So Much to Share!

It's hard to believe we've been in Grafton Harbor almost two days and I haven't even told you about our evening walk in Beardstown on Saturday evening. Beardstown, population a few over 5000, defined quiet late that afternoon. In an hour and a half walking around town, we maybe saw three cars and no pedestrians. But, we did see a courthouse where Abraham Lincoln successfully secured acquital for a man accused of murder. Whether it was Lincoln's clever use of the Farmer's Almanac to show that the prosecution's key witness lied about the light of the moon, a summation that all present thought was brilliant, or the general merits of the case, the result brought Lincoln a lot more business and helped establish his legal career.

Sunday morning, we got an other pre-sunrise start for the 90 mile run to Grafton Harbor and the Illinois River’s confluence with the Mississippi. We arrived at LaGrange Lock and Dam 10 miles downstream around 7:30 and floated the lock with one other pleasure boat—the final lock on the Illinois.

On the trip down, we encountered the usual tug and barge traffic moving in both directions, two ferries, and, being the weekend, we slowed for a number of small, recreational fishing boats. There were also the occasional grain elevators, barge loading docks, and other industrial facilities but most or this run was undeveloped. We passed a few campgrounds and fishing clubs though not nearly as many as you might expect. Thousands of flocking white pelicans gathering for their migration south punctuated the morning as did a surprising number of juvenile bald eagles. We saw three juvies together several times and wondered if this habitat is just that more productive than Maine where most pairs we’ve watched over the years have one or two eaglets.

Did I mention it was a beautiful day?

The folks at Grafton Harbor greeted us and guided us to a very protected dock.

Grafton describes itself as “The Key West of the Mid West”. Hmmm. Sunday certainly offered lots of loud (frankly horrible) music from a variety of cheesie venues but, as a 16 year resident of Key West, I’d say Grafton’s got a ways to go. Nonetheless, a restaurant advertising barbecue on the tourist map the marina gave us caught Jackie’s eye and, in an eight minute walk, we arrived at what turned out to be a biker bar with screeching heavy metal music, dozens of hogs and choppers parked outside, more leather than a tannery, and narry a helmet in sight. Oh, did I mention the Trump flag flying proudly on the flag pole in front? We looked at each other and I said, “What the heck, we came to experience America” and in we went. We sat outdoors on the river side of the bar putting the building between us and the music and giving us a view of the river traffic. The ribs were good, the beans were great, the potato salad ok, and the draft beer just right for a hot mid-Sunday afternoon—all for 60 bucks for the two of us and enough for Sunday lunch and dinner and leftovers for Monday lunch.

Later that day, we explored Grafton in the other direction and discovered the Grafton Sky Tour. That turned out to be a chairlift slowly taking you up a mid-sized hill to a wine, beer, and restaurant spot overlooking the Mississippi River. We enjoyed Arnold Palmers as we observed how quickly the riverside yielded to farmland as far as you could see. Yesterday, using the marina’s courtesy car, we saw the farmland up close and personal: corn, wheat, alfalfa, and other crops and lots of dust in the air where huge harvesters were reaping the summer’s spoils.

Coiling a line later on Sunday afternoon, I leaned over and my special glasses that have my reading prescription to wear over my contacts slipped off my face, teasingly lingered on the rail, and laughingly tipped slowly off as I too slowly reached for them. Splish and they disappeared into 8 feet of murky river water. I have two pairs of these (another story) so, I wasn’t as desperate as I might have been and my initial reaction was to say goodbye to $500. But Monday morning, figuring in a marina with 200 slips, others must have lost stuff overboard, I asked if there were a diver. That led me to John, a diver but a reluctant one who doubted that he would be able to get into his wetsuit (a problem many aging divers well understand). John disappeared and, after a while, returned on a motor scooter with a hand-fashioned rake basket with a 12 foot pole. Have to say it was clear to me from the git go that that was not going to work. Nonetheless, I humored him and both of us spent the next 45 minutes trying to drag/catch my clever glasses. Nada. John disappeared a second time (I thought maybe for good) but he finally came back with fins, mask, and a small but quite heavy anchor that he asked me to lower from the rail where the glasses had gone in. It took John quite a while to “get in” but he did. The first dive he barely got to the bottom before he ran out of breath but, on the second try, he came up with the glasses. Voila.

John retired as a boilermaker as did both his father and his brother, Bill. Bill, who works part time at the marina, happened by as John was drying off and the three of us spent a fascinating half hour discussing the history of the town (both men in their sixties have lived there their whole lives), historic floods, how the marina survives them, where you found work as a boilermaker and our plans for the loop which John hopes to undertake himself. This kind of interaction really is a big part of what we came for!

The Loop is teaching both Jackie and I flexibility. We need a reservation at a place called Hoppies which is the jump off point for two, very long days without access to fuel or other facilities to finish our Mississippi stretch and get up the Ohio to Paducah Kentucky. When we called them last Saturday, the first slip reservation they had was for next Saturday night. So, we’re spending three nights at Grafton Harbor, two at Port Charles Harbor just upstream on the Missouri side of the Mississippi, and one downstream in Alton, Illinois before going to Hoppies on Saturday. If we encounter interesting stories, I’ll post. Otherwise, it may be four or five days before you hear from me again.