The river was teeming with traffic today—an unending stream of barges, ocean tankers, harbor tugs, and various boats.  Huge clusters of empty barges line the river in most areas.  Large towering cranes empty load after load of mysterious white powdery substances, or rust colored musty smelling grains.  Other times long cantilevered pipes spew their contents into an awaiting barge.  The river is pure unabashed commerce and industry now, and I believe there was only a two-mile stretch of river untainted by the sight of such things.

Camped now on a small sandy beach, my view is of 50 or so red and white lights lining the far bank.  The bruised purple glow of New Orleans can be seen in the distance, and descending planes pass overhead occasionally.

How far I have come since the wild rice marshes and meandering streams of Minnesota.  I would like to stay up to relish my last night of solitude and splendor on the mighty Father of Waters, but the lights, constant noise, and parade of tugs seems to undermine this desire.  I am very eager to set foot in the French Quarter and to feel the satisfaction of a long expedition successfully completed!!

Day 64:  50 Mi.