Trak Kayaks Expedition: San Juan Islands Trip Report

August 23 – 29, 2026

Quick and Dirty Recap:

Day 1: Anacortes, WA – Sunset Beach to James Island

Day 2: James Island to Spencer Spit to Blind Island (Shaw Island)

Day 3: Shaw Island Circumnavigation

Day 4: Blind Island to Jones Island

Day 5: Jones Island to Turn Island

Day 6: Turn Island to Turn Point County Park

Day 7: (Personal solo paddle day: Sunset Beach around Burrows Island to Cabana Park)

A couple years ago, I saw a social media post about Trak Kayaks, a collapsible yet legit sea kayak, and they were looking for ambassadors for their boats. Basically, the deal was to acquire one of their boats at a discounted price, then act as sort of a regional source for anyone interested in their boats to meet up, try out the boat and potentially purchase it if they like it. I talked on the phone with a couple of good people at Trak, told them about our vibrant midwestern paddling community then dove in as an ambassador – a Trak Pilot.

Fast forward a bit and I’ve paddled this really nice boat on our local rivers, even racing in a very rocky Bourbeuse Bluebell Race, scraping rocks along the way. I was impressed how well a sea kayak with a skin held up to a proper Ozark stream. But what I had not yet done is what the real selling point of these boats is – to pack it up into its checked bag-sized roller duffel, fly across the country or the world with it and paddle on a proper ocean, which is really what these boats are made for. Trak organizes meetups and trips all over the world, from the Pacific Northwest to Baja, Central America, Patagonia, Europe, Asia and tons of other places.

So this summer, as a vacation from full time river guiding with Big Muddy, I naturally chose to take a week away to paddle. Caleb at Trak highly recommended I check out the trip to the San Juan Islands, just off the coast of Washington state just north of Seattle. Caleb raved about Alex Lalonde, the primary guide for the trip, as well as the opportunity to learn the ins and outs of coastal kayaking in a beautiful but relatively calmer environment than the open sea. I signed up and booked the flights.

The trip was a 6 day, 5 night expedition, with a group paddling Trak kayaks from island to island within the San Juans, camping on islands every night, pretty much a self-supported trip. I have fortunately had the opportunity to undertake this format of paddling down the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers, but never on salt water – not quite the open sea but ocean paddling nonetheless. I was very excited to learn much more about things that the oceans have that the big rivers don’t – tides, currents, fetch, surf and tons of little nuances you get with ocean paddling.

I packed my gear – my Trak kayak along with some of my paddling gear into the Trak bag then had another rollaboard for clothes and camping gear. I ended up paying a fair amount for the bags and the extra weight, but I learned a valuable lesson from my friend Todd who flew in from Cleveland for the trip: check to see if a higher class ticket, like business, includes baggage, because it might be cheaper to fly business with some big heavy bags than to pick the cheapest ticket and pay extra out the arse for the bags.

Flight to Seattle was smooth, then I hucked my bags to the Link train outside the airport and took the train north to just outside Edmonds, WA. Another trip participant, Rebecca, graciously offered to host me at her and her husband’s beautiful house overlooking Edmonds harbor before making the trip up to the San Juans the next morning. I spent the evening talking with Rebecca and Richard, with Rebecca telling me about her pretty industrious and widely-travelled paddling career. She’s been a Trak kayak owner since nearly the beginning of the company, 20+ years.

The next morning we hopped in Rebecca and Richard’s super nice RV and headed up to Anacortes, WA where we’d meet the rest of the trip paddlers and our guides. We walked into Body, Boat, Blade kayak shop and met our guides for the week Alex and Sasha. The other trip participants trickled in: Marilyn from Detroit, David from Chicago, Florence from Vancouver, Todd from Cleveland. Over the next couple hours, Alex laid out the trip, presenting us with different options for routes, gave us a crash course on ocean conditions, tides and currents specific to the San Juan islands and taught us some of the core terminology for ocean paddling.

After lunch, we went to Alex’s house to put together our boats, packed our gear in our boats, and assessed how much room we had to spare to fit shared gear and food for the group for the week of paddling. Some of the crew had experience with Trak, others were just renting or trying out the boat for the week. I was pleasantly surprised with how little room my own personal gear took up, allowing me to throw some extra group gear in the boat.

Rebecca drove me to a campsite for the night, which was conveniently where we’d be putting in the next morning. Hammock sleeping in the mid-50 degree temps under gorgeous northwest evergreens was absolutely divine after a summer of blazing STL temperatures.

Day 1

I was up early the next morning and walked my boat down to the beach and started assembling my boat and gear as the rest of the group trickled in. Our target was to depart by 10am to catch the slack tide for a 5 mile crossing from Sunset Beach in Anacortes to James Island across the Rosario Strait. I was packed up pretty quickly, but some of the others took some time in getting their gear packed and into their boats. I learned another lesson right then, that just because I was settled with my gear and boat didn’t mean the job was done. We had to work as a team this week, to ensure everyone was prepped, ready to hit the water when we needed to, according to the tides. Missing a targeted departure time on the ocean can have consequences, which we were about to find out.

We departed the beach around 10:45, and David had an unfortunate flip which delayed us a bit further. Now our crossing was going to be in a flooding tide instead of slack, which meant paddling angled against the current to ensure we’d hit James Island.

Luckily, the conditions were pretty mellow, low winds and little boat traffic. We spotted some Porpoises surfacing in the distance and were about halfway across when David flipped again. Alex and Sasha quickly helped him back into his boat, but in the effort, David was pretty exhausted. Alex had Marilyn tie up next to David for stability, then Alex and Sasha took turns towing those two into the current the rest of the way to James – a superhuman effort. Myself, Rebecca, Todd and Florence paddled ahead and landed on James before Alex and Sasha came in with Marilyn and David in tow.

We had lunch on the beach then headed up the steep slope to pitch our camp for the night. After we were settled, myself, Todd, Florence and Alex did a late afternoon circumnavigation of James Island, only about 2.5 miles. I spotted a bike helmet floating in the kelp and I actually hauled it with me the rest of the week and flew home with it! Nothing like ocean treasure. I set up my hammock on a beautiful spot overlooking our beach and had a very enjoyable night sleep.

Day 2

There must have been some wildfire smoke moving in, because I opened my eyes in my hammock to an absolutely brilliant sunrise over the Rosario Strait. After some coffee and standard breakfast of potato and egg hash, we packed up and started to load our boats for the day’s journey: cross to Spencer Spit for lunch, then on to Blind Island for the night.

As our group got onto the water, David continued to experience instability in his kayak. After huddling with Alex and Sasha, David decided to end his trip early. Alex called a local water taxi to come retrieve David and his boat/gear as the rest of the group departed. Absolutely no shame in knowing when to pack it in, revisit gear and skills and attack the opportunity for a future adventure. Nice paddling and adventuring with you, David.

Our group crossed through the gap between Blakely and Decatur Islands then crossed another calm channel to Spencer Spit, a really nice state park, where we chowed on our standard lunch of artisan crackers, summer sausage, cheese, avocado and tuna packets with tortillas. We also had the chance to refill our shared water dromedaries at a spigot. Leaving Spencer Spit, we got up close and personal with a curious seal, his heading sticking out above the water taking a look at us weirdos. The wildfire smoke was somewhat thick at times, and there wasn’t much of a breeze until we crossed around the northern tip of Lopez Island and got some decent southern wind-caused waves as we crossed over to Shaw Island. I pulled over on a small gravel beach for some relief and spotted a tooth just under the water – turns out it was likely a seal tooth!

