In May 2020, bilateral amputee Nate Denofre pushed off from the headwaters of the Mississippi River at Lake Itasca with an ambitious goal: paddle the entire 2,300-mile river to the Gulf of Mexico. What followed was anything but a smooth downstream cruise. In the river’s narrow northern stretches, Denofre, his wife Christa, and their dog Marci shared every mile of the trip. They hacked their way through dense beaver dams, dragged their canoe through knee-deep muck, and endured freezing temperatures just days into the journey. Weeks later, a sudden illness—likely Lyme disease—sent Denofre to the emergency room before he climbed back into the canoe and continued south.
The river kept testing them. A violent squall near Lock 12 in Iowa knocked loose the expedition’s GoPro and SD cards—containing the first two months of footage—which vanished into the current. For a moment, the story they had been documenting seemed lost with it. Then the River Angels stepped in: strangers who had been following the journey fanned out to search nearby islands until a local family found the camera sitting in shallow water and returned it.
There’s no denying the parallels between Denofre’s life as an amputee—he lost both legs in infancy due to amniotic band syndrome—and his 115-day river voyage, which began in a blizzard at Lake Itasca, Minnesota, and ended in August with triple-digit heat, hurricanes, and 15-foot gators. Along the way, Denofre discovered something unexpected about the journey.
“I came into this thing with the thought that I’m going to beat this river,” he told Amplitude back in 2020. “And I learned very quickly that there’s not a person alive who can do it alone. Everybody needs help.”
The people they met along the Mississippi—neighbors, volunteers, and curious onlookers who offered food, shelter, and support—became the heart of the expedition.
“The best part of this trip so far has been the people,” Denofre said back in 2020. “No contest. There’s so much good in the world. It’s really remarkable.”
Now, five years later, Nate and Christa Denofre are revisiting that journey in their book Love Many, Trust Few, and Always Paddle Your Own Canoe. We caught up with the couple to talk about the river, the lessons it taught them, and the kindness of strangers who carried them all the way to the Gulf.
Your book title—Love Many, Trust Few, and Always Paddle Your Own Canoe—is memorable and a little mysterious. What does that phrase mean to you, and why did it feel like the right title for this story?
Christa: I wrote the book over about five years. The writing itself was actually the easiest part. The harder part was finding a publisher—we tried for years and couldn’t land one, so we ended up self-publishing through Amazon.
It’s filled with beautiful illustrations by Joanna Walitalo. I sent her around 1,000 pictures, and from those she created about 135 illustrations. It took a long time to put it all together.
When I was writing the book, I also did a lot of research so I could include a little bit of history about each of the places we stayed along the way—like the old bootlegger cave near New Orleans—because I thought that would make the story more interesting.
Nate: The title actually goes way back. I first heard that phrase as a Boy Scout in the ’80s, and it stuck with me as a good life lesson. I remember saying it a few times while we were paddling down the river.
That phrase really does feel like a life philosophy. Was there a moment during the trip when that idea really came into focus—when the river taught you something about yourselves you didn’t expect?
Christa: For me, it would be when we were in Mississippi. The night before, we were zipping our tent closed and the zipper split. And it’s 77 degrees even at night, and the mosquitoes don’t go away. These mosquitoes would keep the Minnesota mosquitoes away. (she laughs)
We tried folding the rainfly over the tent to make some kind of cover, but it didn’t work. We were sleeping under these indoor-outdoor blankets just trying to survive the bugs—and we were already low on water because the person who was supposed to bring us supplies never showed up. So the next morning it was already pushing 90 degrees before 10 a.m., just sweltering, and we got into a little tiff in the canoe. It may have had something to do with me wanting to beat his brains out with my paddle. (they both laugh)
We pulled ashore, and as Nate stepped out of the canoe…
Nate: My $7,000 prosthetic foot snapped.
Christa: Soon after, the phone rang. Someone had given our number to the River Angels—a group of people who help paddlers along the Mississippi—and they called to say they were coming to help.
Nate: A Baptist preacher picked us up and brought us to his house, and we got lots of tacos and Jesus, and I felt a lot better the next day. That’s why they call them River Angels. Minnesota had the most, and they’re just amazing.
