The weather starts to cool down as the river doubles in flow thanks to the Prairie River. I buy a new tent in Grand Rapids due to water leakage issues with my last one.

I travel from Schoolcraft state park to the city of Grand Rapids, birthplace of Judy Garland. Minnesota Power and Light provides me with a free portage, while the city treats me to some urban delights and a few days off the river.

I make the long trip around Lake Winnie while discovering that many of the state camp grounds in northern Minnesota have already closed for the season.

I leave the first city on the Mississippi and make my way to Cass Lake. This is the beginning of the lake region where the Mississippi river travels through a series of very large lakes.

I say goodbye to the “wild” portion of the Mississippi river and glide into Bemidji, where kind people, good food, culture and a warm bed await.

Reluctantly I leave Crow Wing state park despite my desire to explore it fully.  Although the morning started out really cold, it gradually warms up nicely into the upper forties.  My new gear keeps me plenty warm enough, and at one point I have to take it off for an hour or so before the temperature starts dropping again.

It’s a funny day, as my entire trip will be along the Camp Ripley Military Reservation.  So to my right side, there are signs the entire distance warning me not to trespass on that land.  I can’t really read what the signs say beyond that, as I am reluctant to paddle on that side of the river.  The base makes me so nervous that I keep to the left bank, although on any other day I would normally try to keep to the right.  It’s a bit of a shame, as the right bank looks so darn inviting.  That is, until I break for lunch.  I am standing by the canoe in eyesight of a few brown, drab rectangular buildings, fairly nondescript, grouped on the opposite bank.  Suddenly there is a short burst of gunfire, followed quickly by an onslaught of rapid fire.  Gunshots by the score actually.  My mouth goes slack and my bite of sandwich drops out to the ground.  I instinctively crouch down, although I doubt that I am in any real danger.  At first I’m kind of freaked out by the noise, but soon it starts to amuse me.  This trip has just been a constant buffet of funny situations.

I surprise myself by making it to the campground by 3-pm.  There seems to be some current to the river now, and I made much better time than I expected.  This is one of those days that I don’t have to pay much attention to the map, as there is a bridge over the river at the south end of the military reservation, with the campsite only one mile past.  There’ll be no missing a bridge, that’s for sure.  When I reach the campground it is well marked and well kept.  That night as I am keeping warm, writing in the tent, there is the sound of an approaching airplane.  The noise gets louder and louder, until it seems that the plane is determined to land in the river.  I hop out of the tent and watch the plane pass directly overhead, just over the tops of the trees.  The plane banks shortly past where I am, and turns back to the military reservation.  Suddenly it is followed by another plane, and then another.  I watch in fascination.  By the fifth one I start to figure that there must be a commercial airport nearby, until I realize that I hadn’t seen another plane all night.  Someone told me later that they often practice night landings at the base.  Sitting outside watching the planes becomes a fun diversion for a bit.  I look across at the three houses on the bank opposite me, and wonder what they think of these low flying aircraft.  The houses are brightly lit, and obviously warm, and I feel a pang of jealousy as I crawl back into my tent.

The next morning I awake again at 5-am, and crawl out to start making breakfast.  After breakfast, as I stand looking out over the river, the air is suddenly filled with the fairly loud sound of reveille.  You can tell it’s just a recording being played over a series of loudspeakers, but the whole idea of it is so weird and jarring.  I look down at my watch, and it is 6 am on the dot.  I laugh at how odd it is, this publicly broadcast wake up call, and wonder what the inhabitants in the houses opposite me think.  I can only see lights on in one of the houses, so I’m guessing that the people are still sleeping in the other two.  Erin later makes a joke about being the unfortunate person who bought one of those houses and on their first morning in their new house suddenly are awakened to the sound of reveille at 6-am!  My final thought is whether the loudspeakers run the entire 20 mile length that Camp Ripley borders the river, or do they just broadcast right here.

