Waiting to put in. Taken by Jim who ran our shuttle.<\/p><\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

His answer was a gift. \u00a0\u201cDarren, not only would I be willing, I would be honored.\u201d \u00a0Honored? \u00a0Wow.<\/p>\n

Once I started thinking tandem trip, the disappointment of losing solitude was quickly replaced by the thought of Larry\u2019s company. \u00a0Larry has the Alabamian gift of gab, which is to say that almost everything he says is funny due to content, delivery, or both. \u00a0For instance, Larry\u2019s personal lexicon states that one does not simply die, one \u201cachieves room temperature.\u201d<\/p>\n

Because the water was over the banks and moving fast, we ran out of river before we ran out of time. \u00a0We went home a day early, but not before enjoying some glorious adventures, exploring places normally not accessible at low water. Along the way we ate great food; lox, homemade granola, gingersnaps (of course), good lamb, lots of fruit, excellent hot tea, the works. We found Wilson the football, a raccoon skull, a turtle shell, and exactly one campsite big enough for our tent. I also found a deeper friendship.<\/p>\n

What I learned<\/em><\/strong>: It\u2019s okay to change your plans, even at the last minute. \u00a0Good friends will always come through for you. \u00a0Patience again. \u00a0Letting people do things for you is hard if you\u2019re independent. \u00a0I\u2019m too independent.<\/p>\n

Third Quarter<\/strong>
\nDates reserved for paddling<\/strong>: September 17-18
\nRiver visited<\/strong>: Pecatonica
\nMiles paddled<\/strong>: I didn\u2019t measure. \u00a0About 12, maybe.<\/p>\n

It was my first solo trip \u201cfor real\u201d since my accident. \u00a0Now Stephanie wasn\u2019t worried, but I was. \u00a0I was driving to the Wisconsin River and noticed all the trees were bending steadily away from the direction I wanted to go. \u00a0I detoured and headed south and west. \u00a0I had no idea where I would end up.<\/p>\n

The Pecatonica is a muddy little stream that runs through a beautiful stretch of Iowa and Grant counties. \u00a0It is not beautiful with a capital B (we reserve that for places like the Namekagon or the Bois Brule), but it is a most pleasant place to paddle. \u00a0Moreover, it\u2019s down in a bit of a depression so the wind might blow, but by the time it negotiates the stream bank it\u2019s pretty calm down there. \u00a0The downside is that the high banks sometimes limit the access to scenery. \u00a0In this case, it was worth the tradeoff. \u00a0It was go small or go home.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Since I was alone, I brought my bike, which I would use to shuttle between my car and my canoe. \u00a0Thankfully, a bike path ran along the river between the put-in and Darlington. \u00a0The shuttle was as enjoyable as the paddle. \u00a0The washboard-like Cheese Country bike trail challenged my hand a little, but if I slowed down the bumps and jars were acceptably minimized. \u00a0The trail ran along the river in spots, giving me a quick taste of what was to come. \u00a0Rather than barreling down the trail at \u201cget it over with\u201d speed, I had to ride slowly, like a mogul skier, picking my way through the bumps.<\/p>\n

I wanted to make this river last a while. \u00a0I chained my bike up under the bridge, launched down a muddy slide that had previously seen canoe action and deliberately took a pace that would be just a bit slower than usual.<\/p>\n

The sunlight filtered through the trees, creating a green cathedral. \u00a0A few trees were starting to turn, but the majority of the silver maples and cottonwoods were still bright green. \u00a0I had brought only black-and-white film, so instead of shooting off pictures I would later toss into the trash, I just took the time and observed and absorbed. \u00a0I could have spent some time shooting but I was enjoying being there instead of recording there. \u00a0I don\u2019t need a picture of that day, I can feel it, smell it, and see it whenever I want to. \u00a0I did this for several hours.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

As the city came into view I realized I had taken much longer than I had planned to paddle that stretch. \u00a0I felt lazy, and it felt good to feel lazy. \u00a0It was as I loaded up my canoe on the car that I realized I was hungry, and hungry in that vicinity meant Cornish food.<\/p>\n

Mineral Point is an enclave of Cornwall, no question about that. \u00a0The Red Rooster serves a great pasty, a sort of meat pie that miners would take down into the mines for their supper. \u00a0Lard, meat, onions, flour, and rutabagas or turnips are pretty much all you need, but getting it in the right proportions is an exact science. \u00a0I gained back all the weight I had lost on the paddle and ride. \u00a0It was a fair exchange.<\/p>\n

What I learned:<\/strong><\/em> Slow down. \u00a0Don\u2019t stubbornly stick to a plan when it no longer makes sense. \u00a0Slow down even more. \u00a0Observe and absorb more; take fewer pictures. \u00a0The Red Rooster in Mineral Point is a fine institution.<\/p>\n

