First things first. Check out this on the Monsta Movies blog. quite amusing, and one that Big Muddy Adventures particularly relishes.

Now back to Natchez, MS and the rest of the story….

While I was up at the famous Under the Hill Saloon (using their wifi to post updates, emails, etc… and drinking coffee not whiskey unfortunately), John and crew off-loaded all of the film crew gear, bags and excess stuff from the Junebugs. According to the plan, the Monsta folks are land based for all but the final scene in New Orleans. We want the raft as light as possible to make the 350 miles of river in the eight days we have remaining.

We departed the Monsta Movies crew in a rush at the Natchez landing. A huge thunderstorm appeared across the river and seemed destined to hit us with full force. As we paddled away and under the bridge, I could see the disappointment in the eyes and waving arms of Patricia, Lutz and Volker. They have found something in their hearts on this river. I think that if they had it to do over again, they would have made the film entirely on the river and left all the quirky stories of the town folk along the way for some other project. Still, I can’t wait to see what they found in our river cities.

Somehow the foreboding thunder, lightening and sheets of rain that we could hear and see passed by us with nary a drop and only a short burst of wind. It seems that we are being watched by river angels as all of the potential threats are being dispersed, like Moses and the Red Sea. Knock on wood!

We are only a crew of seven now. There are no breaks from the rowing or tiller position. No one to spell you when your hands are cramped or your back and arms are screaming at you to stop. That is, no breaks until the river bends in an easterly direction. The winds are coming from the South/ Southwest. Until we get a tailwind, we have to lay our backs and arms into the work at all times. We are in good shape now, after 22 days on the river. Still the effort is strenuous. I can tell when the fatigue has set in. The Mighty Quapaws become silent. Their usual banter about girls and cars, or the incessant teasing of each other fades away into river time meditation.

I have been using my iPod as a stimulant to keep up a strong rowing stroke. I have never done that before… played recorded music while on river time. This time is different with good reason. I am seated backwards to the motion of the raft. It was disconcerting at first, not seeing what’s ahead, not catching the first glimpses of creatures in our path, or potential threats. So to counteract this, I decided to try and listen to some music and see how it blends with the passing of the river. It has worked well. But not well enough, I think, to continue this practice after the expedition. I prefer the the familiar position of the canoe and with that the natural sounds of the river.

So, what’s the playlist? It has been quite varied. In the early morning, I have listened to some Gregorian chant from a Benedictine monastic schola or some classical works by the British Philharmonic and the Chicago Symphony. Later in the morning I have clicked on a selection of U2, some hill country Blues, i.e. Robert Belfour, the North Mississippi All Stars, Cedric Burnside and Lightnin’ Malcom. After lunch, Bob Dylan, the Police, and a new fave, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings. When I need some extra energy for a particularly tough stretch, my boys, the Rolling Stones get turned up. Finally, everyday I have played a few selections from our beloved friend Wesley Jefferson, who was buried on Wednesday. One song in particular is on my mind. It is from a great CD called, “Meet Me in the Cotton Field” on Broke and Hungry Records (owned by a St. Louis native, Jeff Konkel). “Blues is Like the River” is a must listen. It has brought more than a few tears to the eyes on this journey. And it was co-written by my river compadre, John Ruskey.

Our routine, sans movie crew, has changed. We are now most interested in time saving and labor saving techniques. We are cooking with the Brunton stove instead of making campfire. We are getting on the raft at 6:30 AM and spending 12-13 hours moving downstream. The river is awesome, but the winds have made traveling tough at times. Each day we have been tortured by 20-25 mph in your face wind. The Mighty Quapaws, John and I are making the necessary miles despite the challenge. Our schedule is intact.

Our second day back with the Monsta Movies crew was a near repeat of the first. We traveled all morning with the threat of storms all around. Mid-afternoon a thunder and lightening and heavy rains appeared imminent so we decided once again to cut short a full day of raft travel and make camp. As we approached the entrance to Cole’s Creek, about 15 miles above Natchez, MS, John announced that the creek might be good gator habitat. Of course, the Monsta Movies crew jumped at the chance to repeat the hunt. And the hunting was good.

Within minutes of setting out in the same formation as the Yucatan Lake excursion, John’s hunch proved true. Cole’s Creek is home to a family of gators. Our first sighting were two young ones swimming along the bank and circling the edge of a large swath of “duck grits” as the Germans called the vibrant green pellets of algae floating in the creek. A little further up a much larger gator surfaced in the duck weed as we call it. She was in obvious protective mode as she swam away from us, probably trying to lead us away from the kids. Then, as she disappeared in that slow and ominous submersion that is distinct to the alligator, Big Papa appeared. At an estimated 4-5 meters long, he gave us all quite a show. His swimming motion parted the sea of green and he seemed quite confident that we would not dare approach, but we did, very cautiously. He watched and swam until enough was enough. In a startling, great explosion of water, the king of the swamp made his exit below the surface. We proceeded further up the creek but with very wary eyes and extreme nervousness. We hoped that he did not suspect us to be a band of wild gator killers. Apparently, he understood since we were able to complete our exploration unharmed and extremely thankful.

