It felt so good to be floating down the river again. After a summer of restricted boating, brought on by high water, cold weather, and a brief interlude with the medical community, we were back on the
Wayback plying the autumnal waters of the St. Croix and Mississippi rivers.
Adding to the pleasure was the company of Randy and Linda Hardy. Somehow, through badgering and cajoling, we lured them from the sanctity of their north woods oasis down to the Saintly of Cities Twin to join us for a couple of days. The weather cooperated supremely, warming to a balmy 57 degrees with no wind and lots of sunshine on the Thursday we departed Afton. The colors of the shoreline are just beginning to multiply and adopt the brighter segments of the light spectrum. We shared the river with only a few hearty fishing enthusiasts, and nary a cruiser to upset the calm and flat waters. Our slow and casual pace did little to alter the rivers perfect state.
The river current was stronger than I expected, giving us a boost of 2.2 mph. Lock & Dam 3 had no traffic, making our transit quick and effortless. Though when I accepted the lock masters offer to float in the chamber, there was a howling protest from my first mate, who had gone through the effort to rig the lines and fenders to tie off. She felt the Hardy's would be denied the opportunity to experience a proper lock-down, so I radioed a request to change my mind. As usual, the lock operators were polite and accommodating.
We arrived at Cindy's Red Wing Marina early enough to invite the senior Reyers down for dinner on the boat. They readily accepted, even knowing they would spend as much time in the car as they would in the boat that day. What they didn't know is that they would share the attention with the Tschetter sisters, who we called at the last minute to come down and share a hello. Linda's sisters, Mary and Stephanie, live in Red Wing and Hastings respectively. If you look at the picture, you will see it takes some work to tell them apart. If you close your eyes and just listen, there's no way you can tell them apart.
Linda had prepared a wonderful Shrimp Creole for dinner, which disappeared quickly. Before we knew it, dusk began to settle, bringing with it rapidly dropping temperatures. By 7:30, the elders were driving back to Stillwater in the dark, and the heat pumps were required to maintain a comfortable cabin. After confirming the safe return of Roeland and Beppie, Randy and I hauled out the banjo's and guitar for a hoedown. Fortunately, we were located at the very end of the dock, away from the public. It sounded pretty good to Randy and me, but that might have been attributable to the bourbon we were sipping (or was that slurping?)
Friday brought dense fog - the perfect excuse for wandering to busy Bev's Cafe ("The Oldest Restaurant in Historic Red Wing") for breakfast. We waddled back after overstuffed omelets, frisbee-sized pancakes, and piles of hash browns, stopping briefly to watch the line up of trucks dumping their corn into the bustling grain elevator. The same elevator that kept Little Charlie, the local tow boat, running up and down the river moving full and empty barges into position.
After filling with fuel, water, and clearing the holding tank, we pushed off into clear skies and warming sunshine. Navigating around upbound tows of 12 barges, we finally saw our first pelicans just at the inlet to Lake Pepin. Along the rest of the route to destination Alma, we saw small flocks of Pelicans, but nothing approaching the thousands we've typically seen in years past. Seems most of the migration has already occurred. On Pepin, we cranked the Crusaders up to 2500 RPM, letting them stretch out a bit, since they rarely get a chance to do so. The wake is of little bother in the lake, in contrast to the river when they have a tendency to send small fishing boats into orbit along the shorelines, leaving the fishermen seething as they grasp seat cushions, recover poles, and untangle lines. The engines purred, cleansing ports and cylinders of accumulated carbons and mechanical toxifications. We all purred, as the boat traveled on plane, slicing through the water as we sunned in relative calm. Randy took the controls and expertly (who couldn't be an expert in those conditions) navigated our way to Wabasha. A perfect cruise.
