Day 15 - by Ian

Sunday 19 September 2010
We wake early and it’s 7am when we get underway, despite heavy mist. It’s very difficult to judge how dense the fog is when it lays on the water. There is nothing distinctive to pick out like a tree or a house and there is no horizon to go by either. Fortunately once we get properly underway, the sun manages to penetrate through the haze and confidence returns.
Our speed is slowly increasing and I notice we are averaging about 6.5 mph now. At 8.20 the engine splutters and tells us it is running out of fuel. More often or not, we refuel on the river and this means drifting downstream whilst we empty a five-gallon plastic container of petrol into the main tank. Then we need to add 40 fluid ounces of two-stroke oil into the petrol tank. After this is completed we can start the engine and move off again. It takes about six minutes for this operation and is smooth enough on the majority of occasions. Sometimes, the USS Joanne runs out of petrol in awkward spots like immediately in front of an obstacle like a bridge or oncoming barge train. On those occasions we have been known for completing a refuel in less than 3 minutes!
On this part of the river there are numerous grain silos with long conveyor belts bringing the grain to the riverside. Usually there are six silos, each about 100 meters tall and the conveyors feed into giant hoppers that supply nozzles that in turn spew the grain into waiting barges. Similar setups along the river feed coal or coke into waiting barges that then supply the numerous small power plants generating electricity for the local grid. This is very much a working river and the abundant barge trains are testimony to the economic importance of the Mississippi river. It occurs to us that we are seeing less and less marinas and in consequence, fewer pleasure craft, despite this being the weekend.
We arrive at lock 18 at 10.35am and have to wait nearly an hour to take our place and be dropped the few meters to exit at the other end. Interestingly, operation of the locks and the maintenance of the navigation channels of the Mississippi are undertaken by the US Army Corps of Engineers and it seems strange to find all sorts of boats including dredgers, flying the corps flag and coat of arms.
At 12.45pm we stop at a small town called Burlington to buy petrol and some provisions. We can see the petrol station close to where we are moored and I take two empty containers to fill. I need to cross a double set of railway tracks to reach the road. There is no fence to separate the track from the public and no ‘closed’ crossings for vehicles. This was a major railroad evidenced by the extraordinarily long freight trains that we have been watching from the river for several days now. I had to think whether we have gone ‘health and safety’ bonkers in Europe. Anyway, I returned to Joanne with two heavy fuel cans which I drop off and then collected the last container to fill. As I got to the top of the ramp leading to our moorings, an elderly woman leaned out of the passenger window and asked whether I wanted a lift to the ‘gas’ station. I replied that it was just across the road and I would be alright (my English traits breaking through again!) Happily my answer was ignored and a door was opened for me. If this woman was old, her husband (presumably) was ancient. He had more winkles than a rhinoceros’s bum. We shared as much small talk as one could manage in the minute it took to get to the garage and they were kind enough to hang around until I had finished shopping for food and other items.
Whilst I was filling the petrol container, the husband came over and we started chatting. He told me that a few years ago, some of his friends bet him that he wouldn’t be able to water ski upriver to the ‘old cabin’. He accepted the bet, went home and put on a suit and tie before getting on the skis on the ramp. He chuckled as he told me that he not only made it to the old cabin, but made it all the way back again, where they released him. He proudly told me that his suit was as dry as when he had put it on. I found myself grinning and thinking ‘you are cool’. I thanked them ‘very much’ and they politely told me that it had been ‘their pleasure’ and wished us God speed on our journey. I remember thinking how incredibly nice Americans were, and so different to Europeans.
Anyway, at 1.15pm we were on our way again and Peter prepared lunch. Lunch normally consists of sandwiches, whilst breakfast is invariably a fry-up; eggs, bacon, sausage and mushrooms. Dinner is always hot and can range from pasta to another type of pasta – hold on; we have had a stew out of a can as well.
Shortly after 5pm, we moored up at Fort Mapison marina to top-up our petrol containers, buy ice and some two-stroke oil. I noticed a large sign advertising ‘hot chilli hot dogs and chips’ and bought two portions for Peter and me. I now know what Americans call ‘chips’ – crisps if you are from England, and chips if you are from anywhere else! It was delicious!
As we are moving down the river, I contemplate the situation regarding the river buoys. In daylight we have no problems; we can see that they are either red or green. At night, it is easier; they reflect red or green light. However, when the sunlight is in front of them, meaning the back of the buoys are in shadow, you cannot see what colour they are. OK, their colour is important. Travelling down river, we must keep red buoys to the left and green buoys to the right. Despite the river being more than a mile apart, the navigation channel is often less than 100 meters wide. If you wander off this course you are likely to ground your craft or beak it up on one of the thousands of underwater dykes that run along both sides of the river. Getting back to the colour problem in daylight, I noticed that the red buoys were conical and the green buoys were cylindrical. I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t noticed this before. Well, better late than never!
On the river banks, we notice houses built on stilts. The stilts are either concrete or wood; I don’t think I noticed any metal stilts. Anyway, the height of the stilts ranged from a couple of meters to around five or six meters high. The type of houses supported by these pylons was diverse; some were normal family homes whilst others like small bungalows. I was reminded of science fiction ‘transformers’, objects that change from one article to another, which made these structures a little menacing. They were awesome. None had gardens or fences but had obviously been built with permission. Many of these plots of land contained huge trailers, enough to house a small family. Slowly I began to realise that these were holiday homes, places that people came for the weekends or a few weeks holiday during the year.
We have another awful wait at lock 19; more than an hour and a quarter to get through. We are loosing so much time going through locks at the moment; time which we have to add on to the day’ Our time limit is strict and we decide to ‘go for it’ and make up some ground (or should that be water?). We will drive all night if necessary and have agreed to take it in turns to catnap unless required to help out. I drive on till midnight, but not before Peter has unpacked and installed a sleeping hammock down the centre of the cabin. This is definitely Peter’s ‘special’ place and he spends most of the evening dozing in the hammock.
Peter takes over and I try out the hammock. It’s great to begin with but I find that I cannot sleep in a banana shaped position and blow up my mattress instead. Oh the joy of my warm sleeping bag. I manage to doze on and off and occasionally Peter requires me for something or other. In the main, I rest well.
Before I know it, I’m helping Peter to anchor up for the night. It’s 3.30am and we have managed to cover 120 miles! The place is Quincy, although we are both too knackered to find a dead body and investigate a murder.
Not a bad day at all!