As we passed Piasa Island and entered the Mississippi River, everyone seemed happy to be finally on our journey again. We had left Alton at 10:00 A.M. Saturday on the 24^th of April. We were travelling about 8 to 12 mph with the engine rpm’s at 1700. Soon we reached the Melvin Price Lock and Dam. Although Quimby’s said the normal drop for this lock is 23 feet, we were lowered only 10 inches and did not need to tie off during the ride.

A few miles downstream the current suddenly increased as the Missouri River joined the Mississippi. We kept to the left descending bank (LDB) as our speed increased. We would reach the Chain of Rocks Canal soon, and it was imperative that we not miss it. Suddenly a large sign appeared on a finger of land in the river running parallel to the LDB. As we approached, we made out the crudely scrawled words, "Chain of Rocks Canal". We assumed we should go to the left side of the finger, as that is what the charts indicated. Soon I was confident we were in the canal. We had not been able to bring the boat to planing speed because of excessive amounts of debris. Now that we were in the Chain of Rocks Canal, the debris diminished and we were able to plane out for a while. Bob preferred we cruise slowly, and at this point I didn’t feel like arguing.

It was only nine miles from the entrance of the canal to the Chain of Rocks Lock and Dam where the canal exits. We were there in about a half hour, and although normal drop is twelve feet, we rode down only ten inches without tying up to the side. I began to wonder how we would tie the boat to the side of the lock if we were lowered greater distances. We were out of the lock in about twenty minutes, and proceeded casually downstream passing the great arch in St. Louis.

The current increased, and we were up to twelve miles an hour at 1700 rpm’s. About five miles south of St. Louis our marine radio picked up a call for a pleasure boat south of St. Louis, so I responded. They said, "We’re looking for a pleasure boat that just passed through St. Louis. They are creating a large wake." I told them we had not exceeded twelve-mph all day. They said, "Well, slow it down anyway." Apparently they had observed some other boat, but they still suspected us. Later, a thirty-foot pleasure boat, going south, passed us doing 25 miles per hour. We tossed about crazily as four-foot swells bobbed the boat for several minutes. I realized now, the formula for the size of a wake involves the speed and weight of the boat. We had never seen a towboat (pushing dozens of barges) create a wake the size this thirty-footer made. When we had cruised at thirty mph, we created a two-foot swell at the shoreline.

At 3:45 P.M. Saturday, April 24^th, we arrived at Hoppie’s Marine Service. Fern Hoppie met us at the dock and assisted us in tying up at the fuel pump on her floating dock. We told her we would like to stay here at Kimmswick for the night, and we would like to find a restaurant. She directed us to a location on the other side of the dock where we secured the boat for the night. The dock is on channel, so wakes from passing boats caused the dock and our boat to bob up and down. She said, "There are several bed and breakfast places in Kimmswick." She agreed to call around to see if there were any vacancies in this small tourist town. She arranged a ride to church for Ted. When Ted left, Bob related our experiences and plans to Fern. Fern’s jovial attitude was disquieted by our plans to travel on the lower Mississippi River. No services for hundreds of miles, excessive debris, and freighter traffic, were among the problems she warned us of. Her experiences substantiated the warnings of other mariners we met during our journey. She said, "Go the Tom Bigbee. It’s got plenty of facilities, calm water and is a shorter route to the Gulf than the Mississippi route. There are no marinas on the Mississippi River near New Orleans." She convinced me, and I resolved to convince Bob to change our route.

While Bob continued talking to Fern, I walked a half a mile down the road to Kimmswick. Many of the structures in Kimmswick are restored buildings from the 1800’s. The restored "Old House Restaurant" boasted 1770 construction. All the buildings were quaint, but the shops only catered to tourists. There was not even a grocery store in town. After touring almost every block in town, I walked back to the marina. Fern had located a vacancy at a bed and breakfast, and when Ted returned, she drove us there. After stowing our luggage we walked two blocks to the "Old House Restaurant" for supper. That evening Ken and Abbey, our hosts, demonstrated their antique juke box (plays large perforated metal disks) and showed us slides of plant life they photographed during their trips to the Southwestern deserts. We got to bed at 9:45 P.M. I know I dreamed a lot, but I couldn’t remember the details.

I arose at six, and after brushing my teeth, I went down to the study to review the charts and update my journal. I had not spoken to Bob of my conviction to take an alternate route to the gulf. I had spoken to Ted, and he had agreed that it would be unwise to continue our original plans, considering our vessel. It is Sunday. We traveled 50 miles yesterday using 17 gallons of gas. From here it is 37 miles down to St. Genevieve. Kidd River City Fuel at Cape Girardeau is another 70 miles. According to Quimby’s, both of these Missouri towns have gas and limited facilities. From Cape Girardeau it is another 52 miles to Cairo Illinois where the Ohio River empties into the Mississippi. From there we will have to travel 46 miles up the Ohio to Paducah, Kentucky. Neither Cairo nor Paducah is listed in Quimby’s guide. Our fuel range is 100 miles downstream, so we will have to find fuel in Cairo somehow, and hope for the same at Paducah.

After breakfast, Ken drove us to the marina. We untied the boat and left the dock at 10:15 A.M. I couldn’t help but realize that we had spent five of the last nine nights in beds. I imagined that would change now.

