Hubris Is My Downfall, and I Fall Down

Bemidji, MN--So close to perfection but thwarted as usual: a man arrives at a lakefront in a kayak. When he gets out, you ask him why he is so wet--the kayak, you observe, is as dry as could be. Did he tip over in the kayak? No, he says. So what happened?

The first hour and a half was perfection. I started off where Eve had ended her adventure two days ago, where the route designation changes to "scenic" (from "wild"), and where the paddling gets significantly easier. I'd marked out 12.5 RMs, from there to Bemidji; the first seven were beautiful and simple, the paddling effortless, reserved, but not lazy. At around seven RMs in, I passed under a bridge with an adjacent river level gauge. The gauge ranged from 2-9 ft, but today the water was under 2, I'd say 1 foot 9 inches, not even deep enough to register. OK, I thought, no problem so far; it's been shallow, sure, but I'm in a boat built for shallow water--it'll be fine.

Around the next bend, however, I entered Dead Tree Alley, if the Alley was five miles long. Dead trees were everywhere--I went over them, under them, the the left and right of them. It was an obstacle course. But there were only two that require my ass and the kayak to separate, and even then only for a short while. They were only a few hundred yards apart--I negotiated the first one successfully, getting out (luckily here the bottom is sand instead of mud), pulling the kayak under the obstruction, and getting back in. No problem. I reached the second, cursed (understand, there were prob. over 100 trees obstructing most or all of the river at various heights, but there was almost always a path through), got out, and began to pull the kayak over the log. It was almost clear when it began to tip over; I leapt to keep it righted, and almost succeeded, allowing just a little water into the seat cavity, but in doing so plonked myself down in the Mississippi up to my navel. Muttering obscenities, I climbed back into the boat and continued on, arriving on the shores of Lake Bemidji dampened but in good spirits.

Currently in a different, slightly less hip cafe in Bemidji (ed: he's actually currently in the library, but I'll let it slide), writing in the journal cause I left my power cord at the camp and some kid is hogging the communal computer. Might go to the library (ed: he did). I'll let y'all know (ed: what an asshole).