Our first cold morning.  Gotta get going south!  The mist rose portendingly off the water this morning (more pics I'm sad to have lost).  Leanne and I stalled our movement though, as we enjoyed the company of 3 fishermen who were staying at the landing in an RV.  Surprised to wake up to a couple women in tents at their obscure fishing spot, they offered us coffee and a chair, and we all just talked about life, and how book-learning isn't everything...how much we all enjoy getting out into nature and feeling what the world has to offer.  It was truly one of our favorite mornings yet. 

Just 12 miles down the river, we stopped in Hannibal, MO--the birthplace of Mark Twain.  Right as we landed, we were greeted with the American Queen (paddleboat)'s cheerful calliope announcing it's departure--a fitting welcome, I thought, to a legendary spot.  The moment we walked up the ramp, we were greeted by a couple gentlemen who were enjoying their 50th highschool reunion.  They and their wives were enamored of our story and invited us to enjoy what food was still available at the reunion in the pavilion nearby.  That meant cookies and cake for me and chicken for Leanne.  We thanked everybody and headed into town to enjoy being a tourist for a day or so.  

We hopped aboard the trolley, and nearby the Tom Sawyer caves, Leanne requested that we be let off the trolley--she had a Jake and Julie sighting!  Sure enough--we found our paddle buddies at the Rib Festival in the park there. Yay, river family!

Jake had befriended another boyscout, Steven, and his grandmother, Mary, in town, who graciously invited all four of us to stay the night at their house!  After setting up our beds there and getting some laundry started, we headed back into town to walk around during the art gallery hop.  Three of the galleries had drawings for winning art, and guess who won TWO of them?  Lucky me!  I gave one to Julie, and am keeping the fish one--perfect for my marine conservation self.  

The following day, we bid adieu to our J & J pals, and Leanne and I spent the day being tourists, avoiding the strong South winds, and really really enjoying all that Hannibal has to offer in its quirky American splendor.  I'll let the photos speak for themselves.  

That evening, we paddled 25 miles in the dark (I saw 16 shooting stars!).  I had just finished telling Leanne about an experience I had had sailing up in Newfoundland where it was a lovely day and out of nowhere we were faced with 16 foot swells, when--BAM--we were faced with large swells of our own, leftover from the day's wind.  The swells were nice and rolly for a while, but then, as we entered the pool above Lock #22, they became treacherous.  I didn't have my full spray skirt on, and one swell after another was washing into my cockpit.  We passed the spot where J & J were camped, and planned on getting much further, but the extra water in my boat was quickly making it impossible for me to maintain control of my kayak.  I bailed.  "Leanne, we need to stop right now, I can't keep going.  I have to bail my boat out, we've got to pull over immediately."  Twenty minutes of furiously focused paddling, we landed on Blackburn Island near Louisiana MO, where we faced mud, but found a decent camping spot.  Grateful that nothing worse happened, I learned an excellent lesson:  ALWAYS WEAR A FULL SPRAY SKIRT AT NIGHT.
​

People often wonder, “Aren’t you scared?” Especially as a lone female, they intone.  I wonder, in return, what is there to be scared of?  The elements can be fierce, and in the face of storms and high winds, all one can do is keep one’s head on straight:  remember to pull over or wait it out if you can when things get out of control, always wear a life vest, use the full spray skirt to keep from getting swamped in rough seas.  Animals are another potential worry, though I have always loved the company of animals over people any day.  I’m half kidding.  Of course one should be prepared to fend off a bear (mace), hide one’s food from marauding raccoons, deal with biting insects, and so on, but the benefits are that I get to listen to owls and crickets at night, I get to enjoy cicadas all day long, and watch eagles soaring and hunting.  I see the occasional otter or beaver, and all sorts of bird life.  The largely unspoken fear is that I’ll be murdered or raped.  Clearly, those would be unfortunate demises.  But I rarely think of them and this is why:  I figure I’m just as likely (probably more likely) to deal with the same scenario in a place where a vicious human has access to watching my patterns, AKA my home. More than that, these scenarios are statistically unlikely, and I’m not interested in clouding my brain with unneccessary worries.  I took a self-defense class before I left, which was empowering and illuminating (thanks Patty!)  Because people mention it so often, I have thought about it, and conclude that if I end up dead, well, at least I will have lived well.  If I end up raped, well, that would suck, but at least I’m still alive and can keep on going on. 

