PREVIOUS CHAPTER    SECOND AGE BY CARL FRANSON            NEXT CHAPTER My Year on a Mississippi River Shanty Boat

River Ice Begins

Chapter 4

Bitter, Bitter Cold

The temperature was going down, so we decided to keep the fire going and take turns keeping watch. At about six a.m. we heard a scratching noise on the river’s side. We thought at first that it might be rats come aboard. Jack was on the porch and started to scratch on the door, so we got our one flashlight and went out to look. It was then that we saw ice building on the shore and thin ice forming on the river, then breaking up. It was thin ice scraping along the edges of the barrels that had caused the scratching.

I can tell you right now it was bitter, bitter cold with a stiff wind to drive its lesson to the bone, and we re-entered our warm, wood toasted sanctuary, while Jack stayed where he was on the porch. He was telling us that he was better adapted to this environment than we were.

We now had a real problem to face. One way or another, we had to move out of that exposed, dangerous place and somehow find a safer one, or abandon it altogether. While we pondered that, we cooked a hot oatmeal breakfast, with raisins, made some stove lid biscuits, and with this body fuel consumed, now faced the day.

Just another iceberg

We decided to move. At around eight a.m. while the day before it had been quite light, today was almost as dark as midnight. Having hunted up and changed into all of the warmest clothes that we owned, we now ventured outside and untied the front lower rope, then the rear. Almost at once, the current broke us away from the shore ice, and away we went. We were just another iceberg floating among the many cakes. It was quiet now, and the scratching noise had ceased, because we were floating along at the same speed.

We could have really enjoyed this, except it was so dark we could barely see the shoreline. The bitter cold was building the ice floes, thicker and bigger, and with time would suck the last BTU from the water, and its top would then be one solid sheet of ice. Where would we be when this happened?

Along about noon we felt a slight jar and then noticed the ice floes moving past, at least most of them. Something had hold of us on the bottom, and we didn’t know what. Many days later a river man told us that we had probably caught onto a piling. When such cold grips a river, its many creeks, water falls, and smaller feeder streams freeze up and failure to yield gallonage causes the Mississippi to fall in its level.

 We were afraid the pressure would break us in half!

Our decks and outwalks were covered with the sleety ice, so we removed ashes from our cook stove and spread them around the porch and catwalks, and also borrowed some sand from our sandbox. We were crosswise with the river, and the ice would build up against us, so we drove spikes into the ends of our pike poles and used them to push the floes to either side. We were afraid the side pressure would build up so great it would break us in half. It was bitter cold, so we could only stay at this for only a few minutes each time, and then we would have to move to the stove to soak up some heat. Also, the slippery footing forced us to hang onto the railing with one hand while pushing ice away with the other. One slip would probably be the last bath we would ever take; at least we thought this.

We then conceived the idea of pushing the ice away from the porch end only, thinking we were hung up on something under the center of the house, and that with ice pressure on one end and none on the other, it would pivot us around and maybe get us free from the demon that clutched us from below. No luck. We simply stayed put. Hovering over the stove, thawing our frozen hands for the tenth time, we now came up with a plan to push the ice floes under the house instead of around the ends. This we did, and while we were again thawing out, there was a slight tremor, and we were free and again just another thing floating helplessly downstream. Somehow we were elated. Now Lady Luck could go to work.

Without power in the middle of the Mississippi

Our situation at about one p,m. was this. The day was still so dark we could barely see the shoreline and its shore ice frozen solid to the shore. The temperature was bitter cold and a sleet laden wind was blowing in from the north. It pushed us a bit faster than the ice floes, which in turn caused our house to turn slowly one way, then another. The ice by this time had grown from wafer thickness to at least two inches. At this point we decided to start our engine and try to maneuver to the Minnesota shore. It took all the hot water we had to get the engine started, and we started to push shoreward, but within three minutes something gave way, either the propeller or the drive line, and we were now without power. We were perhaps seven hundred fifty feet from the Wisconsin shore and decided to use our pike poles against the floes and work our way shoreward. This idea worked surprisingly well, and by working one at a time while the other fed the stove and warmed up we gradually reached the shore ice. But where was a haven, and how could we stop?

We had a one hundred foot coil of one-half inch manila rope on board, and one end of this we tied to the rear shoreward side of our house. We were gong to keep our eyes peeled shoreward to try and find a tree large enough to hold us. I would keep the house as close as possible to the shore ice, and Clarence would jump onto the shore with the rope, wrap it around the tree, and presto! We would be stopped and soon frozen into place.

We now decided to fight no more, to let destiny take its course.

What actually happened was this. A suitable tree did finally appear through the gloomy dusk. Clarence did leap ashore with the rope but in doing so fell through the shore ice and soaked both feet but good. Scrambling madly over icy shore rocks, he slipped and fell down twice, finally reached the tree and got one wrap around it before the house pulled it taut, and we went on downstream while a wet, uncomfortable, thoroughly beaten boy stood there disgusted. Because of the slippery shoreline he could not keep up with us to come back aboard and was steadily losing distance. At this point, I jumped into the dinghy and rowed against the ice floes and current until he came up and got into the boat, but not without again breaking the shore ice and rewetting his icy feet. It took some time to regain our house, having to push the floes aside, but we did, and I suppose there was nobody in the world who welcomed the warm stove more than we did.

