Bronze's Mississippi Expedition Log

Began the day at a healthy clip.  After some experimentation with my seating arrangement I believe I have arrived at an agreeable configuration, whereby the bulk of the work is done by my legs rather than my back.  This allowed me to progress steadily at 3.5 to 4 mph, pain-free, for as long as my endurance would last.  Arrived at Schoolcraft Park (named after the man who located the source of the river) after 3.5 hours of paddling, and was relieved to be back on charted ground, as I had now crossed into a new region for which I carried a map.

Saw several otter this morning, as well as a beaver at last, which delighted me.  Carried on from the park at a healthy clip, passing assorted riverfront homes ranging from palatial, to mobile home, to simple one-room shacks likely used for fishing excursions.  The river continues to be rimmed by the brown dry grass of the marsh, which was in turn surrounded by hardwood and some light pine.  The channel was deep and wide and made for good progress.

In the region of Blackwater Lake, this all came to an end and I found myself at a loss for direction.  The usually reliable submerged grasses swayed listlessly and at random, and what appeared on the map as a lake in fact was a dense bog of thickets and choked with weeds and grasses.  I was reduced to a painfully slow pace—each stroke of the paddle being draped in several pounds of sodden reeds.  It was a maddening hour spent languishing in uncertainty, when at last I came upon a massive industrial structure–the city power plant.  I beached the kayak and scrambled up the embankment and into the complex and received orientation from a worker.

Thus armed I continued on with my slogging for another mile until regaining the channel and the hamlet of Cohassett, where I paused for refreshment at a tavern.  Forty minutes of travel further brought me to yet another dam where, having not the energy to attempt a portage late in the day, I intend to camp.  It is less than scenic, being flanked by the dam and a highway, but such is my fatigue that I care not.

Day 7: 28 miles approx.

Awoke early and prepared breakfast before dawn.  A great many wood ticks are present in these parts, and any foray into the woods always results in a handful of the vile creatures clinging about my legs.

I completed the crossing of the lake before the winds picked up and was yet again faced with a portage around the dam at the eastern end.  This time it entailed an ascent of a rather steep 15’ grassy bank, and was accomplished with ropes and leverage.  The re-entry to the river lay several hundred yards away, and by lashing the bow of the kayak to my backpack I was able to transport it there with the aid of my shoulders, rather than arms.

The river immediately entered Little Lake Winnibigoshish, which was so shallow and sandy that I was compelled to pull the boat through the sand bars by hand.  A great many snail shells lined the bottom of the lake, such that one could obtain eight or nine in a single handful.  These shells would appear frequently over the next 10 miles, whenever the river bottom was sandy.  Also observed with great frequency were some form of mollusk whose iridescent shells would glimmer from below.

Sadly, the next section of river was all too often shallow and sandy, to the point of rendering both rudder and drive useless.  Reduced to paddling without acceptable steering abilities into a strong headwind left me depleted and in a disagreeable mood after two hours and perhaps only four miles gained.  Alas, I was unable to judge my progress with accuracy, my map having been carried off on the lake without my knowledge.  Fortunately, for the first time, the river channel was unmistakable today and the map was not needed to find my course.

On this day I observed many bald eagles, too many to count.  Another noteworthy encounter was with a great blue heron, which followed ahead of me for several bends in the river.  Also, I came upon a mother duck and seven ducklings that cheeped madly in a terror as I approached.  The mother abandoned them in a panic and paddled ahead of me for a great distance, never taking wing to return to her young.  Such behavior in a mother seems uncharacteristic—perhaps she was trying to lead me away from them, or perhaps ducks are cowardly creatures.

After slogging through the shallows I at last came to the confluence with Leech Lake River, whereupon the depth increased greatly, to my satisfaction, and the river changed from its dark blue-green hue to that of deep brown.  Could it be that the famous “Big Muddy” initially derives its color from this stream? Befitting of the river’s new iconic aspect, I immediately observed several catfish lurking on the bottom.  I have now found a most agreeable campsite along the river and will pass the remaining hours in the shade, as it is quite hot today and my hands and feet are red and glowing with warmth.  Nine hours in transit, hoping to re-enter mapped territory tomorrow.

Day 6: 21.5 mi (approx).  1 portage, 1 lake crossed.

Completed the crossing of Cass Lake early enough to avoid high winds, which make movement cumbersome.  Having fresh supplies on hand, I enjoyed a feast of eggs scrambled in the rendered beef marrow from last night’s supper.

A great many pelicans waited at the dam where the river exits the lake, and they took flight as I approached, in a noisome affair.  Portaging my kayak past the dam without the aid of my friend was an awkward and unsightly affair as well!  The mechanics of the process will no doubt become routine, but until that time I will surely make for a humorous diversion for any who happen to see me.

The river was uneventful for the next 10 miles, generally wooded, moving along nicely, and I saw no one.  Stopped for rest at Smiling Jack Camp and was treated to a fine lunch of walnut burgers provided by fellow travelers on their way to Grand Rapids.  Also partook of their cold beer and was greatly refreshed for it, and thankful.