We paddled into Blind Bay then across to Blind Island, where we encountered another kayak trip of high school kids camping for the night. But plenty of room on this small island for us, Sasha knew the guides for the other trip. We unpacked, moved the boats up to higher ground, then prepped our camps before gathering for dinner. With very few trees on the island for hammock camping, I laid out my sand mat and got ready for open-sky cowboy camping at the most elevated point on the island with spectacular views of the surrounding islands and ferries landing and departing at Shaw and Orcas.

After dinner, Alex and Sasha proposed for the next day that we keep our camp at Blind Island for a second night, then paddle our unloaded boats around the entirety for Shaw Island, a challenging 15 mile route in varying currents and conditions. The prospect of unloaded boats and skipping the camp breakdown and setup was very appealing for our group. I laid down in my million-star sleeping accommodations for the night.

Day 3

This would be the longest day mileage-wise but probably my favorite of the whole week. We left Blind Island around 10am with light, unloaded boats. We took off around Shaw Island counterclockwise, first going with the flooding tide until we made the turn into the San Juan Channel where we were going against the current. Luckily, Alex had taught us the importance of catching eddies, a concept I’m very familiar with on rivers, but quite applicable in marine environments as well. Basically, we kept pretty close to the shoreline, and with the irregularity of land features on the coast, we can sort of hide in the shadow created by the current hitting these features and avoid paddling directly into a strong current.

At one point, I looked out across the mile-wide San Juan Channel flowing with the flooding tide and other than the water clarity, very much resembled a strongly flowing Missouri or Mississippi. We also had to paddle up and over a riffle where the channel narrowed forcing the current to be constricted, a nice little adrenaline rush.

As we turned around the bottom of Shaw Island, I looked up and saw a snow-capped Mt. Baker in the distance. We’d been surrounded by beautiful mountains all week, but this is the first time we’ve been able to see one of the snow-capped peaks of the Cascade Range. Combine this with some pretty nice tailwind in this section, which allowed me to try a little downwind surfing in my Trak, it was an amazing homestretch for the day. We made our way back to Blind Island after a quick pitstop at the general store at the Shaw Ferry terminal for refreshments.

After another delicious dinner (all our dinners were prepared by Alex and Sasha out of ingredients that generally don’t require refrigeration: rice, pasta, dehydrated or fresh veggies, vegetarian friendly proteins, canned chicken, etc. – every meal was delicious!), Alex asked us to plan the next day’s route to our next island camp on Jones Island. We huddled over a map, discussed different routes and considered the tides, currents, wind and other factors we’d learned to take into account so far in the week. Pretty empowering to immediately apply things you are learning to help plan the next leg of the trip, rather than simply following what our leader is dictating. We ran our plan by Alex and Sasha and other than a few comments or suggestions, our plan was not too shabby.

Day 4

A pretty short and relaxing day compared to yesterday’s 15 mile circumnavigation, we headed west and passed through the narrow passage between Crane and Orcas Island into Deer Harbor. Stopped on a rocky beach for lunch before proceeding around a peninsula edged by beautiful homes perched on the rocky bluffs, then a short crossing to Jones Island. With an early afternoon arrival, plenty of time to set up camp, dry out wet gear, hike around the island to take in the incredible views (including distant mountains of Canada!), catch a nap and generally relax.

We gathered for dinner and discussed the plan for the next day, which would be our last full day of paddling. Not much planning needed for this route, as we had a pretty straight shot southeast down the San Juan Channel past Friday Harbor to Turn Island. The only challenge would be finding the ideal time and location to make the crossing of the wide channel, again taking into account the tide, current, boat traffic, wind and waves.

Walking back to my hammock camp after dinner, I noticed a two-toned moon, first thinking it was being partially obscured by clouds. I quickly realized there was some sort of eclipse going on, and confirmed it by looking it up on my phone. A curious seal swam right by in the reflection of the eclipse. Nature was really putting on a show this week, and I was there for all of it!

Day 5

Provided we departed early-ish, by 9am or so, we’d be hitting the ebbing tide which we could ride down the San Juan Channel to Turn Island. We were all pros at packing by now, and it didn’t hurt that our food supply packs were getting lighter by the day. We launched and crossed over to Yellow Island before beginning our crossing of the channel. Alex had prepped us for this by introducing us to using compasses to establish a bearing on a long crossing, and making adjustments along the way. I tried to follow the decided upon bearing using a borrowed compass, but as we got into open water, the south wind hitting the opposing ebbing tide kicked up some small but challenging waves so I didn’t have the ability to keep checking the compass.

The group worked together to maintain our bearing and made a good crossing, getting into the shelter of the San Juan Island shoreline. I noticed that there was a lot of water inside my boat, and after pulling into a sandbar, realized a crack in the coaming of my kayak was letting in water every time a wave broke over the top of my boat. I emptied the water and was relieved this problem was presenting itself at the end of the trip vs. the beginning. We continued along the beautiful shoreline, crossed the busy channel into Friday Harbor, then over to Turn Island, our last camp of the trip.

I spotted a small island off the shore of Turn and opted to set up my camp on my own private island for the night. At low tide, I was able to walk through a foot of water to get to it, but later in the day, I had to paddle my boat back and forth to camp. Before dinner, I opted to paddle around a couple of surrounding islands with Sasha and Florence, but didn’t make it all the way around due to the rushing flooding tide. All of us in the group were aware there was a chance of rain that night, fortunately the first precipitation of the week. I had avoided setting up my tent the entire week to the point, either hammock camping or cowboy camping directly on the ground. So I stubbornly kept the tent in the bag as I crawled into my hammock for the night on my private island.

Sometime around 2 or 2:30am, it started to rain, softly at first then becoming steadier. I grabbed a tarp I had and draped it over the top of my hammock and that seemed to work great. I snoozed a bit more. Around 4am or so, I awoke to a cold, wet back, as the rain ran down the tree trunk my hammock was strapped to, then across the strap down into my back area, soaking my sleeping bag and clothes. I thought at first I might be able to sleep through it, but after starting to shiver, figured I needed to do something. I hopped up and very quickly set up my tent, dove in and put on a set of dry clothes I had in a dry bag. It was still cold, but better than soaking wet. I managed to sleep a couple more hours before getting up and packing up some very wet gear.

Day 6

The final day of the trip was the shortest. All we had to do was pack up, paddle about 200 yards across the water to the access of Turn Point County Park. Alex had arranged for his van to be parked nearby. We would unload all of our gear, disassemble our boats and load all of it, and us, into the van for the ferry ride from Friday Harbor back to Anacortes. Just another amazing selling point of this Trak boat: We fit 6 kayaks, 6 people, gear and kit for those 6 people for a 6 day trip into a 12 passenger van. It was tight but it totally worked!

We headed back to Friday Harbor, where the weekend rush presented us with about a 4 hour wait to get on the ferry. I leisurely strolled around the very pretty town, eventually and unsurprisingly ending up at the San Juan Islands Brewery for a few cold beers and time to recollect and record an amazing week on the water. Alex and Sasha joined me for a bit and it was so awesome to hang out with them post trip to get their thoughts on the trip and all things outdoors and expeditions.