This morning I was thinking about the question, “What AM I scared of?”  I had a nightmare that reminded me that the three biggest fears in my life (my parents getting divorced, being cheated on, and my house burning down) are all things I’ve experienced and lived through.  It sucks living through a nightmare.  But on the other side is the rest of your life.  And nightmares are rarely personal attacks.  It’s usually the issues of another person that cause them to arise.  As long as you are living your life the way you believe is the best way to live it, then even nightmares can’t bring you down.  They may shake your core, but they provide the opportunity to prove one’s fortitude.  “Character building,” they call it. 

I see so many people living their lives based on fear.  I don’t understand the mentality.  Ever since I was a kid and my parents sold their house and bought an old sailboat and took my sister and I sailing for a year, I’ve heard people say, “I wish I could do that” in regards to living a life that involves significant exploration and living outside the norm.  When I ask people what’s keeping them from quitting their jobs and going off to explore, it becomes clear that money is a huge deciding factor.  Or, more precisely, the notion of safety and comfort.  What people don’t often realize is that it’s a decision they have made.  Simply, their priority is semblance of safety net over living the life they dream of.  In a conversation with Leanne, another paddler, who pointed out, "What's the opposite of Fear?  It's Faith.  It's about control.  If someone doesn't have control, they can either chose to fear the unknown, or they can have faith in the unknown."  

Where are you on the spectrum?  What do you fear?  What would happen if you let go of control and had faith in things working out instead of fearing the possible outcomes? How would your life change?

I’m not affiliated with any of these items, nor am I being paid to review them.  I just like these things a bunch.

• Pillow
• Exped air mattress and jet stream pump sack for comfortable sleep every night
• Rashguard for sun protection
• Paddle gloves for sun protection and decreased blistering
• Go pro
• Pool noodle on paddle for softer and wider grip
• Camel back for easy access water throughout the day
• Pink Himalayan salt—it’s the little luxuries
• Collapsible bowl
• Goal Zero solar charger and battery pack
• MY HAT
• Day spray skirt—keeps the sun off my legs, keeps little waves from overtopping the cockpit, has a zippered pouch for all my go-to items: GPS, VHF radio, maps, data collecting booklet, ipod, phone, gum, go pro
  
• Pelican case for my camera (and sometimes my phone)

Yesterday we only got 6 miles into our 13 mile paddle, so today we had to make up for it by paddling 16 miles.  But first!  I luxuriated in my new stove a little bit, making “scones” for breakfast (they were more like pancakes, but with icing instead of syrup).  Nick was very helpful, asking how to do things like take down my tent and pack things away while I cooked.  Several hours later, a chunk of dried batter peeled off my cheek.  Ah, the wonders of no mirror around.

Before we left our spot, I gave Nick the food bag that always sits between my legs, so I could feel what it’s like not to have a food bag between my legs, and he could get a feel for what it’s like to paddle in the same way that I do.  Toward the end of the day, he said, “I don’t know what’s in this thing, but it can’t be worth it.  This is terrible!”  I just laughed!  For my part, it was nice to be able to scratch one leg with the other foot, but I found that I actually don’t mind the bag being there all that much.  I’ve gotten used to it, and appreciate the stability and ballast it provides.

We arrived at Lock #1 right at 10:07, like the man told us to do last night.  We were the only two to lock through, southbound.  I could see uncle Brad and aunt Jenny up on the walkway, waving and taking pictures.  The lock dropped us 42 feet!  Impressive. 

As we passed a motorboat later that morning, I commented that I liked their pirate flag.  One of the men in the boat said, “I like your hat!  How much for your hat? I want to buy it!” I clutched it and told him it wasn’t for sale, but it tickled me that he liked it so much.  The landscape was much different than anything I’ve seen so far.  The river seemed to be in a canyon, flanked by rocky bluffs topped with roadways.  By the water there were many beaches.  We passed by one spot that must have been a large dog park.  I’ve never seen so many happy dogs.  Labradors, a Bernese mountain dog, terriers, hounds, standard poodles, mutts, shepherds…there were about 50, and they were all so happy, jumping about the beach and swimming in the water.  The Bernese was very interested in Nick and swam toward him a bit, then just followed him with his eyes, only half-obeying his owner’s calls to come. 

Further down, we encountered a couple paddle-wheel tourist boats, one playing old-time jazz and some plunky banjo music. 

