I popped my head out of the tent first thing in the morning to find a cloud engulfing the river. Thick fog had socked in camp, and hung around so low and dense that seeing the opposite shore wasn't an option, let alone around the next bend. Knowing that the mid morning sun would eventually burn off the haze, I enjoyed a slow AM that gave way to reading, knocking out a few posts, and a few cups of Joe.

With the Iowa/Minnesota border a mile or so down river I was soaking up my last breaths of Minnesota air. 36 days spent canoeing this great state. From the trickling headwaters at Lake Itasca, filled with swampland and waterfowl, to the swimming black bear near Grand Rapids, the turning tree tops of Brainerd, the city skyline of Minneapolis and St. Paul, the towering bluffs of the driftless, hundreds if not thousands of bald eagles, deer, beaver, and of course the amazing people. On a few occasions I heard folks toss around the phrase "Minnesota Nice", which is what I've come to realize as the norther equivalent of "Souther Hospitality". The past 36 days have proved to me that Minnesota Nice is more than a saying or a slogan. It's a northern way of life. And I'm damn thankful to have been able to experience it in its truest form- via canoe on the Mighty Mississippi.

I packed up the boat and hit the water around 11am, with Iowa in my sights. After a short distance I came across the official border sign on river right. Of course I had stop.

With Minnesota officialy in the rearview and Wisconsin coming to an end within the week it felt like substantial progress was being made.

I continued paddling through the day and got a call from one of my best childhood friends, Peter, that he had the night off and wanted to come camp with me for the evening. Awesome. We set the small town of Lynxville, WI as the location to meet.

Come 6:30pm, right as I was pulling up to the Lynxville public boat ramp, I got a call from Peter saying he had made it. As I got closer I saw the blueish tint of his Chevy Colorado pull into the parking lot. I lifted my paddle above my head, pumping it up and down in excitement and anticipation.

After unloading and putting the boat onshore we had a short chat with a local fellow who had been out fishing. Within 5 minutes of meeting us he had invited the two of us to stay at his cabin down the road. Peter was amazed at the upfront hospitality. After having 36 days of it, I wasn't. But I was still extremely appreciative.

Although the offer was more than generous, we thanked the fellow but decided to camp for the evening. With my gear and boat loaded in Pete's truck bed we hit the road a short distance to Praire Du Chien, WI (a larger town with a few restaurants and amenities). We grabbed a bite to eat at a local pub. Wisconsin cheese curds are damn tough to beat. With the embarrassing Bears Packers game on the tube I watched a handful of plays, most of which included the Bears quarterback, Mike Glennon, dancing his happy feet in the pocket, looking more uncomfortable than a 7th grade QB making his first varsity start.

In chatting with a few of the folks at the bar we learned of two good campgrounds to stay at. After dinner we hit the truck and made our way across the river into Iowa and up several hundred feet to the top of the bluffs. In the dark of night we settled into a tent spot at the RV park, made a bonfire and shot the breeze through the evening.

Solid day, old friends, and good times. See ya later, Minnesota. I'll be back.