We hopped on the ferry back to Anacortes and most of us spent the time out on the deck in the brilliant sun and steady breeze, seeing all the islands we camped on and all the channels we crossed throughout the week. 6 days to get to our finish, 1.5 hours to get back to the start.

Back in Anacortes, we went back to Alex’s house to unpack all our gear, dry things out once again and prepare to travel back to our respective homes in a somewhat civilized manner. We said a few goodbyes to folks in our group, then Alex, myself, Marilyn and Todd went to a local dive for dinner and drinks, along with Leo, also of Body, Boat, Blade and his lady friend. Again, great to spend time informally debriefing from a trip to really bring perspective and appreciation for the experience.

I can’t say enough about Alex and Sasha’s guidance and leadership on this trip. We were a group of paddlers with widely varying levels of experience, only one of whom had significant coastal paddling experience, also with widely varying levels of personality, and Alex and Sasha guided the trip professionally, effectively and to maximum satisfaction for myself and others on the trip.

After the trip, I was asked by someone if I felt fulfilled. I had to say no, not really. I don’t feel like this trip was a culmination, but rather a small taste or preview of what kind of adventuring I might consider in the future. The Trak boat really opens up some interesting opportunities worldwide. I am already scheming, thinking about and planning the next one. Time will tell where I might be able to go. But a huge thank you to Alex and Sasha, Body Boat Blade, and Trak Kayaks for putting on this amazing trip!

Race Report: 2026 MR340

Missouri River 340, July 28 – 31st, 2026

Result

#2341 – On the Piss Again – Mixed Tandem Division

70:12:50, 130th place overall, 9th in Division

Team: Mark Fingerhut, Kirsten McEvoy

Support: Brett Swanstrom, Big Muddy Adventures

Boat: Minnesota 3 canoe

Pre-Race/Prep

After volunteering at boat ramps at last year’s MR340, and loving every second of that, I decided to get back into the race this year. It would be my 8th attempt, and hopefully my 8th finish since my first race in 2010.

In considering what boat I wanted to paddle and who, if anyone, I wanted to paddle with, I think my competitive juices drove some of my thinking. I checked out previous years race results, and noticed the mixed tandem division might be an opportunity to get close to the podium. My very unscientific analysis looked like if a result of 45 to 50 hours could be achieved, that typically led to a podium finish in previous races.

With that in mind, I reached out to my friend Kirsten to ask her to join my team. Kirsten had 2 previous finishes in the 340, both in the Dragon boat division. Always one of the strongest paddlers on our previous dragon teams, she was an easy choice. That and her other hobby is beating the crap out of big men (and I assume some women) in full medieval battle armor.

We had a couple training runs of around 55 miles in a borrowed Minnesota 3 canoe (huge thank you to Jim Hall!), including running the Chain of Rocks at 13ft on the St. Louis gauge. (A buddy Kevin took video of the lively run through the wild waves, and it kind of went viral with lots of lovely and very helpful comments from internet strangers.) We were feeling good going into the race.

My thinking with the Minn 3, a boat designed for 3 people, was that with the extra room in the boat, one of us could easily lay down in the bottom of the boat to sleep while the other paddled. In theory, this would allow us to avoid lengthy stops on shore to sleep and recover. We’d follow the mantra of ‘stay in the boat’.

We recruited our friend Brett, a very experienced MR340 racer as our ground support and we were set. As a river guide with Big Muddy Adventures, I was super lucky to have their team’s support for the race, including accommodation in KC for me and my team, transport to KC for me and the boat, and extra hands at the boat ramps all the way to St. Charles. Love all you guys and thanks so much for your support!

The Race

Monday in Kansas City was hot. According to the morning weather guy, the first day temps would hit 100 degrees in 3 years. I spent the day at the Big Muddy booth, helping out with our rental fleet and setting up borrowers with their boats and the necessary gear for their races. I was pounding water constantly.

After our traditional pre-race Woodyard BBQ meal with some KC friends, we turned in, ready for the 5am wake up call.

We arrived at Kaw point in cool weather and slight drizzle, an amazing relief to yesterday’s heat. Kirsten and I got our boat and gear set. Getting ready to put in down at the confluence point, I noticed a woman sitting by the shore starting to have a seizure. I yelled down to my Big Muddy coworker Pete, who was assisting boaters into the water, to check on her. He did so, then immediately told me to get help. So I ran back to the main ramp and grabbed Perry and Big Muddy Mike, who came running down to assist. Eventually a medic was called and everything worked out fine. A little excitement before hitting the water.

We loaded in and visited with a bunch of friends waiting at the starting line for the 8am start. I absolutely love this time right before the start, slap happy nervous energy, seeing folks you haven’t seen in years, wishing them well, sharing a laugh all while knowing what pain and misery is in store.

We took off among the crowd, always taking the far left route at the confluence to avoid the congestion lower down, and hitting the fast current of the Missouri sooner. There’s always a temptation to really sprint at this point in the race, naturally you want to be in front of the larger crowd and establish a good start. But we paddled swift and steady and comfortably, again spotting friends in other boats and greeting them here and there.

It was a pretty typical first day compared with my previous 7 races. The clouds and rain in the morning slowly gave way to sun in the afternoon, the temps being quite comfortable, a godsend after Monday. We worked our way through downtown KC, La Benite, on to Sibley, Cooley Lake, passing Napoleon around 1:30pm. I could tell the current was much slower than it had been 2 or 3 weeks earlier when the water was around 10 ft higher on the MO, but I didn’t start doing any math or expectations setting yet. We passed Lexinton around 3:30pm then pulled into Waverly at 6:50pm.

Kirsten showed some signs of distress when we pulled in. It might have been the deceiving nature of the heat and humidity, or potentially some nutrition related effects. Big Muddy Mike stepped in to help her recover a bit, and after a resupply of food and drinks, we were back out after 25 minutes.

I calculated our arrival at Miami at midnight and sure enough arrived at 11:57pm, really enjoying paddling through sunset, twilight and moonrise. About an hour before arrival in Miami, Kirsten agreed to take the first shift to try to sleep in the boat. Our rough plan was that she’d sleep before Miami, then at Miami, she would take over stern paddling, I’d switch to the bow and I’d have a chance to sleep a bit between Miami and Glasgow. She lifted herself back over the front seat and laid on a sleeping pad in the spacious bottom of the Minn 3. She tried to sleep, but I could tell from her regular fidgeting that she wasn’t sleeping. It also didn’t help that she would have to climb back in the seat to pee, then climb back into sleeping position. At one point, I even led her through a sleep-inducing hypnosis technique I know, but to no avail, she wasn’t sleeping.

Getting into Miami, we were both feeling pretty good, and were there only 10 minutes, getting resupplied and some words of encouragement from a crew of Big Muddy Adventures friends, who were there supporting another Big Muddy team of Roo, Natalie and Eliza. I hopped in the bow and Kirsten took over stern. I made sure she was comfortable with the ruddering and navigating via the RaceOwl channel tracking app before I went ahead and laid down for a nap. I was able to sleep for about a half hour and felt somewhat refreshed.

