Farmhouse: The Beginning

For the time being this blog is gonna be hijacked in order to update folks that care on Silvertown Properties new remodel project.  Hopefully there will be some interest from folks other than family.

Recently Silvertown Properties, LLC bought what I refer to as the farmhouse.  It is a 1919 farmhouse situated in the middle of Fairview Heights, IL on an acre of land.  Various trees are spread throughout the property including two apple trees.  The house is now on city water but there's an old well and an old cistern that used to provide the home's water.  Great thing about this property is that though it's right in the middle of town it has the feel of country living due to a large cemetary property to the west, a $1.2 million mansion to the north, a church compound to the east and south.

There's a lot of work to be done.  The siding is old asbestos siding which we're gonna cover with vinyl siding and the porch is in bad shape.  The porch roof needs completely torn off and replaced while the actual porch is in better shape.  It's sagging due to the brick support posts collapsing and sinking and the stairs are rotted out.  Gonna jack the porch back into place and pour concrete pads to base new supports on.  then rebuild the stairs.

Kitchen needs new everything.....though I was seriously considering salvaging that badass brown tile countertop.  Plan is to go with a farmhouse style on flooring, cabinets, etc.  We'll see how that goes.

The house has most of the original woodwork intact and it is beautiful.  Doors, casing, baseboard, banister.  Just needs cleaned up and it is gorgeous.

The bathrooms both need completely gutted and there's lots and lots of wallpaper to be stripped, walls to be patched and painted, ceilings to paint, flooring to install.  All of which has to wait until we have power and heat.  Next week the electricians replace the breaker box from the 1950's and soon after that the furnace, also from the 1950's will be replaced.  At which time I can get to work.  Winter is a bad time to work on a house with no heat or power.

An Ocean View

We were standing on a small sand beach, the canoe drug out of the water, looking out upon the open ocean and hoping David didn't decide to turn back, that he saw us pull over to shore.  He had been paddling for just under 4 months from the source of the Mississippi in Lake Itasca towards this point, this moment and I hoped he wouldn't turn around a quarter mile short.  Unfortunately we hadn't expected the mouth of the river to be full of islands blocking our view of ocean.  We had expected to be able to hit the mouth and see ocean, instead we had been paddling in salt water along shore for an hour longer than expected and just now found an open lane of view into the Gulf.  Greg and I had nearly given up a few minutes before but decided to continue just a bit longer, to go a bit further, unwilling to turn around after 3,300 miles of paddling from the source of the Missouri River without sight of the ocean we sought.

And finally here we stood, reflecting back on 120 days, a cold beer in hand, bottle of whisky sitting in the sand, puffing on a cigar unable to take our eyes off that lane of open ocean as David came paddling up breaking into our view from behind the foliage overhanging the bank.  We pulled his canoe up onto shore and he jumped out to admire the view which almost looked like an illusion, with islands on both sides and the air shimmering in the distance it could have been a Dakota lake the far shore out of sight in the distance. Two boats resting side by side one had traveled 2,400 miles from the source of the Mississippi and the other 3,340 from the source of the Missouri leaving on the nearly the same day in August and arriving here, at the ocean, on the same day in December.

We had been traveling with David off and on from Vicksburg, Mississippi where we had been introduced to him through Davey another paddler. Most nights we ended up camping with David and in the morning he munch down Pop-Tarts and a Little Debbie before jumping into his canoe and heading downstream.  About an hour later after a hot breakfast, two cups of coffee, and some quiet we would push off behind him.  In the afternoon about an hour before we'd start looking for a camp we'd overtake David, exchange hello's, and by the time we were pulling over to a nice little campsite he would be a distant speck upriver.  It wouldn't take him long though to pull in behind us and set up his hammock in a stand of trees and get a fire going to cook his modest dinner of mac and cheese or cheesy potatotoes.

He was a good kid, about 23 years old, who had been living in a hammock for nearly 2 years.  He's the one that brought the Atchafalaya River to our attention as an alternate route to the ocean.  We hadn't heard of it but it turns out to be the "True course of the Mississippi River" as a Greg's cousin and local Tug Pilot informed us during our subsequent research.  The river wants desperately to flow down this alternate channel but the Army Corps of Engineers is doing everything in their power to stop it because if the Mississippi changes course it will detour around Baton Rouge and New Orleans.  Not good for those two large economies.  Presently 30% of the Mississippi waters turn off the main channel and form the Atchafalya River and the experts predict that during the next big seasonal flood the river will change course despite the efforts of the Corps and New Orleans will suddenly become a river town without a river.

We opted to take the Atchafalaya for the final stretch for one huge reason... Less commercial traffic and industry.  The last stretch from Baton Rouge to the Gulf is one long industrial corridor with constant barge and freighter traffic.  A paddler David had traveled with briefly a few weeks before had made the ocean around the time we met and described seeing over 100 barges a day during this stretch and acquiring a serious headache due to the inhalation of severe industrial air pollution throughout the corridor.

