August in Wisconsin is many things. It holds a flirty relationship with autumn. Many days leave no mistaking that it is summer with the fair chance for blazing temperatures and plenty of sun. As the month progresses, you get that undeniable and mostly intangible waft of fall. It can come on a surprisingly crisp night, or from a tree starting to turn colors. Often I find it in the shadows whispering to me, embedding thoughts that harken Halloween on the distant horizon. I've observed this dance often enough that it's caused me to focus more mental space to it than one arguably should.  I would speculate perhaps it truly is the angle of the sun.  The moment shadows are cast just long enough to lure my consciousness away from daily stress for the first time in the season.

Thursday

Caption: Noah Voss off the back river roads tracing the Mississippi River north to Lake Pepin.

I’m sure I was smirking as I slid behind the wheel of the Challenger, eager to spend a day on the back roads, pushing the mass of metal north. Chad Lewis was heading south; we would meet somewhere around the middle to once again to dive into a monster hunt. I couldn’t tell you how many times our destination has been the Lake Pepin area in search of more clues to the Pepie mystery.  This certainly would be the most extended expedition yet mounted…stretching over four days. We had a 40-foot houseboat waiting for us and trunks full of gear and provisions fit for any foreseeable scenario.

We each brought a few new tools and were energized by the chance to finally use them in the field. One was an underwater dive camera rig that I had spent the last two months designing and building.  It was going to give us some excellent HD video footage from the bottom of the lake—or possibly sink the boat. You see, it wasn't remote controlled but was rather attached to a crank on the ship via a very high tinsel strength cable.  I feared, this cable, could prove to be the dangerous element in the plan. Chad had invested in some underwater sonar equipment.  It would not only paint a pretty clear picture of objects in the water but also on the bottom, along with valuable data such as water temperature and depth.

After a day behind the wheel, it was evening when we spent outfitting the boat with 12 video cameras and a littering of investigation equipment specific to our task. If Pepie or anything else worth mentioning were to show itself, we would have documentation.

Beers and bed for a short nap on a stiff bunk. It was great to finally be on the water.

Friday

Morning broke with the familiar anticipation of energy that surrounds the beginning of any hazard-laden adventure. This was a fairly unique experience and one that may have deserved an extra moment to fully appreciate. For example, I didn’t play conventional competitive sports growing up, but I did climb mountains. Before one of my last mountaineering expeditions in high school, I got blown off Mount Rainier a few hundred feet below its 14,411-foot summit in a whiteout blizzard. I still consider it a successful climb, however.  Two climbers and one mountain search and rescue ranger lost their lives to the mountain, attempting the same in the days leading up to my own ascent. As with climbing a mountain or actively investigating reports of unexplained mysteries, one must prepare.

Caption: Mount Rainier, Washington State.  Photograph credit USGS

To that point, I’ve been bait for serial killers while investigating unexplained deaths; scaled cliffs in search of lost ghost towns; singlehandedly orienteered my way through mountain wildernesses in the dead of night on the heels of rumored child abducting cults; spent another night solo, following up leads on a remote mountain in Vermont where at least a half dozen adults have quite mysteriously vanished; and have been not so thinly veiled threatened by stone-cold-faced strange men that "Ya know, people just disappear when they go looking too far into this UFO stuff.” Those are just the exploits I can talk about publically. When you live like this, it's within the realm of possibility to make enemies. Those you don’t make face-to-face, persons that remain in the shadows of past adventures can still become aware of you. When it comes time to set out on adventure anew, there is always that first step. 

That moment when there is no more time to prepare, and you have to simply hope you’ve done enough.  Not just hope, but completely come to undistracted terms.  The terms are simple, if you haven't prepared adequately, there's nothing you may be able to do to prevent your life from ending. If you are not wholly in that undistracted zone,  it could be this lingering distraction that actually kills you.  If you think I shouldn't be here, you are not thinking of ways to survive wherever "here" is.  If you let slip-in an over-emotional response like fear, you are thinking about negative "scary" potentials and not how best to handle the likely dangerous situation in front of you.  In situations where seconds save or end lives, that could be all the distraction it takes.  Any river is wrought with dangers, albeit a different set than mountains.

