That first campsite was in thick woods so the next morning's sun did not wake us up. Also, Mark and Leo hardly slept at all the night before. We ended sleeping in a little. We had instant oatmeal for breakfast with ample supplies so that no one had to have regular flavor if they didn't want it.
A couple of other factors also slowed us that morning.
This was our first time packing the boats after camping so we were still
learning what went into each canoe. Also, the bank was very difficult.
From the water level to the top of the bank was about 3 or 4 feet vertically
and the water was too deep to stand in. We made the be
st
of it by standing on roots that protruded out of the bank and handing the
equipment to people in the near boat. Since the docking area was only big
enough for 1 boat, each bag had to be placed in the near boat then distributed
to whatever boat it belonged to. Each bag had to be handled several times.
It was precarious and slow getting loaded.
Each boat had a rubber ducky mascot tied to the end of the bow line. I remember the rubber duckies hanging from the trees that held the boats.
Despite the problems of getting going, we were having a great time on the bank drinking beers (still cold) and eating garlic. Everyone managed to get into their canoe without getting wet. We untied at about 11am.
We figured the Mississippi must be just around the bend. We were certain we had traveled 12 miles at least the day before (based on no evidence other than the time we spent paddling) and we knew it was only 15 miles from where we started down Bayou Pierre to the river (this at least, was based on a guidebook). So the plan was to go the three miles to the Mississippi, about one hour of easy paddling, then have lunch.
So we paddled and paddled, occasionally convinced that we saw the river around the next bend only to be disappointed over and over again. After a few hours and tens of false sightings, I was pretty much convinced that the Mississippi River was some sort of urban myth. A river 1 mile wide? Impossible. Did Mark Twain simply invent the river as a subject for his books? Or perhaps the bayou is really just a circular oxbow lake that only reaches the river in times of flood?.
This is a common problem I have canoeing. My estimates of distance are actually almost baseless without a fixed geographic reference point yet I completely believe my baseless estimates. I believed we had gone 20 miles even though that would have put us 5 miles into the Mississippi. Therefore, something must be wrong with the guide book or the Bayou itself.
In hindsight, we had one clue that our calculations were amiss: around every bend, we kept sighting the same landmark, the eerie tower of the Grand Gulf Nuclear Plant, in whose shadow we had camped before we first put our canoes in the water. It was strange enough camping next to a nuclear plant (horrifying memories of the movie Atomic Cafe), but we had hoped to leave it behind us once we hit the water. Instead, it constantly popped up, always appearing to be just about a mile away, sometimes dead ahead, sometimes over our right shoulders, sometimes just behind.
Although the Bayou was getting wider, we were tired of false hopes and also we were hungry. So reluctantly, we stopped for lunch. We didn't actually get out of the boats. We tied together and made sandwiches (turkey, cheese, and mustard with potato chips and honey roasted peanuts) on top of the cooler.
Everything always seems a little more hopeful after a meal. As we paddled on we noticed water mysteriously entering the bayou through the trees on the right bank. There was no creek or channel for the water but just a flow coming through the woods. Also this water was colder than the Bayou water.
We
hesitated to believe it, but it was pretty obvious that this was Mississippi
water somehow leaking into the bayou through the trees. We paddled hard
to the next bend but looking ahead down the bayou there was no evidence
of the Mississippi. The Bayou got very wide but there was farmland to the
left and a barn ahead. We paddled on, cautiously optimistic.
Mark and Leo got up ahead. Where the Bayou swung to the south, they could see light through the trees to the west. They paddled among the trees and the rest of us followed. It's odd paddling in a forest. The sun though the trees and reflections of the leaves on the muddy water made an unusual heavy green color mixed with bright sunlight breaking through here and there. There was also a noticeable current here that gave the surface of the water a texture as it went around the trees.
A stronger current could hav
e
made this very dangerous. A low branch could have capsized one of us and
then wrapped a canoe around one of the trees. As it was, it was no problem
picking a way through the low branches and pushing off trees if we go too
close.
It was about 50 yards through the woods to where they abruptly ended. Looking across the river, it didn't feel like a river, but a lake, a huge quiet lake with a far shore. The Mississippi portion of our trip had started. It was about 3pm on our second day of paddling.
Stay tuned for Chapter VI, Wherein we meet the fire ants of the Mississippi.
Mississippi Main Page 
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