Mississippi River Love Affair #3: Towboats, Tugboats and Barges

“Tow!” Via texts, phone calls and hallways the cry ricochets throughout our condo building situated alongside the Mississippi River in Winona MN. After watching the river freeze over then slowly open her veins again in the spring, the sight of that first towboat causes quite a flurry of excitement.

The joy of the towboats’ return feels almost as if our very own blood is once again pumping through our winterized and sluggish bodies. Sharing the joy revs our energies and therefore begets life itself a warmer ride.

 

It's as if the Hope of All Things Good rushes back when the towboats return--especially this year since COVID-19 lockdown began before they returned. At least something felt normal as they floated on by.

While shopping for a new home for our move to Winona, we first visited this condo when the towboats were still pushing barges up and down the river. Sure, the river view enticed and lured us. But when a tow pushing 15 barges passed by while we were sipping a glass of free champagne during that initial viewing (15-tow limit on upper Mississippi [3 wide, 5 deep], but 30-40 barge limit on the lower which is downstream of Cairo IL), the sheer magnitude, grace and humming while softly pulsating and vibrating sound caused our eyes to follow the giant river creature upstream.

Yes, going on five years ago, I still remember the direction of that first sighting from our condo window. That is the power of the river to imprint an aging brain.

In our naivety we referred to the ensemble as “a barge.” In other words, everything moving together in a grand choreography was known to we ignorant interlopers as “a barge.” The kind and proper gentlemen who’d served us champagne quickly gave us a schooling.

The tow is the towboat. The giant containers it pushes (neither tows nor tugs them but pushes) are the barges. One may refer to that particular ensemble as a 15-barge tow. To state anything otherwise is indisputable proof you are not OF or FROM anywhere near the big river.

Since husband George and I were both born and raised in the suburbs of Chicago, we took our corrective medicine (while continuing to sip champagne) and are now the fine deliverers of same education when out-of-town company arrives and makes that same misguided verbal utterance. There is no letting their faux pas quietly pass. Nope. They need to KNOW. We shall pour them anything in our booze cabinet while doing so.

Egregious verbal missteps grow to feel disrespectful to the Old Man himself when people don’t get these things correct about his vital and muddy life. We are a protective lot, as it turns out. Speak river talk or watch him roll along in silence. Please. (We are, after all, Minnesota nice here.) 

 

When we moved in, the river was pretty well done with traffic for winter 2015/16. Fish houses,

Brave Souls

whether wood-structure fancy, portable or tent-like, dotted the white of winter. And of course there are those hearty souls who bundle up and park their behinds on buckets right out in the elements, shelters be darned. The beauty of the frozen river surrounded by the luscious curves of Her Wintership’s bluffs continues to render majesty as the howling winter winds cause snow to ski downriver atop the ice. There is that mysterious time of winter and dusk when the sky and snow and  ice and land all turn that same certain moody shade of blue … Ahhh. Oneness.

But after our first winter on the river, then came spring. Fish houses need to be off the rivers and lakes by March 4 in our parts, a little later further north. The last thing you or the DNR want is to show up for yet another attempt to land that lunker (or simply drink a lot of beer) and find your fish house gone, or the ice too thin to get your truck out there to tow the fish house off. More than one truck has disappeared through the ice during this endeavor. 

 

Usually by mid-March, openings appear in the river, luring gathering eagles to their fishing spots and watering holes. As the river continues to shed its winter skin, ice chunks begin floating by as the river gussies up her sparkles and readies herself for Big Barge Business.

So many purposes

But Mother Nature … well she sometimes casts her own meddling spells. Here’s a 2018 link to one perspective on those happenings. You'll also find there interesting explanations about Lake Pepin  (upriver from Winona), its vastness freezing deep and long, creating one of the most difficult and last places on the entire river to open in the spring, enabling the journey upriver toward the northern headwaters. This year barge traffic/commerce through Winona was held at bay until into April, due to high risky waters, high enough to keep towboats from handling their brave chores. Early on they couldn’t even fit under some of the bridges.

Barge commerce. Whew. The first time—and every time thereafter—we took the Winona Tour Boat ride and heard Captain Aaron Ripinski (a great source for just about anything Winona and a jack of all trades) talk about the cost of barge transport vs. truck or trains, we were blown away. Every. Single. Time. Gobsmacked. For a great nutshell visual education, check out these charts. The barge/truck/rail visual comparisons are amazing, right down to the Rate of Spills in Gallons per Million Ton-miles for each. For instance did you know it takes 16 rail cars or 70 large semis to contain the contents of one barge? Yeah, I didn't think so. Check those charts!

[Now that you’ve taken a moment to check the charts, all together now: raise your hands for river transportation!]

Among the action of skidoos, fishing boats, pontoon boats, house boats and commercial river boats, a 15-barge tow creeps along the river like the holdover dinosaurs of the waters. Of course not all towboats are pushing 15, but nonetheless they are working.

Yeomans Pond to the far left, right past the bridge next to our condo.
The river bends to the right past the bridge and just before Yeomans.

Speaking of working, the local White Angel and Suland tugboats (not towboats) are the tireless local Winona port workers. They are like the busy-beaver-little-tugboats-that-could  on the stretch of river in front of our condo. They belong to the Port of Winona, Commercial Harbor located in Yeomans Pond which is practically a rock-skip upriver from us. If you really want to geek on stats, check this out. They spend their days shuttling barges around in our port, staging and whisking barges to and from the port to CHS Winona River and Rail, out of the picture to the right and helping large tows back out of Yeomans and make the bend … You’ll find interesting stuff at that link.