The Mississippi River has a booming commercial lane.  Complete with behemoth barges stacked 400 feet long, powerful tug boats pushing six-foot wakes behind.  Natural undercurrents that can whirl a victim underwater for longer than they can hold their breath.  A steady downriver flow that can easily exhaust the most seasoned swimmer or push them underneath countless water obstructions. Of course, if you live in our reality, there are possibly sharks, potentially monsters, and when you have enemies, real tangible dangers can follow you anywhere. Keep in mind this is no summer vacation: out for a few hours and then back to the comfortable hotel room. We stayed on the water in the brightest of beating down sunshine and the darkest of damp nights, both awake and in vulnerable sleep. Anything could happen - and frankly, that's part of the draw.

It took a few nonstop hours of navigating our way up the Mississippi River until we actually reached Lake Pepin.  Remember, it's not always about the destination but the travel to and from.  To get to Lake Pepin, we were in and out of the commercial lanes, smashing through five-foot wakes created by the larger vessels.  These wakes that crashed open cupboards also tossed us against walls. Traversing around natural shallows and human-made wing dams that could tear open our hull, quickly sending us to the bottom.  These wind dams are underwater long stone walls that help manage sediment build up in rivers, but are also not marked and not always visible.

Unfortunately, we didn’t have any time to slowly troll our way up the lake to watch for anything less than identified. We kept to our typical, insanely, busy schedule.  To make our scheduled interviews, Chad had set up with local historians, we pushed the motor wide open.

Caption: Chad Lewis at the helm during the 2013 cryptozoological expedition to Lake Pepin.  Photograph by Noah Voss

We spent the next few hours speaking with local historians and lifelong residents of Lake City. We drew out every potentially relevant story that we hoped may illuminate something more to this Pepie mystery. Some outright refused to discuss Pepie.  Others—with 80 years of life spent not more than a mile from the lake—recalled what it was like growing up with a Lake Monster in their backyard. These first eight people or so that we openly interacted with responded with disinterest towards the mysterious legend.  A frustration with our interviewees grew that our focus was not on their perceived beautiful attributes that Lake City offered. Some of this could be born of a sort of indoctrination.  Growing up with something that most others don't—a lake monster legend. Perhaps a more persuasive viewpoint on this is that the typical American ideology does not widely breed interest in esoteric topics.  This commonly held ideology does not nurture tolerance for those with them. Most everyone remained pleasant and cordial. This is not a new phenomenon for me as an interviewer of countless persons on innumerable mysteries around the world. Truly to each their own, and we sincerely thanked everyone again for their time and sharing their experiences.

Stowing our gear back in the boat, we decided to get back to land. Despite planning for nearly everything, a quick trip to the local hardware store replenished some supplies. As any researcher knows, you don’t pass on an opportunity to discover more about your murky mystery. Unfortunately, the good folks working at the hardware store were not able to share anything more about Pepie other than they had heard of the legend.

We were then off for a slightly longer trip to the local pub to recharge ourselves with food and drink.

I was hopeful that the folks bringing us the beer might be more forthcoming by the second round. You see, if you immediately lead with strange questions, you are still a complete stranger asking another complete stranger something, well, quite strange. In my experience, waiting even that short little while that it takes to drink your first round builds slight, but crucial rapport necessary to reap more from your inquiry. I was confidently hopeful that my seasoned relaxed interviewing skills would begin to pay interest. I feign ignorance. “Isn’t there some sort of lake monster legend that was supposed to be around here?” I was again skunked of anything remotely novel. No new information discovered other than a broadening picture of a town filled with folk who are blindly skeptical about ancient lore.
 
The overwhelming impression of Pepie thus far is a community that sees no other option but to toss it in the annals of childish urban legend. This local lore was, in actuality, built off of documented sightings and oral traditions—dating back conceivably centuries. However, if you had only spoken to the first dozen people that we did, you would have been left to believe there was nothing more to Pepie than a modern-day scam. What’s worse, you would be left to think it was created by one person who thought it into existence only a few years prior. Disappointed that the quest for enlightenment from area residents proved elusive, we made our way back to the shoreline. Chad and I took turns listing the facts that flew in the face of the belief system of so many people we had already encountered. It was disappointing and a little frustrating, but sadly not overly surprising. We excitedly finish each other's sentences. "multiple folklorists published their interviews more than a century ago regarding the strange creature in Lake Pepin." "Yes, and they wrote it down from over a century ago after hearing it from multiple cultures who had those oral traditions for generations prior."  It could still be nothing, but what it wasn't was a modern-day scam.  "...don't forget the mention from Laura Ingalls Wilder in her writings."  "...and more than a century before the dozen people we just spoke with completely believed the legend to have been created." No, we would not become dissuaded when all the empirical evidence so far was pointing to something more. However, we had to acknowledge this was shaping up to be more an uphill battle than we had anticipated. Back at the slip, we boarded the boat and shoved off back into the welcoming waters of Lake Pepin.

