After months of preparation and planning the time had come for three novices to begin a voyage our imaginations did not comprehend. My visions did not include rain, wind, rocks, and waves. As usual in life, preparatory reading and analysis were no substitute for actual experience. I am experienced in sailing small catamarans on small lakes. Ted, an experienced canoeist, was in the Coast Guard in WW2. As far as I knew, Bob had had even less small craft experience. None of us fully understood the handling of a several thousand pound powerboat or the considerations taken when navigating a large river. What seemed most absurd, was that I wasn’t conscious of how inexperienced I was until after the trip had ended. On Friday, April 16, 1999 we were in Chicago and ready to get on the water.

Friday morning Chris and I tossed and turned in the truck as we attempted to grab a few hours sleep. I had finally found a comfortable warm position and was enjoying some deep sleep, when at 4:30 A.M. we awoke to the sound of Bob tapping on the rain speckled truck window. He had 3 Styrofoam cups of warm water and a half dozen tea bags. Bob said, "Wake up. It’s 5:30." I told him that it was actually 4:30, and that he had not changed his watch from Eastern Time to Central Time. Chris and I were both furious that we had been awakened so early, especially since Ted was not up, and we felt he would probably take at least an hour to be ready. Bob went back to the room promising to get Ted. After I stuffed the teabags into my pocket, I drank two cups of the warm water, and Chris and I immediately went back to sleep. In thirty minutes Bob was back with Ted. I was shocked that they were here so soon. Everyone had said that Ted takes hours to get moving in the morning. Chris and I grudgingly stowed our gear and prepared for departure.

We went to a 24-hour restaurant for breakfast. After we filled the truck, boat, and spare gas cans with fuel, we went to a grocery store for perishable food supplies, and then took off for the lake. The steady gentle rain had only occasionally diminished that morning as we went about our chores. It was raining as we drove toward the lake, so when we spotted an overpass along the way we decided to stop underneath to load the boat with all the gear that was in the truck. Just as the morning rush hour began, we pulled out from under the bridge and found the road to Calumet Park.

We arrived at a yacht club, and the guard at the parking lot entrance gate told us where the launching ramp was. We had to go through the gate to get the truck and trailer turned around, and as we did we had a grand view of Lake Michigan. It was covered with raging waves reaching heights over six feet. This looked bad. We decided we would have to launch directly into the Calumet Sag Channel, instead of cruising one mile on (or in) Lake Michigan to the Calumet entrance. Fortunately, as we turned around in the parking lot we spied a mariner near the yacht club. We stopped him and asked for advice. He gave us directions to Riley’s Marina, which is about seven miles down the Calumet Sag Channel from Lake Michigan. My charts confirmed that this was the closest safe launching place. On arrival at Riley’s we went into the marine store for instructions. They told us where to pay the launch fee and warned us that the rivers downstream were running very high. Chris took departure pictures as we launched the boat. It was 8:30 A.M. April 16, 1999. Thanks to Bob we were off at a decent hour of the day.

__leaving Riley's Marina 4/16/99__

Off and on drizzles accompanied us as we putted down the channel at 1800 Rpm’s. The current, being favorable, gave us a 10-mph speed according to the GPS. The 22 miles we traveled to reach the Chicago Sanitary Ship Canal was an awakening. The Calumet Sag channel was at least a couple of hundred yards wide in most places. I expected to see more large commercial activities on the shores, but most of the time we were travelling an eerily peaceful secluded path along the levees and through the woods of Illinois. Serenely placid waters delivered us through a collage of wonders as our journey began to unfold. Bridges crossed the river. Creeks emptied into the canal over rock and concrete adornments. An aura of carefree adventure dissolved the cloud’s drizzles as our fantasies unfolded. The Calumet Sag Channel emptied us into the Chicago Sanitary Ship Canal where both banks were lined with rock, and the attractions diminished. I was pleased that the canal was clean and had no odors.

Twelve miles later we arrived at Lockport Lock and Dam. This was one of those experiences where, what they told you in the book is not enough to make you confident in what to do next. After a cautious approach, we figured we knew where the entrance to the lock was located and eased the boat over to the sign marking the entrance to the lock. The literature, we had read, indicated a green flashing light meant enter, and a red flashing light meant stay beyond the entrance. Bob asked me to use the radio to contact the lockmaster, and I tried, but since we got no answer, I assumed it would not transmit. We yelled to a fellow walking nearby the lock entrance and told him, "We want to travel downstream." After 25 minutes, the gate swung open before us, the light began flashing green, and I nudged the boat into the lock. A fellow came over to the boat and tossed us a line to hold on to. They closed the gate, lowered the water level a few feet, opened the lower gate and released us into the Des Plaines River. A total delay of 50 minutes wasn’t bad. This was simple. So, I thought.

