Joe & Isaac's Adventure: Episode 1 - Chapter 1

The Mississippi River in Minnesota begins by flowing north, then east, then south, then west and then southeast, but the wind only blows in one direction: in your face.
--Joe Angert

Isaac and I decided somewhere between 1999 and 2000 that we would eventually have to travel the Mississippi on the water, so we bought a canoe. We settled on a 17 foot Old Town Discovery Scout. It's a big canoe with an 1100 pound carrying capacity. It weighs 84 pounds and with paddles and lifevests it cost $900.00. It proved to be an excellent choice. I began plans to take the summer off work in 2001 and in the meantime we started practicing our canoeing skills.

Clare drove us up to the headwaters then in late May of 2001. Isaac and I in the meantime were arguing about just where to begin the journey. Isaac wanted to start at the beginning, putting the canoe in the water at Lake Itasca. I on the other hand wanted to begin right after the dam at Lake Winnibigoshish. We had both read accounts by others who made the journey and I was impressed at the difficulty some described as they travelled the Mississippi's first few miles. As I explained to Isaac, "I'm not interested in wading up to my knees in muck while we drag the @#^&%$ canoe over beaver dams."

I agreed to at least drive to Itasca and have a look at the river which we did on May 19th. We drove down to Coffee Pot Landing, about 20 miles below Itasca and, as luck would have it, we saw a young woman parked at the bridge over the river videotaping canoeists as they went by. She was with a group of Audubon Society folks who were canoeing down to the Twin Cities. I was able to stand at the bridge and ask the canoeists about the river they had just traveled. One of the canoes was, like ours, made from fiberglass or plastic of some kind. I noted with great interest that it had a puncture in its side hastily repaired with duck tape. I also noted that none of the canoes were loaded with gear of any kind -- just two people per canoe and water bottles. The paddlers told me the trip had been difficult but was certainly manageable. The water in the rapids section of the river was low enough that they hit bottom and often had to get out and drag the canoes. That was enough for me. Our canoe was going to be loaded with 250 pounds of gear in addition to ourselves and we're both pretty big fellows. We'd be inches lower in the water than these folks we just met. I decided then to Isaac's dismay to put the canoe in below the rapids.

On the morning of May 20th 2001 we drove to the bridge over the Mississippi at county road 95. We loaded our gear in the canoe, said our goodbyes to Clare, and began paddling down the great river. The sun was shining, the temperature was pleasant, the river was beautiful and we were ecstatic. The river between Itasca and Bemidji has a couple major divisions to it the most noteworthy being the early rapids, the middle section of marsh and wetlands and, the end section of woodlands proceeding Lake Irving. We were entering the marsh. Here the river twists and winds through an expansive lowland. As you paddle you can often see the river channel over the reeds to your side knowing that you will soon be there paddling in the opposite direction, moving sixty yards side to side in order to gain fifteen yards of forward motion. No matter, Isaac and I were in heaven. It was every bit as wonderful as we had dreamed. The trouble is we hadn't done much dreaming about the bad stuff. We knew that in northern Minnesota Spring is a tenuous time and that Winter has a way of reasserting itself right up through early June. We were about to learn this lesson the hard way.

Clare was gone -- already driving back to St. Louis. We were on our own. In the marsh section of the river you can go for miles before reaching a place where you can get out of the canoe. If you attempt to get out of the canoe in the reeds at the river's edge you'll just sink into the muck right up to your knees. In the middle of the marsh you can be a hundred yards or more away from dry land on either side -- the canoe is the only real way out. (On the map above the light blue represents impenetrable marsh). Three hours into our trip and we lost the blue sky. Clouds rolled in and the temperature dropped quickly. Soon it began to drizzle. We passed a campsite on our left but I decided to push on -- Isaac objected. I thought the worst of the rain was going to blow over us -- I was wrong. In another hour the wind picked up and we were facing a thunderstorm. There was nowhere to get out of the canoe so we pulled over into the reeds and took out our tarp. We covered the entire canoe ourselves included and held the tarp down against the blowing wind. The rain peltted us and the wind blew us around in the reeds. It was miserable. In four and a half hours we had gone from ecstasy to agony.

