In Wildness

The power of meeting the Mississippi up close

by

For millions of years, the Mississippi River has flowed into the Gulf, the heartbeat and circulatory system not only of its named state, but of much of North America’s landscape, sustaining and dominating the surrounding ecosystems, those of nature and those of man. 

We who live in the Gulf South are innately connected with this powerful life source, whether we are aware of it or not. The River is not just a channel for transportation and industry, for shipping and waste removal. It’s more than a superhighway of water: gray, ominous, overly engineered, and resembling something dead.  When you meet it at its heart, the opposite becomes overwhelmingly evident: The Mississippi River is alive. 

On the day I was to embark upon the Mississippi River for the very first time, things started to feel different as soon as I got on the water. Our canoe launch location was near a corn milling operation and an industrial lined bank. Towboats putted on by, and the Helena Bridge towered in the distance, but things were already starting to go quiet. It became clearer that the deeper we pushed in, the more civilization would melt away. 

The only sounds we heard for a long stretch of time were the voices of guide Mark “River” Peoples and John Ruskey, founder of the Quapaw Canoe Company—which has been in operation, based in Clarksdale, for almost thirty years now. Ruskey is an explorer whose life is radically intertwined with the Mississippi River. His goal, from the beginning, was to share this affinity for river exploration while educating others on the Mississippi’s historical, ecological, and cultural significance. 

The river as a site of exploration has been, according to Ruskey, “criminally underrated.” The way the river has been engineered plays a role in the disconnect, as many people who live along the Mississippi see a levee, not the river itself; in most places, it appears to be a working river, not a sacred space. 

In fact, when he began his work at Quapaw, Ruskey noticed that almost 1,000 miles of the river were unused. No one on the Lower Mississippi was engaging with the water; even people who grew up in the South, close to her waters—such as myself—had never had an authentic and intimate encounter with the river, had never even seen the other side of the levee. 

Earlier in the day, at the Quapaw Canoe storefront, I had found myself poring over a worn book laying open in the shop. It was full of heartfelt notes and messages thanking the guides for taking them on the river. I noticed letters from people across the globe—The Netherlands, Australia, and Egypt. These people had traveled halfway across the world, wide-eyed and ready to experience The Great River that flows in my backyard. 

In an interview with journalist Boyce Upholt for The Bitter Southerner, Ruskey noted that while around 600 people climb Mount Everest each year, and around 700 hike the Appalachian Trail, only around fifty paddle the length of the Mississippi. While Ruskey has not himself paddled the entire length from Lake Itasca to the Gulf, he has covered every stretch below St. Louis at least four times—logging more hours paddling the Mississippi than anyone else alive. 

Through Quapaw, as well as decades of work crafting guidebooks, maps, and resources for adventurers, Ruskey invites people to understand that they, too, have access to this great and mighty resource.  

Back on the River, Ruskey and River’s voices calmly, but forcefully, guided my group on when to rest and when to paddle, filling the silence with tales from their lives, which are so very influenced by the river. We found a rhythm as we listened, our paddles dipping into the coffee-colored water, propelling our vessel elegantly forward.

Gliding along, I tuned into the way my own senses started to come alive in the most unexpected of places, my mind processing this up-close encounter with the Mississippi. The multiplicity of her character impressed itself upon me: wildness, peacefulness, color, slowness, energy, calm. It almost felt rebellious, as though we were breaking some unspoken rule, being out on these waters. 

Even with nearby banks bearing signals of our modern world, there was still a profound sense of pause and reset. Ruskey would later describe the sensation as “blossoming” on the river. Your spirit soars. Your imagination is opened. You experience magic. He said he’s traveled all over North America and other parts of the world, but has found himself closer, spiritually, to the wild here on this big river than anywhere else. 

The Lower Mississippi, while critically understudied by scientists, is the perfect place for adventure and reconnection with nature, Ruskey explained. Here, more than in the north, the river is rambunctious and chaotic and turbulent, full of unknowns and extremes, flush with the wilds at their best. 

This connection Ruskey speaks about is best exercised, he believes, by canoe—the quietest, most efficient, most elegant manner of navigation, and the closest you can get to “the spirit” of the river. Being as close to the water as possible is imperative, he says, as proximity is what makes the river come alive. 

I could feel it, this sense that we are all part of something bigger. From this vantage, the landscape felt massive, inscrutable. I had never been in a space so vast. I thought about how the waters carry on for thousands and thousands of miles . . .  to think I'd only seen a few breaths of it.

Later, while our crew rested on one of the barrier islands, Ruskey suggested I actually go into the water. In that moment, I died to my fears and responded to the river’s great invitation. I slathered the Mississippi mud on my skin and floated in the murky, cool water. Though it appeared brown up close, when I looked out further, the water assumed a blue tint, reflecting the sky. That moment, immersed fully in the Mississippi’s waters, I felt like I was finally really hearing what the river was trying to say.

The day was an evolutionary journey of sorts. I journeyed atop the water’s surface and then submerged myself beneath it. I saw the colors and vast islands with my own eyes; I felt the mud between my own toes; I witnessed the contrast of industrial sounds and nature’s stillness with my own ears; I dipped the paddle into the spiraling waters with my own hands. I let those same waters seep into my skin and impress themselves upon me. As Ruskey described it: this day was my baptism into her wild waters.

In retrospect, the experience was a mere glimpse of this place and its wonders, but even just that taste enabled me to better comprehend the river’s mystery. I observed a similar shift in my fellow adventurers; in the beginning, complaints sounded every so often from the younger river goers. But as the day wore on, the children softened, becoming more curious, pointing out observations and asking questions. The adults, too, listened with what seemed like an increased intentionality, a hunger to learn more about this simultaneously ubiquitous and mysterious landscape.  

Over the course of our journey, Ruskey spoke repeatedly about the Mississippi being a sort of wilderness within. Although it is surrounded by cities, farmlands, and industry, much of the river and its immediate landscape remains lush and untamed, a land of white sand beaches, sycamores, willows, and diverse wildlife. Ruskey’s personal guiding philosophy, borrowed from Henry David Thoreau—“In wildness is the preservation of the world”—bears such truth. Exposure to this wildness is what, in turn, leads to appreciation and preservation of our mighty Mississippi.

It’s important to note that Thoreau’s quote is often misinterpreted or mistaken to say “wilderness” rather than “wildness,” and the two are not synonymous. What Thoreau suggests and Ruskey proclaims is that wildness is a state of being, rather than a distinct place. The wild Mississippi is not defined by a mark on a map, but in the desire it invokes for a wild life—characterized by openness and possibility. And it is from this perspective that we are then able to make decisions about our home from a place of earnest respect, awe, and concern. Building a connection to the rhythm of the river, logging hours on her waters, being fully present in the landscape, and sensing your smallness against the vast Mississippi—it lights a fire of appreciation, and thus, stewardship. 

Learn more about the Quapaw Canoe Company at island63.com.