A whirlwind, windy weekend.

If you recall, the last photo set captured our final sunset in Fort Madison. Now, we greet day seven with a fresh sunrise over the same waters, new light, new stories.

Capturing wind in a photo is nearly impossible, but if you look closely at the lower right corner above the BNG instrument, you’ll see the evidence: we faced a steady 20 to 25 knots of wind dead on the bow, which made progress painfully slow. Day seven began with heavy wave chop and sizable swells.

South of Fort Madison, the river widens dramatically, much larger than Lake Pepin, but only the marked channel offers navigable depth. The surrounding open water is just 2 to 6 feet deep, and shallow water responds quickly to wind. That’s why we saw such intense wave action. Most folks know it as whitecaps, and we had them nearly all day.

This shot captures the Crimson Glory, a familiar sight over the past two days as we leapfrogged each other downriver. She passed us. We passed her. But if you end up behind her at a lock, prepare to wait: it takes about 120 minutes for a fully loaded 15-barge tow to lock through.

As always, photos can’t quite convey the force of wind and water, but look closely: the Crimson Glory needed a tug pushing sideways just to stay aligned en route to the Lock and Dam. Managing that kind of mass in strong wind is no small feat. I wouldn’t have traded places with that captain for anything.

These photos capture Lock and Dam 19 at Keokuk, where I couldn’t resist documenting the dramatic 38-foot drop inside the lock, the largest on the entire Mississippi. For context, most locks lower you just 6 to 9 feet, so this one is truly impressive.

Immediately after locking through, you're met with a tight trio: a railroad swing bridge and a low-clearance highway bridge, both within 300 yards. For a sailboat, it’s a nerve-wracking setup. Fortunately, we slipped under the highway bridge with ease, and the lock crew promptly swung open the railroad bridge for us. Smooth passage through a daunting stretch.

The Mississippi is fed by countless tributaries, each offering a glimpse into the wetlands teeming with life. Right now, bird migration is in full swing, flocks scattered across the landscape, filling the air with motion and sound. It’s a privilege to witness such abundance, a living tapestry of creation designed with breathtaking precision.

One moment that struck me: a stand of bleached white trees glowing under the sunset, their pale limbs almost luminous. A ferry boat drifted by, perfectly timed with the fading light. Nature’s choreography never ceases to amaze.

This stretch in Quinne, Missouri felt like a true bridge gauntlet: a raised train bridge followed immediately by a low highway span. Back-to-back structures, each hovering around 60 feet, right at the edge of our mast clearance. It was a tight squeeze and a test of nerves.

The orange waterproof bibs, and the matching jacket I wasn’t wearing at the time, were a retirement gift from Red Wing Shoe, and what a fantastic gift it was. I’ll be putting it to good use on this journey and many more. My counterpart, Bengt, brought the gear over from Norway, straight from Helly Hansen, a Norwegian brand renowned for its top-tier sailing apparel.

I tried to capture a good shot of these grand homes in Hannibal, Missouri, some real riverfront giants. If you’re not familiar with Hannibal, it’s best known as the boyhood home of Samuel Clemens, better known as Mark Twain, the mind behind Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. Who knows, maybe one of these stately homes once belonged to someone in his orbit.

As we cruised through, we passed under the Wabash Bridge, followed closely by the Mark Twain Memorial Bridge. The city itself has a quiet charm, though getting a clear photo of the Mark Twain Hotel proved tricky. It’s tucked in just enough to make you work for the shot.

I had to share these photos—they stirred up a wave of homesickness. The landscape reminded me so much of Barn Bluff, with those familiar fall colors spilling down the sides of our own bluffs. It felt like a glimpse of home, tucked into the river’s journey

I don’t usually snap photos of tugboats, but Peter and I couldn’t resist this one, meet Cowboy Ken. Most tugs sport no-nonsense names, so we figured this captain must have a sense of humor. Also in the frame: an 18-unit barge setup. Yes, they really do go five wide in some stretches of the river, looking more like floating aircraft carriers than traditional barges.

We ended the day under a thunderstorm that lasted nearly three hours, with heavy rain soaking us through. By the time it passed, we were drenched, exhausted, and more than ready to call it. Now, we’re warming up with hot soup and winding down for the night. The engine fired up at 7 AM and finally came to rest at 17:15, a long, wet, unforgettable day!