Towboats have come a long way baby. Over six decades ago the Super Towboat came into being. “Powered by four Cooper-Bessemer diesel engines delivering 8,500 hp., the vessel was, at that time, more powerful than any towboat ever built. The engines were fitted with a “vapor phase” cooling system, which made it possible to use relatively inexpensive low-grade fuel oil rather than the marine diesel fuel normally utilized by towboats.

Each tow proudly displays her name. The first spring we lived here our son gifted us with The Little Tow-Watcher’s Guide (this edition along with  info about the author), a field guide that includes maps and photographs and other information to stock your brain and help you keep a log. Every time we spy one from our windows or deck we yell TOW! or BARGE! to the other spouse so someone grabs the book. We used to log the date and time but this year we began logging date only. We always enjoy the “Oh, we’ve SEEN that one X times before!” discovery. Or, “We’ve seen this one every year!” And now, after 4 years, there is still a happy moment when we spy one we’ve never caught before—or one not even in our book. There is a newer edition but switching to that triggers a dilemma: if we swap now, how do we compare our history? Our sentimental dog-eared copy whispers Please don’t ignore me… So we scribble on, oftentimes writing upside down and in margins. Sometimes even take note that "this one" (Samual B Richmond) is a "Twin screw, 6,000 hp; formerly Ulysses; Ingram Barge Co., Nashville, Tenn.

From our patio

Lots of loading in Yeomans Pond

Up close and personal

You can always tell empty barges since they ride high in the water, while full ones need at least nine feet of river depth, which is why there is endless dredging on the river. After 4.5 months of staying home to stay safe (oh, so NEAR the pantry!), I know the feeling.

I found an interesting recap of life on a towboat as well as keen info about the actual structures here, along with some terrific photos. I’ve even checked in with a Facebook group called Mississippi River Photos. Folks up and down the entire length share their river moments, including a few avid posters who work the river. Their point of view is breathtaking and informative.

I’m going to sign off for now because I hear that familiar hum coming our way. Gotta go grab the book, record in our log! I feel there is more than enough here to get you acquainted. My hope is you start to “feel” the river in your spirit. She definitely grows on you.

Retiree versus Business Person: Travel Choices

Many retirees are booked solid with volunteer work and babysitting, sometimes raising grandchildren, toting them from here and there via sundry car seats and strollers.

Or their dance cards are filled with golf and/or pickleball and/or tennis and/or bowling… Whatever sports float a person’s boat and—and this is key—don’t cause us to fall down and break something, or keel over from dehydration, or dizzy us due to inexplicable vertigo because we stood up too quickly.

Many retirees are vacationing their way around the world, or at least to our kids’ and cousins’ homes due to free lodging. We’re cruising, bus tripping and adding to lines through airport security, causing Business Persons great duress.

Of course breakfast, lunch, diner, cocktails or coffee dates (raises hand to all) catapult seniors (gross exaggeration [refer to the Slow Rise]) toward travel. Not to mention the lure of Bridge or Euchre, casinos, Mahjong and/or other gaming enticers.

Oh, and doctor appointments. Sigh.

Most aforementioned activities are a choice compared to the confines of a 9-5 job that pays the rent, the price of Susie’s braces and that fancy latte. Plus car repairs, child care, electronics and counseling to learn how to deal with their aging parents.

In other words, The Retiree could schedule a Bridge game for 4 p.m. at Frank’s house but if it’s sleeting or looks like it might, bow out.

Ring-ring.

“Hello?”

“Frank, I won’t …”

Frank, “I know. Everyone else has already canceled. Don’t know what I’m going to do with the giant punch bowl of  rum drinks. Lois has already warned me about too many dips into that pool."

Or say The Retiree (okay, me) has a lunch date scheduled and by ten there’s already three new inches of snow on the ground and it’s still near white-out conditions. Depending on my desperation for either the listening ear of a dear friend or chicken fried steak, I have the decadent choice to cancel or bundle up and fire up the ol’ Subaru whereby I tighten that seat belt, pat the dashboard and say, “Let’s go, Greyhound!” which is what, yes, I’ve named my Minnesota-ready vehicle since, well, I have time for such folderol.

But if I’m a thirty-five-year-old with a 2 p.m. meeting with my boss at the office when, according to Very Excited early morning weather persons, ten inches of snow are piling up, it’s pretty clear I won’t feel a choice. I’ll throw kitty litter in my trunk, pack a snow shovel, make sure I have my AAA card in my wallet, fill my coffee tumbler, leave early and white-knuckle my way to the office.

Now that my husband and I live near a bridge over the Mississippi River connecting Minnesota and Wisconsin, I find looking out the window a better barometer of roads than staring at one of my three phone weather apps, two complete with radar. If a steady flow of cars continues moving over the bridge at a decent pace, I figure Mother Nature is civil. Yup, I will absolutely head to Frank and Lois’s to help them with that rum punch. But should there only be an occasional creeper up there on the bridge—and no sedans, just giant pickup trucks that populate this area, some with snow plows—I’ll stay put. Even though George’s Lounge (several televisions, slot machines, deep fried hot dogs, good whiskey brands and Shake of the Day) is just across that bridge. If I’m thirsty enough for company or a libation, I can always walk one block south or east of our condo to a nearby watering hole.

Since the theme of this post is travel among Worker Bees vs Retirees and all I can seem to talk about is booze—and especially since it’s five o’clock not just “somewhere” but here—I find I’ve now chosen to travel from my office to my liquor cabinet to make me a cocktail!

If you’re a Retiree, please join me in a toast to those who are still working. We shall safely stay put and clinky-clinky to their One Day.