When the rain let up some we pressed on. Fortunately we arrived at a campsite a few hundred yards down river. We pulled the canoe out of the river and retreated from the rain into a three sided shelter placed there by the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources (MDNR). Our spirits perked up when the rain stopped and we tried a little fishing. To our delight we caught a couple of pike. It was near dinner time when we heard noises coming from the river. It was our Audubon friends from the day before. The van arrived shortly with all their gear and soon the campsite was bustling with activity. Isaac and I enjoyed the evening meeting and talking with this group of adventurers. We also tried to enjoy eating the fish we caught, but we soon learned a lesson there, not being ourselves fishermen. It seems that pike are not a choice fish for eating unless they're big enough. They're too full of small bones that make it an awful chore to either clean them or eat them. Our fish were rather small by pike standards -- about two pounds each.

The next morning was raw; it rained a little, the sky was dark grey and the wind was howling. We had breakfast with our Audubon friends and wished them well as they proceeded down the river. Isaac and I decided to wait for better weather -- a momentous decision we would eventually learn. Before they left I took the opportunity to talk with their guide who had traveled the river before, although not during this season. He explained to me that in the upcoming marsh I should stay to the right when I saw a large expanse of marsh open up to the left. Otherwise I could easily get diverted into Rice lake and wander around in there for days before finding the way out. He further advised me that the last section of the river should be no big problem, "a few sweepers to work around," would be our only chore. I thanked him, took a few group photos for them with their cameras and waved them off.

That morning I also tried for the first time to call home and leave word that we were well. To my dismay the only thing our Sprint PCS phone would do was beep four times and repeat, "call cannot be completed." One of the Audubon group who was watching me in this vain effort suggested that if I climbed the hill at the edge of the campsite the phone might work. I tried that and was able to make a momentary call so full of static as to be almost worthless. Before being cut off I was able to let my brother-in-law know we were safe. For more on this issue see; Sprint phone debacle.

The wind howled all day and the temperature fell. That evening it began to rain and rain and rain and rain -- it rained for twenty straight hours only stopping in the afternoon of the following day to sleet for awhile and then snow. It snowed so hard you couldn't see thirty feet in front of you. After it snowed it rained some more and that night the temperature dropped below freezing. We had icicles hanging from our tent. We later learned that four inches of rain had fallen. By now we had waited two whole days for better weather and, because of the constant rain, we spent much of that wait confined in our tent. We were going nuts and so on the morning of the fourth day, even though it was cold and the sky was an ominous grey, the absence of rain at that moment convinced us to continue on. As we launched the canoe we noted that the river had risen quite a bit.

The marsh that opened before us was much larger than what we had already traversed. If not for the swollen river I fear we would have gotten lost. The river had risen so much that it was turning large sections of the marsh into a shallow lake. This worked to our advantage as we were able to leave the river altogether in places and move more directly forward. We followed the flow of the water and although we often lost the river channel, by following the current we managed to successfully get through the marsh. We also had some help from someone who had gone before us and tied little orange-red flags to the reeds in certain key locations.

It was afternoon when we finally left the marsh and entered the woodland section of the river. We were very relieved at first to be out of the maze, but it had started raining again and the wind was cold. For a few miles the river was delightful. It flowed through lightly wooded and open fields. Because of the previous few days rain, the river was flooded and moving quickly; we moved along with it at a rapid pace. However, as we neared lake Irving the forest surrounding the river began to thicken.