Alternately the Atchafalaya was a beautiful river with lots of wildlife, swamp, narrower channel and little boat  traffic.  It's a popular hunting area so on one morning in particular we woke up to the sounds of war.  The cajuns were the victors and I'm sure even now their families are well fed on a waterfowl diet.  According to Greg's cousin we were hitting the river during fog season and sure enough every morning we awoke to dense fog and would push off into the river with zero visibility.  It was a beautiful and peaceful river to paddle in the fog unlike the Mississippi where at any moment you could unknowingly be playing chicken with a barge.  By mid morning, sometimes near noon, the fog would begin to clear and the channel would be revealed.

But now we stand on a sand bank, taking photos, talking about the rivers behind us, eyes drawn to the ocean ahead, swigging from a whisky bottle, putting off the 20 mile paddle upriver back to Morgan City, LA.

A Week on the Mississippi Part 2

Thursday November 17th    Day 90

We hit Cape Girardeau this afternoon after a day of heavy barge traffic.  They were lined up coming up and down river.  We could at times see 4 barges down river and the same lined up behind us.  The previous evening we had noticed several barges pulled over to the bank and in Cape Girardeau we learned from a tug worker that a tug had hit a wing dam and four barges were floating free.  As a result traffic was called to a halt in the area while the four loose barges were rounded up.  The barge traffic today was most likely a result of that traffic halt.

Cape G was the first town we hit with a flood wall and gates. We walked around town and hit the brewery. The brewer, Mike, was behind the bar and turned out to be a great guy.  He bought us two rounds of beer and filled our water jugs. Offered us a place to stay and when we left was trying to figure out a way to send us down river with a gallon of beer. 

We camped on the other side of the river and as we were crossing over a barge lit us up with it's spotlight.  It was under the bridge and heading straight for us.  We had missed it because it's lights blended in with the bridge lights.  Paddled hard and fast to get out of the shipping lanes.  Made it in good time but definitely gave us a start. 

Friday November 18th    Day 91

Paddled back across the river to Cape G for coffee at the Cup & Cork and breakfast at Patty Lou's diner.  A little place off the track with great biscuits and some good style.

South winds i.e. headwinds were predicted strong.  15 mph hour with gusts of 33 mph. Standing on the shore getting ready to push off the wind was howling straight up the river.  We hit some occasional heavy wave action and took some good waves over the bow. On the lakes we took some much larger waves without taking any water overboard but in some ways the bigger waves are easier to take.  On the big lakes wind waves would build to between 3 and 6+ feet high but there was enough distance between each wave peak for the boat to ride over the top and back down into the trough before hitting the next wave.  On the river when the waves get bad they are shorter in height and the troughs are minimal.  The result is the canoe rides up and over the first or even the second big wave but the next one the bow of the canoe just dives directly into.  Today we took several good waves over the bow and had to stop in protected water to bail out the boat a couple times.  We paddled for 2.5 hours to earn 8 miles when we were forced to shore by winds so strong progress was no longer possible.  We sat for 2 hours until the wind had settled down a bit.  Got back on the water for 2 hours and knocked out 12 more miles. 

We found a pretty well protected spot just in time for the wind to die.  While sitting on camp a barge lit us up with it's spot light and just left it on us.  Dick.

Saturday November 19th   Day 92

Paddled through a huge S-bend most of the day with strong south winds.  Because of the alignment of the bend we were protected from the wind most of the day except for the first hour and the last hour which were total morale killers.  There is little in the life of a river paddler more demoralizing than a strong headwind.  There is nothing to do but keep paddling and it just continues to drive against you holding you up and turning every foot of progress into a fight.  First the muscles start to ache, to tire, and the arms begin to get heavy but soon the joint pain begins, the sharp grinding pain of irrepairable damage being done to ligaments, tendons, and cartilage as the will demands more than the body can provide.

Right at the last hour of day light just upriver from the Cairo bridge a tug passed us coming downriver forcing us to the left bank.  Further downriver was a tug with barges idling on the left bank and another on right.  Campsites were limited but we didn't want to camp next to an idling tug which could be there for an hour or for 12 hours.  So to find a campsite we crossed the river 4 times and finally found a serviceable spot downstream from the bridge. 

Sunday November 20th   Day 93

On the water at 8:20 am with rain beginning what is supposed to be a 3 day storm.  It rained/misted most of the day with sporadic breaks.  The wind was supposed to calm but stayed at 5-10 mph from the south all day. The craziest thing was the fog.  We took off in the morning with decent visibility but as the day progressed the fog thickened. 