Today is a light travel day, just 10 miles, but there is a 325 yard portage at Little Falls to be factored in.  I realize that for most serious canoers, a 325 mile portage is actually not that big of a deal.  But for a slightly built solo canoer with a 90 pound aluminum canoe, it is a bit daunting, it being over three football fields in length.  The other issue is that in the later afternoon the weather radio is cautioning very high winds, so I hope to be settled before the high winds start.  These increasingly common high wind days are starting to become my largest weather concern as winter approaches.

I reach the town of Little Falls by noon.  I cautiously find the portage area and moor the boat at the concrete landing.  As I walk along the portage, my stomach starts to churn.  The first 100 yards is along a concrete sidewalk and an asphalt road.  If I drag the canoe along that I risk damaging the bottom of the canoe.  As my mind absorbs this, I begin unloading the canoe, taking the first of what will be six trips of gear.  There is a park at the end of the portage, the two ends not being within eyesight of each other, and I hope that my gear will be safe.

By 1:30 I have all of my gear at the other end, and am unsure of how to move the canoe.  There are two construction workers mixing concrete near the dam, so I approach them and ask if they’d consider helping me move the canoe.  The younger of the two is quite a strapping man, and he says that he will help, but can’t do so until they are finished.  I am so grateful for his help, despite my worry about the increasing winds.  It is these moments that I find the most trying mentally.  I start to doubt myself, and the mistakes that I have made.  Not realizing all of the portages, and that I should have brought a lighter canoe for the upper part of the river confuses my mind with self doubt.  The best solution would be to just dive in and determinedly find a solution to the problem at hand.  However I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to a good deal of self doubt before I get to that point.

The winds steadily increase until the flags nearby are standing straight out, never dropping for a moment.  I begin a conversation with a man standing in the park, and he admits that he’s only there as he is on medical leave for a cracked vertebra, otherwise he would gladly help me move my canoe.  I ask him about the other three portages between here and St. Cloud.  “I do know all of those dams” he reflects, “in fact really well.  Yeah, the Blanchard dam is next, and oh, it’s a real boogar.  Then there’s the Sartell dam.  In fact they’re all really bad.”  My heart sinks a little lower, and my stomach churns harder.

At 3:30 the construction worker is finished working, and says that he can help me.  He is so big that he just throws his end of the canoe up on his shoulders.  However, halfway through he says that we should rest for a moment.  He’s a really nice guy and tells me about the marine construction company that many in his family work for.  He also says that he had been in St. Louis once, on a tree trimming job.  After 15 minutes or so we continue hauling the canoe.  I thank him profusely for his help, and begin quickly loading the canoe.  As I start to paddle off, an eight or nine year old boy and his mother come to the spot in the park where I am.  “Are you fishing” he asks.  “Nope, I’m canoeing to Minneapolis” I reply.  He quickly hops along the stones covering the banks with a huge smile on his face.  “That’s the whackest thing I have ever heard” he yells back.  “It’s true” I yell “I started up at Lake Itaska”.  We wave our good byes.

Near Lindbergh state park there is supposed to be a creek that leads up to a canoe campsite according to the map.  It also shows a bridge going over the creek, which should make it easy to find.  I have found that there can be lots of things that look like creeks but are just water run offs, so sometimes finding creeks can be hit or miss, especially in low water.  Sure enough though, there is the bridge and an inviting sign that says “canoe campground” with an arrow.  Shortly up from the bridge, bearing right under a cute little pedestrian bridge is a beautiful canoe campground.  There’s a great landing to tie up the canoe, as well as two tent pads and a sign promising water and toilets.  I make camp and explore.  All that is promised is true.  There are trails, people, flush toilets.  Hurray!  Earlier in the week, Erin could tell that my spirits were failing, and she said that she wanted to bring Alex and Ella up to camp out with me during the weekend.  It was so nice and I couldn’t believe she offered, but I was dying to see them.  We had picked a county campsite where we thought I would be on Friday, but as I explored this beautiful state park, I knew that this was the place to meet.  I call her up, my voice full of excitement “there are trails for us to take the kidlets on, running water, flush toilets.  This is totally where we should meet.”  “But I don’t want to make you lose a day on the river” Erin says, noting that it is Wednesday and I’ll have to kill a day until they can get there.  “Really, it’s no problem.  I’ll be happy to rest my muscles for a day.”  Our plans are set and we say our happy goodbyes, knowing that we will be together in two short days.  That night I enjoy a campfire and the sounds of birds around me before I go to bed, knowing that in the morning I’ll have a day to scope out the wonders of the park before Erin’s arrival.

