3-4 Going Home! - The Great Mississippi River

The Mississippi – then and now

When I think of the Mississippi River, my mind conjures up barges, unless I think about the ‘Olde’ Mississippi where the image changes to paddlewheel steamboats.  Taken together, it’s obvious that my top-of-mind concept of the Mississippi is one of transportation, travel, and commerce.  Everything that I have learned about the Native American peoples of the early 1800s tells me that they also recognized the importance of the river for transportation and commerce, but the similarities end there.

The Mississippi River of the 1830's bears little resemblance to the one I grew up with.  At that time the waterway between Red Bird’s village in present-day Victory Wisconsin and Makataimeshekiakiak’s village at the mouth of the Sinnissippi (Rock) River was 175 miles of muddy, meandering and criss-crossing channels through countless sloughs and islands.  As a natural waterway, the river flowed with many forms and moods, at times deep and forbidding, and in places shallow enough to wade across.

Today, the water is still muddy, but most of the islands are gone.  There are now seven dams blocking the natural flow of water along this route; concrete and steel testaments to the ambitions of man and commerce in pursuit of the almighty dollar.  The first Lock and Dam system in the upper Mississippi, Lock & Dam #2, opened for business in 1907 making it possible to navigate the Mississippi river four miles further upstream to Minneapolis.  Lock & Dam # 1 was originally scheduled to open in 1909, but a revised and more ambitious plan called for the destruction of Lock & Dam #2 and the new project, complete with hydro-electric generation was completed in 1917.  Ever since then, the spirit and demeanor of the upper Mississippi changed from a wild and lively colt freely roaming the hills to a cantankerous caged stallion still capable of occasionally breaking through the stall door.

Where Battle Island now sits the view across the Mississippi River is broad and relatively free of islands.  This was not the view when Black Sparrow Hawk and his people arrived in 1832.  Numerous islands, known as willow islands, because that was the largest vegetation they would support, dotted their way across the river, marking tantalizing stepping stones to freedom.  Many more of his band would have survived if not for the arrival of the steam ship ‘Warrior’ to ferry men from island to island where they could scour the undergrowth for survivors.

One of the discoveries we made on our trip was The Great River Road, as it’s known.  It’s a network of federal, state and local roads which hug the banks of the Mississippi from Lake Itasca to the Gulf of Mexico.  The route is over 2000 miles in length, a full 50% longer than comparable travel along the interstate highway system.  This road system meanders almost as much as the river itself, and lingers lovingly in small towns forgotten by its straight, fast and four-lane brethren.  The Great River Road is meant to showcase the history and beauty of the ten states that border the Mississippi from north to south and, if you are limited to four-wheel transportation, is the next-best thing to rafting with Huckleberry Finn.  At times the roadway, of necessity, takes the traveler away from the river itself and through the surprisingly majestic bluffs that border the river, and at times hugs the water’s edge like the lines on a state map.  No matter where we went, we enjoyed the time off the interstate highways.

Ferryville, WI

A few miles downriver from the Rush Creek State Natural Area we pulled into a town called Ferryville, WI, and there was a great little concrete patio with flowers and benches right across from Jake’s Sportsmans Bar and Grill.  Aside from a state Historical Marker extolling the history and virtues of the late Governor Patrick Lucey (he died just a few months before our visit here) there is also a pair of signs showing how the river has changed over the last 100 years or so.  It is hard to imagine the river in its former state, blanketed with trees and islands that no longer exist, but the photos help the traveler slip back in time and see the river as it once was.

A Boat Ride

Bald Eagle

Eagle's Nest

Of course, no matter how much we enjoyed traveling the roadside, darting along the water’s edge and up through the hills like shearwaters and cliff swallows, our trip could not have been considered complete without actually taking a boat ride.  One of our goals was to find places along the river that would appear approximately the same now as it might have in Black Sparrow Hawk’s day.  Of course this would not be possible without getting off the pavement and onto the water, so we went to Prairie Du Chien and boarded the Mississippi Explorer.  I would like to say that this was one of the highlights of our trip, but I’d be lying.  Though touted as being “#1 in wildlife cruises on the Mississippi”, we were taken for a tour of all the things that take away from the beauty of this once-proud river.  Don’t get me wrong – the captain went to great lengths to find an Eagle for us to see along the bluffs, and through a backwater slough to see a large, active beaver lodge, but first we were guided past barge-yards, shipping channels, the hulk of an old dredge boat, and one large, active casino.  We sat cheek-to-jowl with about a hundred like-minded tourists each craning for a view in the uncomfortable benches inside the boat.  We took several pictures, and I’ve shared some of them here, but the Mississippi River as seen from the deck of this boat was a sincere disappointment.

