Joe & Isaac's Adventure: Episode 2 - Chapter 5

The above panorama of the Mississippi Valley looks east from the bluffs just north of Guttenburg. Click on the photo for a larger view. If you look carefully, you can see the river in places.

The weather turned cold as we passed Dubuque and crossed the Wisconsin state line. We were headed into German territory. In today's current climate what with Bush Junior's war against terrorism abroad and the Attorney General's war against civil rights here at home it's a good idea to remember that the greatest strength of this nation is that we are all from immigrant stock. We are at our best when we come together to celebrate our varied cultural heritages and we are at our worst when we allow bigotry, xenophobia and racism to poison our society. Our big cities function as melting pots, but our small towns can have an opposite effect. There the culture and traditions of a large uniform population of immigrants can be preserved through many generations. The greatest delight in traveling up and down the Mississippi Valley is the opportunity to experience the dozens of little pockets of distinct culture that remain entrenched in the small towns. Everything from Norwegian to Cajun. Northeast Iowa and southwest Wisconsin is German country. We were headed for Guttenburg. (Which is pronounced with a short u as in but. Their namesake city in Germany spells it with one t and pronounces it with a long u.)

When we arrived in Guttenburg it looked very much like it would rain that night, and so, as we'd been nearly a week on the river, I decided we could spend a night in a motel. The next morning we headed for Main Street and a good breakfast. The upper Midwest is the worst place to eat in the entire country unless you adore sausage, sauerkraut and potatoes, but you can get a fair breakfast. They don't know what grits are and they have this peculiar habit of eating raw potatoes. They serve these things they call hash browns. They grate raw potatoes and then fry them on a griddle. The result always leaves most of the potatoes uncooked, but soaked in grease. Isaac eats them, but I stick to toast. We had a big breakfast at a little shop that was a combination bakery and restaurant. The homemade sausage was excellent. When the waitress handed me the bill I was surprised and embarrassed to pay it, it was so little. There really is a different standard of living in these small Midwest towns. They live better for less.

Guttenburg is a joy to visit. I've traveled most of this country and I've seen my fair share of touristy little German villages et cetera. Guttenburg is the genuine article. How do I know? At the local pizza shop (Joe's) they serve a bratwurst and sauerkraut pizza. Isaac and I had one. It was unusual to say the least, but surprisingly satisfying. I am not however changing my general opinion about upper Midwest cuisine.

We left Guttenburg with a tip from a couple of old women that there was a new WallMart in Prairie Du Chien. I must admit to a degree of hypocrisy. I object morally to WallMart. But I still shop there occasionally. I need to do better and keep my money out of their hands completely. As we left Guttenburg we were running low on two-cycle engine oil. We need a lot of two cycle oil to run our engine and the price discrepancy between WallMart and everyone else is just too great to ignore. A three-litre bottle of two-cycle oil at the marinas averaged about $18.00. At WallMart that same bottle of oil was $5.97. We stopped in Prairie Du Chien and took a taxi to the WallMart. We bought six bottles of oil and I saved $75.00.

We were in reach of our final state line, so we made haste to leave Prairie Du Chien and get back on the water. By evening we were in Minnesota just below Lock and Dam 8. There we spent our first night on an island instead of the boat. We ran the boat up on a sandy beach on Island number 126 within sight of the dam and the Dairyland Power Plant. Isaac broke out our charcoal grill for the first time. We also built a fire on the beach which warded off the cold. I enjoyed sleeping in the sand; it was better than sleeping on the hard boat deck. However I can't stand how sand manages to get into and onto everything.

We were close now. Red Wing was only a couple more days away. All we needed was good luck crossing Lake Pepin, or so we thought. I thought the weather had turned cold a day before, well it turned colder. We headed for La Crosse under threat of rain and pulled up at the downtown public dock just in time. We put up our tarp and braced ourselves as the first wave of thunderstorms rolled in. It rained then the rest of the day and by the time it was easing off there was no reason to go on. The forecast also called for more rain that night, so we pulled into Bob's marina and bait shop, paid Bob $10.00 to leave the boat and headed into town for another stay at a motel. The next morning it was colder still and the sky was slate grey, but it wasn't raining.

We headed north with the hope we could make it to Wabasha and the base of Lake Pepin. As the day wore on I doubt the temperature climbed to 45 degrees F. The wind was blowing enough to whip up white caps on the open water of the larger dam pools, and periodically we'd hit a wave that sent spray into our faces. I finally resorted to wrapping myself in a blanket. I was reciting to myself what stanza's I could remember from The Wreck of The Hesperus, as I checked Isaac every so often for hypothermia.

"O father! I hear the sound of guns;
Oh, say, what may it be?"
Some ship in distress, that cannot live
In such an angry sea!"

"O father! I see a gleaming light.
Oh say, what may it be?"
But the father answered never a word,
A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
With his face turned to the skies,
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.



It's tough being cold. It's tougher being cold for eight hours, but we made it to Wabasha by evening. Again we beached the boat on shore in the sand. That night the temperature fell to freezing and it rained. In the morning I lit a charcoal fire in the grill and set it on the back of the boat under the tarp. It worked to heat the air under the tarp and made breakfast a more pleasant experience. Then I placed the charcoal fire inside our tent to dry it out. I didn't want to put the tent away wet again for fear it would begin to mildew. By mid-morning the sky was clear and the winds calm. It was still cold but we crossed Lake Pepin easily and arrived in Red Wing by afternoon. As we motored past Colville Park we let out a shout. We'd made it. From John's Boat Harbor in St. Louis it was 558 miles to Colville Park in Red Wing. Adding that to our trip last summer and we had traveled just over 1100 miles on the Mississippi leaving us about 1200 to go -- St. Louis to New Orleans.