Eventually, it became very evident that Kirsten was getting super sleepy, the inability to nap earlier in the boat was a problem. We tried singing some tunes, delving into deeper conversations, spending a few minutes chatting with other boats as we passed them or they passed us, but I was losing the battle to try to keep her awake. She was consuming caffeine drinks, but they didn’t seem to be working. I asked her if we needed to pull over to the side so I could again take over stern, and perhaps she could once again try to sleep in the boat but she insisted she’d be fine.

Looking ahead to our ramps, we were due to hit Dalton Bottoms around 4am and Glasgow around 6am. We decided to push on to Glasgow vs. stopping to swap positions again at Dalton Bottoms, Kirsten insisting she could push on to get us to Glasgow. Feeling like I needed a bit more sleep, I laid down in the boat once again, Kirsten insisting she’d be fine. As I was laying there, I could tell her mind was devolving. She was humming tunes to herself to stay awake, talking to herself, encouragement to stay awake. I think even at some point she was reliving or playing out work conversations. Her mind state was very concerning to me but she was keeping the boat moving down the river. At one point I think I dozed off, then opened my eyes to see the moon above me in quite a different spot. Thinking I’d been asleep for a long time, I raised my head and looked over to see the lights of two boats passing us in the opposite direction.

Me: “Hey uh, are we uh, going upstream?”

Kirsten: “Oh, yeah I think so, hold on.”

She was able to turn the boat to get back facing downstream. But that was it, I had enough. I got back in the seat, and immediately, I began scanning the shore with our light to find a place to pull over. I told her it wasn’t safe for us to be out here with her condition. Eventually we pulled into a wing-dyked cove with a pretty decent sand mound. I helped her out of the boat, then told her to lay on the sleeping pad on the sand to sleep. She was reluctant and wanted to continue, but I was firm. So I also took the opportunity to sleep, and we both slept on the sand from about 5am to 6am. With the morning sunrise, we got back in the boat and sluggishly made our way to Glasgow, arriving at 7:50am, paddling in with my good buddy Shane on his brand new self-crafted Timber Longboard SUP. It looked like he was suffering and ended up DNFing at Glasgow.

Thankfully, Big Muddy Mike had moved down to Glasgow and was there to provide medical assessment to Kirsten. I told him what our night had been like, her mental state, and that we did get some sleep. We had some food, refilled drinks and feeling like we had a good hour of sleep under our belts, decided to push on, leaving Glasgow at 8:44am.

I was feeling relatively good at this point, not overly exhausted and felt like I was hydrating and consuming calories sufficiently. I don’t think Kirsten was in the same place. She once again decided to lay in the boat to try to nap, but quickly decided it wasn’t going to work and hopped back in the seat. After that, despite my best efforts of singing loudly and making conversation, she started falling asleep repeatedly. It would go like this: I’d see her paddle stroke start to slow down, sometimes entirely missing the water with her canoe blade. She’d then start to lean, on her way to falling out of the boat. At that point, I would yell “HEY” quite sharply to snap her back to attention. One minute later, repeat the same. This happened no less than 20 times between Glasgow and Franklin Island. She unfortunately did not want to lay back down in the bottom of the boat to try to sleep.

We pulled into Franklin Island at 2:46pm, and she immediately laid down on a blanket Brett had set up. I told Brett we were staying there for a minimum of 2 hours, then after that, we’d see how she’s feeling. I took a quick nap, waking up to a pleasant surprise of my good friend Dan the Can Man and epic adventurer friend Neal Moore. After only about 45 minutes, I saw Kirsten groggily rise and I pretty firmly, maybe somewhat rudely told her to go back to sleep, please!

After a little more sleep, she woke up and told me and Brett she was done. She didn’t get good rest trying to nap there at Franklin, and I was pretty insistent that it wasn’t safe for her or me out on the river with her present condition. She didn’t feel confident in being able to get back to a steady or rested state with more time at Franklin. So that was that, either our race was over, or I was going to push on in a 3-man canoe by myself.

Kirsten remains in my mind a stellar paddler, a complete badass woman, a great MR340 partner, a true adventurer down for anything. I have no regrets about having her as a partner. We got dealt some pretty rough conditions with the heat and slower than expected current. She persevered, pushing her mind and body to the limit, but it just wasn’t to be this year. I appreciate you, Kirsten! You’ll be back again to complete the 340.

Continuing Solo

We were just about at the halfway point of the race, distance wise. My partner was out. I could be out. What kind of a terrible idea is it to paddle a 20 foot lightweight canoe, designed for 3 people, by oneself the remaining 170 miles of the race. I had finished my 7 previous attempts at the MR340, never DNFing. I’ve faced some very dire situations in my previous years, and this was now one of them. Selfishly, I wanted to keep my record of no DNFs in tact. So now it was time to figure out how I was getting to the finish. By the rules of the 340, you must complete the race in the same boat, cannot swap in a new paddler, and a paddler who has dropped cannot later re-enter the boat. How would I need to set up my boat so that I could navigate it solo?

Well, let me tell you about my buddy Neal Moore. A couple years ago, he solo paddled a tandem canoe across 22 US rivers over 2 years, from Astoria, Oregon to the Statue of Liberty. (This legendary trip will be available soon as a book written by Neal, and I cannot wait to read it.) Neal might be the most uniquely qualified person in the world to assist me in this current moment, and there he was at Franklin Island, a convergence of epic river magic.

Neal helped me, Brett and Dan figure out how to add weight to the front of the boat to keep it trimmed out without the weight of Kirsten in the front. We decided on a full 5 gallon water jug, then located about 7 or 8 football-sized stones from the bank rip rap. I laid the sleeping pad in the front of the boat to protect the kevlar from the rocks. Floating the boat at the bottom of the ramp, I was happy with the trim, as were my observers on shore. I bid farewell to my team and was back out at 3:44pm to tackle the remaining 170 miles solo.

From Franklin down to Rocheport to the Manitou Bluffs down through California Island, Eagle Bluffs then into Cooper’s Landing is probably my favorite stretch of the race. It’s a mini conglomeration of so many features of the entire river: huge bends, towering bluffs, wind-swept straightaways, sprawling sandbars, topped off by a raucous party at Coopers. I settled into a comfortable pace, about 1mph slower, rocks not being able to paddle as efficiently as Kirsten. With my new setup, I was consistently being passed by other paddlers, so it was really fun to chat with them as they passed, some wondering why I was paddling this huge boat by myself.

I stopped at Cooper’s for a quick re-supply at 8:23pm. I was energized by seeing a bunch of friends, Big Muddy compadres, and was even sang Happy Birthday (guess I didn’t mention day 2 of the MR340 was my 46th) from the ramp as I paddled back out into the current. Can’t say my eyes were dry at that moment…

I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to make it all the way to Jeff City without needing to sleep, but I was sure there were sandbars I could stop at for some sleep. Directly across from the Marion access, I located a great sandbar, pulled my boat in, slapped down the sleeping pad and was out quickly. I slept from around 11pm to 1am, waking up pretty dang refreshed. 2nd night in a row sleeping on the sand. Pretty sure I’m now a convert for future MR340s. Crowded, loud, chaotic boat ramp naps are out; spacious, silent, pristine sandbars are in!