After a few hours on land interviewing kind townsfolk and washing down the bad news with good beer, we slowly steamed out into Lake Pepin. The day had already given way to twilight, and we still needed to discover safe harbor for the evening’s watch.

Caption: Noah Voss, pursuing Pepie on the houseboat used during the 2013 expedition to Lake Pepin. Photograph by Chad Lewis.

Long after the sun had sunk below the tree line, we pushed in some calories and caffeine that helped make any monster hunter alert for the 20-hour days. Though our sight was limited through the dark of night, the upper story of our houseboat was transformed into a nocturnal monster surveillance deck. With binoculars, cameras, and video cameras all within arm's reach, chitchat and the occasional swigs of beer kept us alert. The only addition to the arsenal of gear from the day were several high powered flashlights that we hoped to soon train on unexplained noises in the dark. We half-joked, “wouldn’t it be great if there were a huge splash and swimming noises headed towards the boat."  As the night wore on and no monsters appeared, our eyes drifted upward to the ever-increasing number of stars as we bantered about exoplanets and more existential possibilities. We kept each other awake by recounting UFO sightings from the area and taking turns climbing down to the galley for the next round. The mysterious splashes never arose, and so far as either of us recalls, we didn’t have any missing time from an alien abduction.

Eventually, every adventurer must concede that the dawn of tomorrow's investigation beckons so closely that one must call it a day. Indeed, the fact that it was already that day helped to cement the decision. Sometime early Saturday morning, we slumbered down to the bunks, battened down the hatches, and grabbed a few hours of shut-eye.

Saturday

Caffeine and power bars fueled the morning push to motor on to a new Pepie sighting location. The sun was just making its way above the horizon, putting a high angle of light through a thick fog bank on the eastern side of Lake Pepin. Throwing caution to the wind, we set out with Chad at the helm and a northeast heading—hopefully just skirting the menacing fog bank. I had more gear to unpack and construct this morning…namely the good old waterproof metal detector. The pleasant morning on the water with clear skies and comfortable air temperature already in the 60s could create a false sense of safety that has taken many a sailor's life.  We kept a wary eye on the eastern side of the lake, still muddled with fog.

We motored further north on Lake Pepin, eyes trained fore and aft for anything worth cruising in for a closer look. Our destination was 22 miles north of where we started yesterday morning when we entered Lake Pepin. No proper lake monster expedition would be complete without surveying the entire lake. Along the way, we had the perfect opportunity to investigate each documented monster sighting. First, we needed to drift a bit so we could finish our monster sightings chart.

Caption: Chart of Lake Pepin marked with numerous Pepie sightings.  Photograph by Noah Voss

Chad and I both took to the second story observation deck to watch. We’d had at least one video camera running the entire expedition; most times, we were recording with four. Spying through our high powered binoculars and ultra-zoom digital cameras, we remained vigilant.  Well, as long as it took us to make our way through an ice-cold beer in the blazing hot sun. Already at the northernmost area of Lake Pepin, we continued to gradually drift back down the river.  Eventually, we drift a bit too close to the shoreline. Firing up the boat, we motored south as fast as the engines would push us.
We had set up an interview in Lake City with Captain Larry Nielson of the Pearl of the Lake.

We successfully docked back in Lake City, this time just a bit further north of the marina at The Willows private landing. We loved our 40-foot 1970s gritty houseboat, but it was dwarfed by the impressive Pearl of the Lake. The boat that Captain Nielson sets out with on scheduled tours and regular charters is an authentic 1800s replica paddlewheel boat, around 100 feet long. During our first chat aboard, I learned that the only means of propulsion are the two independent, big bright-red wood paddles at the stern. This would become obvious later that night.