As we continued down the swollen Mississippi, I took a picture of a Corps of Engineers green channel marker struggling to keep above water as the high current from the spring runoff pressed it downstream. Sometimes these buoys broke loose or large logs corralled them and carried them and their anchor to a new resting-place. You could not always depend on the rule of "red on the right when going upstream or into a harbor". Apparently the engineers routinely maintained these buoys and the periodic red and green lights on the shores. We nearly always kept within the boundaries of the channel markers. I informed Ted and Bob that Quimby’s said, "Do not cut corners when going around bends in the river. The silt is deposited on the inside bank of the turn." The riverbanks were thickly lined with trees and dense foliage, rarely revealing any sign of civilization. I figured this was probably representative of what most of the Mississippi River would be like

We plodded slowly down the Mississippi through mist and light drizzles and several hours later arrived at a sheltered bay near St. Genevieve on the Missouri side of the river. This was Marina De Gabouri. Near shore was a floating fuel dock, and a couple hundred feet up the bank of the bay sat a restaurant / lounge named Eagle’s Nest. We tied up at the floating dock. There was no attendant or intercom on the dock, so I had to use my cell phone to call the restaurant. They turned the pump on from the restaurant. The ramp from the fuel dock to shore was underwater, so after fueling, I had to ease the boat up to the shore below the restaurant. I drove our stakes into the ground, tied up the boat, and walked up to the restaurant to pay for the gas. When I got back to the boat Bob decided he wanted to cook the sausage we brought from Chicago. I told him it was spoiled by now, but he insisted we light the cook stove. I helped him try to light the stove for 15 minutes. When the mist turned to drizzle he reluctantly gave up. On the way to the restaurant, Ted tossed the nine-day-old sausage and eggs in a trash can. I could empathize with Bob’s expectations for more camping out during the trip, but conditions just hadn’t been what we planned for.

I called Arlene from the pay phone. Bob tried to phone Dorothy several times that afternoon, but could not get an answer at his house. I had a few beers at the lounge and returned to the boat just as Ted and Bob were unrolling their sleeping bags. I prepared my bed and slept soundly through the night. Monday morning at 7:50, on a whim, I called Arlene. She told me that Dorothy and a friend named Helen were in St. Genevieve right now looking for us. I related that to Bob, and he told me to walk to town to get groceries and possibly spot the ladies. After walking a mile up the marina road I came to a junction just as the ladies drove by (missing the turn to the marina). I ran out into the road waving. Helen saw me and turned back. As we drove back to the marina I apprised Dorothy of my conviction to alter our plans for continuing down the Mississippi River. I hoped to have another ally in convincing Bob to adjust his vision. Helen and I left Dorothy with Ted and Bob, and drove back to town in search of a grocery store. It began to drizzle again. When Helen and I arrived back at the marina, Bob seemed as sullen as the dark clouds overhead. As we shoved off, to the bon voyage of Helen and Dorothy, the weather began to clear, and Bob’s humor seemed to return. After all we still were going for the Gulf of Mexico, and if we wanted to, we could take the inter-coastal waterway another 90 miles from Mobile to New Orleans. Bob began saying, "We’ve seen enough of this river anyway."

Monday morning, April 26^th - We continued down the swollen river dodging debris and negotiating the wakes of passing barges. Earlier, when we departed St. Genevieve, Helen gave us two of her handmade toy boats to release to the whims of the river. A few hours later we remembered them, and Ted gently launched the tiny boats into the Mississippi where they bobbed about like ducklings. In seven hours we traveled 70 miles to reach Kidd River City Fuel (a fuel barge tied to a twenty-foot high concrete channel wall at Cape Girardeau, Missouri). Quimby’s guide indicated you should call ahead 24 hours in advance and the minimum fuel delivery was 50 gallons here at Kidd’s. I had tried to call them yesterday and this morning, but got no answer. Sure enough, no one was here. Fortunately, Dorothy and Helen had driven here to meet us again. Helen gave me the keys to the car, and Dorothy and I made several trips to a gas station 10 blocks away in order to top off our tank and fuel cans.

After fond farewells we dislodged a log and other floating debris that had accumulated against the boat, and we returned to the river. Four miles downstream we pulled into the Southeastern Missouri Regional Port Authority harbor and drove slowly aground at the farthest reach of the harbor, safely out of the way of barge traffic. I waded twenty feet through two-foot water to place stakes in solid ground to tie off the boat for the night. The weather was clearing, and we had a peaceful night.

The next morning, Tuesday, April 27, we were up early and off by 6:30. It was a good thing we were up early because this was to be the longest day of the trip. At 11:30 that morning we completed our last 48 miles on the Mississippi River and turned left into the Ohio River at Cairo, Illinois. The Corps of Engineer’s charts indicated a boat ramp at Cairo, so we cruised along the Ohio River shoreline until we found it. A concrete ramp parted a boulder littered shoreline. A metal stairway provided a path up through the boulders to the elevation of Cairo. There was no place to dock, and the turbulent water tended to drive the boat onto the rocks. After jumping in the water and securing a line, I left Ted and Bob at the stairway to hold the boat off the rocks using ropes and pieces of driftwood. Once I arrived at the top of the stairway (with the fuel cans we had just emptied into the main tank), I immediately encountered a friendly fellow who was building a restaurant at that site. My pants were soaked to the waist from the landing we made, but he just laid some plastic on the seat of his truck and drove me several blocks to a gas station. I was relieved now that we had secured gas at Cairo, but we still had no idea what to expect at Paducah. It was about 12:30 P.M. when we left the Cairo shoreline. I figured we would make the 46 miles up the Ohio River to Paducah easily by nightfall.

|Chap-1 Prologue and Preparations |Chap-2 Illinois Waterways | Chap-4 The Ohio and Tennessee |
| Chap-5 The Tenn-Tom Waterway| Chap-6 Mobile Bay| Back to Index|