Sunday, December 15
St. Louis, MO Upper Mississippi River Mile 181

The anticipation of the final day's journey has been growing day by day for the past week. The emotions of a reunion with my family, the completion of the long, arduous journey, the triumph of John and my collaboration, it all began building as we glided along amidst the tow boats and industry of the Mississippi River above St. Louis.

But before we could embrace our loved ones and friends, before we could slide the canoes onto the cobblestones beneath the Arch, we had to get through the Chain of Rocks.

A sign just below the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi points towards the St. Louis Shipping Channel. It says, "All Boats" and has a big arrow. John and I approached, both knowing that the Channel has no current, is 12 miles long, and has a lock with many tow boats waiting in line. It would be a very long and frustrating detour, however it would be safe. We slid past following the natural channel of the river. Safety versus time and the challenge? We took the challenge.

We began to hear the thunder of the falls at the Chain of Rocks a few miles away. It grew louder as we approached and my heart started to race. We stopped at an old water intake tower in the middle of the channel. John climbed an old rusty ladder and scouted the falls. The low water conditions had them pounding and foaming, with huge standing waves and at least an eight foot drop. We knew that we would not make it successfully through the middle or left side of this obstacle course. We moved channel right and landed on the bank to scout once more. We found our line along the bank. It looked shallow and had some tricky eddies and standing waves but we decided it was our best route.

We strapped all of the gear in place and I went first. I flew through the first section of the falls, dropping over and trying to maneuver left to catch the second "V" through the rocks. I made it, barely, and then quickly paddled hard to get to the channel along the bank. Scraping and bumping, the red canoe shot around a small bend and dropped yet again, at the final fall. As I floated out of the churning water, I signaled John to come on through. He did so as well, but not without the Water Ram getting a nice gash in her hull.

The last miles into St. Louis brought back memories of the Expedition last year. The Mississippi River is a superhighway for commerce. John and I passed tow boats loaded with coal going upstream, their wakes churning the river for miles behind. We watched as the St. Louis skyline grew with each stroke. Then the Eads Bridge appeared. This is my favorite bridge in the world, its builder and namesake one of the truly great American engineers.

As we paddled beneath it, our family and friends became recognizable on the shore. Sarah, John's fiancee, was there to greet him. Cathy, Matthew and Ben were there for my welcoming hugs and kisses. The relief that Daddy was home safe and to stay was written all over their faces. The Gibbons family and Gallagher family, who are neighbors and friends of ours, came down to greet us. It was a magnificent moment as we landed the canoes together on the cobblestones of the St. Louis Riverfront. Time seemed to stand still. The Arch loomed above, the river glistened, the moon and sun stood in the sky opposite each other. The images of 2500 miles flashed through my mind.

And then the greetings. John and I exchanged a simple, hand shake and hug. We were wordless. For the past three months, we have worked together and shared life on the river. We have partnered to reach a goal and to deliver our work in a unique way. His talents are immense. He is the Riverman, a master canoe builder, a great musician and artist, a friend. We succeeded despite the many challenges and there just weren't the words to express the thankfulness at that moment. Later, I was able to express the honor I felt and the pleasure that I had rediscovering with him the river that Lewis and Clark had presented to the world.

For the next hour after hour landing, I took the kids for rides in my canoe on the river. Their parents watched with glowing smiles and a touch of apprehension as we paddled upstream and then back down, each one getting a feeling for the power of the river and the grace of a canoe. John Gibbons and wife, Mary, Tim Gallagher and wife, Kathy, as well as their children, all got a taste of paddling, and each enjoyed it, especially the kids. Only my wife declined to go. She leaves the rivers to me.


We packed up all of the gear in John's truck, just as we did in September when we began our journey to the headwaters. We placed the canoes on top and our welcoming committee headed home, leaving John and I to ourselves. We had a celebratory drink, called our closest friends and family members and just sat together giddy and laughing and taking in the river upon which we met.

Tonight, we are in my home, the warmth and cheer of the end of a great journey are filling our hearts. We have made it to where we started. We have experienced the heart of America for the past two and half months. We are proud of our accomplishments and most thankful to all who have helped us make a dream become reality.

And regarding the often asked question of me, "Are you related to William Clark of Lewis and Clark?" Tonight and forever more, the answer is...Yes.... the river has made me kin!

Saturday, December 14
Missouri River Confluence River Mile 000

This morning brought clear skies, but John and I moved about as if we were in the fog. We both stayed up much later than we are used to on this journey, and yet, we were packing and preparing at dawn for the last day on the Missouri .

