KC to Golf

Kansas City to the Ocean 2003

Coming to Herman, the landing is all rock except for the cement ramp. Rocks in the river are a problem. The current will push you into them, the waves will bounce you up and down on them, and the weight of a boat on top of a jagged rock will puncture the hull. So it is not extreme to say rocks are a problem. Down from the ramp, there was a small dock with a walkway. We tied off and took our three 5-gallon gas cans. Herman is a neat river town. Train station and tracks go right along the river. We walked across the tracks and up to a filling station we have used before, only to discover the station had gone out of business. Rule: everything will be different.

We tried to look helpless for a few seconds hoping for a ride, but finally we started walking. It was about ten blocks up the hill to the closest station. Carrying our coats and gas cans back proved to be fatiguing. Had to stop a few times, shoulders hurt. The last two blocks, a man stopped and gave us a much-appreciated ride. That was enough exercise, we wanted to get back on the water. The afternoon was bright and pleasant. We were changing drivers often and catching naps in the cabin. Scott got a big bottle of California Almonds; I really liked them. I would take a handful each time I went in the cabin but they didn't keep me awake. As soon as I sat down, I would be asleep. It was getting dark when the Kansas Riverkeeper reached the I-64 Bridge near Chesterfield, MO. This is near the site of the St. Louis Temple built by the LDS Church, the third temple site we have passed on our river trips. These buildings are unique in construction and magnificently built. Their purpose is in teaching a standard that prepares families for living in harmony with supernal values. In each instance, they typify the teachings of Christ. I always feel close to home when I see the temples.

We would shift to night speed soon. We were in the St. Louis area and would reach the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi. It was full dark when we crossed over. The current and channel shift could be felt through the boat. We were entering shipping traffic. We had the Missouri River all to our selves, now we would share with bigger boats; in fact, the Riverkeeper was now the smallest.

Made our way over to the last down stream lock and dam, Lock #27. There is a big flashing sign that says all boats must enter. The reason is down a few miles are some rock falls that go across the Mississippi River. A small boat would just tumble over the falls. I've seen this from 28,000 feet and it looked big then. There would be no more locks on the Mississippi all the way to the ocean. Passed a few barges in the canal, very unnerving at night in a narrow canal. A barge moves very slowly, like an elephant walking past you. It is okay unless you get in its road, then he just slowly crushes you between the cracks. When you are left in the wake of a barge, that is like walking along a smooth path only to find it suddenly rises up above your head then dashes you down into a deep watery hole. This repeats over and over for about half a mile behind the Tow (a large pagoda-like topped vessel with enormous power). I found that I liked certain styles of Tows, one of my favorites was the large Marquette Tows with a five-story bridge and four engine stacks on the stern.

About midnight we got into the lock and we were headed down to the St. Louis Arch. When the lock opened we entered a kind of backwater canal. It was filled with what looked like white ice chunks and lots of flotsam. We passed under the bridges; every building was lit up and looked grand across the water. Fog started to come up towards the south part of the city, so we found a sand bar about 2 AM. Anchored, both of us slept in the cabin till light. It had been 68 hours since either Scott or I had slept consecutively longer than 90 minutes. I would say there was no suffering, both of us were engaged in the endeavor and anticipating new experiences. There were no complaints on the boat, and only mild amusement over events that might be fearful to readers.

3/16/03 Sun - St. Louis

Morning came and the daily routine was starting to set in. Drying sleeping bags, coats and socks. Tying up lines, mopping out the boat (found small wire ends from the Thursday night electrical marathon each day we cleaned) and cleaning the windows. We do this while slowly moving. It is easier. One drives, the other cleans. That way we don't spend a lot of time on the beach. Food came in the form of nuts, granola bars, fruit, and water. We were trying to beat a storm that was due, reports said it would last three days. We thought if we could get as far south as possible, the temperature effect would cause less suffering to us. We were now headed south; our compass was reading exactly 180 degrees. We were headed for the Gulf.

Gasoline is not available on the Missouri and only "sorta" on the Mississippi. We were coming to one of only three fuel docks that we found in over 1562 miles of navigating, Hoppies Marine. No one greeted us at the dock; we tied on to a series of assorted barges with fuel lines running at odd angles. There was a picnic table and some lawn chairs in the middle next to an old B-B-Q. As we walked over one barge, Scott noticed a plaque that said it was manufactured in Leavenworth, Kansas in 1944. On another voyage, we floated past an old wharf near Leavenworth where the barge was probably built. Rule: you always meet someone from home. Walked over to a steep concrete ramp and up to some buildings on the rise. The sun was out and warming the air. A man was sitting at a table in the yard reading the paper. As we approached, another man came up without acknowledging our presence and said to the one reading, "there's a boat at the dock." The man reading got up and walked away (later found out he called up to the house). The man who spoke up asked where we were from and we explained we were from Kansas City going to the Coast. At that point the gentleman took interest and expressed some respect for our project. A woman came up after about 20 minutes with a cash box and keys. She explained that her parents, the owners, had left for the weekend and she was left to take care of things. She said we were early, most did not start down the river this early in the year. We said, yea we had noticed.

Fuel capacity is important to the trip, only a few places can a person hike to a town with a gas station. In isolated areas of the river, a walk could be fifty miles and there was no time for such excursions. So I installed a 24-gallon tank at the rear and we carried three 5-gallon cans. With 39 gallons aboard and one in the spare motor, we had an outermost range of about 400 miles. Still, with running at night and passing normal access points, we could get into fuel shortages. If we used all our gas supply, it meant we would have to make several trips to refuel every tank. That would be a lot of walking and time. Our next stop was Cape Girardeau a distance of about 130 miles; it would take a complete refilling of the three 5-gallon cans or one trip to the town. But for now, everything was fueled up and we were off for the Cape. I looked back at the Honda 50, it was purring.

I was looking out the window, eating almonds and thinking about the trip. What I had imagined is never close to what actually happens. Those lazy days of gliding along with the river, sun warming your feet on the deck, fresh breeze straightening your hair, nope. Not this time. There is always some compelling force. Have to make 136 miles before dark, fuel stop is closed, navigation light burned out, have to refill in mid-channel, a tow is coming right after the next one. "Working" could be the description of a river trip; there is always some work to be done. It is not like work at home. This work has to be done right now. If you don't you suffer-maybe a lot. But there was a moment today, when I went up front and hung my feet over the bow. I was flying over the water. The sun came out. It was great.