Nick is a faster/stronger paddler than I, so he’d go on ahead awhile, then sit and patiently wait for me, absorbing his surroundings while I caught up. At lunchtime, we pulled up on the beach of a park in St. Paul.  We re-filled our water bottles, took a bathroom break, ate our lunch, and took a lovely little siesta in the shade.  There haven’t been spots like that where I could take rests, but I thought to myself that I must make a habit of taking such breaks if I find myself in places where I can—it really was reviving and interesting to see the land-side of what I paddled through.

Beyond St. Paul, we entered an industrial area with lots of barges alongside an airport.

That evening we opted to camp on an island near a bridge and under some electrical lines rather than continuing another 3 miles to the levee where we would meet Brad the next morning.  We set up camp on some spongy ground amongst geese poop, and enjoyed the rest of the evening, watching bald eagles fly overhead, listening to the cars speed past.  Nick built a fire as I made some food.  And who should paddle up, but Jim Lewis and his friend Dave!  We chatted and cajoled a little while—I was very glad Nick got to meet Jim and vice-versa.  Jim had a great idea for an invention—something that could be deployed by your foot:  an arm that pops up and waves to other boaters as you pass by, so you don’t have to quit paddling.  Ha ha! Brilliant.

Another paddler, a man by the name of Jon Felker, flew by in his canoe—he is also going source to sea—and he started July 17th!  I told him he was flying, and he said, “I’ve got places to be!” And, so, I am reminded, everyone’s experience of paddling the Mississippi is different.  

Today felt quintessential:  paddle boats, barges.  It’s sort of what I expected to experience, but it’s strange that it was so different from everything else I’ve experienced so far.  I wished Nick could stay longer and experience more with me, but I was glad, at least to share this. 

I started blogging and re-organizing at 5am, eagerly anticipating Nick’s (my boyfriend) arrival.  I had planned on picking Nick up with Brad in the morning and heading straight to the river, but all my reorganizing took so long we didn’t get going until 5pm.  Nick joked that he wanted as much adversity and adventure packed into the weekend as possible—storms?  Bring it!  Nick rented a kayak for the weekend and I was able to get a few camping items (mesh ditty bags to replace plastic grocery bags I’d been using, which were falling apart; a Nalgene bottle—a mouth large enough to pour protein shake mix into; and some Nik-wax to re-waterproof my tent fly). 

Truly, the first In-City paddling experience I've had.  The river here is banked by sandy beaches and sheer rock cliffs.  By the time we got to Lock and Dam #1, it was closed for the evening.  A couple drunk river paddlers were also expecting to lock through, and were vociferously upset when they realized they wouldn’t be able to make it through.  Nick and I paddled upstream to a campsite I had scouted as we paddled down.  Someone had put a long rock on its end, bolstered it with two heavy large rocks at its base, and balanced 2 large flat rocks on top, so it was like a small countertop.  A perfect place to use my new stove for the first time!  I cut up the onion that I’d had in my bag this past month, and in so doing, sliced my thumb.  Doh.  Nick finished cutting the onion, and we enjoyed a hot meal of black bean pasta with spaghetti sauce, parmesan, onions and fresh green beans from Brad’s garden.  A veritable feast! As we were cooking the drunkards showed up, cursing and angry at one another, but luckily, they were able to find a pathway through our camp, and dragged their boats up the hillside, and out of our vicinity.  So, there was no storm, but I did my best to provide Nick with adventure by having to paddle upstream to camp, deal with drunks, and bandage my thumb on the first evening.

My uncle Brad drove up with his cousin (my first cousin once removed—I looked it up) Jon Clark and while I portaged my boat below Coons Rapids Dam, Brad helped portage some of my bags.  Jon brought his hobie kayak (it’s propelled with pedals, though you can also use a paddle if you like).  We geared up and set off down the river.   The only other long paddle I have ever experienced was when I was 8 years old and Jon’s family (whose children are only slightly older than my sister and I), my family, and Brad and Jenny all went on a canoe trip in the boundary waters of the St. Croix River.  Of course, at 8 years old, the adults did most of the paddling, setting up camp, and cooking while the kids paddled when we wanted to, and played cards in camp.  It was lovely catching up with Jon and learning about his kids as adults.  We passed under several bridges, in various states of repair and disrepair (the I-35W Mississippi River bridge failed in 2007).  We encountered the first real industry I’ve seen.  I really enjoyed watching the enormous cranes work at the scrap metal recycling facility, though I was also pleased to move past it and not have to breath in the rusty dust.