The grogginess began to wear off with each paddle stroke. The sun began to warm me and the temperature continued to climb. The river widened before us. From St. Charles to the confluence, it is 28 miles. I moved ahead of John and the Water Ram. He floated and painted.

In the bottom lands on both sides of the river, willows and cottonwoods stood in their familiar lines as they have for most of the journey through Missouri. We passed Fort Bellefontaine. A fort had been built here very soon after William Clark and the men of the Corps of Discovery passed by on their opening day of the Expedition. On their return, they stopped at the fort and made camp before a final day's paddle to St. Louis. They purchased clothing for Chief Sheheke, a Mandan chief, and his family, so as to be presentable to the "civilized" world. Lewis had convinced him to go to Washington D.C. to meet President Jefferson.

John arrived at the confluence first. As I rounded the final bend of the river, a flock of eagles sat in a pair of cottonwoods on the right bank. Two took off and performed a flyby of my canoe. It seemed as if they were making a final salute to us. I attempted a whistling shriek, a mimic of the cry of wanbli which I have heard daily since October 7th.

When I arrived at the confluence, I found the Water Ram tied to the wing dam forcing the waters of the Missouri to turn to the channel of the Old Man River, as if they needed coaxing. These waters have been destined to meet since the glacial ages and here they are curling and swirling, like a young couple on their first dance.

I tied the red canoe next to the Ram and clambered over the rocks. John was sitting sketching a pair of crawdad claws he had found on the bank. We shook hands and each of us took some time to ourselves to study the place that has been in our minds for many months.

I took a final water quality test of the Big Muddy and then paddled across the river to a pool on the left bank beneath yet another wing dam. A sand bar, our favorite, terra firma, along the river, provided a nice place to spend our final night. Just upstream and at the top of the high bank, a brand new concrete observation point has been constructed overlooking the confluence. My map tells me that a Missouri State Park will be opening here in 2004.

Just across the Mississippi, three flags fly next to Coldwater Creek. The Camp Dubois, Lewis and Clark Center has just opened there in the last three days. I will visit it very soon.

We are both exhausted physically and mentally. We have eaten a wonderful final camp fire dinner of pasta with pesto sauce and a salad. It is 7:30 PM and I am ready to tuck in to the sleeping bag one last time for this journey. We have certainly been blessed and are very thankful tonight.

Friday, December 13
St. Charles, MO River Mile 028

We arose at our usual pre-dawn hour of 5 AM despite having only twelve miles to paddle to make St. Charles. Our plan for the day was to arrive early in the historic town and first state capitol and then leave late in the afternoon after visiting the Lewis and Clark Museum, charging our batteries and picking up a few supplies for the final days. We wanted to camp away from the lights and the sounds of the city.

It was overcast with a growing northeasterly wind when we shoved off at 6:30 AM. We made our way past both the old and new St. Louis water intake plants. I tested the water and it revealed nothing unusual. The pH has been consistently on the alkaline side since the Three Forks. I have not tested for the presence of chemicals, harmful or natural, as that would require a test kit and expertise, neither of which I have.

The simple data that I have collected serve the purpose of helping students to engage in the elementary aspects of scientific inquiry. As we approach the Mississippi, I note that these rivers which become one will mix and create a quality of water that is different from their own as independent watersheds. The Mississippi which I traveled the length of last year, was consistently closer, if not on the acidic side of the scale. What could cause these differences? Which one is the true "Big Muddy," the "Father of Waters", the artery of our nation? They both have rightful claims, it seems.

A slight drizzle accompanied dawn. Sunrise was obscured by the rain/snow clouds but the sun's light joined with the incandescent glow of the St. Louis metro area to give details to the shapes of the river bank and trees. Amazingly, even as close as we are to the multitude of people and the commercial infrastructure of the Gateway city, the Missouri still provides habitat for the wild life that have lived along its banks since Lewis and Clark.

A beaver beat its tail in the pool of water created by the wing dam next to our camp last night and another is doing the same tonight. However tonight, we our camp is situated on the bank directly below the historic Main St. of St. Charles. It is remarkable that the animal responsible for the great exploration and westward expansion by Europeans and Americans, the "fur rush", continues to survive along the river, even amidst the human development. Of course, their population has been depleted to the greatest extent. Still, they survive.

The eagles blue herons, ducks, geese, red wing blackbirds, woodpeckers, sparrow, cardinals and many other varieties of birds also continue to fly along the river here, but in the shadow of the jets and prop planes from the Lambert and Spirit of St. Louis airports.

