7:39 Spadra Creek Daymark Mile 228.9
 The water is flat with only a few thin clouds overhead.  I have been oaring for 30 minutes and have come a mile and a half.  I must admit that I have harbored a deep fear of Lake Dardanelle.  The strong winds I encountered last Thanksgiving would be utterly impossible on this huge lake.  But this promises to be a pleasant day, although it looks like it will be a pleasant day of oaring.
 Far in the distance a cloud erupts from the nuclear reactor to mark my direction for the day.  I decide to cheat the river by oaring through a slough which makes a short-cut from the main channel.  Fish are working in the morning shallows near the cattails.  A fin swirls in the low water protruding almost three inches, giving an impressive hint of a trophy bass.  A mound of sticks and grass mark the home of an industrious beaver.  Birds are singing all around.

7:50 I run hard aground.  This slough is shallower than it looks.  The short-cut was a gamble that may not pay off after all.  The cool water feels refreshing on my feet as I pull the boat about 100 yards to deeper water.  The sandy bottom made for a pleasant walk.
 Ten white heron stand sentinel on the sandbar just ahead.  A goose is perched on a stump nearby, a seagull just farther on.  A pair of geese stand watch by an island to the left.  What a beautiful morning.
 A flock of tiny birds dart by flying in perfect formation.  About 50 of them darting up and down, right and left always in perfect formation.
 A lone goose flies straight up the still lake right over me.  I can almost hear his wings flap.
 A red nun marker lies on its side on a sandbar like a fallen soldier.  It broke away during a storm and is now far out of the channel.

8:10 I am exhausted after only one hour of oaring.  I should have conditioned more on my rowing machine back home.

8:17 I am sailing.  There is barely enough wind to ghost along, but it is better than oaring.  My boat seems to be dry.  That's a good sign.  Maybe things are going to pick up.
 I sometimes assist the wind by using my upwind oar to improve boat speed a bit.  If I had a motor it would be called "motor sailing."  I suppose this is "oar sailing."  The wind is only a whisper.  It may be a long day.

8:29 The whisper is silent.  The water is flat.  Time to oar again.

8:35 I have snacked on beef jerky, mixed nuts, and a granola bar.  I may not have brought enough food to supply the motor that has to propel my boat in the absence of the wind.

8:51 Far back in the distance toward the curve from which I have come, I see a cloud of egrets skimming the edge of the water, perhaps a thousand of them, shimmering in the morning sun.

9:15 Dublin Light Daymark 224.5
 Six miles in two hours.  My left oar popped a couple of times when I pulled on it hard.  I see a crack at the left oarlock.  I am worried now that I could break it.  I don't know what I would do if I broke that oar!

9:30 A Canada goose skims across the water just behind my boat.  A white heron soars in the sky and plops down on a fish for his breakfast.
 I just ran aground in the middle of the apparent stream, a good quarter of a mile from the shore.  This river is unpredictable.

9:53 I am sailing again.  Sailing is better!  The wind seems to be trying to come out of the southeast right now, which is wonderful.  When I turn the curve by Burton Point Light, that could be a great point of sail.
 There is definitely water in the boat.  I am disappointed about that, but it is not as much as it used to be.

10:00 How discouraging!  The wind just died again.  Time to strike the sails and get back to work.

10:20 Collins Shoal Light with Daymark 221.4 (221.6 on the chart)
 I am eager to turn the curve so I can see what lies around the corner.  I have to face aft when I am oaring, and I am tired of looking at this scene.

10:28 Milemarker 221.0
 Nine miles in 2 1/2 hours.  That's not too bad.

10:48 Shoal Creek Light with Daymark 220.1
 Nuclear One, looking like a cloud-maker, came into sight for the first time as I rounded that curve.  Immediately, I encountered a wind blowing 10 to 15 mph blowing straight at me.  It covers a long stretch of river and is blowing up some big waves.  What a surprise to go from nothing to this in less than 10 minutes.

11:00 I am sailing under reefed mainsail.  The big winds of last Thanksgiving put the fear of God in me, and I well remember that the boat handled like a pig in those winds.  So this trip I am prepared with homemade reefs, and they are working like a charm.  A professional sailmaker would have surely made them better, without the sags and stretches, but this one is getting the job done.
 The wind is over 15 with some nasty waves, but the reefed main lets me handle them comfortably.  It's amazing what a difference in the handling of the boat.  Now this is the way it's supposed to be.
 The only problem is that the wind is blowing from exactly the wrong way.  If I was going with the wind, I'd be making tracks.  By zigzagging back and forth I don't make too much progress, but I am moving.
 What is it about the Arkansas River that the wind always comes from the way you want to go?  Every time I have been on this trip that's what has happened.

