The trip

Captain's Log                                                       May 30, 2012

The crew in anxious to set out. We embark off the banks and meet the mighty river.

We paddle out into the current and begin a swift ride down the river, but soon storm clouds appear and the wind begins to whip up

The river was angry that day my friend, like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli.

We rowed to the shore to wait out the tempest.

After the rain passed, we again were on our ways though the water is now choppy, but eventually the afternoon sun came out.

And find a very nice sandbar to set up camp on.

Our campfire is filled with revelry and we enjoy the night sky.

The morning comes and we start to prepare the canoe

 The rain though kept us on the shore a bit longer than we liked

 After the clouds passed over I decided that I would start the day with a little swim. Which soon became a gambit to crossing the mighty river 1.6 miles later

Webb was not to be outdone.

Having both traversed the river, we now look to make up some miles but again are hit by a rainstorm, and seeing it worst south of us take a leisurely lunch, and then comb the banks.

But soon the skies cleared and we were once again rolling down the river.
In comfort.

We reached the sandbar where the White river meets the Mississippi and set up camp and enjoyed a beautiful sunset.

The next day madness started to take over the crew.

But we treked on and tried new ways to gain speed

Then we had our last lunch and Webb purified himself in the waters before we were to leave the River we had grown to know.

We arrived back to land changed, having been a small part in such a big river.  Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.