The river bank has not become developed with strings of expensive homes and their private docks and containment walls. It still has a small sense of wildness about it, that is, if you discount the channelization. Maybe the river's continued threat to rise up and exert its power as it did in the floods of 1993 and 1995 keep man at bay. Maybe the river will be like the beaver and eagle and continue to exist to whatever extent it can as a habitat long into the future. It has dealt with man's attempt to control it before and it has made its claim for dominion.

We found ourselves walking down Main St. on the day of a big Christmas season celebration. The lights, red ribbons and green boughs hanging in the windows served to remind me that we are reentering civilization at the time of Christmas cheer. As a teacher and parent, I have always been moved by the excitement of the holiday season. Despite the commercialization and its accompanying pressures, Christmas is a time of love and thankfulness.

The people at Cafe Tostare, a brand new coffee house on Main St., brought that sense back for me. They allowed us to move about town while leaving the technology there to recharge. The owner's son, JT, warmed our hearts with his good nature. It was his wedding day. In the middle of the day, his mom (the cafe owner), he and his bride-to-be, left the shop for the courthouse. They returned a few hours later as a happily married couple, both bubbling over with the excitement of their new status and the prospects of their new life together. John did a portrait of JT.

At 4 PM, John and I went back to the canoes to see if the wind and waves had died down enough to move on. In consideration of the weather conditions and the late hour, we decided to remain there and make camp. The evening has been spent in celebration with the people of St. Charles. Like Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery, we have been treated with great kindness and hospitality. Our cup has been full, our stories told, and John's guitar played.

Now it is time to prepare for the finish line, the confluence.

Thursday, December 12
Johnson Island, St. Charles County, MO River Mile 040

It was another 50 mile day in the canoe, and it will be our last, for this expedition anyway. We are on the outskirts of the St. Charles and St. Louis metropolitan area. We are camped a few miles below the US 61/40 bridge over the Missouri River. The sound of traffic, lots of it, is very strange, almost annoying. Somehow the past weeks of Union Pacific railroad noise, blaring horns both day and night, seems almost tolerable now, probably because it wasn't constant like the drone of trucks and automobiles are here. John and I will certainly have some adjusting to do in a few days. We began this day at 4 AM. The temperature had actually risen during the night. It was a relief not have to shake the frost off of the tent fly.
A cup of coffee and a heaping bowl of oatmeal hit the spot as I had breakfast on the water. We shoved off at 5:30 AM, our earliest start of the expedition.
Floating and eating have become routine on this journey. John has provided the hot water from his thermos to make soup in a cup, and I have kept the cheese and bread in my canoe. We decided to bring the canoes together at noon for lunch. The miso soup and bagels refreshed my tire muscles. We had done 30 miles in the morning.
The river channel has widened considerably over the last 200 miles.Wing dams, some newly refurbished by the Army Corps of Engineers, have become longer. Those that have elbows stretch downstream quite a ways to keep the river flowing into a main channel for tow boats to navigate in.
We continued to paddle in that main channel moving from one side of the river to the other. We followed the outer bank around the river bends as it has the best current. Our eyes were drawn to the beauty of the bluffs. They are now rust and purple colored and the trees are all void of leaves.

John's river guitar has been another blessing today besides the lack of wind and moderate temperatures. He pulled it from its water proof case at 5 AM this morning and treated the animals and birds to his version of a wake up call. It got me going too.
Tonight, as I sit by the fire writing this, my foot is stomping and my head is bobbing to the sounds of his magical fingers sliding across the frets and picking, plucking and strumming the strings.
I have listened to his music live throughout the expedition. It will be one of the many joys of our journey together that I will miss. Undoubtedly, Phillip Cruzatte, the Corps of Discovery's fiddle player had a key role to play in the success of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Music is a source of relief from the pain and fatigue. It is inspiration. It is celebration of a good day. It is entertainment. John's guitar has brought the hands, feet and voices of many together. His songs have told stories themselves to students at our live visits and to me at the campfire. It has turned the grind of the expedition into a spirited adventure with heart and soul.
Late this afternoon, we floated past Tavern Cave. This has been a landmark and historic shelter for many Missouri river travelers. William Clark carved his name in it amongst many other French and Indian markings. It was also here along the high bluff above the cave that Lewis almost ended his journey just a week into it with a fall. He managed to catch himself before plummeting 300 feet to the river bank below.
Lewis had a few other death defying instances on their expedition. He became gravely ill. He was shot by one of his own men in a hunting accident. He escaped from a conflict with a Blackfeet war party on the Marias River while exploring for the northern most reach of the Missouri's tributaries. It seems so incongruous that he would take his own life after the conclusion of his heroic and successful journey.
What caused such pain and hopelessness? Was it mental illness? Was it the failing prospects for financial riches and rewards? Was it loneliness?
I intend to read and study about the post Expedition lives of the men of the Corps of Discovery. I am interested to know how they moved on with their lives. What new endeavors could compare?
I am also interested in reading about the lives of the astronauts who landed on the moon. I believe that there is a great comparison to be made in the aftermaths of their incredible accomplishments.
As for me, I know that there is a long to-do list waiting for me on the refrigerator of our home. And there are schools and organizations to visit to show the images and tell the stories of a wonderful experience. But for the next three days, John and I will be enjoying the end of our journey down this magnificent and important river. We will be exploring how this river ends its journey and joins another.