Fourth Quarter<\/strong>
\nDates reserved for paddling<\/strong>: October 23-24
\nRiver visited<\/strong>: Lower Wisconsin
\nMiles paddled<\/strong>: 24<\/p>\n

One of the advantages of late fall paddling is that you will almost never see another person out on the water. \u00a0The wave runners have been rusting quietly for months now, and many casual anglers are put off by cold weather. \u00a0Solitude!<\/p>\n

I had packed my winter bag, good to twenty below, which was a bit much. \u00a0But better to overkill than to be overkilled. \u00a0No bugs meant no tent was necessary, just a Whelen lean-to, a modified canvas tarp that is perfect for fall canoe camping.<\/p>\n

With just a small (theoretically) smokeless fire in front of it, the Whelen becomes a giant reflector oven, baking the occupant with a luxurious heat, allowing indifference to the frigid gusts that play just inches beyond the edge of the creamy white canvas.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I had paddled most of a glorious fall day. \u00a0The clouds were out in force but the sun peeked through at times, illuminating the bluffs in all their splendid fall color.<\/p>\n

The circulation in my hand is still a bit woofy, and keeping it warm was a major accomplishment, but it was also a blessing. \u00a0I had to stop fairly often to strip off my gloves and reheat my hand against bare skin, so I had a built-in excuse to poke around.<\/p>\n

Poking around sandbars and walking the shoreline produced a personal record of four turtle shells, one of them in perfect condition. \u00a0I usually have good turtle shell karma, but four in one trip? \u00a0I was dumbfounded. \u00a0I also walked a great deal along the edge of the islands where the sand was perfect for capturing tracks of animals, and saw evidence of abundant bird life. \u00a0Heron tracks are my favorite, big three-toed claws that look like a peace sign without the circle drawn around it. \u00a0I took a stick and transformed some of the better tracks into heron peace signs and moved on.<\/p>\n

Eventually I knew I would have to stop, and the wind was starting to pick up a bit, so I picked a campsite on the downstream side of an island. \u00a0It wasn\u2019t optimal for weather protection but it had a great view, so I decided I\u2019d make camp, pitching the Whelen first. \u00a0Once I had it staked down, the wind started blowing in earnest, and it was clear a long, cold blustery night was in store. \u00a0I buttoned things down, ate a good supper of lamb steak and apples and cheese, polished off the hot chocolate and went to bed at 7:30. \u00a0It was already black as pitch, and steady drizzle saturated the canvas so it swelled up good and tight. \u00a0I would sleep dry that night.<\/p>\n

The next morning I was up before light to eat and take advantage of the lull in the wind. \u00a0I dug out the lean-to, the edges partially buried by blowing sand, broke camp in record time, despite the three primes necessary to start my stove. \u00a0The canvas was crunchy and stiff, and I worried about keeping my hand warm. There was a lot of frost everywhere.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

As I paddled down toward Boscobel, the wind intensified, and whitecaps appeared on the surface of the river. \u00a0I checked my maps and it was still over twenty miles down to the car. \u00a0Muscoda was about four miles away, but the car was at Boscobel.<\/p>\n

The GPS I carry mostly for fun actually came in useful. I learned that I was paddling hard with a full load and making a good 1.3 miles per hour, stopping if I stopped paddling. \u00a0With delays every half-hour for hand warming, that would make for a very long, cold, potentially dangerous day.<\/p>\n

I stopped just upstream of Muscoda in a small, protected cove and lit a small fire while thinking about my options. \u00a0Watching the whitecaps move upstream, it was an easy decision. \u00a0I called my wife and told her I was cold and getting colder, and I had taken waves over the bow of the canoe.<\/p>\n

Stephanie told me she had just been hoping that I would make wise decisions. \u00a0She checked the weather report, which showed 35 mile-per-hour winds gusting to 40 from the west, straight up the river. \u00a0I said I would meet her at Muscoda in about an hour and a half, said our good-byes and put out the fire.<\/p>\n

The wind, if anything, had intensified and cautiously I picked my way along the shore, trying to stay in water that was deep enough to float me but still take advantage of the tree cover. \u00a0It took me an hour to get to the take-out, and I was already bone tired\u2026seventeen more miles would have been too much.<\/p>\n

I lit the stove in the shelter of my canoe and waited for water to boil. \u00a0Looking downstream, I saw whitecaps moving upstream against the current and leaves were being stripped off the oaks in the park next to the take-out. \u00a0I involuntarily shuddered. \u00a0\u201cYou were right, Max. \u00a0I\u2019m really glad I\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n

What I learned<\/strong><\/em>: Sometimes stupidity masquerades as perseverance. \u00a0If you ask for help, you\u2019ll usually get it, but it might take a while. \u00a0A wife would rather drive four hours than worry for twelve. \u00a0Warm wet feet are better than cold wet feet.<\/p>\n

And finally, if you almost cut your hand off, it\u2019s not the end of the world.\u00a0It\u2019s just the beginning of different one.<\/p>\n