12:03 Daymark 216.9 (217 on the chart)
 I've made 3 or 4 miles since I started sailing about an hour ago.  That's about the speed I was rowing earlier.  It seems slow, but I know I couldn't row against this wind at all.  Considering the strength of the wind, I'm not doing too badly.
 I am heaved to on the east side of the river to snack on some nuts and get some water.  The wind is blowing me downwind pretty fast so I am losing a lot of ground.  I'd better rejoin the upwind fight.

12:13  The wind has dropped some.  Now the boat is running just a little bit too slow.  Time to shake out the reef and see if I can sail a little faster.
 Now that is much better.  I have planed across the river twice now.  The boat is balanced well, a lot better than on the last trip.  I probably have half the weight which has dramatically improved boat performance.

12:35 Mile 215.5 at the power lines
 I have heaved to for lunch.  I hated to stop.  I seem to be making good time with a pleasant wind.  Lunch is two oranges, two Granola bars, and some beef jerky.

1:02 London Light with Daymark Mile 214.7
 Sixteen miles in six hours.  That just a little better than 2 1/2 miles per hour, and the wind is steadily slowing now.
 This lake has haunted my memory for 20 years now.  I remember being drawn to this water when as I headed for college in the late sixties.  Now the water is mine.  I see Nuclear One from the water's view.
 Surely somebody before me has sailed all the way across Arkansas without a motor, but I doubt there have been very many who have.  It's a modest little proposal, but I can claim some pride that few have been this way before.  For me it represents an achievable goal, a challenge for the mean-time, a feeling of accomplishment, a spirit of adventure.  Too many of my dreams are of the long-range variety.  Someday...  When I have enough money... When I have enough time...  Maybe this is a way of proving to myself that some dreams do come true.  It's worth the effort because it restores my faith in the dreams that lie beyond the horizon.
 I just rechecked my destination figures and found them mistaken.  Russelville State Park marks 22 miles for the day, not 30 as I thought.  That's discouraging.  I am going to need to go a good bit further than that if I am going to get to Little Rock by Sunday night.

1:30  I am trying to settle down and just travel.  I keep reminding myself that I can't affect how fast I am sailing.  There is nothing I can do about how fast the wind blows or where it comes from.  It is still coming from the wrong spot.  If it were just 25 degrees off, I could double my speed.  I can point only so far into the wind.  If it's slow, it's just slow.  Be patient.  It's still easier than oaring.

1:53  Finally!  A favorable wind shift!  The wind is coming a little more from the left, but it has slowed even more.  I almost decided to pull the sails and oar into the wind a few moments ago.  I felt like I could oar directly in the direction I wanted to go faster than I could sail with all this zigzagging.

2:05 Delaware Light with Daymark 211.7
 I am actually sailing parallel to the channel now.  I am close to a mile too far to the right, but I am sailing generally in the right direction for the first time today.  I should tack, but it will take me a good 25 minutes to cross the lake and I would still be at mile 211.7!  At least this way, I can feel like I am making good progress.
 The weather forecast is for 30% chance of thunderstorms, but it looks better than that.  I see one thunderhead building up behind Nuclear One.  I'll have to keep my eye on that one.
 I have had a steady wind between 5 and 10 for the last hour.  I am rather grateful for the light winds.  This is a big lake, and I like these small waves.

3:11 The wind has died almost completely now.  What wind is blowing is coming from the way I want to go.  Time to oar.

3:45 A whisper of ill wind has encouraged me to try the sails again.  I am still tired from the long hours of oaring this morning.  My body is not prepared for this.

4:04 Russellville Daymark 207.6
 22.5 miles in 9 hours.  Slow.  Frustratingly slow!
 Oh, I hate this wind!  It is so little, and blows right in my face.  Why does it always have to be that way?  O God, it's frustrating.  Sometimes I think that is just the way my whole life is:  Whatever wind blows, blows right in my face.
 This trip is a metaphor for my life:
 Circumstances work 100% against me.  Sometimes I can work like a SOB and overcome the circumstances.  Sometimes they get the best of me.
 I could have started this journey in Russellville and sailed all the way to Van Buren against the current and made a lot better time because the wind has been against me the whole way.  The wind against me is worse than the current against me.

4:30  I will blame my sour mood on being extremely tired.  My arms are so tired that they were painful and aching the last time I oared.
 I don't know how much farther I can go.  There is still four hours of sunlight left.  Under good circumstances I could make a lot of miles in that time.  But I am so tired!  I feel a compulsion to make as many miles in a day as I possibly can.  Twenty-five miles seems like a pitiful few.  Oh, but they have been hard!
 When I get through the lock, I'll look at the chart and see exactly how far it is to the next good stopping place.  Then I'll decide whether to go on or not.

