The Lost, the Damned and the Risen: Southern Illinois’ River to River

I’m living a fictional tale, I have no doubt. Only the foolhardy would dare to believe…

I crossed the metropolis under cover of night, temperatures plummeting as the arctic wind howled and bit across the flow of a freezing giant…

I slept in the bowels of industry, the soft glow of  the gateway arch a nightlight I could keep…

I woke to stand before and beyond, a giant to a mouse, yet here I am…

Here I am!

I hiked the floodplains of the Mississippi, night after day, day after night, a single degree my only assurance the challenge would not rest, lest I succeed…

Each night I huddled, my cave could hardly keep, the foul and the fierce clawing for the chance to reap…

I witnessed the tears within an industry built to contain and extract, each pound of flesh a promise kept…

I took to the wild determined to know, to lose my step and gain my faith…

Such rapture divine, the sunken claw my burden bear, the creep and crawl, a solitary path…

If fall I must then fall I would, the drip of blood, the soak run deep, a crackling, a memory, my warmth return…

I’m living a fictional tale, I have no doubt. Only the foolhardy would dare to believe…

Written January 19, 2025 from Cahokia, Illinois:

I’ve been laughing all morning, a cold morning. I’m back in Illinois along the Mississippi! Some damn fool musta forgot to check his gpx line. They tried to tell me in Kansas, “you goin’ the wrong way!”

Hard headed indeed, you can be sure nary a sidewalk would bless my path on the marathon (26 miles) trek through the enduring streets of the Greater Saint Louis metropolis, a trek I endeavored through the darkness of an increasingly arctic night. Why no sidewalks? Well, you can thank the snow plows for that!

I enjoyed the glowing wealth of people who could afford to size down a bit, a late night campus stroll lookin’ the reaper fool, old stone and steel architecture, the struggle of homelessness laid out on a far too cold street..”enjoyed” is the wrong word; I hope that’s understood.

And oh that arch, dimly lit amidst the fog and a half hovering moon! I arrived late, around 1:30 am with temperatures around 21 but rapidly dropping towards a low of 12, some 40 miles hiked with the yet uncertain fate of where l’d camp across this industrial river. I managed under the fortune of a well lit gazebo in an odd industrial park, that is for all of three hours, a quick shovel of food and electrolyte rich fluid, the blue glow of my stove returning a dry warmth as the wind whipped hard across the river…a triage at best, before walking another five to where I sit now, under those golden arches, preparing for three hard nights and a challenging trek across a resource poor trail here in Southern Illinois. Most of my resupplies from here will be well off the wandered path during a season where vacancy greets far more often than abundance,

a challenge l’ll happily endure!

Two states and 670 trail miles to Elizabethtown, some 4600 already filed away for safe keeping…

Written January 22, 2025 from Chester, Illinois:

The cold takes a hidden toll. You feel fine. You feel warm. Then you sit down inside. You realize your body has been suspended in stasis. You catch fire. You melt. It all becomes apparent. You’ve been surviving!

A chill permeates the longer I sit. Outside I pulled layers.  Inside I’m putting them back on. I live in the bizarro realm.  But what a place to be!

I’ll be on the River to River trail soon with weirdly warm weather not far away. My immune system doesn’t know what to do. Consistency I can hardly remember. I walked through prison row on the way into Chester, a facility that appears to have not been updated in the last century. The guards kept an eye on me, the “electric eye” ever present.

Last night I camped at a picnic table with a swing chair and a fire pit overlooking the flood plains of the Mississippi along the horizon of the setting sun, the rolling bluffs hovering above. I’m pretty sure it was somebody’s private property, the dog knew I was there…so did the possum! I slept undisturbed and woke to photograph the rising sun as I set off into the wind swept chill of that industrial river, the next village a few peered out from within the local pub.

Written January 26, 2025 from Goreville, Illinois:

Welcome to the Panther Den! Devil’s Kitchen is just north and don’t even get me started on the Crab Orchards Wilderness!

I walked well into the night last night, my pace hampered all day by fallen trees, branches, vines and thorns. I wanted to reach my resupply at a reasonable time today, equally I have other gettins to get to…ain’t got no time this winter for sub 20’s (I made 25 yesterday)!

A quagmire of the lost, the damned and the risen..just me and the armadillos out here! As night set in, the Crab Orchards Wilderness threatened to halt this foolish hiker in his tracks; wrap him, strangle him, and leave him cocooned for the crabs or the panthers of Southern Illinois. The trail markers showed a black diamond with a blue exclamation mark! At times, and often times, there was neither a path through, nor around. I needed a machete or a chain saw, but only packed a sturdy pair of mittens and a healthy disrespect for shit in my way!

I quickly lost patience for caution or care; resorting to ripping, tearing, shoving, kicking and yelling… oh this foolish hiker with a headlamp in late January, ain’t no panther gonna pin me down! The vines wrapped about me, twisting and pulling tighter; I could hear the panther seething above, the devil’s crabs scrambling beneath; I glimpsed the rusted remains of a flipped over chassis from the days when these “access roads” on my map actually existed…

The trail gave way, I camped surrounded by a beauty too few will know, the simmer in my pot, the glowing warmth and ramen parm a reminder,

the trail will always give way if you let it.