Captain Nielson and Chad have communicated in the past about historic sightings on the lake.  We'd planned to get the latest update—as well as recording his thoughts for our latest Back Roads Lore film episode. He purchased the Pearl of the Lake in 2006 and has since been out on Lake Pepin every day, twice a day during the season. Before that, Captain Nielson grew up not far from Lake Pepin and had spent endless hours here. Our conversation meandered over many concepts, but he was kind enough to start at the beginning. He shared that just after the US Civil War, thanks to newspapers of the time, we know that witnesses watched a “large creature swimming” in Lake Pepin. The Captain’s own experiences with unexplained sightings began on a particularly calm day. He recounted, watching a long wake from his boat's wheelhouse, where we now stood. Whatever created the wake was “substantial” (perhaps 300 feet long) and, despite the water being “smooth as glass,”…this two-to-three- foot high wake was moving upriver. He speculated that the cause of the wake was under the surface just enough as to not be visible from his vantage point. Captain Neilson continued to share at least two other experiences that left him with more questions than answers.  One from land along Highway 61, that was "12 to 14 feet long" and disappeared just as soon as he had gotten his camera ready. He cleared any confusion by stating that he had witnessed something, but what that something was remains cloaked in the cryptic category of unidentified.  

Our spirits lifted by the honest, objective conversation around esoteric ideas, Chad and I thanked the Captain for his time and insight. We quickly shoved off in our dated, but perfectly gritty boat.  Re-energized by what another afternoon on the water may bring.  

We bore east and motored out into the still secluded lake, on course for 30 minutes. Putting ourselves near a documented sighting location, we cut the motor and just floated in the middle of the widest point of Lake Pepin. From here, we could observe several documented Pepie sighting locations with the aid of our binoculars and zoom cameras.

We once again returned to the second-story observation deck. A couple of chairs sitting next to each other but facing opposite directions allowed us a 360-degree view of the lake. Though we remained diligent in our observations of the water, we sat, nearly relaxed, watching, and waiting. Peering often through the binoculars removed any doubt that a passing lateral wave, floating bird, trash, or woodsy debris were anything but. Still, each time we spied something, there was that moment where we raised the binoculars, half thinking, “What if this is the beginning of an actual sighting?” There was a bit of excitement in that, and it surprisingly didn’t wear off easily for two guys whose reality allows for anything. Those moments, unfortunately, were far and few between. We decided to change tactics from static observation to active luring.

We set our new heading towards Maiden Rock.

Caption: Maiden Rock in the background with Noah Voss seeking Pepie in the water.  Photograph by Chad Lewis

Sheltered in a new anchorage, and after at least one round, Chad and I finally got to stop. No more rigging equipment. No more diving into murky cold water to snorkel against the current.  No more maintaining an objective, non-leading line of questioning during interviews.  No more making sure you don't crash your vessel into anything or vice-versa. Just sit and relax. With no more tasks except being vigilant for intriguing noises the rest of the night. Video cameras still rolled, binoculars and cameras were still at arm’s reach. The plan was the same as the night before: if anything made a noise, we’d point everything in that direction.

Chad made his way to the bow of the boat on the first-floor deck.  He had to check a voicemail and to gain another perspective on the water. I took the opportunity to head to the galley to grab our next round.  When all of a sudden, our CB radio crackled to life. A man’s voice calmly requested, “Any vessels on Lake Pepin tonight, this is the Pearl of the Lake…call me on channel one-six."  There was a momentary delay in my reaction as I realized, “Hey, that’s us! We’re on Lake Pepin.” I quickly dialed in channel 16 and heard a boater calling the Pearl. Captain Nielson responded, “Looks like we’re pretty stuck on a sand bar and could use someone to make some wakes off our bow.” My first thought was, “well hell, we can make that happen.” The boater on the CB had a different idea; however, calling back, "Yeah, I don't think we're who you're looking for." Before I could jump into the conversation, the Lake City Marina chimed in, asking what the Pearl needed. They were equally unable—or perhaps unwilling—to help, suggesting the Captain contact the fire department emergency rescue. Surprised at the staggering lack of assistance, there was a long enough pause for me to key the mic. I responded, "Ehhh, Pearl of the Lake…this is Noah and Chad on the expedition vessel; we’re in your neighborhood. What's your twenty?"
 