We arrived at Brandon Lock, just south of Joliet, 30 minutes later. We spotted a fellow driving his pickup across the dam and hailed him from the boat. After hearing our request, he told us to hang around this area, and he walked back to the lock control station. After an hour and a half the gate finally swung open and with the green light’s permission we entered the lock. The lady who secured our boat in the lock said, "You really must have a marine radio to communicate with the locks downstream." I wondered if she was exaggerating this requirement. We blissfully continued our adventure.

At 5:30 P.M., our first day, we arrived at Three Rivers Marina (the first of several marinas in this area of Illinois.) By making 50 miles, we had achieved my goal of passing the industrial area of Chicago on our first day. Unfortunately this marina closed at 5:00 P.M. All the slips were vacant, so we parked in the most convenient one for the night. We rearranged the boat for sleeping. We saw no signs of life around the marina as the sun set on our first night out. Unbeknownst to us, this forested area secreted a nuclear power plant and an Army ammunition plant, each within a few miles of us. Our boat was rocked only once in the night by a passing towboat. In the morning there was still no activity at the marina, as I attempted to light the stove to heat water for coffee or tea. The stove wouldn’t light, so I gave up, and we packed our sleeping gear into the cuddy cabin. It was only 8:30 A.M. and this place advertised opening at 9:00, so we shoved off to try Harborside Marina, a little over a mile downstream.

At nine o’clock we arrived at Harborside and were greeted by a sharply dressed fellow at the dock. I figured he must be the manager. This place looked much more modern and had more facilities than the Three Rivers Marina. As I fueled the boat, Bob described our plans to this fellow, who then brusquely replied, "You would be crazy to do this trip without a Quimby’s". When I paid for the gas, I bought a 1999 "Quimby’s Guide to Cruising Inland Waterways", and the fellow gave me a bottle of French red wine for our trip. His demeanor made me feel a bit foolish about our amateurish adventure, but this wouldn’t be the first time for that. I thanked him and thought to myself, "I am glad Bob and Ted don’t drink."

A mile or so down the Des Plaines River we reached the Kankakee River mouth, at which point our waterway became, the Illinois River. After another couple of miles we arrived at Dresden Island Lock and Dam. We attracted the lockmaster’s attention quickly and were moved through the lock in only 30 minutes. Signs of flooding were apparent, as we proceeded downstream for about 20 miles to Black’s Marina. The current increased our speed and we arrived just before 11:00 A.M. I hoped we could eat lunch at the restaurant here, so we tied up at the dock. I walked to the restaurant and discovered it opened at 11:00 A.M. As I walked back across the parking lot, I met a towboat operator named Dan Kelly. He was a very likable person with gray hair straying from under his seaman’s cap. His twinkling blue eyes, calm demeanor, and irrepressible smile reminded me of our family doctor. He tried not to discourage me but gave warnings of high waters downstream. He said, "Facilities would be few and far apart on the lower Mississippi River. Also make sure that you use the Chain of Rocks Channel when you get to the Mississippi." I already knew that if you missed the channel you would go over a dam a few miles downstream. In fact, when I had flown to Ohio, to begin this adventure, I had a bird’s eye view of the channel and dam as I passed over St. Louis.

I walked back to the boat for Bob and Ted, and we went into the restaurant for lunch. After lunch, Dan came into the restaurant and talked to Bob and Ted about the same things we discussed in the parking lot. When I asked about wakes from barges, Dan warned, "On the Mississippi River, south of Baton Rouge, you will encounter large freighter traffic that can raise a wake over six feet high."

The weather settled into off and on periods of fine mist. As we continued down the swollen Illinois River, occasional rays of sunshine warmed us for the first time since we left Ohio. The current was so swift we were travelling nearly four miles per gallon of fuel. Earlier, we had averaged only two and one half mpg. Bob suggested we keep the engine rpm’s constant so we could determine our fuel economy. So far we had kept the engine rpm’s between 1500 and 1800.