Written February 1, 2025 from Mount Vernon, Indiana:

I stumbled across the Indiana state line and into the Port of Indiana, Mount Vernon, along the Ohio River this morning, fully closing my Illinois chapter of the American Discovery Trail, from the screaming trees and canal swamplands of the north to the lost and haunted forests of the south, my god, I have some stories to tell!..

but maybe buy me a coffee first!!

I’m tired, I’m filthy, I’m caked in the orange mud of this land.

My right knee has a sore that now adheres to my inner pant layer, tearing fresh daily. My last three nights in the wilderness went like this:

1. He slips and falls during a creek crossing at sundown, splitting his knee wide open and soaking his base layers, though he manages to spare his pack at the cost of a lower back pull. The cold of the night setting, the hike ends abrupt, a fire built and warming layers pulled from the safety of a dry bag; all will be well, but…

2. He slips and falls in the mud at sundown while eyeing a tent site with picnic table and ready firewood across another creek he must cross upon a slippery log. He did not fall twice, but another day cut short as food dwindles, a sacrifice replaced by the soothing crackle of another evening spent staring at a starry sky…

3. He builds a fire under the protection of a rock cave to dry, warm and avoid spending nearly 20 hours in a cramped tent.

A day of pouring rain, a hike cut short by early afternoon, 23 miles left before resupply with just enough food to cover.

The rocks hiss and rattle when the smoke drifts into the holes and cracks above, this foolish hiker having heard the local tales of serpents in the Shawnee! Rain turns to floods, a restless night, but secure enough he would rest…

370 miles to finish the ADT South from where I sit, write and charge exhausted, certainly battered, the last 600 miles hiked since Kansas have pushed me to tears I can rarely afford the energy to shed, 24 hours a day the task simple,

survive!

I woke to the pittering patter of my day’s design.  I packed with haste, my tent yet dry and some miles I would need to make, the strain of a burdened forest mounting with each fall, each lost path, the lightness of my pack a reminder I had little food left to carry, lesser yet to nourish and drive my feet through the orange mud caked along my hard shell leggings.

With each step the rain crept closer to where I could not allow, the miles behind having well worn my “waterproof” protection.  My gear wears hard, but I demand so much, to scrape and claw I can hardly avoid out here.  I’ve stitched and restitched, but on this day I could feel the weight of a dampening beneath and within, the rain set to drive harder with each passing hour and well into the night, tomorrow a promise of fairer skies.

I caught glimpse of a rock shelter and hesitated only a moment, to seek respite, to warm and dry, to save for another time the struggle of my present.  I lit a fire quick, a splash of gas from my fuel bottle assuring an easy beginning, most of my tender well dampened, but dry leaves and twigs abound beneath my cavernous abode.  I laid my tarp and spread my gear.  I gathered much wet wood to place upon the now glowing embers; they’d dry and burn in short order.  

Water aplenty, I pumped what I would need, to cook and fill my belly for the trek I now delayed.  The smoke would drift into the holes and cracks above, each time a hiss and a rattle echoing and haunting my waking dream.  I’ve heard local stories about the serpents of Shawnee and would not like to hasten their departure from the depth of a winter sleep!

I sat in warmth until the sun began to fall fast, the rain now flooding my sheltered space, creeks forming all about.  I quickly pitched my tent beneath the rock cover to prevent too much intrusion inward, but could not stay as the ground would not allow.  I packed quick and hustled into the storm, my pitched tent in hand, towards the adjacent horse camp, where the ground felt solid and sloped just enough to hopefully ensure I would not float to where I would not like to go.

I fired my stove to dry and warm, though a restless night I would surely endure, the storm pounding until wee hours, but dry enough I remained until the glow of a welcomed dawn would see me on, the 23 mile walk to Dollar General a welcomed treat…

Update from Boonville, Indiana today:

Happy to report boring times here in Indiana! The biggest hassle has now become planning the exit and return to Denver. I’m beginning to count the “lasts” of the southern route. I just filled my fuel bottle, likely, for the last time. I only have a couple more resupplies to think about. It won’t be long before I have enough electricity to complete the final dash to the finish line. I tossed a pair of shoes with fingers crossed I can limp this last, and already well worn, pair to Etown.

I find myself reflecting quite a bit as I walk, nostalgia and memories flooding my cortex. I’ll cross 5,000 miles walked on the American Discovery Trail tomorrow, give or take I suppose, you know, plus all those extracurricular steps that count but don’t count.

5,000 miles, my god, is that right?!

So much to do, this trail far from over, plans I haven’t disclosed but will soon. My gear is tattered and tired, repairs and replacements afoot. I’m tired, but I’m not, a weird kind of space, having well adapted to the task of living hard, living in motion, on my feet, on my shoulders, bobbing and weaving as the world throws asunder and I continue to rise.

A deep breath or two and onward I’ll hike!