Wednesday, December 11
Opposite Loutre Slough, Mile 91

i keep forgetting to mention: i have made a new purchase for my canoe tool box, and i recommend it to anyone who canoes on the missouri this time of year. its a useful tool: its an ice scraper, the plastic kind you use on your car windows. it has been great every morning for cleaning the thick crusty frost off the gunwhales of the water ram. when you paddle with ice on the gunwhales it makes horrible sounds at every stroke as your paddle drags across its sharp edges.

another foggy morning, a tenacious fog, staying with us in thick layers until late in the morning, really it didn't burn off until noon, when we passed mile marker 100, after 2,400 miles, we were finally in the countdown, its going to be wierd going through the numbers getting smaller and quickly smaller. we seemed to make good time today, perhaps the river is running a little faster down here, or perhaps we're paddling harder as we near the end of this expedition, horses returning to the barn. a few odd scenes in the fog: one, a view of the state penitentiary, it was break time and i could see the prisoners marching around in a circle; two, the sound of a chainsaw from somewhere back in the woods, the cracking sound of a tree trunk collapsing under its own pressure, some woody booms and then a resounding crash as the tree fell through the forest to the ground. so near we could hear it clearly, yet never did it enter our vision.

we stopped in herman for some water, at the top of the hill a man sitting in a truck offered to fill it for us. he runs a baitshop at the top of the herman boat ramp. he comes down to the river every day and watches the eagles for three or four hours.

the presence of trees makes our journey more pleasant, especially when they block the wind, their absence puts wind in our face and endless sun. the fog hanging thick hours after first light (i wouldn't be out in anything like this on the mississippi), the temperature hovering around freezing, just enough to keep a lining of frost on the christmas bow i've stuck on the end of the water ram. the fog hanging thick, crows calling out raccously and the woody thud! thud! of a woodpecker from across the channel. a whiporwhill singing cheerfully. sounds and the quality of sound attenuated in the loss of vision. i ripped off my face mask to help me hear more clearly. mike paddling thick and slow, like a ladle being pulled through thick gravy. the lonesome drone of a distant prop-plane. the disappearing hum of the power plants. the river is ours and to the river we belong. at this moment nothing exists besides us and the cold thick river.

 

Tuesday, December 10
Auxvaasse bends, Mile 121

we're camped in the shadow of a the cooling tower of a nuclear power plant, and another plant (coal fired) is just around the corner. luckily, we pulled into a little nook created by a wing dam that shields us from the sound and sight of both. i pulled out my watercolors today. the first time afloat in weeks - it was actually above freezing! i painted a scene with the cooling tower (nuke) rising off a ridge over a treeline on the river, a bend of the opposite bank cutting into view, in the foreground left the trees are purple tinged, becoming brown, reddish, finally sienna; foreground right is a vibrant stand of willows, glowing in the late afternoon sun, in oranges and yellows, earth browns in their shadows. the cooling tower is slab brown, creamy, the tower of steam has purple shadows, some reddish, some rusty red, the sky is a soft blue overhead becoming orange/brown towards the horizon. the steam rises to a great height, not in a regular column, but in billows, opening up and closing back, there is never anything common about water in any of its forms.

floating and painting: my favorite way to spend a winter's afternoon. whatever frustration or anger or sadness i might have felt in the morning is soon washed away on a day like today. there is no time for anything but the pleasure of the river bouncing back and forth between oak and sycamore covered bluffs, seering colors in the woods, long shimmering reflections in the water. the bluffs remind me of those found on the buffalo river of arkansas.

people keep telling us that they never got their indian summer. i suspected as much, it seems like the arctic fronts, when they hit, deliver a punch to every state in the midwest.

our second night in jeff city i elected to take lodging, i needed a hot bath and place to wash some clothes. i found a b&b directly above our camp on one of the river bluffs. "mae's grand view," run by mr. and mrs. english, a chicago couple who came back to his hometown. i had the entire third floor to myself, with a huge porch out back and a panoramic view of the river, as good a view as that from behind the state caapitol. as i was returning to the canoes this morning with our blue five gallon jug of water, i needed to mail some letters. so i set the heavy jug down on a street corner near some government office buildings, walked to a maildrop several blocks away, then came back and started towards the canoes with the waterjug. seconds thereafter i was accosted by the capitol police, two gentlemen, courteous, but serious as well. some lady had seen me set down the jug and walk off, and suspected terrorism. she thought i had set down a five gallon container of deisel fuel and was about to torch the nearby office buildings. the police quickly realized the mistake, and i walked on. guess what the building was that i was supposedly going to "torch?" the state employee retirement offices!