It's a wild experience paddling a big river in the fog. One loses sense of time and space.  It is as if one is outside of time, expecting Charon to appear poling across the River Styx, his boat loaded with an ethereal fare.  It is of an outside of body experience, as if existence has been suspended and the soul set free to wander.

We were following the shipping channel buoy to buoy to know where we were and were passed by a tug.  It quickly disappeared from sight in the fog and I was commenting on the surreal situation when another barge materialized out of the fog heading directly for us.  We headed to the nearby right bank and moments later the barge passed us on the left a short distance away.  The wheelhouse door opened and the pilot stepped outside in shorts and t-shirt to wave and take a photo of us before disappearing into the fog.

The fog continued to thicken and we continued to travel buoy to buoy. When there was no buoy in sight we kept to what we believed was downriver.  We could no longer see either bank and visibility would be measured in feet.  Our senses were keyed to the slightest disruption in the usual, listening and searching for any discrepancy of movement or sound that might hint at an oncoming barge or wingdam. We decided to head to shore but which shore to hit? How to not hit a wingdam? Find a campsite? Luck

We paddled towards the right bank and suddenly the wind picked up clearing the fog immediately surrounding us and there on the right was a huge beach hundreds of yards long. We followed it to the bank and found a perch in the trees protected from the wind at the downstream edge of the sandbar. 

About 12:30 am the thunderstorm hit.  The rain poured down assaulting the walls of my tent.  It seemed to last for hours, probably minutes, perhaps all night as I drifted in between sleep and wakefulness half worried about the tent, half worried about the integrity of my tent.  Morning arrived with a slight drizzle and a grey sky. 

A Week on the Mississippi Part 1

Monday November 14

After spending the weekend with old friends in St. Louis we hit the river again Monday morning.  McKinney drove us down to our put in and helped us unload and then we were off, on the water at 10:30 am. The day would result in us spending 5 hours on the water beating our way through a still 16-35 mph head wind and dodging the ample barge traffic as we progressed 25 miles through commercial St. Louis.  When it comes to canoes on big, open water wind is the greatest obstacle.  Even a tailwind can be stressful but headwinds and sidewinds will turn a pleasant activity into a fight.  Throw in steady barge traffic and you're pretty much in a miserable situation. 

To make matters worse we hadn't eaten that morning while focused on getting back on the water.  Then between the wind and the barges which requires the utmost physical and mental concentration we never stopped once on the water.  Paddling for 5 hours on a stomach full of coffee and little else is never a good idea and we hit camp with a hunger.  For dinner we cooked up what we like to call the Denny's scramble which consists of potatoes, green peppers, hot peppers, onion, and whatever meat we happen to have on hand (Jimmy Dean Hot Sausage) thrown together in a skillet and fried. Wrap that in a tortilla with Tapatio hot sauce and some pepper and you have one delicious dinner. 

I figured out while we were on the lakes that we eat somewhere between 3,000 and 4,000 calories a day (not including beer).  Even with all those calories we have been losing weight but gaining upper body strength.  At the same time our legs have been shriveling up into nothing due to 7-10 hours a day of sitting in a canoe and the other hours of the day sitting in camp or sleeping.  Looking forward to a little hiking and biking when all this is over but gonna have to take things slow for sure. 

Tuesday November 15, 2011

Started the morning with a couple cups of coffee, bacon, eggs, and some rodent chewed bread (gotta contain the baked goods better).  For most of the trip we had been limiting ourselves to one cup of coffee in the morning but recently have often been indulging in a second cup.  It was as a time saving device that was primarily for the lakes where we were making tops of 3 mph. 

We pushed off into a headwind but only about half as strong as Monday's.  It was supposed to become sunny but it stayed overcast and cool all day.  While paddling we were passed by 11 working tugs pushing between 1 and 24 barges.  Traffic is way busier here than on the Missouri where we only saw a few tugs during the entire 730 miles of channelized, commercial river.  We're pretty sure this was because of the summer flooding.  The river was flooded for 3-4 months with businesses closed and often flooded out, and thousands of homes flooded many of which we saw in various stages of wrecked along the bank.  The river destroyed the Army Corps of Engineers efforts at controlling it and every tug we saw was an Army Corps tug working to rechannelize the Missouri.  My guess is it's closed off to commercial traffic and will be for quite awhile. 

In the late afternoon, just as we were looking for a campsite we came around a bend to a huge sand and gravel operation that sprawled for miles, followed by a coal operation, and then a ferry.  We had to paddle for another hour and into darkness to get passed it all and out of earshot.  Paddling at night on the Mississippi is not anywhere near as safe or pleasurable as on the Missouri.  Too much barge traffic and too many partipartially submerged rock walls used to control the flow of the river. As a result we were looking hard for a place to pull over and nearly ran into one of those walls. Acrtually scraped the bottom of the Betty B before we realized it was there.