I took a video log almost every day, and over half of it was, ‘What did I learn today?’ That day was probably the biggest turning point on the river. I had called my people back home in Upper Michigan and told them, ‘I’m coming home. I’m done. I can’t take it.’ We were dehydrated. I was supposed to be taking antibiotics for all the tick bites, but you can’t be in the sun when you take them. So I didn’t take them—which was probably reckless—but I was just pushing through.
From the beginning, Nate, you talk about envisioning this as an unsupported exhibition—a test of independence as much as endurance. After nearly five decades living as a bilateral amputee, what was the motivation for that?
Nate: I didn’t want anyone to help me. I wanted to do it myself. I’ve gone almost 50 years without legs, and I still have that mentality sometimes—the need to prove I don’t need help. It’s not always a good thing. But when people help me, sometimes it makes me feel…disabled. Like I’m not capable. So I wanted to prove that I could do it.
To give our readers a little context, by the time your canoe touched the water at Lake Itasca, the trip was no longer a solo mission. Just months earlier, you met Christa, and your relationship moved pretty quickly. You met in the fall, were engaged within three months, and married three weeks later. When you began preparing for the river, Christa had to make a pretty big decision.
Christa: I told him I could either stay home and worry about him, or I could come with.
She had never paddled a canoe before.
Christa: I always joke and tell people that was my honeymoon.
Because you were so early in your marriage and your life together, what did those 115 days teach you about each other?
Christa: I learned that I could depend on him to do things that I had never depended on anybody else for. I’ve always been pretty independent. I was married a couple of times before, but with Nate, I felt safe.
People might assume that because he’s an amputee, I would have to take care of him, but that wasn’t the case at all. I learned just how much I could depend on him.
Nate: I’d done a 159-day trek by myself before, but being with someone else means there are infinite possibilities—good and bad—that can happen at any time. I think I was more worried about safety.
I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. The Mississippi starts off really small, thankfully, so she did great. But if at any point I wouldn’t have felt safe, we would’ve been out of there. Lake Winnibigoshish in Minnesota was probably the worst spot. That scared me a little bit. We should’ve been sunk five times.
Christa: It was so windy—24 miles per hour—and we were on the north side of the lake.
Nate: It’s one of the widest points on the Mississippi. I think it’s about 16 miles.
Christa: I had been watching the weather and figuring out how the wind was going to come up, and I said, ‘I think we need to take the south side of the lake.’ But Nate’s chromosomes overwhelmed my vote. (she laughs)
So, we took the north side and got pounded.
Nate: And I admitted very quickly that I should’ve listened to you. (they both laugh)
When you think back to the beginning, the moment you pushed off from Lake Itasca in that blizzard, what would you tell your past selves?
Christa: I would have told myself not to be so scared. I had never been in a canoe before and didn’t even know how to get into it. The Mississippi, where it leaves Lake Itasca, is just a tiny stream—we ended up walking a lot that first day anyway.
I would have told myself to take better notes and make sure I journaled every evening before bed, no matter how tired I was. I also would have packed a lot less and looked around a lot more.
Nate: I wouldn’t change anything, because everything happens in its own time and for a reason. If I saw myself coming toward me, I’d probably walk away.
This journey was my gift to unwrap. I would have just shaken my head and smiled, watching us get into the canoe, knowing we were soon going to find out how small we—and all of our worries—really are.
For readers who may never paddle the Mississippi—or face an expedition like this—what do you hope they take from your experience?
Christa: We argued and squabbled like every other couple, but we always depended on each other. We came through the journey with a healthy respect for each other’s very different abilities. And the people we met along the river were so wonderful—River Angels all the way.
Nate: Whether it’s three and a half months paddling and crawling through the mud of the Mississippi River, or three and a half months hiking the North Country Trail, it isn’t really any bigger or different than when a person with disabilities is wearing a new limb for the first time, or learning to walk around their house again.
What one person can do, another can do—no matter their abilities.
So, if the river taught you one enduring truth about life, what would it be?
Christa: Never be afraid to take the first step. The next one may be the one that gets you where you’re going, even if you can’t see the destination yet. Everything comes to an end, but that doesn’t mean it is the end.
Nate: If you want something badly enough and work hard enough, anything is possible. Don’t give up.