I reached Jeff City at 4:22am and was delighted to see my good friend Bernie Arnold faithfully working the ramp. I loaded up with more food, water and was off into the approaching sunrise. Jeff City to Mokane can be monotonous, but I really enjoyed it, taking in the emerging light of the day, having a great conversation with Richard (10 MR340s in a row in the same boat, finishing in the 40, 50, 60, 70 and 80 hours ranges, that’s incredible!) Caught up with my local STL paddling buddy Kevin who updated me on the status of a lot of our other Creve Coeur Lake paddle friends. I was shocked at the number of them who had to DNF already. I had a small sense of pride I’d decided to push on – maybe it wasn’t an idiotic idea. I passed Mokane then stopped for a morning constitutional on a mud bank, only to realize I left my belt PFD sitting on the front seat of the boat, while I was sitting 18 feet behind it. Luckily, just then a nice fellow Will from KC pulled up and he was able to hand my PFD back to me. We then shared some miles and great conversation, him learning of the race by being near Kaw Point at the start last year, going to see what the crowd was about, then entering the race the very next year. Amazing.

By around 1pm, I was approaching Hermann and experienced my first significant headwind in the solo portion of my race. I quickly learned that handing this big light boat solo in a headwind requires much more effort, stressing my already aching muscles, lowering my speed by 1 to 1.5 more mph, and generally frustrating the hell out of me.

I pulled into Hermann, and very logically told Brett and now on the support role Kirsten, that I was going to check the wind forecast. If it looked to be sustained headwinds for the next few hours, I was likely out of the race, or at the very least waiting until the wind died down. I wasn’t emotional about it, it was a simple logical choice. Paddling in the headwinds would push me to the point of exhaustion, adding many hours to the journey, to the end goal of proving what, that I was such an awesome paddler that I finish every 340 that I start? Fuck that, I don’t have to prove anything to anyone! Did I mention your mind space gets really screwed up out there??

Just then Mark Malko, head river guide at Big Muddy showed up, and I asked his professional opinion about the wind forecast. He had a more detailed wind app than I, and told me it looked like there would be headwind for a bit, but I could expect shifting directions in the stretch from Hermann to New Haven down to Washington. Silently, not the answer I wanted to hear. I was really ready to quit, and I had the built in excuse of failing to solo paddle a 3-man boat into gnarly headwinds. People would understand and wouldn’t think less of me. Again, fucked up mindspace.

So I took a quick 30 min nap, downed half a burger and jumped back in the boat, added a couple more stones to the front of the boat to try to keep the nose lower profile in the wind. This was the home stretch, having paddled stretches from here to the finish dozens and dozens of times in my life.

I soon started cursing Mark Malko for giving me the information that got me back out here. After Berger Bend, the wind returned, pushing me sideways whenever I took a moment’s rest from paddling. And getting the boat turned back into the wind took every bit a strength I had.

At what was certainly my lowest point of my race, my buddy Bryan paddled up to me with his partner, asking how it was going.

Me: “Shitty. This sucks. I fucking hate this.”

Bryan: “But you’re gonna finish.”

He handed me some caffiend Gu and paddled off. Goddammit Bryan, you asshole, you turned it around for me right there, 4 words was all it took. I realized he was right. No easy way out, I was going to finish. Things really improved from there. I needed motivation, which can only be provided by putting on NOFX’s classic punk rock opera The Decline, a 17 minute heart pounding anthem, of which I know every word. I didn’t care a lick who else heard me screaming this song, the blood was flowing and I was back in the game.

Approaching New Haven, who do I see paddling upstream on SUPs but my ride or dies Shane and Dan. We recounted our race experiences so far, with Shane recovering from his Glasgow DNF and Dan working overnight on the ramps. At New Haven, Shane’s lady friend Becky and Neal were there to ply me with cold coffee and Pepsi. From here on in, I was going to need a steady flow of caffeine. The headwind continued to Washington, but I was motivated and made good progress, even if I could tell my brain was still foggy.

I pulled into Washington at 8:31pm and was delighted to see my Washington mainstays Pat Tenny and Judy Feltmann. I told Kirsten and Malko and I needed significant sleep and they of course understood and were accommodating. By this point, Brett had to leave support duties to travel out of town, so handed off to Kirsten. She had retrieved her minivan, so set me up on the mattress in the back of her van, pumping the AC while I slept for 2 hours.

I woke up at 11pm, felt my mind had cleared up, was good physically and was ready to finish this thing. Leaving Washington, who do I meet but Ryan from Kansas City, who was also paddling a tandem canoe solo, his bow also filled with rocks and sand! We shared the stories of how we both got to this point, me realizing that I wasn’t the only one going through this unique challenge and suffering, Ryan having done this from even further up at Miami, where his partner dropped due to back issues. We pulled into Klondike and were greeted by my good paddling friends Bob, Cora and Myron, and of course ice cold Klondike bars. Such an amazing and unique perk from this legendary paddle stop, thank you guys so much.

Ryan and I took off again. A solo canoe paddled up to us, and I didn’t realize at first I was chatting with my good friend David Falterman. I’ve known David, his legendary sister Ellen, and have met their amazing parents a couple times over the years. I was delighted to catch up with him and hear his updates and encouragement. He also made me realize that I’d get to experience one more sunrise before the finish, which motivated me to make it through the darkest hours of the night, knowing I was getting a bonus 3rd sunrise on the river, something I didn’t anticipate going into the race. A silver lining to the unique challenges presented so far.

I hit all the familiar sites coming into Chesterfield and St. Charles, having a 4am conversation with my departed friend Aaron Duenke at Johnson Island. I know he’d laugh his ass off at what a predicament I got myself into, but I know he’d also be urging me on to finish. Miss you, friend.

I was ingesting a lot of caffeine on this stretch, the Gu Bryan had given me, the Pepsi, a Coke from Judy at Washington. With the last 2 bridges to go, I probably ill-advisedly washed down 2 ibuprofen with Coke, but I needed to fuel the final sprint. I paddled alongside Mark from Kirkwood, then started my closing sprint at the 364 bridge, screaming more punk rock and fully pumped with adrenaline. Don’t even ask me what my heart rate was at this point, I was going to finish this thing. I sprinted into the finish, arriving at 6:12am, 70 hours and 12 minutes.

Kirsten was there, as was Kent Schmidt working the ramp. Kent donated a massive amount of cash to my fundraising effort, and I was delighted to be able to properly thank him for his generosity. As we moved my boat out of the water, I chucked the rocks from my bow into the ballast pile Ryan from KC had started after finishing a few minutes ahead of me. We congratulated each other on finding a way to complete this thing with ingenuity and grit in trying circumstances, taking a picture with our ballast rocks and deeming ourselves The Ballast Brothers.

I also had a great moment with Big Muddy Mike, who congratulated me on sticking it out. I told him how much I appreciated his care for Kristen during the race, and just being there for us seemingly on every ramp, somehow. I can’t describe how lucky I feel to be a part of the Big Muddy family.

Kirsten brought me a cold beer, we took a picture under the finish line banner, then she drove me home to my bed. Every year I’ve done this race, there is a new challenge, a new set of problems to be solved, a new series of obstacles to overcome to get to the finish. I don’t care to be seen as a beast who finished the second half of the race solo. That absolutely wasn’t happening but for the support I received at so many points along the way. My finish belongs to those people, my appreciation to every one of you/them will last forever. So thank you, sincerely. And now this post is almost as long as my race, so I’ll leave it there.

Odds and Ends

I ended up paddling almost exactly 170 miles with Kirsten in about 30 hours, the next 170 miles solo in about 40 hours.

