dozens of times this year already, I never really noticed it’s color. I tried to think back to the last time I used the test before this kayaking trip. The year was 2003 and I was camping on a hillside in Union Spring, New York. My sister and her then boyfriend joined me in this tiny 6×6′ space for one of the nights. But tonight it’s mostly empty and the rainwater is pooling in the corner of the tent. As the larger drops of rain hit the tent wall, they spray into a puff of wet mist. I move into the center to try and avoid getting even more wet. Morning comes slowly and with it a vast expanse of wet sand which coats all our possessions. This is something I’ll have to get used to I suppose.
Saturday night on the river also found us on sandy soil just north of Cape Girardeau, MO. This time Ryan predicted “no rain” and I thought he’d be right. So when the storm awoke me, I spent much of the night soaking up the pools of water on the tent floor with a pink towel and wring it out on the sand. This kept my sleeping bag dry for the night, but I’m seriously considering getting a better tent. Cape Girardeau is a larger town so we’ll be stopping for supplies there in the morning. I guess I’ll have to figure it out then so I close my eyes and let the raindrops put me back to sleep.