Travelling a total of 42 miles our second day brought us from the deserted Three Rivers Marina to Starved Rock Marina at 4:00 P.M. just at its closing time. The people there were very friendly and kept the store open for us. After fueling the boat and parking in a slip, we went to the marine store. We needed more boat fenders (rubber bumpers that hang over the side of the boat), and it looked like having a marine radio was to become mandatory.

__As usual ours is the smallest boat in the marina. __

Bob hoped that the antique radio that came with the boat could be fixed. I considered it not likely. Since it could receive but not transmit, Bob thought replacing the microphone might fix it. The store did not have a replacement, and the sales person felt the problem was probably within the radio itself. Bob and I then argued over whether to buy an $129 handheld radio or an $125 fixed mount radio. Bob was in favor of the handheld because it could be taken off the boat and used elsewhere, but I was against it because it required 110 volt AC to charge it. I argued that he would have no use for it off the water anyway. The sales person said the range of the fixed radio hooked to the eight-foot boat antenna was considerably greater than that of the handheld. Bob ultimately conceded the argument and we concluded our purchase.

A cheerful Presbyterian lady behind the counter offered to take Ted to the Catholic Church in town for the evening mass. While Ted was gone, Bob and I took advantage of the showers. The public phone was out of order, so I went into the Captain’s Cove Restaurant in search of one. A flight of stairs led me up to the restaurant and lounge, which afforded picturesque views of the Illinois River. The draft beers refreshed me as I used the house phone in the lounge to call Arlene in Santa Fe. Arlene would relay our status to Bob’s wife in Grafton, Ohio and to my parents in Roswell, New Mexico. Bob’s wife, Dorothy, would relay the information to Ted’s sons. It had become apparent that my 1-800-telephone number in Santa Fe was going to be handy. I would use the expensive cell phone service only as a last resort. Bob worked industriously on installing the new radio. A friendly parishioner gave Ted a ride back from the church in Ottawa to the marina, and later, we ate a reasonably priced meal at the restaurant. This was a very modern and complete marina, and I hoped to find similar facilities during the balance of our journey. After buttoning down the tarp, we slept peacefully, free from wakes of passing barges. The slips were "off channel"; meaning they were within a bay or barrier of levees that protected you from the river current and traffic.

Sunday morning at 8:30 we took off for the two-mile trip to the Starved Rock Lock and Dam. Quimby’s rivers guide provided lock dimensions, lift height, and lock radio channel. I turned our new radio to channel 14 and requested permission for our small pleasure craft to go downstream through the lock. The lockmaster radioed back one word, "Standby." About 20 minutes later, the gates opened, and the entry light turned green. Another small pleasure boat and ours entered the lock, and within another 20 minutes, this small flotilla was lowered and released back to the river. We continued down the Illinois at 10 mph, passing a half dozen marinas along the swollen banks. After 69 miles of travel today, we arrived at Eastport Marina in East Peoria, Illinois. As usual, it was just after closing time. It was a good thing we hadn’t left a month earlier, or many marinas would not yet be open for the season. (According to Quimby’s.)

After making my way into the massive array of docks, I eased into a slip, and Ted secured the boat. I headed up the dock to shore in search of the dock master while Ted and Bob went to the restrooms. No one was at the dock master’s office, so I figured we could get gasoline in the morning. This was a modern marina with some sections of the docks gated for private use. The upper floor of the main building housed a restaurant whose menu was posted at the base of the stairway. I told Bob and Ted that a meal at this place would cost over $20 apiece. A grounds keeper, I encountered, told me there was a convenience store a half a mile away. We agreed that I should hike over there for sandwiches. I returned to the boat with sandwiches, chips, candy, eight batteries and a six-pack of beer. The GPS eats up four double-A batteries every two days. After consuming the six-pack that evening, I slept soundly through the night.

Monday morning, April 19, we were up, had the gear stowed, and had cruised over to the gas pumps by 8:30 A.M. We found someone to fuel us and we were off to the River at 9:00. The past three days had netted us only 160 miles on the rivers. If we were to continue at this rate, it would take us a full month to complete the journey. Bob agreed with me, that now that we had our fuel consumption data, we should see what kind of mileage we would get if we planed the boat out. I eased forward on the throttle and at about 20 mph the boat rose up onto the surface of the water. At 3300 rpm the boat was travelling 28 mile per hour. It turned out that by doubling our rpm’s we traveled almost three times faster than our previous speed. We had been told that this boat was capable of 50 miles per hour, but we would never exceed 30 miles per hour on this trip. We rearranged our cargo to maximize weight distribution for our mode of travel. In fifteen minutes we arrived at Peoria Lock and Dam and sped through without even realizing we were at the lock. It so happened the wickets were down because of high water, and river traffic could pass unimpeded. I had read in the literature that the last two locks on the Illinois Waterway might have their wickets (some kind of gate) lowered during times of high water.