My nutrition this year was pretty different from my mostly solid food plan of years past. Most of my calories were in the form of Heul powder meal replacement shakes. 2 or 3 times a day, I mixed an 800 calorie portion which kept me hunger-less for a few hours. (For advice to fellow racers, you absolutely MUST consume what you will be consuming on the race BEFORE THE RACE. Do not attempt any new regimen or product during the race, or you will fuck yourself up, guaranteed.) I supplemented this with bananas, fruit snacks, uncrustables, a couple ramp sandwiches here and there. But the nutritional MVP for me was boiled peanuts. I shit you not. My good friend Zach Smith boils his own nuts, and not only that, seasons them with Red Hot Riplet seasoning. Throughout the race, I’d pop some nuts into my mouth, extract the soft salty nectar and enjoy the protein-packed morsel before feeding the shells to the catfish and carp who live down below. I highly recommend Zach’s Briney brand boiled peanuts as an endurance paddling essential. Thank you Zach, you have great nuts!

SYOTR

2026 Update: Leaving the Main Channel

Recently, I realized my site is gathering a bit of dust, while I have kept moving on the rivers, so figured an update was in the works. Thanks for reading!

In late July last year, I was informed I was going to be included in a round of layoffs at my corporate e-commerce Product role at a local St. Louis company. I wasn’t terribly surprised or upset, this was my second layoff in 3 years, and our stock prices had been down for a few quarters, and I was one of the newer employees with a lot less history at the company. During the meeting to let me know about my departure, my first thought was how I’d spend my time during unemployment and my mind naturally traveled to river trips. Before I left the room, I knew it’d be the Mississippi.

See previous posts for a detailed recap of my New Haven, MO to the Gulf trip of October 2025. It was everything I’d hoped it would be and more. Any grief or stress of leaving the coporate world not on my own circumstances quickly drifted away as I headed south. I have been very lucky to have a nearly 20 year career in technology, and my parents’ lessons of saving money and frugality (along with endlessly supportive friends and family) has allowed me some flexibility to pursue passions in my life that may not be quite as financially lucrative.

Upon returning to St. Louis after the Mississippi trip, I dove back into job searching, updating the resume, submitting it for various roles in tech, reaching out to contacts to see what’s out there. Had a couple bites but nothing came through. And honestly, my heart wasn’t really in it. I enjoyed the holidays with friends and family then looked ahead toward spring and summer. Enter Big Muddy Adventures.

For many years, I’ve admired our local big river guide and outfitting company. In the last few years, they’ve reformed under the umbrella of River City Outdoors (and Terrain Magazine), and their mission generally is to get people outdoors, and get people out on the big rivers. I’ve crossed paths with Big Muddy over the years, paddling by a flotilla of their canoes on the Missouri, watching them load their large voyageur canoes after a trip at the Arch, partying with their crew after the MR340 race, and chatting all things rivers with the legendary Big Muddy Mike Clark at various social events. And I’ve made friends with many of their river guides over the years. So in February, I reached out to Executive Director Matt Green to see if they’d be open to taking me on as a new river guide in 2026. I was delighted when he immediately replied that we’d love to have you.

I started at Big Muddy in March, with a few colder weather trips, but generally prepping gear for a long summer season and learning a ton about their business and systems. I was immediately impressed with the level of organization, systems and most importanly, safety. Fast forward a few months, and I’ve been on roughly 20 river trips with a lot of warehouse days in between, doing gear cleanup, repair, training and other prep work. The guides have been amazing, welcoming me into the family. I’ve been delighted to share my river knowledge with the crew, and it seems like they’ve relished having a relatively experienced river man on board vs. a greenhorn. Many times so far this year, I’ve found myself sitting in the back of a big canoe heading downriver, or feet buried in a sandbar, or looking up at a full moon in the middle of a river thinking, I cannot believe I am getting paid for this.

Our trips generally break down with half of trips taking kids or other non-profit groups out on the river, other half being paid public trips. Most trips involve serving lunch or dinner while on the river, so I’ve tried to help out with those logistics as much as possible, as food service tasks generally aren’t quite as fun for guides as the river/paddling stuff. I have delighted in seeing young kids out on the big boats, their eyes wide as they nervously and usually incorrectly dip their paddles in the water. I’ve had people remark several times that they didn’t know it was possible to paddle on these rivers before they heard of Big Muddy. I’ve tried to incorporate my passion for trash cleanup and recycling on the job as well, teaming up with a coworker to kick off a Green initiative at the company. I also always pack stream team trash bags on all the trips and spend a few spare minutes on every trip picking up trash at our put in, take out or out on the sandbars.

River guiding with Big Muddy will be pretty much a full time job through the summer into October or November, only to be interrupted by racing in my 8th MR340 in late July. After that, who knows? Much like a long paddling day, once the clock reaches that certain hour, I’ll take a look around, find an inviting sandbar to stop at, or look up around the bend to see what opportunities might be presenting themselves. Until then, I hope to see you on the river!

Check out our trips at https://www.2muddy.com

On Paddling into a Headwind – Greenville, Mississippi

Sitting at Warfield Riverfront Park just outside Greenville, MS on a grey misty morning. I wanted to get to this park last night to camp, but in hindsight, I think a pristine sandbar was a better choice. It’s fine, it’s got designated campsites, electric, water and bathrooms, but seems pretty muddy and dank compared to a nice sandy beach. Plus all these trees and pavilions give me a little claustrophobia after living on the wide open sandbars for the last 20ish days.

I got a bit of rain and some lightning from 4am til about 7:30 this morning, so got a little later start than normal, but the wind promises to be calmer and maybe even a little tailwind today, so am gonna get back out there for more miles after charging up some batteries.

Wanted to give a bit more description of yesterday’s paddle day with stiff headwinds all day, and what that means to a big river paddler. Three days ago, the headwind was likely 20 – 20mph, which at that point, even with hard paddling, you are unlikely to make more than 1 to 2mph paddling hard, and that’s slower than the current. So best not to be paddling in that. Yesterday, with 10 – 15mph headwinds, I could still make decent progress with hard paddling, maybe 4-5mph, where with no wind, I’d probably be doing 5-6mph. So it was doable, not enough to take the day off.

When paddling into that 10-15mph headwind, you are going to see whitecaps. In my boat, those waves rarely splash over into my cockpit, so I have yet to don the skirt that would cover my lower body and keep the water out of the cockpit. Most of the time, I am gauging where the wind is blowing from, then try to find the most sheltered part of the river to paddle in to minimize the stiff wind in my face and paddling into waves. If the river is bending, you paddle over to the side that is somewhat sheltered from the wind and you find calmer water, theoretically. Of course the sides of the river tend to be where the slower water is, so there’s that tradeoff. Then once the bend ends, you need to cross the river to the other side, where you might find more sheltered water, and you deal with the worst of the waves and current out in the middle of the river, all while watching for passing barges.

You also cannot stop paddling, lest your boat turns sideways and now you are being pushed upstream, actually losing miles. My last 3 hours of paddling yesterday was on a straight section of river, thus no curves or banks to block the wind, it was hard paddling straight into the waves. My shoulders and arms were cooked come 5:30pm.

For better or worse, probably worse, I did put a hard cap on my finish date on this trip, which is Oct. 30th at the Gulf. There I will meet someone to drive me and my boat back to New Orleans where I’ll rendezvous with the national community of Hash House Harriers for some halloween weekend debauchery and running. So I am motivated to get miles each day, minimize time off the river wherever possible and keep making progress.