In the week before reaching Brainerd, it was starting to get pretty cold at night.  There’s an entry in my journal that reads “That night I pile on the clothes-socks, long underwear, t-shirt, 2 thermal shirts, fleece top and a fleece vest, gloves and a cap.  I stay barely warm enough.  In the morning there is frost covering everything.  It was 23 degrees F.  Brrr.”  I’m starting to think that I won’t get far enough south before the seriously cold weather hits.  I start to make a list in my head of things that would make the trip more enjoyable.  Things I could purchase in Brainerd.  I think back to my time when I was a volunteer on an organic dairy farm and we would spend hours outside in all kinds of weather.  Great friend and super outdoor woman Natalie once told me “There’s no such thing as bad weather, just poorly prepared people.”  I come up with:

Fleece sleeping bag liner

All weather lined bibs and outer jacket

Boating socks to wear under my mud boots

Waterproof gloves to wear while doing dishes, paddling in rain.

Full fleece headcover

In Brainerd, Erin kindly takes me to Mills Fleet Farm Store, one of the most amazing stores I have ever seen.  They have everything an outdoors person would need, and I get most of it on clearance.  Now I feel I stand my best chance of making my time on the river more enjoyable.

I plan on leaving Brainerd on Sunday, but winds of 20-30 mph leave me stranded.  On Monday, Columbus day, after a rainy morning the day clears, as promised.  In the interest of honesty, I’ll put in my journal entry for the day.  It reads:

“Brainerd has been a real low point for me.  With all of the cold and rain I am really beginning to wonder if my decision to start so late is fatal and that I’ll never get to comfortable temps again.  Today the high of 55 F occurred at 8 am and the temps have been dropping.  Tonight will be very cold.  And now Erin has me worried about Lyme’s disease from the ticks that were in my foot.  Maybe I’ll get tested in Minneapolis.  Anyway, all of this has me feeling so low.  I worked so hard to make all of this happen.  Did I really shoot myself in the foot by starting too late?  I decide that it’s time to start enjoying myself no matter what.  If I’m only on the river 2 more weeks, I want to have 2 fun weeks.”

I put on my new bibs and coat, and take off.  They are so warm, and the dwindling remainder of drizzle beads nicely on my new, red coat.  It feels good to be on the river after 4 days off.  The gray sky makes the multi-colored leaves look even more vibrant.  Minnesota really is a beautiful state, and in the fall it is nothing short of spectacular.  There are so many trees, so much beautiful hardwood, such varied colors of leaves.  There are so many birds that I see eagles daily, and waterfowls are my constant companions, although they take off as soon as they see me.  The eagles do this with such frequency that as soon as they see me they fly downstream, always downstream, and I begin to think of them as my spirit protector, leading me safely down the river.  On some small level I begin to understand why natives thought of the animals as spirits.  The constant interactions and ways in which our daily lives are intertwined is incredible.

As I begin paddling 10-20 mph winds begin to hit me, and I dig in to counter them.  They eventually die down, and as I near Crow Wing State Park patches of blue sky begin to appear, soon followed by a full bore blue sky and dazzling array of sunshine.  The river runs straight through the center of the state park, and the park is beautiful.  There are workers in yellow hats tending to a walking path, and soon I see a sign that says “canoe campsite 1 mile”.  Soon another appears that reads “canoe campsite –>”, and finally one, complete with reflectors announcing the actual campsite.  Man, if only all of these campsites were so well marked.  There is a large pebble bank to beach the canoe on.  The campsite itself is on a vast, splendid grassy area, and I stretch out on it luxuriously, my back singing in joy at the support the ground offers.

