Days 16-19: Oct. 23rd-26th: Hoppie's (St. Louis, MO) To Grand Rivers, KY

Day 16:

*PIC: Over two-weeks into this adventure and a lot of River sstretches behind, and before us.*

When we woke up at Hoppie’s in Kimmswick, MO it was raining and grey and a bit colder than the day before. Still, we now had full tanks of gas and something oh-so-much more comforting – a flotilla.

‘River Rat’ (Chris & Kevin) was within sight of us the whole day and ‘River Derci’ (Jim & Pat) within radio contact. Jim and Pat were choosing to take a mooring spot Fern had told them about which was about 10 miles up the Kaskaskia River, they could also refuel there. Chris and Kevin, and ourselves were planning on anchoring or beaching at another place that Fern had suggested, which was better for our bigger boats.

Generally, the day was pretty pleasant with the notable exception of the wakes from barges. The combination of the current, the wind, and the depth of the River made the wakes so much more pronounced than we had expected. As a result, we had to slow down significantly when we encountered them in order to avoid being slammed… Most of the time we succeeded, but slammed we were, and often.

By about 3:30PM we had found our spot for a night – a lovely stretch of beach just off the channel on Rockwood Island, downriver of Chester, IL.

*A chance for Dottie to get the zoomies out somewhere near Chester, IL.*

*Large sandbars like these were just one of the side effects of the then-drought on the River Trip.*

We were able to beach, but it wasn’t particularly pretty, and again our stern was blown into shore. Unlike our botched beaching days earlier in Keithsburg, however, it wasn’t a hopeless situation. The fact remained, however, that we wouldn’t really be able to relax until we were free the next morning.

Again, River Rat gave some comfort. They anchored a couple hundred feet away and reiterated the fact that they had our backs and would stick around to help tug us off the sand if necessary.

Because we were beached and they were anchored, in order to have an evening cocktail, we had to take the little jonboat ‘Gracie’ over to them. Which we did. And it was awesome.

Day 17:

Gratefully, assistance wasn’t necessary and we were able to leave the beach easily and without incident… except for the shitty performance of our port engine for the rest of the day.

*PIC: Our first anchorage after leaving St. Louis.*

At low RPM’s and in idle, she sounded great, but above 12 RPM’s and the little darling shook her shimmy so violently that the noise and residual vibrations were intolerable. As we called and googled the possible reasons for the change in performance, the explanations all sounded rather dire.

The running gear – prop and shaft – could be bent; or there could be sand in the bearings. None of these things are disastrous for us or the trip. As I’ve said before, we are often cruising on one engine anyway because of the increased gas mileage, and low RPM’s are the most we would need on the port side for maneuvering, locking and docking. All the same, we don’t need anymore hurdles…

The question of the day was fuel. Hoppie’s is the last fuel stop on the Upper Mississippi River and we knew that we would be traveling over 200 miles before the next one on the Ohio. But we didn’t really know where this next fuel stop was. Some say you can get fuel in Paducah, KY but the exact stop isn’t clear and – as we found out the hard way – some stops only offer diesel. We run on gasoline.

In Cape Girardeau, MO there is a “fuel stop” called Kidd River Fuel. It’s in the Quimby’s Guide and loads of river folk and hipped us to it. It’s not much to look at, just an old rusted barge with a walkway to land. The man who runs the dock is named Charlie Brown (no shit) and apparently you need to call him 24 hours in advance and he may, if doesn’t like the sound or look of you, refuse to help. Jim of River Derci apparently had an unacceptable sound because Charlie said that he didn’t have gasoline and he wouldn’t allow anyone else to use his dock to bring it down to him.

So when I called Charlie, I used all of my voice-over skills to convey something very precise: I am neither a damsel in distress, nor a cocky captain but boy, Charlie Brown… You’re my only hope. He was very kind and reiterated that he had shut his feul off for the season but unlike to our friend Jim, he said we did have his permission to tie up and then call a cab which could bring us and our 5 gallon tanks to a gas station… Better than nuthin.