Captain Nielson radioed back, “We’re straight across from Lake City on the eastern shoreline.” I key the mic as Chad walked back in from checking his phone. "Ten-four, we are en route. Hang tight.” As I looked up from the CB, Chad was already stepping to the helm. I was moving toward the door that exits by the helm area. We both basically said the same thing at the same time: "The Pearl of the Lake is hung up, and Captain Nielson needs our help." We were both perplexed and obviously a little slow at putting together how the other person could already know. It turned out that Chad’s voicemail was from Nielson, asking if we were still on Lake Pepin.

As adventurers, we often take to treading habitually where most others would not dare wander once. I have found if you continually survive, it seems your reward is a unique skillset, coupled with a life worth living.

Chad fired up the engine, and I made her ready to set out. Within a few seconds, we pulled out from relative safety and into the perilous dangers that lurked everywhere on a river in the dark of night. I ran to our bunks in the aft where we’d stowed most of our tech gear. I tore into my cases, tossing things left and right until I came across two of my dive flashlights. They would have to suffice as we were running dark...I mean, hypothetically speaking, we could be. If our running lights were broken—or never actually operating from the get-go of this expedition—and we were out at night...that would be in all sorts of violations. Running back from the stern to the bow, I turned on all the interior video cameras that I had turned off only 10 minutes prior.  As would have it, just in time to miss things getting interesting. I hurriedly attached about 2,000 lumens to our railings.

Caption: Noah Voss shines a light forward with Chad Lewis at the helm (left to right).  Photograph from Back Roads Lore video frame grab.

While keeping a lookout for any water born hazards, I spied through the binoculars and reported back to Chad, "Looks like a fair-sized speed boat is doing laps around the Pearl.” This continued for some time as we drew closer. I narrated to Chad again: “Now it looks like they’ve given up, and The Pearl is still not moving…but wow, is it belching diesel exhaust, and those paddle wheels are hummin!" About a mile away, Chad and I could distinguish enough of the situation to hatch our plan of attack. It was a two-prong plot: one – don’t run into the Pearl, and two – get as close as possible without running into the Pearl. They were hung up on the tricky moving sand bars the Mississippi River likes to throw at even the most seasoned captains. Chad and I agreed that we couldn’t go to their starboard side; that would’ve put us to close to the eastern shore and given us a fair chance of getting get hung up ourselves.

Caption: The Pearl of the Lake with a moon in the upper right.  Photograph from Back Roads Lore video frame grab.

Using my binoculars, I quickly surveyed the surrounding water from our bow deck for any lurking dangers, and then swiftly shifted over to the helm. Chad and I had been in a few tight situations before…on countless less-than-safe adventures. An understanding, or awareness, forms between fellow adventurers. Where each other’s thoughts are during such situations is just known without conveying words. With no more than a meaningful glance between us, Chad opened up full throttle. I moved to our port railing for a better view. We quickly closed the gap and suddenly found ourselves streaking past the Pearl with no more than a 20-foot gap between us. One’s mind races in such intense settings. Perhaps because of training and experience, it does not run out of control, but it does race through the flood of data pouring in from heightened senses. We didn't even make it halfway down the length of the Pearl before a startling shock swept into my consciousness. Screams!

Caption: The Pearl of the Lake on the sand bar.  Photograph from Back Roads Lore video frame grab.

A crowd of tourists had gathered on the port side exterior deck. To my enjoyment, they had clearly embraced the adventure they found themselves thrust into and were screaming with excitement, booming with exhilarated greetings at our arrival. Our boat punched past. We made a large arch to our starboard side. We found ourselves back to about the same spot we started off at, on the bow of the Pearl…this time only a few hundred feet away. There was no stopping in our plan: the throttle never relaxed. Within a moment, we quickly closed the distance to Nielson’s vessel. Brazened by the knowledge gained a moment ago and disappointed the Pearl was not yet free, our trajectory was tighter. The crowd on the upper deck had grown by this time.  The boisterous cheers intensified as we moved closer.