The trip was not a total loss, however.  As always, one of the more interesting parts of our journey was meeting the people who came to us and asked us for our story.  I say it that way because I did not go out of my way to find people to talk to.  They just came to us, and asked us what we were doing.  From there, the story just flowed out.

One such person was a fourth-grade teacher (I seem to have met a lot of fourth-grade teachers on this trip!) who was actually looking for new material to fill out her curriculum.  We gave her one of our cards for the blog, and I have a good feeling that she was one of the many page views we got in August this year. 

Even as I write this it occurs to me that this boat trip would not have been possible without all those locks and dams.  Personally, I would rather have been in a canoe.

More about the Great River Road

One of the reasons the highway engineers could not lay the roadways directly along the side of the river is that the railway beat them to it.  Laying to both sides of the great waterway, within casting range in most places, is mile upon mile of freight-bearing track, two sets of tracks on each side of the river to accommodate trains in both directions.  At roughly 45 pounds per linear foot, this means each mile of waterway has 5,280*45*8 = almost two million pounds of steel.  (That’s well over 500,000 kilos/kilometer.)  I cannot fathom how much road base crushed gravel was used to build this line, or conceive of the number of trees cut down to produce the 12,000 8x8 ties per river mile. 

All of this steel, gravel, and lumber combines to create a zone of interference between the road traveler and the river which must be crossed if one is to enjoy an unadulterated view of the waterway.  There are certainly places along the river where that is possible, and I have included a few of the pictures I took at several such places.

Here are a few more shots from Pike’s Peak:

Here are some interesting flowers and lichens I saw on the way:

  

   

Here are some terrific shots of the river itself:

And some photos of the road and bluffs:

 

A Gift from Mother Earth - The Waters of Life

OK – so there’s a story with this last shot: My husband and I were driving down one of the smaller roads near the river, and may I just say the bluffs on our left were magnificent.  There is a reason these hills are largely untamed – they are untamable.  Oh, I suppose some cliff-dwelling agoraphobic with more money than common sense could bolt a McMansion onto one of these bluffs and even pay for a miles-long driveway to claw their way back and forth from their garage to the paved roads of the common people, but for all practical purposes these hills will remain as unchanging living portraits of times long past.  As we were admiring the bluffs, we noticed the tell-tale bright clover-green color of plants which only grow in crystal-pure, fresh spring water.  Of course, we stopped immediately and then noticed that someone had placed a pipe into the hillside and hung a ladle next to the steady trickle of water.  Thanks to their kindness we were able to easily fill our water bottles and enjoy the pristine water that has probably been seeping out of this hillside for thousands of years.  It is one of many thousands of springs just like it all along the river, but somehow the added touch of putting the ladle there was special.

Fort Crawford Museum

If you have been reading my blog, it goes without saying that the legend of Black Sparrow Hawk has grown substantially larger than life.  I have run across literally hundreds of tangible references (bridges, businesses, creeks, streets, parks, etc.) and thousands upon thousands of online resources to go with over 100 books that have been written about the man.  Everyone, it seems, wants to claim a piece of that history for their own.

When we arrived in Prairie du Chien, we could not pass without stopping at the Fort Crawford Museum.  It’s claim to fame is the iron bars which once were a part of the jail where Black Hawk was briefly imprisoned in 1832 after his ‘surrender’ to Zachary Taylor and the United States.  Whether Black Hawk was able to stand behind and grasp these bars as he looked out at his jailers is unclear from the description on the accompanying plaque, but they are an interesting and literal window to the past.  By the time Black Hawk came here on August 27^th, the massacre had been over for weeks.

I stood briefly on one side of the prison bars and stared through as though they were between me and my freedom.  Perhaps Makataimeshekiakiak was standing there with me.  One thing I have come to learn is that even if there had been no bars, he would not have left.  It wouldn’t have been honorable.  I stepped out from behind the bars and freed myself from the past.  It was time to move on.

Inside the museum, (it will cost you $5 per person to enter) there are a small number of exhibits loosely associated with Black Hawk. These are the white man’s histories of the area and the interactions with the Native Americans, and the information is notably biased in its perspective. A key example is the legend of the great cottonwood tree that once stood in the center of one of the town’s main streets. The legend is that Black Hawk spent several days hiding in this tree before his eventual surrender, an obvious and ludicrous fabrication, but people will tell their stories.