I was keenly aware that in the space between Coons Rapids Dam and St. Anthony’s Dam, I saw more plastic waste than I’ve seen the entire trip so far.  It was astonishing and I had to accept that this trip can’t be about plucking everything out of the river, but just doing my best in camp, and when I happen to float right past something easy to fish out.  It’s sad. 

Once we arrived in town, we were met by my aunt Jenny and their dog Miles, Jon’s wife Donna, and their grandchildren (my 2nd cousins once removed) Eleanor (7?) and Louis (9).  We all enjoyed a delicious picnic of sandwiches on the bank as we watched some coast guard firemen run a drill with their bright red motor boat. Eleanor stared at me the way kids stare at me when I’m in full costume (for dance/contortion) with long fake eyelashes and lots of sparkles.  It’s like she was trying to figure out what would be different about someone who was doing something like I’m doing.  We totally connected when I asked what she was reading and she told me she was into Ramona Quimby.  J

After loading my kayak up, we had a nice drive to Brad and Jenny’s where I did some online banking and took a shower.  I’m averaging 1 shower every 6 days.  Then we picked Jon up again and headed over to Alyce Louise’s house in St. Paul where she hosted a cookout for me and some other paddlers, Justin Staker, Dave Blomquist and Linnea Goderstad.  I was in absolute chill-and-enjoy mode; water with ice, lime-flavored tortilla chips, veggie burger, cozy couch to sit on, interesting people to talk with… Ahhh!!  At one point, the other paddlers circled up around me and decided it was time to convince me to take the Atchafalaya River at the end instead of the over-engineered and terribly industrial “Cancer Alley” version of the Mississippi between Baton Rouge and New Orleans.  “It’s where the Mississippi wants to go; it’s beautiful bayou, and it’s a rich cultural experience.  And it goes to the gulf, so you can still go source to sea that way.”  Sold.  What a great group of people! 

When we got home, I opened a bunch of packages that had been sent to me. 
Thank you Mike for my replacement paddle gloves!
Thank you Cari for my bug repellent!
Thank you Ben for my soylent, stove, upgraded first aid kit, and visibility vest!

I started working on uploading some blog posts and re-organizing all the bags and food that I had left at Brad’s from which to reprovision…and promptly decided going to sleep was a better idea.

I enjoyed the morning in my tent talking on the phone with a couple friends. The plan was to paddle the 14 miles to the Coon Rapids Dam, have Alyce pick me up and I was looking forward to an evening of hanging out, some thai food, and maybe even some wifi.  But half-way through my paddle, she called to say she had a family emergency and wouldn't be able to join me until tomorrow evening.  Of course I was supportive, and I just called my uncle Brad to let him know the slight change in plans.  In the final mile before the dam, I reached for my map from my spray skirt pouch to see where I needed to portage and to see if there was a designated camping spot nearby (there’s not).  As I did that, my GPS slipped out, fell overboard, and sunk like a stone.  In the murky water, I only saw its bright yellow for a few seconds before it disappeared.  In shock, startled, I realized I had just lost the waypoints of data for the past month.  While I had put all my data from the water quality sonde into an excel spreadsheet the other night, I had not entered the lat/lon coordinates because the GPS holds so many more data points.  I felt like I wanted to cry, but no tears came.  I quickly realized that I could buy a new one tomorrow in Minneapolis, that I could use my phone for data points tomorrow, and that I had marked the approximate location in my data notebook for each of the points, and would likely be able to re-establish the location within a mile or two of each collection point.   Still, I felt sick about losing an expensive piece of equipment.  I felt sick about losing so much data and not having written down the lat/lon in my data notebook each time I took a coordinate.  I felt sick about how I was going to keep other things from just sinking.  I have everything tethered to my boat, and all the items in the pouch have tiny lanyards which I attach to a larger lanyard on my life vest when I use them.  I am fastidious in sticking to this protocol.  I felt helpless about this loss.  I felt briefly hopeless about my whole project.  Tears did come.  I realized I was also very hungry, and cranky about my lack of food, lost promise of Thai, and now my lost GPS.  I completed the paddle to the dam, pulled up my kayak, called Nick to decompress.  He was assuring and reminded me of all the things I first thought to myself about how it’s not the end of the world, and that there’s still over 2/3 of the river to go.  He told me to find some food.  I am now trying to hook up my phone as a hotspot so I can use my computer to order delivery food here.  I hope it works, I’m so grumbly and feeling down right now.