The wakes from our second looped arch approach had now reached the Pearl—and us. This was the magnifying effect we were hoping for; however, as our bow passed the Pearl’s, port side to port side, we were a mere ten feet apart. Assuredly, Chad saw the needle he was threading from the helm. I watched aft and immediately noticed that our own wake that we were now riding was leaving little to no room for error. As each of our wakes slammed into our starboard side, we rode it up—only to crash down closer to the Pearl on our port side. We had, in effect, created three wakes for the Pearl to hopefully use to get free.  However, we had three extra, formidable variables to calculate while moving at a fast rate of speed.  We were treacherously close to another boat and on a swiftly moving river in the dark of night. I looked up to the crowd, that had graciously endeared itself to us, just as one enthusiastic tour goer took off his hat.  He waved it excitedly in the air, much like a sports fan cheering on their favorite player.

These paying tourists set out to experience Lake Pepin at the capable hands of Captain Nielson. When they encountered the natural adversity that the environment continually and unbiasedly offered, they embraced it and became true travelers…welcoming of an adventure.

Caption: Chad Lewis at the helm, Noah Voss on port railing flying by The Pearl of the Lake on the right side of the image.  Photograph from Back Roads Lore video frame grab.

The Pearl of the Lake was a striking sight as it moved across the lake, now calm in the night. The charming lights and bright red paddlewheel were delicately reflected in the water, creating a nocturnal shadow that brought a modern—if not turn of the last century—life to the lake. It was a positive energy all around, and the atmosphere was comforting. Everything was just right for just a few moments. 
Then Chad and I withdrew from our momentary triumph, pointing out the fact that we probably should not spend the night floating in the middle of the lake. Comfort was fleeting with the new task clearly at hand. There was not a moment to waste as we set course northwest. We grabbed our binoculars and searched for some landmarks. Thankfully, I found the lights of our earlier safe harbor, and Chad adeptly held the course. The pitch-black night pushed us to stay alert for a few more miles.

Caption: The Pearl of the Lake freed from the sand bar by Chad Lewis, and Noah Voss returns to port under a nearly full moon.  Photograph from Back Roads Lore video frame grab.

As Chad and I battened down the hatches again for the evening and made our vessel ready for a few hours of rest, there are rumors of an unintentional swim. That is to say, I fell in the damn water. These rumors may be substantiated with two video cameras that half caught the sorted scene, though I’m hesitant to release them in the Pepie episode. You’ll have to watch that Back Roads Lore episode to see what I eventually decided. Suffice it to say, it did happen fast—one moment I was dry, the next I was completely submerged underwater. I had been very mindful to keep my pockets empty for most of our time on the water.  I wanted to be absolutely ready to wrestle any lake monsters that showed at a moment's notice.  But as it happened, my electronic car key (the only one for my vehicle within 600 miles) was in my pocket and my flashlight in hand. I popped back onto the boat and looked behind at the stale, stagnant, growth-covered water I just pulled myself from.  Well, that's unfortunate ontop of unfortunate, I thought. I quickly decided the best course of action was to sterilize my mouth with some whiskey. The first went down so politely that Chad and I followed it up with another, recounting the day’s events…making at least one "three-hour tour" Gilligan reference in which I called dibs on playing the Professor should we ever find ourselves stranded. The night progressed with regular lake watches and some random UFO-watching hours. Conversation slipped into the jocular (we had the Anaconda's film on the in the background) and then to that of our usual philosophical diatribe about the global lake monster phenomena.

Late to bunk, early to rise…the life of a monster hunter.

Sunday

Morning came with a few tasks that needed our earliest attention. A broken sonar rig required a complete overhaul, and I had to swap cameras, pull the flashlights off the boat and attach them to the dive camera rig. Today was the day to get an underwater video of Pepie—whatever it is.

Caption: Chad Lewis in Lake Pepin with underwater dive camera rig searching for clues to Pepie sightings.  Photograph by Noah Voss.

We left behind a completely different Lake Pepin than the one we met four days earlier. The water now teemed with human life in all forms, enjoying everything the area had to offer. The traffic was noticeable and slowed our course considerably. Our eyes remained vigilant for anything unusual the rest of the voyage south.

We have yet to be dissuaded by dangers befalling before us when truths are obscured or where danger finds innocence. This adventure was one Chad, and I should remember.  Use it as fuel during future days spent researching documents in blasé basement libraries.  In historical societies, windowless archive rooms.  While verifying countless leads from eyewitness interviews.  All in the course of digging up new material for the next quest.