Kayaking The Missouri River

So far, I have kayaked over a thousand miles of the Missouri River, that starts at Three Forks Montana and empties into the Mississippi at St. Louis. The river is over twenty-three hundred miles long, seven hundred of those miles are taken up by reservoirs that span half of Montana, and almost all of North and South Dakota. The three largest damns have given us no end of trouble; from long days of sitting on shore waiting for the winds to change, to lighting storms that make you pray fervently that your time isn't up! We resorted to traveling at night, at times, finding the winds seemed to calm, using the G.P.S. to navigate and being dazzled by the expanse of stars that carpet the sky. When you look up into those stars with no horizon in view and the rock of the water against your boat you feel as if you are falling into those depths. Falling and falling with out end.
The best part of the trip has been the people we have met. From the art student who we nick-named the French Terrorist, who started the trip with us, to the dozens of people who gave us rides over the damns, warmed out hearts with their stories and the sharing of our own and let us stay out of the weather in their homes. I sit now in Chamberlin South Dakota writing on a computer that was loaned to us by a lady that we met by asking directions to the local post office. She later found us eating in one of the cafes and asked us if we needed a warm place to stay. It was dumping rain out side and we gladly excepted the offer. We have even stayed an extra day because we enjoyed her company so much and felt she enjoys ours. To be a stranger and be offered the love and trust of another stranger is truly a remarkable feeling. Just a few days ago in Pierre (the capitol of S. Dakota) I asked a lady on a dock how to best get to a grocery store from the river and she asked if we just wanted a ride. The offer of a ride became what felt like an adoption into her and her husbands family. They feed us, brought us to their friends house where we were fed again and offered us beds in their home but the best part was they made us feel as if we were doing the most important thing in the world. They celebrated our trip with us, asking all manner of questions and wanting to hear everything we had to say from religion to politics. They loved us and renewed our souls with their hospitality. The long days of wind, waves, sleepless nights, being lost, sunburned and aching mussels seemed to fall away from us. We left Pierre feeling alive again and excited about what we were doing and the adventure we are on. Reminding me that this isn't about the destination but about the story that unfolds each day. In life there is long nothing days (I hear my paddle in an endless splish-splash and a horizon that never seems to get closer is always in front of me), every one has them, and even on adventures that seem so grand there are times when all you want is that destination. Northern Dakota and the endless plains could drive you mad for loneliness, there is not much to see and it is all flowing by at a speed of four miles an hour or less depending on head winds! All you do is think and think and think! What will I do when I get home, will we make it, do I want to make it, were am I going to live, does she love me, and on and on it goes. You end up forgetting why you are doing this crazy journey and what made you want to in the first place. There is no beauty any more, just miles and miles that stand before you and your goal. You hate everything that slows you and you go to battle with the wind. Yet, you can't battle the wind in your life for very long, you just arn't strong enough. At some point in life you end up stuck sitting on shore and looking at flowers. Then it slowly comes to you "Shit, these flowers are really pretty! I would have never seen them if not for the wind."