Canoeing the Mississippi River

Dubbed a “modern-day Huck Finn,” Neal Moore spent six months canoeing the entire length of the Mississippi River from Lake Itasca, Minnesota to New Orleans. His mission was not only to document his canoe journey but also report on and participate in positive and uplifting stories of American communities along the way.

Paddling the entire length of the Mississippi was a major venture. What inspired you to do it?

There were a number of inspirations for this expedition:  Mark Twain, Dan Eldon and Eddy L. Harris.  I was looking for a unique adventure that would provide an ongoing opportunity to find and document positive American stories.  With Twain’s Huck Finn came the idea of absolute freedom; from Dan Eldon came the thinking of taking myself out of my comfort zone as well as life as safari; and from Eddy L. Harris came the realization that America’s River Road is absolutely doable.

I see you’ve got a lot of adventures under your belt but have you done anything of this magnitude?

Nothing whatsoever.  As a traveler you spend a great deal of time with your fellow expatriates, often in extremely exotic locales, hypothesizing the perfect trip.  But the realization of actually putting yourself out there was a new concept in my life that in the end, had to come from within.

The Mississippi River is quite narrow near its source but it can be a crowded busy waterway with strong currents as you get farther South. How did the paddling change as you made it further?

I’ve gotten into trouble describing the Mississippi River as a forgiving river.  But in the context of stages this is the correct way to describe it.  By the time you reach Minneapolis you’ve got 500 river miles under your belt and you’re not only ready for your first lock and dam – you’re actually looking forward to it.  By the time you reach St. Louis, now with 29 locks and dams behind you, you’re ready for a river unbridled.  From the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi on down, you’ve got a serious river with moods and debris and at times, some serious river traffic.  But until you get to Baton Rouge, its still by and large wild and at times you can go for a good portion of your day without seeing another living soul.

What’s the craziest thing that happened on the trip?

One of the most dangerous parts of the voyage came post Cairo, Illinois, when I camped out on a then rare sandbar in the middle of the Mississippi.  It had rained for the past five days and the current was both swift and strong.  By midnight the waves were lapping directly at my tent and so I pulled up stakes and moved to higher ground.  As it turned out, the water rose five feet that night and as such, the waves found me yet again by six am, which was when I was in essence evicted off the island.  My lantern hanging from a tree looked like a hurricane lamp blowing in the rain and wind and as I got into the canoe with everything I could grab, I was out there quite alone with my thoughts – in the dark, rolling with the waves, dodging logs that I could hardly see – questioning my own sanity.

What were people’s first impressions when they found out you were paddling the entire river?

This makes me think of the old cliché – there’s a fine line between genius and insanity.  Some folks would tip their hats to you, others would view you as a vagabond, while others still would flat out tell you that you were going to die.  I think the biggest commentary came down to the final stretch in what is referred to at “caner alley” – the home stretch between Baton Rouge and New Orleans.  It was here that tow pilots would either applaud, hooping and hollering into their loudspeakers, or else curse you out – calling you a scumbag that had no place on a river their family had worked for multiple generations.  In the end, I think you have to listen to your own voice – willing yourself to make it, to survive the hard times, and to see yourself through.

In terms of the people and stories you encountered, what would you say were some of the most memorable?

The most memorable encounters were the characters that you brush along such a sojourn – the ones that you’ll never again meet that you’ll think about for the rest of your life.  The fisherman in Versailles, Minnesota that literally tipped his hat to the trip; the boy at La Grange, Missouri that named my craft “The Andrea”; the traveling singer-songwriter in Oxford, Mississippi that sang just like Bob Dylan.

What kind of canoe did you paddle?

An Old Town “Charles River RX” – 16’ 3” Royalex canoe that was first designed in 1903.

Did you have any logistical support along the way? Any interruptions (weather, equipment problems, etc.)?

The only logistics were contacts in a handful of key towns where I had planned to tell a story.  But by and large the journey was about freedom and not having a deadline or a contact to steer you in their direction.  There is something wondrous about pulling your canoe into a quaint little town, either under their bridge or into their campsite, setting up your tent, and striking out on foot in search of the old town center.  When it came to the weather, by and large you have to just deal with it.  A system will move in and if you’re surrounded by wetland there is nowhere to step out.  You’re going to get wet but the rule is that at some point you’re going to dry out.  Which is where the importance of good equipment comes into play. The key piece of equipment besides your canoe is your tent.

In one of your videos you talk about “getting outside of your comfort zone.” Would you say that partly defines adventure?

I’d say this is the key ingredient – the other byline borrowed from Dan Eldon – “Safari as a Way of Life.”  Turn the TV off – and go out and explore.  It can be as simple as taking a different route home from work or as elaborate as spinning the globe in search of the next great journey.  But having lived and explored and traveled the world – what I learned from my Mississippi River trip was the fact that sometimes the greatest of all expeditions can take place directly in your own back yard.

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