4:40  4,000 feet to the dam.
 The wind is disgusting now.  It dies completely, then blows up suddenly from strange directions bouncing off these cliffs.  It's time to just take down the sails and oar the rest of the way into the lock.

4:43  My oar just broke!
 I can't believe it!  A gust of wind blew my jib sail up pushing the front of my boat toward the rocks.  I heaved hard on my left oar to correct it and it thing broke.  When I picked up the broken part of the oar, the oarlock fell into the water and disappeared.  Dad-gum-it!  I don't know what I am going to do now.  I have no choice but to sail the remaining 4,000 feet to the dam.  I'll have to zigzag as close to this shore as I can.
 The prophetic sign says:
 “Warning!  Dam 4,000 feet.  Follow this shore to dam.  Danger!”
 This really could be dangerous, approaching the dam with only one oar.  Foul winds and current around the dam could easily be stronger than I am with only one oar.  I don't even know how best to control the boat with just the starboard oar.  I'll just have to do what I have to do no matter how tired I am.

5:40 I am finally in the lock!  By the hardest!  This boat will hardly move with only one oar.  I must be a pitiful sight pushing the oar with my left hand and skulling the tiller with my right.  It's an awkward motion, but it creeps along.
 I thought I would never make it to the chain.  On my first try I missed just as a gust of wind came up blowing me around the end of the lock toward the water rushing over the dam.  I oared and skulled furiously with the end in question until the gust died just enough for me to reach the chain.
 As the lock was being filled, I worried about the possibility of a tugboat and barge coming out of the lock.  I would have great trouble getting out of his way.  So I tried hard to maintain a position near the edge of the lock where I could still see inside, but would be nearly out of harm's way.  The gusty wind required constant oaring and skulling just to maintain a safe position.
 This lockmaster cut me no slack.
 "Something happen to your motor?"
 "Well, sort of, my oar just broke."
 "You gone get killed!  Somebody is going to run you over.  These barges can't control themselves very well, you know."
 He didn't seem to appreciate my coming through his lock like this.  Didn't think it was funny at all, or interesting, or acceptable.  He just thought it was CRAZY!  I guess he's right.  This is decidedly too dangerous.  I have no choice but to quit unless I can obtain another oar.  I have never seen an oar this long at a marine store.  I'll have to order one.  I'm just sick about this.
 I am so tired my left arm is jerking.  I have to admit that I am ready to quit.  I wouldn't want to go on anyway.  Not now.  I need the rest too bad.

May 16, 1992  Sherwood  The Day After
 When I got through the dam, I pulled the boat ashore, hiked up the hill to the Corps of Engineers office, and called for my ride home.
 Today I have been brooding over yesterday.  Surely some lessons must be learned from almost 100 miles on the river.  In today's extreme exhaustion several stand out in my mind.
 When will I learn to pace myself?  Yesterday was dangerously exhausting.  At 43, I am simply too old and too out of shape for such an ordeal.  Yes, I can push myself to do what has to be done, but I pay a terrible price for it.  The day after my Thanksgiving battle, I was worthless.  Today I couldn't get on the river if I had to.  Rest is absolutely essential.
 Somehow I must learn to pace myself and not be so driven to go absolutely as far as I can each day.  I need to stop and look around, check out state parks or such.  I must take my time.  My goals need to be revised so that they deal more with enjoying the venture and less with how many miles I make in a day.  It's time to give up proving something.  To whom am I proving it?  Who cares?
 I have a choice.  Learn to take it easy and enjoy the trip or get serious about preparing myself physically for the strenuous work required.  If I were staying on the river for weeks at a time, I would build up my strength as I went.  But taking it in snatches like this, I merely exhaust myself.
 In looking back I can see that the last two hours strongly colored my feelings about the whole day.  I had so much trouble and was so exhausted at the end that I felt badly about the whole day.  If somehow I had been able to avoid the difficulty of the last couple of hours, I would have enjoyed the day 100% more.
 The last two days spent on the Arkansas River, though six months apart, have brought some very dangerous and frightening situations.  Every ounce of strength and courage in me was required to survive them.  The combination of barge traffic, current around the dams, and gusty winds add up to a serious risk.  Sure, most of the time the way flows easily.  But if I am crippled by exhaustion or a broken oar and face the right combination of circumstances, disaster could result.  And one never knows when the right combination of factors will sneak up.
 Perhaps the time has come to compromise my idealism and consider taking a motor along.  The Elgin 2 horsepower that Uncle Dave gave to me could have made all the difference yesterday.