As we approached Charlie Brown’s town, however, our confidence took the helm and we decided not to stop. Why, we asked each other, were we so eager to stop at THIS gross old dock? It seemed to us that all the books, words of wisdom, and Fern herself must have been exaggerating about how hard it was to get gas down here. Surely we could find another place to pull up and get to a gas-station a little further downriver. Surely, right?

*The Upper Mississippi River goes from Minneapolis, MN to Cairo, IL.*

*We’re currently between St. Louis and Cairo and baby… there ain’t nothin.*

We traveled an ambitious 100 miles on Thursday through some of the heaviest barge traffic we’ve seen yet. Happily, most of their wakes were much kinder to us, but not all of the captains were. One scolded me on the radio for being to close to his bow for too long… Rookie.

Just before sunset, we turned the final bend and found both River Derci and River Rat secured in a safe little alcove just upriver of the turn-off to the Ohio River in Cairo, IL.

With Jim and Pat helping from shore, we got ourselves beached. The second night in a row with no marina, no gas, no stores - we’re starting to feel like this is our new normal.

*PIC: Our new fellowship of the River. We may run out of gas, but we have plenty of Jack Daniels.*

Melby, Chris, and Kevin climbed into the engine compartment to try to diagnose our port-engine problem and although Melby stripped down and got in the very chilly water to investigate, we currently know as little as we did earlier in the day. It’s not good. It’s not terrible. Carry on.

That night, the crew of our three boats joined on the beach for a bonfire. There was loads of sun-dried drift wood and hundreds of yards of sand all around us. We congratulated each other on making such good miles, we told tall-tales, and eventually split ways and went to sleep feeling a swell of optimism.

Personally, I bid a heavy farewell to the mighty Mississippi River before sleep. I’ve known since before we left that I wouldn’t be able to follow her all the way to the mouth; and with the barge traffic and few gas stops already, the choice was confirmed. All the same, she is the River that has my heart and who had delivered us, in so many ways, to this point.

Day 18:

And as if to say, “I see. You’d prefer the Mississippi do you? We’ll buckle up.” The Ohio River, upon which our journey would continue, was mean as hell to us from the very first mile.

Several challenges met us as we turned up the Ohio. For one thing, we are now going upstream. All of the rules that we’d grown accustomed to for the last 850 miles are now reversed. (To you Krzykowski’s – it’s like leaster in Sheephead).

You lock down instead of up, you keep the red bouys on your right instead of you left, and you are NOT going to make anything like the gas mileage you’ve made so far. 8 miles per hour was the fastest speed we were able to manage to this point and our gas tanks were already dwindling fast.

*We’re now going up the Ohio Rive*r.

*From here we will connect with the Tenneesse-Tombigbee Waterway (Tenn-Tom for short).*

These factors combined to make our gas situation dismal. We were hoping to gas up in Paducah, KY but two things gave us pause: We didn’t know where exactly in Paducah we could get said-gas. All answers came with a shrug and/or upward inflection that suggested uncertainty. No one could give us a clear answer on where or who could provide fuell. More pressing, was the fact that there were two locks between us and even the uncertain locations for gas. If, as was so often the case, we had to wait long to lock through, then the odds of us making it there before we ran out were even more unlikely.

So the work began. Phone calls, googling, mapping, math. Finally, a plan came together. After talking with the captain of a casino boat in Metropolis, IL (home of Superman) we learned there was a city dock just upstream of him where we could tie up and get to town. With River Rat ahead of us, they got eyes on the alleged dock and said yes – it looked perfect for what we wanted.

Unsure of depth, and still not sure how we’d get to the gas station, we maneuvered to the dock, tied up and took the first easy breath in several hours.

*PIC: Metropolis, IL. A home of heroes, indeed.*

The cab companies, it turns out are not allowed legally to carry passengers with gas tanks. Makes sense if you’re an insurance provider, is really fucking stupid when you are stranded in need of gas.

“Try calling the police,” the cab company suggested.

Although I have deep affection for several individual cops, the police in general are not a population one wants to contact unless it is necessary. The legality of being moored where we were was questionable, and pouring gallons of gasoline might be even more so.

So instead of the police, we called the gas stations directly. Might they pick us up or deliver?

No, they said. But we know a guy. Call Curtis at C&W, here is his number.