At 11:00 A.M. River’s Edge Boat Club appeared off our starboard, and we approached to look for a gas pump. A crudely hand lettered sign spelled out GAS, but we could see no sign of a pump until we were down river of the establishment. Back in a flooded slough behind the main building sat a gas pump on a half-sunk barge.









__The fuel pump__

High water had covered the foot ramp to the barge. I turned the boat back upstream and went back to the main building where we caught someone’s attention. They motioned for us to go tie up at the pump. We waited at the pump for a while and eventually a lanky fellow in hip waders wandered over to unlock the pump. After filling up, we drove the boat back upstream to the building and nosed the bow onto the beach. We tied the boat to pilings supporting the building, and went upstairs to the restaurant to pay for the gas and order lunch.

__Ted and Bob. River's Edge 4/19/99__

I didn’t know what a buffalo sandwich was, so I ordered one. It turned out to be some kind of deep fried fish whose flesh was twisted and gnarled leaving large air spaces within the large potato sized mass. This was delicately balanced between two slices of white bread. It tasted fine, but was not your typical sandwich.

At 12:30 P.M. we pushed off from shore, I mistakenly headed upstream since my final approach to the stop had been from downstream. The fact that we were only going 4 mph at 1700 rpm got my attention quickly, and I sheepishly turned the boat around. Calculations in the restaurant showed our gas consumption when planing the boat out was 2.7 mpg. It didn’t seem to matter much whether we went 10 mph or 30 mph, so we had choices. We continued on at 25 to 30 mph. I began encountering floating logs and flotsam, and it reminded me of a computer game, as I maneuvered the boat around the floating obstacles. It took considerable attention and a sharp eye to steer clear of the debris. Occasionally, we slowed to 10 mph when the water became too thick with floating logs. We also slowed down when the wake from passing barges created swells that sent us to flying into the air when we were planing the boat.

We had been making great headway today and hoped to reach the town of Grafton tonight. Grafton is on the Mississippi River at the mouth of the Illinois River. We had traveled 66 miles this morning to River’s Edge Boat Club, and we needed to make 97 more miles to reach Grafton. The second half of today’s travel would take us close to the limit of our fuel capacity. While looking for the La Grange Lock and Dam, we realized we were going right over it, just as we had done at the last lock. When we were 20 miles from Grafton, we decided we should add some of our spare fuel to the tank. The town of Hardin was nearby, and Bob insisted we tie up at the barge they used as a dock while we refueled. I argued that we could just as well add fuel while we were floating in the middle of the river, but I gave him this one and we tied up at the barge. We added 8 of our 10 spare gallons of fuel. If we ran out of gas, I wanted a little reserve to get us to shore.

After untying the boat I quickly moved the throttle forward to reach planing speed. At 2500 rpm’s I heard a thump and the boat slowed. I quickly backed the throttle off and let the boat come to a stop. We raised the prop to inspect it for debris. Finding none, I restarted the boat and eased forward on the throttle. Everything seemed fine until I reached 1800 rpm’s. At that point another thump and the boat slowed again as if you were holding the clutch pedal down in your car. It sounded like something in the transmission was slipping out of gear. The mood was somber as I eased the boat down the river at 1700 rpm’s going 10 mph. It was starting to get dark so we turned on our navigational lights. At sunset we were 8 miles from Grafton. We decided we had better put up at the Pere Marquette State Park for the night. Quimby’s said the channel entrance was marked with a government light. We found the Park, but the flooding had covered most of the harbor. We anxiously scrutinized the area for any sign of a safe passage. As we attempted to move toward the lights on shore, there was a thump. We had hit something underwater. I managed to back out of the jam, but when I went to forward drive we had nothing left at any rpm. We could still go in reverse, so I steered over to a pole jutting out of the water and we tied the bow of the boat to it. As I looked up the pole, I saw a red light fixture on top. I told Bob we found the channel entrance light and it was just not lit. The rest of the channel markers were underwater, so this was not going to be of much help.