Lake Winnebigoshish was dammed in 1881, raising the level eight feet and thus depriving the indigenous Ojibway from a sizeable portion of their villages and crops.  It is now 10 miles across and I could scarcely make out the far shore from my vantage at the river’s entry.  I initially hugged the southern coastline for fear of rough water in the high winds, but soon abandoned this course when it became clear that my kayak was a worthy vessel for rolling waves.  I was also eager to spend as little time crossing this vast body of water.  It was a laborious process, heading straight into the wind and weathering the numerous waves that broke across my bow.  After two hours of hard and uninterrupted strokes I was close enough to the eastern shore to begin searching for a suitable camp.  Very relieved to have that trial behind me, as my back was given to great discomfort.

Day 5: 25 miles (approx.).  1 portage, 1 lake crossed.

After 90 minutes paddling in the morning, we arrived in the town of Bemidji, where my worthy companion John rendezvoused with his wife Debrra.  They bestowed on me one final act of kindness and took me to an outfitter, where I replaced the paddle that had broken the day prior, as well as a marketplace where I obtained victuals sufficient for five days of travel.  I then installed the mirage drive in the kayak, transforming it from an awkward and laden vessel into a fleet and nimble one.

Alas, the steering mechanism failed me midway across Lake Bemidji, no doubt as a result of the damage sustained during shipment from Los Angeles to Minnesota.  Thus I was forced to disembark at the earliest opportunity and muck about in waist-deep water making repairs, for which I lost one hour.  Fortunately, the adjustments proved sound and I was no longer troubled the rest of the day.

For several miles the river wound alongside private docks and riverfront estates nestled amongst timber.  However, the river’s depth quickly shrunk and rendered the mirage drive useless.  A brief stretch of shallow rapids, but very rapidly flowing, compelled me to disembark and wade the kayak through along the bank for fear of certain damage to the drive.  This device is too crucial to completion of this voyage, and I cannot suffer it to be jeopardized in the slightest.  Thankfully, the river then dumped into a series of lakes which allowed me full use of the drive, and likely doubled, or nearly so, my rate of travel.  I now camp on Star Island, in the center of Lake Cass.  There is a lake in the center of this island, called Wendigo, which I should like to see.  Yet the fatigue and strain caused by today’s lengthy journey will surely dissuade me from extraneous paddling.

Day 4: 25.5 miles  6 lakes crossed

The day began clear and warmed rapidly with the rising sun.  I consumed my breakfast of Irish oats and honey without fanfare and we set out back into the wetlands.  The depth of the channel was now sufficient to allow the use of my rudder—a cleverly designed device which allows a great level of control of my kayak, and indeed, without which constant linear travel is nearly impossible.

These marshes often opened into large bodies of standing water, and we found ourselves once again relying on the direction of the bending submerged grasses for guidance.  After some miles the landscape opened up and the channel proceeded through forested terrain.

The marshy banks were still yet wide enough to allow for numerous panoramas.  The multi-hued trees and clouds reflected perfectly in the glass-like surface of the water.  We passed directly under a large juvenile bald eagle, perched 15 yards above the river in a dead tree.  From time to time the trees would thin and reveal a fine habitation or barn, and once a hollow ruin of an abandoned house.

The final four miles of river wound circuitously through a mire of deadfalls and snags.  The looming, twisted hulks presented a most eerie aspect–strange insects and frogs became the only noise and the sky darkened.  The whole region took on an ominous cast, and indeed, the river conditions warranted a high level of vigilance and delicate handling of the craft.  The numerous deadfalls provided many opportunities for mishap.  At one time, I was compelled to disembark and clear snags by hand, pulling my kayak along through the newly opened channel.  We are now encamped on a small point overlooking a bend in the river; the waxing crescent peeking through the infant leaves of the many silver maple.

Day 3: 20 miles

The wetlands continued for the duration of today’s journey, save a brief one-mile stretch of pine forest which harbored light rapids.   Thankfully these rapids, called Stumphges, were free of rocks and we passed through them uneventfully.  Indeed, we found the rapid progress and the focus and attention it commanded preferable to the meandering and lugubrious wetland stream.

Through these marshes the channel becomes frequently difficult to locate.  The serpentine nature of its course suffers us to travel river miles at nearly a five-to-one ratio with the crow’s mile.  Our rate of travel is severely reduced as well, as the sharp bends deprive us the momentum we labored to achieve during the brief straight sections.  By observing the grasses along the river’s bottom, and the direction in which they bent, we were able to confidently select the appropriate fork at each time the waters diverged.

At times a small passage, no wider than 3 feet, would present itself as an opportunity to slip among the grasses and allow us to take the shortest path between the twin ends of a lengthy hairpin.  We were thus ever alert to this opportunity.

These lands seem exceptionally fecund—as we paddled John would point out the wild rice growing bright green along the banks, or the blueberries just beginning to flower on the hillside.  A great many brown and fluffy cattails now line the banks as well.  The mosquitoes have been but a mild nuisance, and do not bother us at all when underway, and for this I am thankful! Two days of constant paddling have now begun to manifest in my untrained, novice frame—my back and shoulders so stiff that it takes the utmost effort to merely rise.

Day 2: 22 miles