Stopping at the Wabasha City Docks, we stretched our legs in a walk through Wabasha's Septoberfest, with very creative pumpkins and art displays lining the sidewalks and businesses. Bonnie led us through the maze, all the while herding us toward her favorite Wabasha restaurant, the Triangle Pub. Linda was none the wiser as Bonnie coincidentally offered the pub as a rest stop, answering Linda's request for a bathroom break. Even though we'd been eating all day for two days, and planned on a chicken chili dinner in just a couple of hours, we suddenly found ourselves sharing Guiness, Smithwicks, and Finnigan's over fish and chips and onion rings (the best in all the land). The perfect atmosphere, inside and out.
Returning to the boat, we hustled to untie and spring our way back into the river to beat the oncoming tow we had passed on the lake. Not hard to do, but it seemed dramatic. After a perfectly coordinated and executed departure, Linda took the helm to navigate our way the six miles to Alma. Strangely, we passed what appeared to be a dredging operation, but instead of loading dredged sand onto a man made island, these operations were loading the island sand into a barge. We later learned those barges were hauled to Alma, off loaded onto shoreline next to the marina, with the sand to be loaded into trucks for delivery to the oilfields in North Dakota as fracking sand. Apparently last years debate over who owns the sand - the Army Corp who put it there, or the landowner (state) of the dump site, was set aside or resolved.
The sun and fresh breeze took its toll Friday night. A happy hour beer and chicken chili dinner, along with the boats usual mood lighting made consciousness a difficult state to hold on to - at least for me. Randy, Linda and I decided to respond by taking much needed showers. Even though the boat and shoreside shower facilities were heated, the intervening ambient air temperature got the blood moving. Good thing for me, because the shower handle on the boat came off in my hand (go figure, it was only 26 years old, too), sending water low into the shower stall. I contorted to rinse myself off, finishing quickly. Lucky for Bonnie, who intended to take a shower the next day, I had a spare shower handle system intended for the transom shower. I simply adapted it, though now she would have to hold the handle and shower at the same time.
Sleep came quickly to all of us, with the trains announcing their passing every so often. None of us noticed...
The next morning, in anticipation of the arrival of their return transportation, complements of the Senior Reyers, we had a boat breakfast of raspberry pancakes and bacon. We ate casually, since a thick fog made their later arrival likely. Linda had been looking at the crumbs and dirt that accumulates on the floors as a normal course of boating with a scowl since the night before. Finally, she couldn't take it any more and insisted I pull out the vacuum hose. On her hands and knees, she and Bonnie tackled the nasty nerbits. Fortunately, we didn't have any white gloves on board.
The folks arrived just as the sun burned off all of the fog. They travelled two hours south, just to turn around and travel two hours north. Just in time. All the laughing and joking was taking a toll on my diaphragm. It was no doubt too soon to part ways, having found perfect boating companions, but you've heard the philosophy in theatre - better to end the play leaving the audience wanting more.
Wayback plying the autumnal waters of the St. Croix and Mississippi rivers.
Adding to the pleasure was the company of Randy and Linda Hardy. Somehow, through badgering and cajoling, we lured them from the sanctity of their north woods oasis down to the Saintly of Cities Twin to join us for a couple of days. The weather cooperated supremely, warming to a balmy 57 degrees with no wind and lots of sunshine on the Thursday we departed Afton. The colors of the shoreline are just beginning to multiply and adopt the brighter segments of the light spectrum. We shared the river with only a few hearty fishing enthusiasts, and nary a cruiser to upset the calm and flat waters. Our slow and casual pace did little to alter the rivers perfect state.The river current was stronger than I expected, giving us a boost of 2.2 mph. Lock & Dam 3 had no traffic, making our transit quick and effortless. Though when I accepted the lock masters offer to float in the chamber, there was a howling protest from my first mate, who had gone through the effort to rig the lines and fenders to tie off. She felt the Hardy's would be denied the opportunity to experience a proper lock-down, so I radioed a request to change my mind. As usual, the lock operators were polite and accommodating.
 |
| The marina was alive with the sound of Tschetter.... er, chatter. |
Linda had prepared a wonderful Shrimp Creole for dinner, which disappeared quickly. Before we knew it, dusk began to settle, bringing with it rapidly dropping temperatures. By 7:30, the elders were driving back to Stillwater in the dark, and the heat pumps were required to maintain a comfortable cabin. After confirming the safe return of Roeland and Beppie, Randy and I hauled out the banjo's and guitar for a hoedown. Fortunately, we were located at the very end of the dock, away from the public. It sounded pretty good to Randy and me, but that might have been attributable to the bourbon we were sipping (or was that slurping?)