Monday, December 9
Jefferson City, Missouri

it was a long days' paddle getting here yesterday, but we arrived as hoped: before the darkness had set in. so many camps have we made by the light of the stars. thank you, dear god, for watching over us and leading us to safe protected haven on these nights! thank you for sending us wanbli, with his keen eyes and knowledge of the river. many good camps have we decided on because of his presence or indication.

last night, however, we were guided by - what? blind intuition? foolhardiness? mike had fallen back, and i just kept paddling on underneath the jeff. city bridge (which by the way, is one of the prettiest of the many bridges we have seen) as darkness began to creep in from the edges of the woods, out of the muddy banks, blackness extending outward in somber reflections, we passed by a torn piece of concrete that was marked on our maps as a boat access (but obviously had decayed into disrepair), and then came to a wing dam jutting into the river channel at an angle tending downstream. i banked the water ram on some rocks and clambered over the piles above looking for a place, some place to bring our water-and-wind-weary limbs to rest. at the corner of the wing dam, where it made an elbow bend parallel with the main channel, we found a pile of big grained sand heaped up inside. it might have just been another wild river place to some eyes, but to ours this was paradise within the city! to us it was piles of raspberries with fresh cream dished up in a big bowl (like my great aunties mary and mona used to serve up)! a camp is made more striking found amidst the wildness of the setting. on one side, where we dragged the canoes up the rock, we have the muscly river current boiling powerfully past us as it revolves around a large eddy formed by the wing dam elbow. we are on a tall pile of sand, as i said, heaped up like raspberries with fresh cream. opposite the river, towards the city we have a wide reflecting pool, water resting in the protection of the arm of the wing dam. in it the missouri state capitol shimmers, the downtown buildings, a tall church steeple which dongs off the hour, half hour and quarter hour increments, i can see the arms of the clock even in the night, the capitol building is immense, and designed to match the national capitol, so it is an impressive object to behold (but not greater than some of the forests we have seen reflected, some of the bluffs, even some of the wing dams and remains of river channelization make monumental reflections. after all, what came first, architecture or the design of nature? in the missouri breaks of montana i witnessed lines of collapsing ridges that reminded me of the abuttments of gothic cathedrals, like those found at chartres.

we have been paddling so hard some days i am forgetting who i am, where i come from , what brought me to where i am. this state of mind assists me in my painting and sketching, there is nothing getting in the way, my hand moves without hinderance, expression comes directly through the eyes to the pastels or paintbrush - on the good days. on the bad days (when the wind is blowing so hard constant vigilance is required) my eyes get tired, my body rebels. i suppose it is good to be removed from self-importance, but it is also slightly disorienting.

we came out of the fog sunday morning, the seventh day and god was hovering on the face of the waters, paddling into the unknown, recognizing the shore and the wing dams only by their looming shapes, mass and form coming to be out of the cold blue ether, the shapes of trees seeming to be borne out of the blue ethereal fog, just as surely as i was born of one stuff and will surely disappear into the same stuff, the stuff of water particles - there is no motion in this world, all movement is indicated by the relative sizes of things, if they are growing in size then you know you are approaching; if they are dimunizing, you are departing, there is no other sense of motion in the fog like this, it is as close to interplanetary travel as i'll come, and as close as i want to be.

i just left the thomas hart benton murals depicting the history of missouri, they're located in an out-of-the-way lounge in the state capitol, which is appropriate, because you can linger in peace with them. their painting required the yolks of 32 dozen eggs - they're rendered in egg tempera, and have a a vivid glow to them. frankie johnnie are depicted, and jessie james - also well as huck and jim, slavery, the war epulsing the mormons, beer-making, shoe-making, politicians, butchers, cowboys and indians, farmers, frontiersmen, rivermen, planters and the impoverished. i was quite moved. i now have another favorite muralist, after rivera.

finally i learn the meaning behind the taj mahal song "she caught the katy and left me a mule to ride" the katy is a railroad line, the kansas city-texas railroad (hence: "k.t.")we have been following it for days. it is now a beautiful bike path.