While John prepared another one of his magnificent river rat gourmet dinners, I returned back up the creek with Lutz, Marcus, Sabinne and the entire group of Mighty Quapaws to give them the thrill of gator presence. As dinner was consumed, the Monsta Movies crew lamented that it would be their last full night on the river. The mighty Mississippi has worked its magic to its full extent. The river time experience has gone deep into the soul of our German comrades. They now know what John and I know. A Mississippi River expedition is a life changer, a connection to the true heart of America. Our bet is that they will find a way to rejoin us on the raft as we propel it from our present location just below Natchez to our destination and the final scene at New Orleans.

I have said, each of the three previous times, “This is it. The final phase of this odyssey. We are going to finish the Sunflower River Expedition this year.” It has been a bit of a jinx- to declare this to be the final phase of the Expedition.

Many of you know the story, but for those that don’t, John Ruskey and I began this thing in 2004. The idea was to paddle the Sunflower from headwaters to confluence, all in one continuous, uninterrupted expedition, just as we have done before, on the Missouri in 2002, on the Yellowstone in 2006, and here again. No stopping or restarting. All the way, “come hell or high low water.” And so we began, full of determination, but the Sunflower had its say. And the jinx was in. A spell was cast. The Sunflower River, so starved for attention that the first two river rats to travel upon its course in a long, long time were forced to stop, to come back again, and again, to paddle and push, lift, haul and struggle, to climb its muddy banks and cover ourselves in a goo that seems to take the entire year to get off, and especially to admire its resilience, to find the magic and the sadness of this river, the river that truly has the blues.

So here I am, back in Clarksdale, and yes, I’ll say it…”to finish the Sunflower Expedition.” But before we head south to the Anguilla Bridge and the wonders of the Delta National Forest, we have decided to spend this week in final preparation for the final miles, collecting the mojo of the Sunflower, exploring here, comparing it to that first year’s discoveries, and to carve some finishing touches on the dugout canoes which we will paddle on this trip. The Water Ram and the King Beaver have waited patiently for their opportunity to return to the waters from which they were born, a cottonwood and a sweet gum, transformed into vessels of such beauty, that they attract folks to the story and the glory. We have been filmed by Barefoot Productions, and interviewed by dozens of ordinary folks who want to know the usual… how long does it take to carve a canoe? how much do they weigh? What are they worth? Our answers are simple. They are never really done. They weigh less each day we carve. And they are… Priceless.

We have made this week into a long camp, a “canoe camp.” The routine has been… Awake early, hours before sunrise and write, doing the documentation, writing the dispatches to my students back home who have been my teammates on these trips each year, albeit virtually. Then, as the song birds sing the sun to rise, I have slipped into a tiny Bell canoe and paddled off to explore the river as it is here within the city limits of Clarksdale. I have alternated between upstream and downstream trips, one at sunrise, one at sunset, two and a half hour mini Expeditions, starting and ending right back at the put-in, the Sunflower Landing just below the Quapaw Canoe Company. Upstream to the Friars Point Road bridge. Downstream to Hopson Plantation, or thereabouts. The “happy hour of paddling.”

The Sunflower River in Clarksdale has not changed since the first year of this expedition. Despite the good efforts of the Friends of the Sunflower and the cleanup conducted this year, the trash remains omnipresent. So much so that upstream near the Friar’s Point Rd. Bridge, the beavers have incorporated it into their dam. Beaver chewed logs laid across the narrow channel with buckets, tires, barrels and mounds of plastic, interlaced in the handiwork that is the beaver’s. Shopping carts, car parts, oil drums, and tires get buried deeper and deeper into the mud with each rise and fall of the river. One particular eyesore is a huge scrap heap just over the bank, below the parked school buses of the Clarksdale school district. I wonder if the students there would be upset to know so.

Downstream, the three bridges turn the channel into a maze of sawyers, broken concrete and trash, tossed over the side, thoughtlessly, as if out of sight is all right. And further down, a mile or so below the Clarksdale Sanitation and effluence canal, the river flow stops abruptly. No beaver work necessary. A dam, completely made up of trash has become my turn around point.

And yet, despite the human malfeasance towards this river, it is still a place of great nature. Great Blue Herons, Great Horned Owls, Mallards, Kingfishers, Hawks and a great variety of song birds, squawk, hoot, quack and sing above its banks. White tailed deer, a red fox, the beaver and the turtles all making their homes along its course, and all within the city limits. I am, as always, enamored with the resilience, ever more hopeful that it will be celebrated for what it is, a river of life.

On Sunday, we will load the dugouts and the gear and be off, to… yes, here we go again, finish the Sunflower River Expedition. And since the jinx is in place, the Sunflower River Expedition will be turned over to you, to be continued.