PIC: Curtis, our own personal superman in Metropolis, IL. Oct. 25th, 2012. See the ‘S’ on his truck? We sure did!

Not only did Curtis agree to help us and arrive less than 15 minutes later, but his truck had a huge Superman ‘S’ painted on the hood. He and Melby took our 7, 5 gallon gas tanks to the station twice and by the time it was done we had both tanks nearly full, more oil, a filter, and a whole new perspective on the trip. This upstream business is tricky and we would need to adjust our plans accordingly. First adjustment, we are not leaving this dock tonight. It was already 4PM and another lock was just ahead. We could see barges lined up waiting for it and although it would mean we lost our flotilla, going forward was foolish.

So we made dinner, Melby played the guitar, and we just breathed deeply for awhile.

Going through hell together is kinda’ great…

Day 19:

My first hint of consciousness in the morning on the dock in Metropolis told me only one thing: It’s raining. Hard.

And it will rain all day said every forecast. Fine.

We called ahead to Lock #52 on the Ohio and the operator there said that there was an auxiliary lock for small boats and that we should head on down. Not unusually, he failed to tell us that another boat was currently in the lock and we’d have to wait almost 30 minutes once we got there. Such inconveniences are not insurmountable, or even usual, but one would prefer to have had that 30 minutes to run the dog or eat while safe in harbor…

*PIC: The good news is we have oil and fuel and our spirits are… well. We have oil and fuel.*

Also Lock #52 doesn’t throw you line or have floating bollards. Instead, they insist that you throw them your own ropes which must be at least 50’ long. So after some scrambling, we were secured and finally locking up.

And still going upstream in a driving rain. Humph.

Just before noon, we hit the mouth of the Tennessee River. This is a junction that people have mixed opinions about. There are two ways to get from the Ohio to the Tennessee River. One junction happens in Peducah at MM: 934 and the other is to take an alternate waterway, the Cumberland, which empties into the TN River about 30 miles south of its mouth. The Peducah route is shorter in terms of miles, but there is a lock that has notoriously long waits. When we called the lock earlier in the day to see what we had in store, the woman who answered said they had two barges waiting that could be up to 3 hours each… Decision made, Cumberland it is.

*A barge-worker on the Ohio who is also probably done with the rain.*

The Cumberland is really narrow and pretty deserted. We didn’t see or hear from another boat the whole time - over 3 hours. We are still fighting the current and it was still raining but compared to the Ohio, it felt like a cakewalk. And to say we didn’t hear from another boat is wrong – we were back in radio contact with River Rat who were moored for the night at a marina only 20 miles away!

Not only seeing them, but having the services of a marina at last was more than encouraging. After several nights of beaching or anchoring, we were long-without showers and laundry. Dorothy was miserable and frankly, we just wanted to get off the boat and maybe hug a tree for a few minutes.

“This marina has a bar and all-you-can-eat catfish!” Chris and Kevin boasted. “Hurry up!”

And all was looking good. The lock at the end of the Cumberland was a breeze, open and waiting for us when we arrived. And the channel between the Cumberland and the Tennessee was less than 2 miles long. Good god, we were only 5 miles from what promised to be a very welcoming and comforting harbor.

*PIC: Did someone order whitecaps? …fuuuuuck.*

And then the Tennessee River reminded us that she too, is a force to be reckoned with. Wide and deep, the TN River resembles Lake Pepin – as do the big rolling waves. And not only did we need to travel through her, but to get to our guys, we had to cross her width.

We tried. We tried hard and many times. But huge amounts of water were washing over the sides and for the first time, I saw Melby panic. I panic. I panic comparatively easily, but he is steady-Eddy, all the time. As the bow dipped repeatedly into the waves like a U-boat, he howled, “baby, baby, baby – we’re taking on water!” The realization hit us hard, we could sink out here if we push it. So with very heavy hearts, cold feet, and grumbling stomachs, we pulled off into a protected cove and anchored… yet again.

River Rat was disappointed… as disappointed as you can be when you’re safe, warm and full of catfish, but because we were so close, we concluded that we would try to link up again the following night.

We took Dorothy in the johnboat to shore and agreed that while this sucked, being anchored and safe in a beautiful cove with your dearest dearests isn’t so bad.