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Journal Notes from the November 1998 Float to the Sea:
Entry: Nov 10th, Vicksburg:
This journey to the sea is
something of a continuation of a float trip started fifteen years ago in
La Crosse Wisconsin, when my high school best friend, Sean Rowe, and I
built a twelve by twenty four foot raft and floated to Memphis. We were
headed for the gulf, but got waylaid on the Mississippi Tennessee State
line by an enormous pylon supporting the crossing of the TVA power lines
there (removed from the river channel as a "hazard to
navigation" in 1996). It’s probably fortuitous that the tower crashed
us, even as treacherous as it was to be thrown from your raft in February
river water.
Eight 55-gallon oil drums (empty, of course)
supported the raft. It was very "un-aquadynamic," requiring
about three hours of paddling just to get across the channel. We were
truly at the mercy of the river – and the attentiveness of tugboat pilots
and their radar’s. Had we reached Baton Rouge, there’s no telling what
fate we might have met in that busy section of the river where ocean-going
freighters are found, as well as all the other river traffic.
In
the fall of 1997 I attempted to float the rest of the way. However, the
river was low, hence agonizingly slow. Also, I didn’t leave enough time to
be off work, and had to return to Clarksdale before even reaching
Rosedale.
It is now November 1998, and the river is once again
quite low (the day I left it was at 9.8 on the Helena Gauge, about as low
as it gets), and once again painstakingly sloth-like. This time, however,
I have better prepared myself. I have allowed a month to float to the Gulf
of Mexico. If God and the Ol’ Man allow me, I will float right through New
Orleans to the southern-most point you can drive to along the river,
Venice: Louisiana. Venice is located 90 miles below the Crescent City, but
even then is still not the mouth of the river. It’s just that if you float
all the way to the gulf, you will have to paddle back upstream twenty
miles – either that or get blown into the Caribbean. Furthermore, my
progress will be motivated by an itinerary. I have agreed to take on
passengers in several short sections. But enough forecasting. William
Faulkner compared the river to a mule in his short story "Old
Man," one who will work begrudgingly with you for ten years just for
the opportunity to kick you in the you-know-what.
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