I remember another story I heard about the killing field at Bad Axe – there was a legend that two of the soldiers had been buried with a sizable amount of silver, and that someone had planted a tree by their grave.  Later, it was said, those who buried them returned and dug up the treasure.  Impossible?  Not really, but I have yet to see the soldier who carries a large amount of treasure with him as he tromps through unexplored mountains, thickets and swamps.

Sculpture Park, Prairie du Chien

Inspiration is a fabulous thing.  It is the inner voice that tells us to convert a thought or idea into a reality.  Life, and art, is hard work.  It takes dedication and perseverance.  In Prairie du Chien there is a place called ‘Sculpture Park’, which is the personal showcase for local artist Florence Bird.  In the park are numerous bronze sculptures depicting historical figures from the area.  The very first sculpture was of Black Sparrow Hawk, and it was dedicated in October of 2005.

Prayer Flag

As I stood looking at the statue, I centered my thoughts on all that I knew of Black Hawk and his people.  The statue is life-sized, and shows a weathered but proud and resolute Indian leader of men, wearing clothing that looks like it was pulled from history, draped on the statue and turned to bronze.  He is staring forward, and walking with grim determination towards an uncertain future.  This, truly, was the man as he marched towards Fort Crawford in 1832. 

I felt very close to Black Hawk at that moment.  Whether I became as still as the statue, or whether the statue came to life, we were temporarily at the same point in the universe. 

“Look over there,” my husband said.

Flying low and slow over the fields was a Red-Tailed Hawk, heading towards us.  I stood and smiled as it flew over, and when it sounded its screaming cry and flew away I got a lump in my throat and chills down my spine.  It was a good day!

Oh! Great River!

River of Strength – River of Pain – River of Sorrow – River of Time – River of Life

River of Love – River of Hope – River of Dreams – River of Healing – River of Creation

When the soul of a river is weeping, who but the Great Spirit can count its tears?

The lives of men and beasts have struggled, raged, and ended while your peaceful waters flowed.  The greatest of oaks have risen from the earth, grown fat upon your endless flow and then slowly returned to the soil, and still you rolled on, undaunted and unoffended. 

You have written your history into the stones of the earth, and moved mountains with the sweep of your graceful arms.  You were born of the glaciers, and have felt the tread of mastodons and saber-tooth cats, and have outlived all of them, stronger now than ever. 

I am but one small being, with a small voice, but I shout out to you now with all the strength in my soul.  I cannot count your tears, but I can feel your pain.  Let my love, and my joy, and my happiness, and my strength be like antivenin in your blood.  Let me be a conduit for the healing energies of the earth and for all those who believe we must heal the rivers and oceans before all is lost. 

Let my one small voice ring with the bell-tone of millions if that will mean we can slow, and stop, and reverse the terrible pain we have caused you.  May you once again dance across the land, cured of your sadness, and may you live to see the very stones of the earth erode to tiny grains of sand then form again into rock. 

Ah ho

Return to Table of Contents

(Key Terms: Ma-Ka-Tai-Me-She-Kia-Kiak, Black Sparrow Hawk, Black Hawk, 1767, Saukenuk, Pyesa, Rock Island, Black Hawk’s Watch Tower, Black Hawk State Historic Site, Hauberg Museum, Sauk, Sac, Meskwaki, Fox, Rock River, Sinnissippi River, Mississippi River, War of 1812, British Band, Great Britain, Treaty of 1804, Treaties, Ceded Land, William Henry Harrison, Quashquame, Keokuk, Fort Armstrong, Samuel Whiteside, Black Hawk War of 1832, Black Hawk Conflict, Scalp, Great Sauk Trail, Black Hawk Trail, Prophetstown, Wabokieshiek, White Cloud, The Winnebago Prophet, Ne-o-po-pe, Dixon’s Ferry, Isaiah Stillman, The Battle of Stillman’s Run, Old Man’s Creek, Sycamore Creek, Abraham Lincoln, Chief Shabbona, Felix St. Vrain, Lake Koshkonong, Fort Koshkonong, Fort Atkinson, Henry Atkinson, Andrew Jackson, Lewis Cass, Winfield Scott, Chief Black Wolf, Henry Dodge, James Henry, White Crow, Rock River Rapids, The Four Lakes, Battle of Wisconsin Heights, Benjamin Franklin Smith, Wisconsin River, Kickapoo River, Soldier’s Grove, Steamboat Warrior, Steamship Warrior, Fort Crawford, Battle of Bad Axe, Bad Axe Massacre, Joseph M. Street, Antoine LeClaire, Native American, Indian, Michigan Territory, Indiana Territory, Louisiana Territory, Osage, Souix, Potawatomi, Ojibwe, Ottawa, Ho-Chunk)