Through the night we bobbed up and down as the swells from passing barges rocked the boat. I felt safe though, as the bow was pointed upstream, and we were reasonably far from the shipping channel. We had managed to travel more miles in this one day than we had in the past three, but it seemed our gain was likely to shrivel. I dug through the kitchen supplies and found the rusty old corkscrew/can opener Dorothy had tossed in, and washed away my depression with the bottle of red wine we had been given. I slept very well that night.

We arose at 6:00 Tuesday morning, stowed the gear and were organized for action by 7:00. For two hours Bob read and reread the Quimby’s trying to figure out the most reasonable course of action. I suggested we get a tow 12 miles to Venetian Harbor on the Mississippi River. Bob felt that perhaps we could make it to Grafton in reverse. I agreed to try, so we started the engine and untied the boat. Unfortunately the out-drive wouldn’t go down, and although we still had reverse drive, the boat would not respond to the wheel. We began to gradually drift in circles down the Illinois River. When I spotted a barge going down stream, I was glad it was on the other side of the river. Suddenly, a skiff appeared, roaring downstream between the passing barge and us. Ted identified it as a Coast Guard skiff. I grabbed the radio microphone and transmitted on channel 16, "Hello Coast Guard skiff. We are in trouble. We are adrift just outside Pere Marquette State Park. We are a blue and white Bayliner." A minute later the Coast Guard headquarters radioed us. They told us the passing barge had picked up our distress call and relayed it to them. They then said they had radioed the skiff with instructions to turn around and come back to assist us.

Five minutes later the skiff was back. The two young men on board asked about our problem and then asked where we wanted to go. I said, "How about Grafton?" They radioed headquarters, and then told us they would have to beach us here at Pere Marquette State Park. Unfortunately, there was no marine service here, but it was better than being in the middle of the river. They explored the harbor with their skiff and then returned to tow us in. When we were as close to shore as they could tow us, they came around behind the boat and pushed us in closer. The boat’s bow eased up onto the lawn near the shore of the park. We were a few feet from a road that was under eight inches of water. I hopped off the boat into a foot of water with a firm grassy bottom, drove some stakes into the ground and tied off the boat. We had to wade 25 feet across the water-covered lawn to reach dry ground. I should have taken my shoes off, but I didn’t think of it at the time. The Coast Guard fellows waved goodbye and took off.

While Bob and Ted examined the out-drive, I walked up on shore to investigate the two buildings here. The first building was a visitor’s center. The other building housed a lodge and restaurant. There were vacancies at the lodge, so I went back to tell Bob and Ted. Bob had talked to a couple of fishermen in search of competent marine service. We grabbed some gear and headed up to the lodge to get a room and make some calls. The lodge personnel let us into our room two hours before normal check-in. After reviewing literature in the room, we decided on a marine service. Bob called them, and they said they would call back when they were ready to bring a trailer out.

__Pool, hot tub, Dry sauna at lodge__

Ted and I went out to the boat and brought more gear into the room, and then walked back to the shore to look for the launching ramp. We found it a quarter of a mile upstream from the boat, but we had no idea how to get the boat there. At 1:00 P.M. I notified the desk that we were waiting for a call, and we went to the restaurant for lunch. We got back to the room just as the repair people called, so we headed back down to the boat to meet them. They arrived in a few minutes and told us we would have to move the boat to the ramp. They told Ted and I to fix lines to the boat and walk it along the shore. The breeze assisted us as we pulled the boat through waist deep water the quarter mile upstream. The water was shallow where it met the ramp during high water. The repair folks had to back the trailer so far down the ramp that the water was over the front axle of their truck. After securing the boat to the trailer, they gave us a ride back to the lodge. We unloaded a few more pieces of gear and waved goodbye to our boat.