My phone wasn’t able to create a hotspot, I don’t know why.  I called a bunch of Thai places in the area and none of them had delivery service.  I guessed I’d just have to eat the last of my oatmeal for dinner, but then realized I was completely out of water.  As soon as I realized that, I noticed how thirsty I was.  I pulled my kayak up the bank, set up my tent, and went looking for water.  The bathroom at the visitor center is under construction, so there was no water available.  The spigot on the side of the building had a special key needed to access it.  Getting more and more tired and hungry and thirsty, I was beginning to despair, and decided I should just go to sleep and wait for morning, when things would be fresh, and my uncle was bringing water and Gatorade.  Then I realized I could call for delivery from somewhere that was NOT thai (duh, I was so stuck on Thai, and so tired and hungry I didn’t think of this other option for a long time).  So, three hours after I landed at Coon Rapids Dam, I finally had a solution in play for my dinner and quenching my thirst.  Sammy’s Restaurant is bringing me Tortellini and 7-up.  Not my finest meal, but better than dry oatmeal.  The tortellini will be warm and the 7-up will be wet.  Good enough for this tired and hungry girl.  Tomorrow I get to reprovision!

In the middle of the night, I was awakened by the strobing of lightning and the rumbling of distant thunder.  I stumbled outside to put my rainfly on the tent, getting bitten by mosquitoes that hadn’t been around earlier.  Half an hour later, the storm blew in, strong. My tent was on a sand/rock spit, far from the treeline of the island I was on, and I wondered if lying on the ground made me less of a target for lightning than standing up. The wind whipped around my tent, and the storm  rained down so hard that water dribbled into my tent regularly, falling on my head and face.  Cringing and grumpy, I turned over and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening.

It was still raining when I woke up.  The wind was strong, and 3 of 4 tent stakes had been pulled out of the sand, so my tent and the rainfly were slack against me and all my stuff.  There was a puddle in my tent, and everything made of fabric was soaked through. I double checked—yes, I had been smart enough to put my phone and computer and electronics inside the dry bag before I slumped into my grumpy sleep for the night.  When it was just sprinkling, I dragged everything out, one at a time, hanging all my clothes and gear on the limbs of a fallen tree nearby.  The morning sun and the wind dried most of my stuff within an hour, and I only had to pack my hoodie and sleeping bag wet. 

Once on the water, I chose my next audiobook, The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton, which I enjoyed listening to all day.  I didn’t see many people, and the paddling was easy enough today.  I did 37 miles--my longest day yet! Like the last time I did more than 20-something miles, it was sort of an accident, but luckily, it didn’t really feel like I did all that much more than 20-something miles.  The river was moving faster (there were several rapids today), it was fairly straight and though the wind was in my face some of the day, it was at my back some of the day too.

I had planned on making my way to Kris and Tom Niebler’s (river angels!) where I had been looking forward to their offers of shower, errands, and a rest day with wifi.  My phone was low on battery and I didn’t have my solar charger out since it had been threatening to rain this morning, but I made sure to get a description of their house’s location before it died. Though I had their address, my phone died before I could reference the address with my map.  And, so, as I passed their house, I somehow missed it.  And Kris said they had been out watching for me all evening, and they missed me too!  Don’t know how that happened (Yes, I’m still on the Mississippi—didn’t take a wrong turn somewhere).  But as I realized I was much too far beyond where there house would possibly be, and the sun was setting, I decided to just camp on another sand/rock spit on an island.  I like these little spots :)  So, that was the 2nd day in a row where I was supposed to meet a river angel and wasn't able to.  Paddling is a practice in releasing expectations.

First thing I did in camp was unpack my wet sleeping bag to try and get it a bit drier.  Tonight, I used some heavy rocks on the stakes since stakes in sand don’t hold as well as stakes in dirt.  After setting up the tent and eating a can of beans, I talked to my sister on the phone, complained about crawling into my clammy, damp sleeping bag, and kept yawning.  “Go to sleep!” she said.  “I can’t,” I replied, “the moon is shining so bright in my tent.  “Turn it off!” she admonished.  Ha.

The questions that are on everyone’s mind and only the bold (or very close friends) ask.  I’ll do my best to answer the questions without getting too graphic.  I’m a pretty open book, so ask away. 

…Shave?