I set up camp and begin to explore the park.  There are hiking paths, and brilliantly a cabin near the campsites that is a storm shelter, filled with picnic tables.  Quickly, all too quickly, the sun descends, and I eat by the warmth of my fire.  The evening is stunning.  The bright moonlight illuminates everything, and I cast a moon shadow as I enjoy the Earth’s spectacular satellite.  Back at the fire I’m listening to National Public Radio.  I find that all of this time alone has made my mind calmer, but also a little understimulated and dull, so I take to listening to NPR for a few hours each day to keep my synapses humming.  I dread putting out the fire, but find that my new outerwear keeps me warm as I sit and journal in my tent.  I turn on my phone and text Erin to let her know I’m okay, and also text my family.  Since Iron Bridge Landing I have had cell phone service most nights with which to text my whereabouts.  I leave the phone off during the days, and only turn it on at night for a couple of texts, conserving battery charge.  Whenever I reach a town I recharge, at a coffee shop or wherever I can.

I get up at 5 am and put on my new warm clothes.  Despite the cold last night, my new fleece liner had me toasty warm.  The same goes for my outerwear this morning.  There is a layer of frost and ice over everything.  You know how picnic table are never on level ground?  As I set my aluminum plate down on the ice covered picnic table top, the plate slides to the other side.  It is this singular moment that makes me realize it will soon be time to stop for the winter.  I desperately want to spend another day exploring this park, it is so beautiful.  Stopping for the winter and picking up again during the summer would give me the opportunity to explore and enjoy more.  The sun rises, and soon I am back on the river, ready for the next stretch.

This is one of those questions that I wish I would have seen before I decided to stop for the winter, as I don’t really know if I got any really good footage of what a portage consists of.  Usually when I would hit a portage it would be on top of the days paddling, and as it took one hour on average, although sometimes two, to complete a portage, I was just trying to hurry to get it over with.  I had thought it would be fun, albeit a bit time consuming to film one.  What I actually did was just film the dam and the path that I had to portage over afterward.  So I’ll try to explain what one consists of while we get the rest of the footage edited.  Hopefully the video footage will give everyone an appreciation of what one consists of.

There are 11 dams between lake Itasca and Saint Cloud that must be portaged, and a total of 12 between lake Itasca and Minneapolis.  These portages all take place in Minnesota, before the navigational part of the Mississippi river.  Beginning at the upper St. Anthony Falls in Minneapolis the lock and dam system administered by the Army Corps of Engineers can be locked through, so no portage is required.  These portages vary in size from 50 yards to a whopping 300 yards.  Most of the dams are hydroelectric dams, although there are some for large paper mills.  The 42 mile section of river from Little Falls to Saint Cloud is the worst, with 4 long portages of 300 yards.

The dams are marked on the maps, so you know they are coming.  The MN DNR maps will also tell you what side of the dam to look for the portage, such as “Portage left 300 yards”.  So you paddle up to this very imposing dam, with all of these warning signs alerting you to the danger ahead.  Eventually you will see a sign with an upside down outline of a canoe in yellow and the word “portage” in or around it.  Now it’s time to beach the canoe and tie it to a tree before walking the portage to see how bad it is.  After sighing dejectedly a few times, it’s time to accept your fate and unload everything from the canoe.  Then, using all of the beavers you have cursed in the past as your inspiration, it’s time to get down to hard work and carry the canoe first, while you are strongest, down the path to the other side of the dam.  This is quite tiring with a 90 pound canoe.  In all honesty, from all of the paddling I had whittled down to 150 pounds of body mass, so lifting a 90 pound canoe was beyond my capability.  So I would carry one end while dragging the other.  Then I would go and carry everything to the other side, usually in 5 or 6 loads.  Finally, go and lie in the grass for a while as you congratulate yourself for completing another portage.  Now load the canoe and continue on.