In the distance we saw a beach and headed for it. As we approached it looked like a perfect spot. Big, flat, and sheltered from the wind by large trees. It was unfortunately already taken by a group of hunters who had tents set up and a pontoon boat tied off on shore. We proceeded on into the night. About a half mile down we found another sandbar on the same side of the river as the hunters and took it. Set up camp, at a spaghetti dinner and crawled into our tents shortly before 8 pm exhausted having paddled 45 miles through the day.

Wednesday November 16

Forecast was for N winds at 8 mph with gusts of 15 but instead we got East winds with gusts of more than 15. Result was instead of the tailwinds we were hoping for we were stuck with side winds all day long. Made good miles but they were a hard fought and exhausting 35 miles.

We stopped in Chester, Il the home of Popeye to take a look around. We were hoping to find a little store to pick up a few things but it seems all the stores have moved out to the highway. A few little shops downtown but nothing we were looking for. Though we did eat lunch at a little diner with a lunch special consisting of homemade turkey and dressing with mashed potatoes and gravy. Delicious!

We camped in a little cove on the outside of a bend directly in the commercial lanes and between two navigation markers. Barge traffic was going directly by us and it was a little eery because as they came into the bend it looked like they were coming straight for us. To navigate at night the barges use spotlights and go from navigation marker to navigation marker. Since we were in between two of them we kept getting lit up by the spotlights as the tug captain searched the bank for the markers

The River Dance

The Sad Side of Lewis and Clark

Before beginning this journey I picked up a copy of the Journals of Lewis and Clark thinking it would be an interesting read while paddling down the river they traveled in opening up the west to settlement. It quickly settled itself into the bottom of a dry bag and has remained there, safely nestled among unused winter gear. I have on occasion considered the possibility of digging it out but the desire is not there. Not only is there no desire but the idea is in some way distasteful. A few days ago while considering what we might leave behind in Pierre this book came up as a possible casualty and Greg managed to voice the nagging distaste that was troubling me in regards to it. In response to whether he would like to read it he said "I don't know. I just get kind of sick of all the Lewis and Clark shit. It's really the beginning of a sad story. I'd rather read history and fiction by and about the natives."

Everywhere you turn on the river there's a Lewis and Clark park, interpretive center, plaques and statues. On the maps they identify the location of the L & C campsites and people seek them out and camp where they camped 200 hundred years ago. On the lakes the maps still mark the campsites a mile off shore and 200 feet underwater, a depressing reminder of the sad tale that followed the triumph of their westward voyage.

I do not want to downplay their accomplishments nor the significance of what they achieved. What they managed is one of the great stories of human exploration and survival but paddling down the river they struggled up two centuries ago one is constantly faced with the reality of what has been done to the vast plains that Lewis and Clark discovered. So much beauty and potential lay in such a land, the remnants of which can still be seen lurking in the shadows of a native people forced into submission and fenced off in patches of desolate land, a rich variety of wildlife all but decimated and forced to survive on the fringe of what has become one seemingy endless cow pasture spanning thousands of square miles and featuring a patchwork of barbwire lying on either side of a once noble river shackled and bound by concrete and earthen dams.

While we paddle across huge Army Corps reservoirs up to 200 miles long passing over a river channel buried in 200 feet of still water it is a constant reminder of what has been done to this river, to this people, to this land and to read the Journals of Lewis and Clark would only be an exercise in masochism. It seems better to seek out and take comfort in the beauty surrounding us in the present than to seek out the pain awaiting us in yesterday's potential.

As we travel down this river more and more we are seeing the damage caused by the flooding this summer, flooding that was supposedly prevented by the dams built by the Corps of Engineers. The lesson it seems that we will never learn is that the higher one's defensive walls are built the more devastating the tragedy when the walls prove insufficient. Though I feel great sympathy for the individuals we meet who suffered during the flood I take comfort in the knowledge that there is little in this world more powerful than the might of a once sleeping river awakening.

By the Numbers

It's amazing how the the mind becomes obsessed by numbers with so many hours a day spent idle while the body labors.  So I thought I'd share a few of the numbers my mind just won't let go of.

Days on river - 39
Miles completed - 1,127
Miles to St. Louis - 1,194
Miles to Gulf of Mexico - 2,573
Lake miles completed - 395
Lake miles to go - 350
Dams portaged - 7
Dams left to portage - 4
Average miles per day - 29
Longest day - 57 miles
Longest lake day - 37 miles
Shortest day - 0
Days in Montana - 24
Days in North Dakota - 14
Day life jackets were acquired - 10
Day Hupp bought gloves - 34
Day bailer was acquired - 38
Longest stretch Betty B spent without beer on board - 9
Loads of laundry - 1
Hot showers - 2