Along the Saint Joseph River a memory by Donavan Barrier

By Donavan Barrier

It started with a dream—a daring (and rather far-fetched) dream: My best friend Robert and I, with nothing but food, a tent, and the clothes on our backs, would travel down the Mississippi River in a canoe from the southern tip of Indiana to New Orleans, Louisiana. We would be like the voyageurs who traversed the land searching for pelts and new places to call home.

There was only one problem; the two of us were anything but. Aside from a few years of Boy Scouts between us, the closest we'd ever been to that dream were three-day family campouts throughout both of our childhoods. Most days, I could barely navigate myself out of a wet paper bag. But we were determined to make that dream a reality one day. So, why not start with something a little easier to practice and get experience navigating rivers? With that in mind, we figured, why not start on a river closer to home? After some deliberation, we decided to go on the St. Joseph River.

The St. Joseph River was perfect: from our research, we discovered it was relatively easy to traverse. No winding currents and no treacherous drops. It was also relatively close to where we lived, a portion of the river traveling through South Bend, which was a county over from the two of us. If something were to happen, like an injury or illness, it wouldn't be too far away for someone to pick us up. With it being in St. Joseph County, there was also a sense of newness. It wasn't like the Kankakee, which we were familiar with because of the previously mentioned family and Boy Scout trips typically being spent there. With all those factors, Robert and I decided that was where we would start.

In late July 2023, after half a year of planning and gathering supplies, Robert and I started our trip. We planned to start in South Bend and finish in St. Joseph, Michigan. We each took a week of vacation, plenty of time to get there if we were deliberate in our effort.

We borrowed a canoe from my uncle and shoved off with over 70 collective pounds of food, camping supplies, and entertainment, such as a guitar and several books. We launched from the Riverside Boat Launch at 8 a.m. on the first day, a public access point approximately five miles northeast of the South Bend International Airport. We traversed three dams, one on that day and two on our final leg. At the end of each day, we would set up camp, sleeping in hammocks covered with a tarp in places just outside of view of anyone nosy enough to look.

Blue Heron by Robin Maxon at robinmaxonart.com

Along the way, we took in the surroundings. Amazing works of human architecture and the natural beauty of Indiana and Michigan surrounded us. The basswood and aspen trees created a fantastic natural green corridor along the riverbanks. The buildings erected on each side were gorgeous mixes of multistoried mansions built to imitate European castles and modern one-story houses built in various geometric shapes. At night, when we made camp, the rattle of cicadas, the occasional owl hoots, and the crackling of a small fire helped us to sleep. That has been the most peaceful sleep I've had in my entire life. Around 8 a.m., we'd continue our journey, careful to leave everything the way it was before, with no litter left behind, keeping the serenity of the forest intact.

We encountered something, though, that gave our trip an ethereal feel. Every day at 12 p.m., when we finished lunch, we encountered a blue heron. Looking back, we're confident it was a different heron each time, but the bird would wade out on its wire-thin legs and stare at us. It didn't seem perturbed by us being there, probably because it was used to boaters traversing the river. When we got close enough almost to reach out and touch it with a paddle, the heron would spread its blue wings and take off further down the river. We agreed there was something different about our feathered friend. He seemed so fearless in walking up to our canoe that it was as if he was greeting us. We joked maybe he was our guide, showing us where we were supposed to go downstream to avoid danger.

On the final day of our trip, when we were just outside of St. Joseph, we reencountered the heron on the left bank of the river. Like clockwork, he came to greet us. That day, we acknowledged his presence by pointing our paddles at him, showing homage to him and his territory. Then, as if he knew of the gesture's significance, he bowed his head down on his S-shaped neck and took off into the sky. But instead of going forward, he went backward, returning to the wild he called home. There was no speculation about it anymore. This bird was watching over us. The blue heron was our guide and protector on this trip, keeping us safe from whatever lay ahead. Now that we had returned safely to our realm, his task was complete.

All in all, we traversed 50 miles total up the St. Joe River in three days. This was a monumental achievement for a couple of inexperienced dreamers who had the collective amount of camping experience of a whole weekend. There is, however, a tiny bit of sadness that comes with the experience. We have to deal with the fact it is now over. We'll never be able to capture the newness of that adventure again. But, for a while, we were the voyageurs, our heroes. It would only be a matter of time before we set off on our next river adventure.