One other interesting phenomenon I noticed the last couple days. When paddling, what seems like very far of in the distance is a huge mid-river sandbar. Not that unusual, the from what seems like a distance of 5+ miles, the sandbar looks immense – like 8 – 10 feet high and a perfectly rounded shape. After a couple minutes of paddling, you soon realize that sandbar is only about 1 mile away, and it’s only about a foot high. Barely out of the water. Not a great idea to camp on these guys, as you’re likely to get swamped by a big barge wake, or heaven forbid you get a foot rise in the river level overnight.

My next town I plan to stop at is Vicksburg, MS, around 98 miles downstream. By then I will have left Arkansas and will be in the great state of Lousiana. Onward and downward, with hopefully a nice tailwind.

PS – as I was sitting here typing, a friendly camper came over and handed me a bag of sandwiches, donuts, snacks and drinks and told me God bless when I told here where I was headed. Doesn’t look like any beer, but I’ll take what I can get. River angels provide.

Taking a Break for the 24 Hours from Home Challenge

Back in July, I had the idea of this St. Louis to the Gulf paddling trip within the first minute of hearing I had been laid off. Pretty quickly, I knew the only big conflict I’d need to deal with was the 24 Hours from Home Challenge.

This event was something I started back in 2021 in the depths of Covid. A chance for my runner/hiker/adventure friends to take part in an event, not necessarily together, but competing towards a common goal of getting outside, covering miles and experiencing a heck of an adventure. In our sixth iteration of the event, I was in danger of missing it while out on the river.

As I dug into maps, mileage charts and trip planning, I had the thought of potentially taking a break from the river and somehow travelling back to St. Louis where the event is mainly based – though we have participants from all over the world. I don’t really need to be involved in the logistics or administering the race, as my friend Jon Marble has done amazing work with his app RaceOwl to allow participants to easily track their progress. I truly am in debted to Jon for his help with this, and the troubleshooting that goes on behind the scenes.

On Sunday of every challenge weekend, I’ve organized an awards and after party. Outdoors at a local park, participants who are local and able to make it come to celebrate their achievements. For many, these are some of the longest miles they’ve ever run/walked. It’s in incredible physical and mental challenge, and the stories people share from their adventures are often hard to believe. The Sunday of 24hfh every year might be my favorite day of the year, and I really didn’t want to miss it this year.

So after a few days of paddling on the Mississippi, it got a bit more clear where I could make a stop – potentially Caruthersville, MO. Then had to check if that stop had the right logistics for me to store my boat and gear, and arrange transportation home. I looked at Amtrak, Greyhound and UHaul, and even considered vagabonding by sticking my thumb out on the side of a highway. Luckily, I found an Enterprise rent a car in nearby Dyersburg, TN. I had the amazing assistance of Bob Pierce of Caruthersville Gin, Inc. to help me out with boat storage and a ride into Tennessee.

It’s all gone according to plan so far, I arrived back in St. Louis Friday afternoon. The first thing I did was take my first shower in 10 days – I highly recommend experiencing that feeling, if you can. Yesterday and today is a lot of logistics and errands, prepping for the big party tomorrow, cleaning up my river gear, charging batteries, stocking up my food supply, catching up with my wonderful and tolerant wife Sara, and cuddling with my kitties Omar and Kima.

I plan to soak up the positive and inspirational vibes at the party tomorrow and take that inspiration with me Monday morning, back down I-55 to Caruthersville and my waiting boat. Back on the river heading south.

Rivertime – 9 Days Down

Sitting here on a massive island sandbar just above the city of Caruthersville, MO, cold beverage sitting on my crate table. Yep, 4th one of the trip. The first part of my journey has come to a close, 379 miles paddled or sailed over the course of 9 days. Tomorrow, I’ll paddle 3 miles down to Caruthersville, meet my friendly river angel Bob, who is going to store my boat and gear, then drive me into Dyersburg, TN, where I’ll get a rental car and drive back to St. Louis for the 24 Hours from Home Challenge.

How I connected with Bob is a true illustration of the type of river magic that happens on a long trip like this. When I popped into Port Cape in Cape Girardeau, MO a few days ago, I started chatting with a friendly local named Jan. I told her what I was doing, and mentioned how I planned to get to Caruthersville to travel back home for the weekend. Before I was finished explaining, she was on her phone texting her friend Bob in Caruthersville. Within 2 minutes of meeting her, I had a river angel lined up 150 or so miles down the river. Magic.

How’s the trip been so far, you ask? On the whole, delightful. Being on the downstream side of the Ohio these past few days has really opened my eyes to the scale and majesty of this river. The width, the endless bends and meanderings, the powerful yet seemingly silent creep of a tug pushing upwards of 40 barges by my tent in the middle of the night, the endless number of bald eagles I see day after day, the family of deer coming down to the water at sunset, the flocks of geese in formation on their way south, and the sandbars – my home for every night on this trip so far. It’s hard to tell where they start and stop, no doubt they are happy to be out in the sun rather than under 6 feet of muddy water.

I knew the familar feeling of long distance paddling would return, I just didn’t know when. The daily cycle of waking up before the sun, religiously placing all gear in its appointed place in the boat, getting out on the water as the sun cracks the horizon. Getting the first hard paddle strokes in while I crack open my thermos of warm coffee. Whiling away the morning into early afternoon, picking out a nice sandbar on which to take a mid day stretch. Then looking at my maps downstream for where I might find an accommodating place to set up my tent. Pulling in and religiously setting up camp, cooking dinner, maybe have a fire, sip a little whiskey and read a little Mark Twain before falling asleep. That’s it, that’s all life is out here. The “real” world of big city life drifts away, and you’re on rivertime.

Rivertime, that’s why we do it. Everything slows down. Distractions are few. I feel myself present in every moment. Feeling each paddle stroke, watching every tiny crest of a wave. Noticing the detail of every river bank or bend of a riverside tree branch in the wind.

While paddling today, I put on a podcast – Dean Klinkenberg’s wonderful Mississippi Valley Traveler, where he interviewed author, artist, river guide and really a spiritual guru for me (who I intend and hope to meet further down river) – John Ruskey. Dean asked John – for those who aren’t able to get out on the river to experience it, how would you go about describing or conveying the feeling of travelling the big rivers? I sort of expected the answer to go in a different direction, when John replied, “You can’t.”

So after attempting to descibe it for you, rambling on an on, posting photos and video clips meant to capture bits and pieces, I’m gonna go ahead and agree with John.

After the 24 Hour Challenge awards and wrap up party on Sunday, I’ll make my way back down to Caruthersville, enlist the help of Bob or some other river angels to get me back out on the river to continue the journey. Rivertime.

3 Miles from the Ohio

Yesterday’s experience of paddling with a couple buddies, then having the chance to somewhat randomly meet up with two old river pals, along with sharing my story with some local Cape Giardans in a pub on Sunday night, really filled my soul. I love days like that on the river. I draw energy from those days when you have a day like today.