We now decided to fight no more, to let destiny take its course. We did not even retrieve our now trailing rope. Instead we prepared a good hot meal, now and then peering out into the total blackness and gave ourselves up to the whim of the gods. It had not been a quiet day.

Locked into a solid sheet of ice

Taking turns sleeping, we noticed the wind going down and the noise of the sleet lessen, and around three a.m. the total darkness seemed to brighten a bit. I guess we both dropped off to sleep, but when morning came and we awoke, we were stopped about two hundred feet below a rock wing dam. The sun was shining, the temperature had risen, and we were locked into a solid sheet of ice. Days later we wondered about just how it was that we got there, because usually the current speeds up on the downstream side of the dam, and most objects are thus pushed toward the center of the river. In our case, it was just the opposite. Then we remembered our trailing rope. It must have entangled itself somehow in the rocks and held long enough to swing us behind the wing dam and into shallow water.

Jack, who had borne this past day with a certain amount of disdain, was ashore when we came out on the porch, and we would not see him again, until tomorrow.

"If we could survive yesterday, then today was duck soup."

Once again, our spirits soared. If we could survive yesterday, then today was duck soup. There were two immediate problems: first, to move closer to the wing dam and shore, and second, to restock our wood pile, now dangerously low. The ice that held us tightly was about three inches thick. We used our one man crosscut saw and easily and quickly cut ourselves loose, then cut a channel a bit wider than our house, pushed the cut ice under and into the slight current, then pulled the house up this channel until we finally reached the full shelter of the wing dam and within gangplank reach of the shore.

Searching for dry wood was something else, but we finally found a tumbled down shack or shed that had not been used for years, so quickly chopped and sawed it into transportable pieces, and tying on a short rope we had with us, we skidded it to our temporary home, where we reduced it to stove length pieces, filled our wood box and stacked the balance on the porch. Yes, life was good.

We now needed to orient ourselves, to know exactly where we were. We were in a reasonably safe spot, below this high rock wing dam attached to Minnesota Island on the Wisconsin side. Directly across the river there was first a set of railroad tracks and then a well-used highway. A house with smoke coming from its chimney stood alone by the highway, and directly below, by the railroad tracks, there was a water tower used to refill the coal fired steam engines, and a building housing a telegraph office. It would sure be nice to be over there on the Minnesota side instead of where we were. We were approximately five miles north of La Crosse, Wisconsin, and Clarence decided to hike in there to pick up mail, and get a few light supplies as well.

The River was not done with us yet

It was a crisp, sunny day, and I decided to explore our lucky island and inventory what we might have to work with during our enforced stay. I would have liked Jack’s company, but this was not his way, and though I saw his tracks many times and he came into my path on two occasions, I still went alone. I knew he had me in his scent, hearing and sight at all times. What a remarkable dog he really was.

We both returned to our house before dark and discussed what next to do. It would be a long, tough winter at its best, and we longed to be across the river about a mile or so down and south of a large wing dam we could see there.

However, the river was not done with us yet. A warm breeze had come up from the south and warmed or rotted the ice, and soon all the ice that was in the main channel was moving that night. We were tired so we went to sleep. Well, the ice jammed at the La Crosse bridge, the river must have risen at least ten feet, the house was pushed ashore, the ice dam broke, and the river went down. When we awoke, we were half in, half out of the water at a slant of perhaps thirty degrees. Now our fairly comfortable house was almost useless except as a shelter. We could not use the cook stove or oven, because, due to the excessive slant, they would not hold the pots and pans, so we found some rocks and a dry spot on shore to build a cooking fire Indian style. Our heating stove could still be used, and we kept things warm there by placing vessels beside the stove in the sand.

Losses in La Crosse, Wisconsin

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Now the problem was: how are we going to get back in the water. We needed to move at least eight feet. There were no craft of any kind on the river, and it was still full of icy floes. There was no way we could pull or push sideways to wiggle it down. Our only solution was to jack, pry or push from the porch end.

The propeller was hanging in the air with one very badly bent blade, and we said we must replace it with our spare before final entry into the water. By chance we noticed some water near the engine and found both the head and block badly cracked from freezing up. It was then we remembered that we had overlooked draining when we stopped it during our very bad storm. In disgust, we removed the whole power plant, plus all the spare parts, our fifty-five gallon drum of gasoline with perhaps ten gallons left, cut our wooden mounting into firewood, and we now looked like we originally did when we floated on Lake Johanna so long ago, it seemed.

