Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Day 8: "I'll probably forget and call you dude anyway"


We're attempting to wake up early everyday in order to get an earlier start and more daylight on the river. As this was our first full day in motion on Cat Sass, we set our alarms for 7 a.m.

Piers and Bennett slept in a tent on the deck of Cat Sass, Clement and Nick tried out their new hammocks next to the water.

In the morning we were happy to help ourselves to Spruce Harbor's shower facilities and try out our no rinse soap (with rinsing). It looks and feels a lot like water.

We left the dock and immediately locked through our first lock. We were a little worried as we didn't know exactly what to do, but it was simple and the workers were incredibly friendly. Our south bound pleasure craft was only lowered about a foot in the whole process. 

On the other side of the lock we docked in the town of Belleview to refuel from the previous day and buy some more supplies.

We walked to the tourist center to ask for directions to the grocery store. The store sold post cards of a mural that depicted the War of Belleview. 


The woman working at the tourist center mentioned that she was excited for a reenactment of the war in August. When asked who fought in the war we were met with silence. Fortunately the question was quickly deferred to another employee who had just walked through the door. She explained that some thieves had come to Belleview who attempted to steal horses and "at that time they'd rather you steal their wives than horses." The thieves were eventually championed over by the people of Belleview, strapped to a raft and set down the river.

After the tourist center we headed to the super market and then hardware store (Clement and Bennett purchased a basic fishing rod and lures). On our way to the gas station we ran into Burger, who Nick had met earlier that morning with his wife at the Spruce Harbor campsite. Burger offered us a ride to and from the gas station and we eagerly accepted and sat in the lawn chairs in the back of his van. We discussed his distrust of the current global economic policies.

Meanwhile Piers was back at the pontoon watching over our belongings. He ran into a nice man named Mike who was fishing for catfish and walleye. Hoping to present himself as a man of the world, Piers suggested that he and his companions would begin fishing once they acquired a small hand reel. Mike offered Piers some Catfish. Piers, picturing two dead fish that he could proudly present to his companions once they returned, said yes. 


Piers watched with horror as Mike opened a small compartment in his boat and removed two very alive catfish. Mike proceeded to shove the end of our bowline through the side of each struggling fish's head and out its mouth, calling them names all the while ("get in there, you little prick"). Mike then dropped both fish into the water at the side of the boat. "Watch out," he said, "because they have sharp spines at the tips of their fins. They'll get you if they can. I think there's a little poison in there because it kind of burns." Mike wished the Cat-Sass well and motored away. Piers tried to forget the fish strung to the bottom of the boat and just read the map until the others returned, but he had trouble concentrating. 

"Why am I the way that I am?" he wondered. 

Excited at the news, the other boys hurried back to the boat. Nick volunteered filet the catfish because he'd "never done it before and it seemed like a challenge but it didn't seem like that much of a challenge that it turned out to be."


Confession from Nick himself:

They were slimy fellows. I gripped the first wriggler by his belly. With the advice to, "start at the piss hole and cut up" from mike. I poised the tip of my knife above the fish's belly before Bennett interjected, "wait cut off the head." So I stabbed him in the throat thinking that it would come off easy, but was met by some adversarial bones. The fish was very much alive still and not very pleased. When he wriggled in my hand I kept on trying to do him in mercifully. With limited success, as guts still connected the head and body, I moved on to the belly. Before I could kill him completely he wriggled out of my hands and fell into a watery grave. Feeling grimy and defeated I moved on to catfish number two, hoping for redemption. I managed to get his head on off fairly cleanly, thank god. I proceeded to cut the fella open, scrape out his guts and split him down the middle. After removing his entrails and tail, I had two nice filets on my hands, which I promptly fried up praying that food poisoning wouldn't visit me in the night. I'm happy to report that it did not and the catfish was delicious. Thank you catfish, noble creature, for your sacrifice.

We continued boating south for a few hours from Belleview, passing other motor boats, barges, and filthy bird islands. 


A filthy bird island is defined as an island that is covered in birds and dead trees (killed by the copious acid in the bird poop) that also has mysterious solar panels and video cameras. In one instance a barge with a large wake approached us in the center of a narrow channel. Normally we would veer outside the channel as our boat doesn't go that deep in the water, but a wingdam was coming up in front of us on the right. We turned into the wake of the barge and experienced some of the biggest waves of the trip this far. Our water cooler, and cleaning buckets containing shampoo, soap and bug spray bottles all fell into the water. Luckily we had tried down everything but the bottles to the deck. We spent the next 45 minutes maneuvering to fish bottles out of the river, recovering all but 4 bottles of biodegradable soap. 

We ended our day in Fulton Illinois, named after the inventor of the steamboat. The first steamboat was called Clermont (namesake of Clermont Gelly). 

We attempted to smoothly pull into the dock in Fulton but a strong current and inexperienced steering made the entry of our unwieldy boat far from smooth.
"What the fuck are you doing? First day on the boat?" we heard from a shirtless man barbecuing on the back of his yacht to our right. He was tanned a leathery brown, his boat was named Livin' the Dream, and he was. After responding that it was our second day, we slowly and painfully made our way into a slip. Shortly, the man, Terry we would come to learn, slowly paddle boarded his way over to our boat. We introduced ourselves but he said he'd "probably forget and call us dude anyway." We talked for a while about our trip and he told us he'd done a similar trip with his friends. Terry is a half-Korean Desert Storm veteran and now running a family welding business. He invited to take us out on his enormous yacht later that night and we excitedly accepted. 


Terry drove us around the Fulton and Clinton sides of the river, lit by a bright full moon. He pointed out bridges, windmills, docks and restaurants while describing his escapades while in the navy and on the river with his friends. The ride climaxed under a bridge that he had helped weld, where he drove in circles blasting 'Let's Go' by Matt and Kim. He got on the PA of his boat and started heckling John, the Greek foreman of the on-going bridge construction. There was no answer. We headed back into the Fulton dock and said thanks and goodbye to Terry for the night, who had offered to drive us to pick up gas in the morning. Hammocks and tents were pitched around the marina and on Cat Sass. 

We don't use the word champ lightly, but Terry is a champ.

"We've had like a champ a day"--Clermont. 

2 comments:

  1. Glad to see you on the way, finally. Fulton is where we lost our first motor. The folks on the river are always willing to help. Relivin' the trip....thanks.....
    River Dog

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  2. Ya'll fellers need to git holt of a jews sharp or some similarly cat-in-a-kettle-tuned instrument so's the river fauna and folk has sumpin which to remember ye by. An it shows karikt..., carekt..., um... shows good breedin'.

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