I don’t. Not when I’m on extended travel like this. When I have access to a shower, I pay extra attention to washing my hair, in all places, to make sure it doesn’t harbor ticks/mud/bacteria/smells.

…Shower?

In a month I’ve had 4 showers.  In between, I haven’t really seen people, so the consideration is more about basic hygiene than appearances.  To that end, every night I give myself a sponge bath with wet wipes.  WET WIPES ARE MY FRIEND. 

…Use the bathroom?

The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources has designated river-access campsites all along the Mississippi River. Until recently, I have stayed in those campsites almost every night, and luckily they’re furnished with either an outhouse or a latrine (composting toilet in the middle of the woods, but no structure protecting it).  I usually have to furnish my own toilet paper. On the few nights where I’m in a campsite with road access, or—even better!—a river angel’s house, I get to use a real, flushing toilet and don’t have to worry about mosquitos biting my bum! Occasionally (more, recently), I camp in spots that are not designated as a campsite, and in these places, I go far from camp, dig a hole, do my business, and cover it up, with rocks if possible, to keep animals from digging it up. I usually hold everything in all day while I’m in the kayak.  I’ve noticed all the male paddlers have a pee bottle in their boat and in their tent.  Seems like that’d be really nice plumbing to have in this sort of scenario.  I heard of one female paddler who uses one of those pee-bottle things for women, but I haven’t had the chance to ask her more about how she likes it. 

…Deal with your menstrual cycle?

Some people suggest taking birth control pills straight through (without allowing a cycle during the sugar pills).  I have endometriosis, so I’m supposed to do that anyway, but unfortunately (for convenience-sake), my body goes ahead and cycles like normal despite hormonal control.

So.  Because this is relevant to my mission of reducing plastic and waste in general, I’m more than happy to talk about this.  At home and on the kayak, I use a menstrual cup and fabric pads.  There are lots of different menstrual cups out there, and lots of different fabric pads, but these are the ones I use, along with what I like about them:

Diva cup, available in many pharmacies and some groceries. 

• Not spending money on tampons every month
• HUGE sigh of relief when I think about all the waste I am not producing any more, and the positive environmental impacts of using this little silicone thing (No more: pesticides for the cotton, fresh water for the cotton, bleach in the cotton, bleach in the cardboard & paper, petrol used for growing/harvesting the cotton, petrol used for transport of tampons to the store shelf, not to mention sitting in a landfill for eons.)
• Whereas I used to have to change my tampon several times/day, I can usually go the whole day without changing the diva cup (huge benefit on the kayak)
• I am comfortable (and it is sanitary) peeing or pooing with it in, too, which I could never do with a tampon.  
• After just a few times getting the hang of it, it feels more comfortable than a tampon did.  (Think about it:  a cup surrounding your cervix instead of a big hunk of cotton jamming up against it!)
• Again, after you get the hang of it, it doesn’t leak (!).  (Trick: twist it in a circle after inserting to make sure it opens fully).  (Some people don’t find this to be true).
• I can measure my flow to see if I’m having a normal/abnormal period, since there are measuring lines on the cup (I’ve never actually had to do this…but it’s sorta interesting).
• I noticed my flow go from 7 days (5 heavy) down to 5 days (3 heavy), and I’ve heard lots of my friend say their flow has diminished too.  My theory is that the cup just catches what comes out, whereas tampons ‘pull’ more out than necessary.  Not sure how scientific that is.  
• Pretty easy care: I boil mine before the start of each period, and simply rinse out whenever I take it out during my period (wet wipes while I’m camping).
• I hope you don’t think this is really weird.  Or even if you do, I’d recommend giving one a try.  Or buying one for your sister/girlfriend/wife if you’re a guy. 
  

Menstrual pads made by hand, sold on etsy. 

• More comfortable than plastic pads
• I don’t have to pay for plastic pads every month
• I am not adding to the landfill every month
• Easy laundering
• You can get various thicknesses to match your flow
• Handy snap means no more adhesive grossness on your panties
  
• Because of the diva cup, I rarely need pads anymore, but they’re good for backup/spotting. 
  

…Maintain a relationship?

It was very important to me to have the support of my boyfriend, and I didn’t begin planning this trip until I knew he was on board for a stint of long-distance-relationship.  He and I talk almost every night, excepting when I don’t have coverage or I get into camp after he’s already gone to sleep.  So far, so good.  (and he’s coming to visit this weekend! Yay!)