There was some space under the barrels, so we decided to cut some heavy pry bars about twelve feet long, then jack them up with a heavy screw type truck jack we had. This we did but could not raise the ends high enough to secure a good raise, push and pry action. We had a small hand winch used to raise our rowboat onto davits. This we removed and mounted on the roof, then tied a rope to the ends of the two pry bars, and leading it back to the winch, wound it around the other round bar. Now while one of us turned the crank, the other tightened the rope around the revolving bar, and soon we were exerting considerable pressure in the pry bars, and they were rising upward and pushing mightily. But then there was a crack, and one bar snapped in half. On inspection, we had not moved one single inch.

   Late in the day now, we retired to our sloping house, added fuel to the heater, switched our beds from head to foot so we could lie down with our head raised, and prepared for the night. I was not hungry, in fact did not feel quite well, so ate a small cup of hot soup and went to bed, where sometime during the night I developed a high fever with accompanying chills. Aspirin was the only thing we had on board in the way of medication. Morning came, and Clarence said I was out of it mentally and burning up. It scared him half to death, but there was no way he could secure help. Along late that afternoon the fever broke, and I fell into a deep sleep, awakening the next morning feeling rested but weak. I stayed inside and warm all day, while Clarence cooked up a mess of food on the campfire. Now we could just warm it up on the sand by the heater as needed.

A Blessed Chinook

No solution to our problem surfaced. That really bad storm had dumped a lot of snow over northern Minnesota. The warm breeze from the south had melted the ice and now the river was running almost ice free. Then a Chinook settled in melting the snow and soon creeks, small rivers and waterfalls were pouring into the Mississippi, and we gleefully watched the thirty degree slope become twenty degrees, then ten degrees, and we were ready with our pike poles to push off the bank and again become level. What a relief.

By now we knew we could not stay where we were over winter. The next morning was bright and clear, with a warm wind from the south blowing briskly. It was move now or never, and with power it would have been so easy. We attached our rowboat to the house with a rope, and I would row while Clarence would use the pike pole wherever he could. Our first goal was to cross the river and reach the upriver side of the wing dam, before the current bore us downstream. Pushing off, we moved into the channel, where the water was too deep for the pike pole, and where the current was the fastest. Here I really leaned into the oars and thought for awhile we would lose, but that south breeze really helped, and soon Clarence was finding bottom and pushing hard. We came onto the Minnesota shore about a block north of the wing dam. It was then a simple matter to tie up, look the situation over, and devise a strategy to reach our second and final goal: how to maneuver our house into the large pool below this wing dam.

At the complete mercy of the gods

Our plan was to pole along the upper face of the dam until the current grew stronger. Clarence would then climb onto the dam with a one hundred foot rope, and I would get back into the rowboat. The map indicated that the main channel was some three hundred feet beyond the end of the dam, so we could expect not quite as fast a current. Our friendly south breeze was still with us as Clarence climbed the north wall, playing out rope as he went. I slowly began to row, the current took hold, and soon we were at the end of the dam and going around, picking up speed. The dam was higher than it looked and the rope shorter than it needed to be, so no help there. I headed our rowboat toward shore and this time leaned into the oars with everything I had. There was a snap and I fell backwards off the seat. One oar had broken in half. I fished this half out of the water, then pulled myself along the tow rope and reached our house, now again at the complete mercy of the gods and floating helplessly downriver.

Then a miracle happened.

Jack, the house, and I were headed downstream without any means whatsoever to help ourselves, while Clarence watched from the top of the wing dam. Slowly I realized we were not going with the current anymore but were slowly moving toward the shore, and then, of all things, we were moving north and into the very spot we wanted. Soon we were there, and with a bit of pike poling, moved to the shore and stopped. Out went our anchors fore and aft. Then our three-eighths inch high strength cable from a main beam was taken ashore and tied to a stout tree on the bank, about eight feet above us. We were now so cautious that we even wired the hook to the cable, so it could not possibly come loose. Also, that very afternoon we secured two poles and two posts. The posts we set deep into the ground, front and rear. Then we haywired the poles to them and the other ends to the house. This way a wind could not possibly blow us up on the bank again. Now, having the gangplank firmly in place, we called it a good day and retired to our snug cabin, at peace with the world and ourselves, and secure in the knowledge that we were now close to other people and could live with some degree of comfort for a long winter. All in all it was not a dull day.

Saved by a giant whirlpool

Regarding this miracle, I later learned from Mr. Daley (whom I will introduce in a page or two) that he had observed the river forming a giant whirlpool, and that he had watched us as we were sucked into the outer rim and were so kindly and gently conducted to our winter’s quarters. He had observed the phenomenon several times and said it usually lasted about two hours, and was caused by a certain river level, when water was diverted into a side channel.

The next day was still bright and balmy, but we were still a bit nervous of holding our house steady, so we filled a couple of heavy jute bags with rocks and tied ropes to them, then carrying them in our rowboat, we dropped them to the river side about twenty yards out. Now we had four anchors out, plus a cable to the tree, plus two stout poles holding us steady out or in. It was enough.

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