Friday brought dense fog - the perfect excuse for wandering to busy Bev's Cafe ("The Oldest Restaurant in Historic Red Wing") for breakfast. We waddled back after overstuffed omelets, frisbee-sized pancakes, and piles of hash browns, stopping briefly to watch the line up of trucks dumping their corn into the bustling grain elevator. The same elevator that kept Little Charlie, the local tow boat, running up and down the river moving full and empty barges into position.
 |
| Pointing at Windmills? |
Stopping at the Wabasha City Docks, we stretched our legs in a walk through Wabasha's Septoberfest, with very creative pumpkins and art displays lining the sidewalks and businesses. Bonnie led us through the maze, all the while herding us toward her favorite Wabasha restaurant, the Triangle Pub. Linda was none the wiser as Bonnie coincidentally offered the pub as a rest stop, answering Linda's request for a bathroom break. Even though we'd been eating all day for two days, and planned on a chicken chili dinner in just a couple of hours, we suddenly found ourselves sharing Guiness, Smithwicks, and Finnigan's over fish and chips and onion rings (the best in all the land). The perfect atmosphere, inside and out.Returning to the boat, we hustled to untie and spring our way back into the river to beat the oncoming tow we had passed on the lake. Not hard to do, but it seemed dramatic. After a perfectly coordinated and executed departure, Linda took the helm to navigate our way the six miles to Alma. Strangely, we passed what appeared to be a dredging operation, but instead of loading dredged sand onto a man made island, these operations were loading the island sand into a barge. We later learned those barges were hauled to Alma, off loaded onto shoreline next to the marina, with the sand to be loaded into trucks for delivery to the oilfields in North Dakota as fracking sand. Apparently last years debate over who owns the sand - the Army Corp who put it there, or the landowner (state) of the dump site, was set aside or resolved.
The sun and fresh breeze took its toll Friday night. A happy hour beer and chicken chili dinner, along with the boats usual mood lighting made consciousness a difficult state to hold on to - at least for me. Randy, Linda and I decided to respond by taking much needed showers. Even though the boat and shoreside shower facilities were heated, the intervening ambient air temperature got the blood moving. Good thing for me, because the shower handle on the boat came off in my hand (go figure, it was only 26 years old, too), sending water low into the shower stall. I contorted to rinse myself off, finishing quickly. Lucky for Bonnie, who intended to take a shower the next day, I had a spare shower handle system intended for the transom shower. I simply adapted it, though now she would have to hold the handle and shower at the same time.
Sleep came quickly to all of us, with the trains announcing their passing every so often. None of us noticed...
The next morning, in anticipation of the arrival of their return transportation, complements of the Senior Reyers, we had a boat breakfast of raspberry pancakes and bacon. We ate casually, since a thick fog made their later arrival likely. Linda had been looking at the crumbs and dirt that accumulates on the floors as a normal course of boating with a scowl since the night before. Finally, she couldn't take it any more and insisted I pull out the vacuum hose. On her hands and knees, she and Bonnie tackled the nasty nerbits. Fortunately, we didn't have any white gloves on board.The folks arrived just as the sun burned off all of the fog. They travelled two hours south, just to turn around and travel two hours north. Just in time. All the laughing and joking was taking a toll on my diaphragm. It was no doubt too soon to part ways, having found perfect boating companions, but you've heard the philosophy in theatre - better to end the play leaving the audience wanting more.
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