The Mighty Mississippi Begins Here
Our nation's river begins at Lake Itasca, Minnesota.
Our nation's river begins at Lake Itasca, Minnesota.
The official beginning of the mighty Mississippi is on one side of a small rock dam where water from Lake Itasca begins to flow at a pace just above a trickle.
Absolute beauty describes the headwater of this mother of all North American Rivers. The mighty Mississippi begins as a shallow, narrow, and winding stream. For the first several miles all I can do is guide my kayak by digging my composite paddle into the riverbed or pushing off from a nearby riverbank or a lone rock a few inches away. Not too far from the beginning, tall prairie grass and tightly packed cattails line the narrow stream. Overhanging branches from towering hardwoods challenge me along the way while tall pines and evergreens cast their shadows. White birch, oak, maples, and the Tamarack are my favorites. It isn’t long before I am greeted by the isolation and nature’s soundtrack of Minnesota’s north woods. The prominent sounds are the rustling leaves from the gentle, cooling wind through the trees, and the water trickling over the shallow, stony streambed; the sounds of chickadee scurrying for cover. |
The unnatural sounds made by the underside of my kayak scratching against the riverbed, and the loud chunking of my paddle gives notice to the animals ahead.
As a doe and her fawn see me approach, they dart across the river and scurry up the steep hill. After a last glance and loud snort, with the wave of her white tail, the doe disappears as she guides her baby into the deep woods.
In the open areas I come across unsuspecting Canadian geese. As they run atop the water to gain momentum and lift, I wonder if they will hit me before they make their escape. The smaller more mobile ducks flee in any direction without a problem. The occasional beaver is unimpressed; it slaps its tail and dives, never to be seen again.
As a doe and her fawn see me approach, they dart across the river and scurry up the steep hill. After a last glance and loud snort, with the wave of her white tail, the doe disappears as she guides her baby into the deep woods.
In the open areas I come across unsuspecting Canadian geese. As they run atop the water to gain momentum and lift, I wonder if they will hit me before they make their escape. The smaller more mobile ducks flee in any direction without a problem. The occasional beaver is unimpressed; it slaps its tail and dives, never to be seen again.