Not a bad day at all, in fact a pretty good day, just a lot different from the warmth of yesterday. Started out cloudy with some drizzling here and there, but I made my way out of Cape amid the morning barge rush. I soon passed Thebes, IL, then set my sights on a pin I’d marked on my google map. A few years ago, a friend showed me a picture he took of a petroglyph that illustrated several rivers and confluences, carved into a massive boulder. An ancient Native American map for past river travelers. I was intrigued and my friend guarded its location closely. After enough pestering, I finally got him to tell me where it is, him knowing I’m an avid river traveller and will also keep its location secret.

I pulled into where I thought it looked promising, then explored the boulders strewn around the banks. I scoured each stone, looking for carvings or figures. Finally, I thought I found it – it certainly looked like a system of rivers and tributaries.

After I departed and had reception again, I sent my buddy the picture – and apparently it was not it. Alas, more adventures to be had in the future. But just having this petroglyph exist causes me to acknowledge what a tiny drop of water I am in this massive river that’s been flowing for thousands of years. The river I am seeing today bears no resemblance to the river even 100 years ago, it’s constantly changing, despite the Army Corps’ best efforts. People have been travelling this river for thousands of years, yes even before it was “discovered” by Hernan DeSoto in 1542. Me and the loopers aren’t really novelties doing long distances on the Mississippi, it’s been done, like for forever. And a map carved into a boulder proves it.

Anyway, I churned out a few more miles through the afternoon, passing and being passed by quite a few barges and loopers. Cloudy, intermittent drizzle and headwinds seemed to prevail most of the day. At one point, I was paddling to the Northwest, with Illinois on my left, and Missouri on my right. The river is pretty crooked like that.

Later in the day, slogging along and getting pretty hungry, I passed under the I-57 bridge, then set up camp after a couple more miles, just north of the confluence with the Ohio – mile 3 of the upper Mississippi if you’re keeping score at home. About 46 miles on the day.

Tomorrow, I’ll take on the confluence, where the Ohio more than doubles the volume of the Mississippi. Today was the first day of this trip that I paddled new-to-me river!

St. Nicholas Landmark – Dinking with Legends

Currently sitting inside of St. Nicholas Landmark, which is my favorite place in Chester, IL. Why? 12 of their own beers on tap, solid food, and most importantly, they are about 100ft from the boat ramp (just watch for the trains walking across the tracks). I can’t quite see my boat from my window seat, but hopefully it will be fine for the time it takes to drink a few beverages.

Sidebar – I once tried to walk here from my house in STL city. 24 Hours from Home Challenge #1 in 2021. #6 starts in 6 days – 24hfhchallenge.com! Alas, my 24 hours expired 3 miles short, after 74 miles I could barely stand, let alone stay awake so didn’t make it on that occasion.

Spent last night on a massive sandbar – Magnolia Hollow Conservation Area. Although it’s an island, apparently there is a road connection as there was a farmer plowing his field over the trees as the sun went down. Plenty of driftwood for a blazing fire, and found bones and pieces of petrified wood scattered around. I was set up on kind of a promontory in the middle of the curve of the river, so all night I had massive tugboats rolling by, the low hum of their engines revving to get up or downstream. I woke up around 11:30pm to a growling beast, looked out and saw a monstrosity of a barge with pilons and construction equipment. This tug was pushing as hard as it could, maybe getting 1mph upstream. I momentarily questioned if I pulled my boat high enough out of the water to not be swept up in its huge wake, and even ran down to the shore in my skivees just to check. It was fine.

Woke up with the first light on the eastern horizon and what do I see, some fresh paw prints next to the door of my tent. As my friend Bill told me a bit later in the morning, probably a coyote sniffing around late at night, all stealth like. So the reason I had the chance to meet Bill again, well. Arriving at Magnolia and unpacking, I realized I was a bag short – my cookware. I shot a few texts to my wife Sara to check at home, and Bill who shuttled me back home from the arch on Thursday. Luckily it was in Bill’s truck, under some other gear.

As luck would have it and River Angels being the saviors they are, Bill drove it down this morning to Modoc Ferry in St. Genevieve where he even brought me breakfast and coffee. Bill, I love you.

Last night, with my limited cel service – it worked standing up, but not sitting down, go figure – I saw the the opening time of St. Nick Landmark was 11am so that’s where I planned to be. A beautiful morning coming down about 20 miles brought me into Chester and delightful refreshments. Afternoon plan is do bank a few more miles and find another sandbar, coyotes or not.

Two Days on the MO

Resting in some sweet air conditioned at home. An advantage of starting upstream of your home is to use your own place as a River Angel domecile on a big trip. Two days of paddling was enough to let me know what gear I might be missing, or what I don’t need at all. I was fairly spot on, only thing I need to procure is a bit more battery power.

Left Paddle Stop Brewery in New Haven yesterday around 8:15am after a previous evening of boat cleaning and touch ups. I know, it’s a sin to let that work of art collect dust, but that’s the life of owning 8 or 9 boats, all of which have their purpose. And the Mostar, Shane’s hand-crafted masterpiece, is 100% perfect for expeditions. She performed well in the MR340, fully unloaded and sitting much higher in the water, but she really shines fully loaded, doing long days out on the big rivers. I forgot how amazing this boat was, but two solid days in it was enough to refresh my memory.

Five miles in, I got a call from Shane that I’d left my sleeping pad back in New Haven. Not to worry, Shane drove ten minutes to Dundee Bottoms, where he was able to meet me to hand it off. From there it was some pretty solid paddling, a quick stop on a sandbar across from St. Albans, then the slog into St. Charles. I passed under all the St. Chuck bridges around 5, feeling pretty gassed. I knew there was one more sandbar to consider before Pelican Island, which was my goal for the day. I decided to blow by the sandbar with an hour and a half left of sunlight and pulled onto the gravelly sand at Pelican around 6:45ish.

I set up camp in the waning light, and what a spectacular sunset it was – pics on IG – @paddlestlouis. A quick dinner over a blazing fire to keep the mosquitos at bay and I was snoozing by 9pm. Nice.

65 miles the first day was way ambitious, and not a distance I expect to keep up on the Mississippi, but that left a relatively easy 32 mile day today to get to the Arch and a ride back home. I got on the river at 7:18am under an absolutely insanse sunrise and liesurely paddled the last 17 miles of the Big Muddy MO. I completed the MO mid-morning then entered the Mississippi. I made my way under the very active Chain of Rocks bridge construction site and had to adjust my route for crossing work tows. I portaged the 200 yards river left of the Chain, churning and boiling and sure to chew up any wood craft to sawdust.

Made my way into the Port of St. Louis, and barge traffic was heavy. I have a short wave radio with which I can communicate with barges and had a chance to use it today.

Barge Captain to other Barge Captains: “We got a kayaker coming down out of the Old Chain of Rock Lock” (incorrect, I was not)

Me: “Kayaker here, I’m going to hug the right bank.”

Barge Captain: “Ok, thank you for having a radio.”

I did not carry a radio on the Missouri, as barge traffic is quite minimal. But it’s pretty much required gear on the much busier Mississippi. I’m sure this is the first of many interactions with my fellow captains on this trip.

Soon I was under the familar sight of the Eads Bridge then the Arch, and my good friend Bill welcoming me into the fishing ramp with a couple cold ones on a hot day. Super duper thanks to Shane for your craftmanship and running my sleeping pad down to Dundee, my sleep under the stars was spectacular. And to Bill your ever-present willingness to River Angel.

Plan is to get back in at the Arch tomorrow morning and get heading Southwards!