Word for the day: INDUSTRIOUS

Surprise, I couldn’t sleep. Actually I slept pretty well from 10:30-1:00am, then from 2-4:30am. At that early hour I was thinking about needing an early start today, and wondering what song to use as a text tone for Bill Rohde. Certainly there are more important things to think about, but I need resolution to get this conundrum out of my head. So at 4:45, I pulled the plug on my air mattress to start the day. It felt good knowing I’ll be on the water at dawn.

The wind was blowing pretty hard most of the night. When I woke it seemed a steady 10-15 mph from the north. Maybe a good thing? Excepting one day with Lecy where the wind favored us, every other windy day has created challenges.

I was also thinking, I need a couple of big days to address the Baton Rouge bogie on the radar. As it stands, making 40-42 miles per day will put me smack in the middle on Baton Rouge on the Sunday finish; camping there will likely be a major challenge, so I need to do something to remove that as a likely possibility: I need to get a few miles past Baton Rouge in two days. So, let’s get it on!

A few barges passed me as I set out; they still had their evening lights on, but it was plenty bright enough for us to see one another without lighting. The water was pretty calm despite the slight wind, and the air was starting to warm from the 55 degree overnight low.

I also passed another of those audible warning lights. This one was situated near another stretch of beach that I probably could’ve reach by sunset last night; I’m glad I didn’t; I’m sure I would’ve slept even worse with that noise every 15 seconds.

In the distance I saw two empty grain barges standing alone. They reminded me of what those prison hulks must’ve looked like in 18th century England. I remember first understanding there was such a thing from Dickens’ Nicolas Nickleby (at least I think that was the novel). I thought to myself: “The side dishes haven’t texted me in like 12 hours; they could be on those ships!” I imagine swashbuckling on board and running a few guards through with my paddle blade in order to free my unlawfully detained crew. Then suddenly, Chad appears and says, “Captain C, how did you know we were here?” “Well I hadn’t heard from you in like half a day, so this seemed a logical place.” Lecy chimes in, “But we were just touring this barge; you know how fascinated we are by the sorghum logistics business. Why did you thrust your paddle through our hosts rib cage?” To which I reply, “Can somebody fetch my duct tape? We’ll have this man dancing a jig by tea time!”

Other than this brief little Captain C episode, it was pretty quiet in my imagination today. Instead I was thinking a lot about returning home. Despite all the slanders I’ve made about my sister Ellen, she’s still looking forward to seeing me. Though I distinctly remember a time when I was 17 or 18, she would’ve been 12 or 13, when I drove her around on her paper route. Then I took her to get cinnamon rolls at the local bakery, the big cakey kind with the white frosting. Then we went to the local elementary school parking lot and I gave her her first driving lesson. You never know when your older siblings might die in a tragic logging accident when their horse drawn wagon plunges off a cliff, so I guess I just wanted to show her I cared and help her to be self sufficient, so she could drive herself to get cinnamon rolls one day. So since I paid it forward then, I’m given a lot of leeway now.

I’m planning to be back to Batavia on the 26th, in time for dinner and trivia at the Side Car Supper Club. The Side Car has made River Street in Batavia a thing; I think this helped a lot of folks reemerge after the pandemic, all thanks to Melissa and her staff; she’s a great person and the world’s greatest hostess on 8 wheels!

I’m also looking forward to stopping in at the Sturdy Shelter to share some tales from my adventure. I imagine walking in to see Oliver behind the bar: “Ahoy, Ollie, give me a tankard of your finest ale!” Oliver replies, “Matt? Is that you? You look terrible!” “I say matey, whadya mean?” “Well, what’s with the wooden leg?” “Oh. Well I had swashbuckled my way onto a tugboat pushing 100,000 tons of sorghum. I was about to besiege the captain when around the bend pops the LST 350 coming to defend. In my escape I lost the leg to artillery fire.” “Wow, you’re lucky to be alive. But what’s with the hook for a hand?” “Oh. Me and the side dish crew were plundering a small town in southern Illinois when some guys from the local gun club came to drive us off. I lost my hand to a blast of buckshot at close range.” “Sorry to hear about that.” “Yeah; it was really uncalled for, we was just plundering! It’s not like we was pillaging!” “And what’s with the eye patch?” “Aye. Well we was sailing on a clear blue day when up above I heard a call. I looked up to see a majestical bald eagle soaring; then he swooped down low and pooped in me eye!” “Wait, so you lost your eye to eagle poop?” “ Well, it was me first day with the new hook.”

I have lots I’m looking forward to returning to; I feel I’ve been away longer than two months, but I know I’ll settle back in quickly. But, still today and five more to get through.

As it turned out, the additional miles afforded by the early start were negated by the ever increasing wind. As noted, wind is rarely an ally out here. If it’s not within 5-10 degrees directly at your back, then it will turn you sideways, which requires more energy to just stay straight. Or, it’s in your face slowing you down and again draining energy. By 3pm I was feeling it, having battled the wind for 8.5 hours.

And the current was also disappointing with only a few brief fast stretches. Mostly the river was wide and slow. There was one 10 mile stretch that greatly reminded me of the Cass Lake crossing with Shootman. I fear these are going to be more characteristic of what I’m going to continue to face this week.

When the wind finally abated, I vowed to continue on until 5:30 and see where we get to. I ended up completing 45 miles; I had expected 50+, but I was happy enough with the result. However, like yesterday pushing on meant I bypassed a beautiful section of beach and had to settle on a slightly sloped section of narrow shore.

I set up the tent and was happy enough with the camp, and then… wait a minute, that log wasn’t there before! I hadn’t seen a gator all day, then there’s one lurking 50’ from my tent; hard to tell in the water, but he’s probably only 3-4’ long. I walked towards him and he disappeared, but came back up in the same spot 20 minutes later. It seems he wants to come ashore here, maybe there’s a nest in the woods behind me? This is not what I wanted.

On further examination, I found a big hole in the bank about 20’ from my tent, and tracks like something has been sliding down to the water from there. Is this the gator den? Then just as the final light was leaving, two beavers approached in the water. Good, not a gator den, but again I’m going to have two angry beavers letting me know of their dissatisfaction with my camp. As I write this from the tent, twice so far they’ve splashed near the boat, and I heard one sniffing around my dry bag outside.

On the bright side, it was not hot today. The past two days I’ve gone through over a gallon of water per day. That means as of this morning I’m left with 4 gallons; 2/3rds of a gallon allowance per day. That’s about what I used today, so I can get through 5 more days, just.

Cool weather predicted for tomorrow, and I’ll try again for a dawn start, though I’m not excited about breakfast by headlamp with my four legged friends wandering around, even worse when I have to go down to the waterline.

I don’t know if this song title is in quite the right order; as I sit in my tent I feel I’m more in the wrong place at the right time. But, since I’m now solidly in Louisiana I wanted to play some Dr. John with a little zydeco feel to it, and some of these lyrics are a good fit for me right now: Right Place Wrong Time