As I mentioned before, this would take an hour on average on the shorter portages, and two hours for the longer ones.  I have to admit here that on 5 occassions I did not have to do the portage alone.  There were the 2 dams, Pokegama and the Blandin Paper Company dams where Minnesota Power and Light provided the free portage around.  On 3 other occasions kind people helped me out.  At Knutson dam on Cass lake Myron, a member of the Leech Lake tribe helped me while telling me about the area.  He told me that there used to be rail tracks and an electric rail car where one would paddle up to and just use these straps to lift your canoe out of the water while still fully loaded and move it to the other side of the dam.  He said it was dismantled a while ago.  At the Little Falls dam, a 300 yard portage, a construction worker helped me move the canoe after he got off of work.  He shook my hand and left quickly so I never got his name.  Last but certainly not least was the extremely kind Thon family, Mark, Kim and their daughter Jessie.  I will elaborate further on the Thons when I finish my notes on the last part of the trip.  However, to be brief, I had met them at Lindbergh State Park, and they so kindly came back from their home after they left their campsite and got me, the canoe and all my gear, drove me past the Blanchard dam, let me spend the night at their house while feeding me wonderful food and sharing the kindness and warmth of their lives.  It was a truly memorable experience meeting them and their kindness will never be forgotten.  As they live on the Mississippi river I left the next day from their backyard.

I hope that this gives you a good idea of what a portage consists of.  What I learned from all of this is that if you are smart and a good planner, like Robert Youens, you will bring a partner along for the non-navigational part of the Mississippi river so you won’t have to do all of the portages alone.  Or at the least, take a light canoe and then switch to a heavier one at Minneapolis if you want.  However, in hind sight, I would recommend a partner to be honest.  Someone to help you make decisions, shoulder burdens and to share the incredible beauty with.

As I write this post from my girlfriend Erin’s house in Minneapolis, I am looking out on my canoe, lovingly nicknamed “the Beast” for its sturdy 90 pound girth, and she is covered in a light coating of snow as she rests in the backyard.  I made the incredibly difficult decision about two weeks ago up in Saint Cloud to halt the journey for the winter.  I apologize for how long it has taken me to update you on this decision, resting my tired muscles a bit too long while adjusting to a world again that isn’t just focused on the next twenty miles of river.  If you’ll indulge me for a few minutes I’ll let you know how my decision came about.

For the last two weeks of the journey it had been slowly seeping into my brain that I was running out of warm weather and daylight in order to continue this trip the way that I wanted to do it.  Believe me, when you often don’t see other people all day, your brain has plenty of time for things to seep into it.  Most mornings I was waking up to 30-35 degree lows and a blanket of frost.  As a result I was starting to try and canoe faster in order to move along further south towards warmer air.  There were beautiful state parks that I wanted to spend another day in, and towns that I wanted to video while meeting residents, yet felt that I needed to paddle on if I were to have any chance of completing the trip this year.  There was also the waning sunlight, and by the time I got off the river and set up camp darkness would be descending.  After several days and nights of restless soul searching I asked myself what this trip was all about.  The answer was that I wanted to see what the river was like, from its source to the sea, and video it for all who cared to come along for the ride.  Hurrying or making good videos, as well as enjoying the river, were mutually exclusive.  The last two weeks that I rushed to make good distance the quality and quantity of video footage really suffered.  This I realized was the last thing that I wanted to happen.  Making good videos has always been Tom and my number one goal.

As I pulled into Saint Cloud, MN armed with the knowledge I had learned earlier that the low that evening was projected at 25 degrees, with rain forecast for the next two days, I walked to a motel and the promise of a hot shower.  I knew in my heart that it was time to stop.  I realized, like many adventurers before me, that it was time to winter over and resume the journey in warmer weather.  When the days will be long once again, the weather warm, the time more abundant to relax and enjoy the ride.

This is also a good spot to break up the trip, as it is roughly where the river divides between the non-navigational and the navigational part of the Mississippi river.  This is loosely described as a guaranteed minimum depth of eight feet and no dams that can’t be locked through, insuring that larger boats can travel unimpeded.

What this means for this website and anyone who has enjoyed it so far is that I hope you keep coming back.  During the next week or so I will be writing posts to finish the narrative to my temporary stopping point in Saint Cloud.  Tom, my extraordinary partner and project video editor will be finishing further episodes in the next few months of all the footage that I have shot up till now, bringing the video side of the project up to date.  For my friends in Saint Louis, I will be coming home on November 17th, and I hope that you’ll want to meet for a drink to help me celebrate completing the first 421 miles of the river.  Stay tuned, there’s more to come!