It was time for those "few sweepers" the Audubon group guide had mentioned. Only there weren't a few sweepers, there was a sweeper every sixty yards. (Sweeper is canoe talk for a tree that has fallen across the river partially or completely blocking the way). In a small quiet river sweepers can be quite a nuisance as you must often exit the canoe and drag it over or around the obstruction. The Mississippi between Itasca and Bemidji is generally a small quite river, but on this day it was flooded, pouring over its banks and racing ahead with a furious current. In a flooded river sweepers can be deadly. (We later learned the river was four feet higher than normal). In one way the flood was a benefit as we were usually able to navigate around the ends of the sweepers by leaving the river channel altogether. However, the flood was carrying our canoe forward with considerable force, and although we don't normally think of canoes as big heavy objects, in our case with our gear, persons and the canoe itself, we weighed nearly 800 pounds. That's a lot of weight to turn, speed up and slow down on a fast flowing river. Our canoeing skills were challenged to quickly position and guide the canoe through very narrow gaps between branches and bank or under branches as the current rushed us forward. To complicate matters the river twisted and turned sinuously sometimes bending over 100 degrees on the outside. The whole ordeal was difficult, dangerous and frightening.

We proceeded successfully through this obstacle course for about five miles. Then six miles from lake Irving we encountered a large tree completely blocking the river. It appeared that there was just enough room for us to get under it. We approached the tree as slowly as we could, but were unable to meet it at the right point. Still Isaac managed to get under the tree with a mouthful of bark. I caught the tree with both arms and held on. There we were: Isaac in the front of the canoe and under the tree and myself in the back of the canoe hanging on to the tree as the current tried to sweep the canoe out from under me. I worked my way to the side heading for the highest point in the gap between tree and water. The current there was stronger still and as I leaned back to try and slide under I was stopped by the canoe's seat back. My left shoulder caught on the tree and the current flipped us over in chest deep water. It was raining, the temperature was in the lower 40's and the river water was freezing. Within a minute Isaac had a cramp in his leg. The canoe disappeared quickly down river as did much of our gear and the current swept us into water over our heads.

Fortunately we were close enough to Bemidji now that an occasional home would show up along the river. We washed ashore in the back yard of the Manske family's home. We had our clothing bags and camera box, lifevests and paddles. Everything else had been swept down the river. The canoe was nowhere in sight. We walked up to the house and knocked on the door. Bruce Manske and his family met us there; we were soaking wet and freezing. Bruce took us into his garage and got us some towels. We changed into dry clothes and told him what had happened. His two young daughters, Maggie and Molly, made us cups of hot chocolate. When we were dressed and dry, Bruce drove us into town and dropped us at the Super 8 motel. He and his family had treated us very kindly.

After we showered and warmed up, Isaac and I went across the street to the nearest restaurant to get some dinner. We were trying to adjust to the fact that our great adventure was prematurely cut short. Should we fly home the next day or go back to the river and try to clean up our mess? As we were finishing our meal, Bruce walked in and sat down next to us. He said he thought he'd find us here and that he had our canoe outside on his jeep. He and his twelve year old son Waylon had gone down to the river and not only managed to retrieve our canoe, but a good portion of our gear as well. As we were unloading the canoe the motel manager, Kevin Williamson, got in on the act -- he gave us a place to store the canoe and volunteered to drive us back to the river when we were ready to continue. Isaac and I were stunned, both by our rapidly changing fortunes and the wonderful kindness and attention we were receiving.

As I end this chapter, I'd like to offer a comment. What Mr. Manske did for us may seem unusual. What Mr. Williamson did for us may seem unusual. But I prefer to believe that their actions were common and expected. The fact is that throughout our six week and 550 mile journey, the people we met cared for us, befriended us and frequently extended themselves and their resources for our benefit asking nothing in return, pleased simply to have been helpful. It was usual for us to encounter kindness and concern and offers of help from most of the people we met along the river. Contrast our experiences with the daily picture of our country that you encounter in the media and you'll find two unreconcilable images. The media image is false and perniciously harmfully to ourselves and our children. It frightens us and over time hardens our hearts with its message of fear and hate and powerlessness. Turn it off.