We finally had the chance to get out of our wet clothes and relax. This was a lovely lodge boasting a large indoor pool, Jacuzzi, dry sauna, game room, convention rooms, and a great hall with a ten foot by ten-foot chessboard in its center. I immediately went to the sauna and turned it on to heat while I swam in the pool. I felt we were certainly getting our money’s worth at $70.00 a night. I saw only a dozen customers in the lodge and restaurant. There were more staff here than customers. Everyone we met was friendly and sympathetic about our dilemma. My tension melted away in the sauna, and after ten minutes, I was back in the pool. At 7:40 P.M., just before 8:00 P.M. closing, we went to supper. Lunch had cost five to eight dollars, but supper ran about ten dollars. We decided we should eat late breakfast and late lunch tomorrow to save money. Breakfast is served from 6:30 A.M. to 11:00 A.M., and lunch is served from 11:00 A.M. to 4:00 P.M. That evening in our room, we watched the news about the Columbine High School massacre. Bob fitfully tossed and turned in one queen size bed, while Ted and I shared the other that night.

Wednesday morning we went to breakfast at 10:30. After breakfast Bob returned to the room to wait for a call from the mechanic, and I brought my journal up to date while sitting in a chair in the great hall. At 3:00 P.M. the mechanic called with the assessment of the boat: A lower unit in the drive is broken. The rubber boot that seals the drive to the boat is deteriorated and is leaking. And, the u-joints are worn. After hearing the estimate of cost, Bob said, "Go ahead with the repairs and change the oil also." We were told that the lower drive unit had to be ordered and sent by airfreight, and might arrive tomorrow about noon. Bob told Ted and me, "They are trying to rush this through to get us going ASAP. It looks like the bill will be about $1300."

During the afternoon I played out the first four moves of the queen’s gambit on the large chess set in the great hall. I studied black’s options for an hour, hoping a chess player would happen by and stop for a game. Most people who walked by turned their heads away, as if they did not want to get involved. We missed our late lunch and ate supper at 6:30 P.M. I gave the lodge phone number to Arlene, who passed it on to Ted’s sons and my parents, Dick and Maxine, in Roswell. From 8:00 P.M. to 8:45 that evening, one by one, all three sons phoned Ted at our room, and my parents called me the next morning. Needles to say, a lot of people were quite concerned about us. We turned in for the night at 9:00, and I slept well.

Thursday morning I reserved the room for another night and asked whether rooms would still be available on Friday night. They said things could pick up, and they could give no assurance of room availability. I mentioned this to Bob, and he dismissed it as being quite improbable. Judging from the lack of people around here, I guessed he was probably right. While crossing the great hall, I found a chess player using the large board to analyze a game he was playing against a chess computer. He agreed to play, as a human opponent would be more interesting. I won the first game, and had to concede to a stalemate the second game. The play was fun and relaxing. On the way to our late lunch, Ted found a crumpled ten-dollar bill on the floor of the great hall. He turned it over to our waitress and said, "Somebody lost this in the great hall." A few minutes later, I heard voices from the kitchen indicating their astonishment. Ted’s hearing aid was not strong enough for him to hear them utter, "Most people would have just kept it." Bob and I just sat quietly reflecting on Ted’s honesty.

Friday morning, our boat part arrived, and the repair shop called to say, "The boat would be ready first thing Saturday morning, and we’ll pick you up at the lodge at 8:30 A.M. tomorrow." It looked like we would soon be rolling again. I went to the desk to make a final reservation for Friday night, and to my dismay they had no rooms. We phoned a Super 8 Motel in the nearby town of Alton and made a reservation for the night. When I settled the room bill at the lodge, I discovered they had billed us ten dollars less for Thursday night than usual. I never asked why, but I suspected that I knew the reason. A taxi service sent a car for us and, for $30 we rode the 15 miles to the motel in Alton. I bought sandwiches and snacks at the grocery store across the street. We watched old movies on TV while we ate. We hoped the off and on rains would be gone by tomorrow.

In the morning we took advantage of the Motel’s continental breakfast, before we were picked up at 8:45 A.M. At the harbor Bob settled the account while Ted and I stowed the gear. The support broke when I stepped on the rear seat. I was glad it happened to me. The mechanic fashioned a new support and installed it. The mechanic had anticipated our fuel needs, so our tank and spare tanks were full. I started the engine, backed out the boat, and eased us out of the harbor into the Piasa Creek. Another mile and we were past Piasa Island and into the Mississippi River. Our overland journey from Pere Marquette Park to the marina in Alton had bypassed seven miles of the Illinois River and nine miles of the Mississippi River.

|Chap-1 Prologue and Preparations | Chap-3 The Mississippi | Chap-4 The Ohio and Tennessee |
| Chap-5 The Tenn-Tom Waterway| Chap-6 Mobile Bay| Back to Index|