#5: [13-May-17]

#4: [02-Mar-13]

#3: [20-Feb-07]

#2: [26-Mar-06]

#1: [13-Mar-01]

24-Jul-2025 -- I braved a crushing deluge of highway rain, an untimely detour, and a jungle of wet corn stalks to document this point in the summer for the first time.

Day 2 of a meandering cross-country trip between Fort Collins, CO and Columbus, OH began with curiosity visits to Peru State College (NE) and the now-defunct Tarkio College (MO). By mid-morning, driving southeast from Tarkio along I-29, the rain got so heavy that it was like snow, with zero visibility. I was able to take a screenshot of the radar at left. The rain was moving in the direction of the confluence so I knew that my time was limited.

Upon exiting the interstate, I discovered that State Hwy H north, toward Fillmore and the confluence, was closed for construction. Taking the eastward detour added 20 minutes to my travel time. Needless to say, the rain had arrived by the time I pulled off north of Lincoln Creek and parked at the southeastern corner of the field of corn in which the confluence lies.

Leaving my car at 10:00 am, I trekked westward along an elevated two-track farm road. As I eyed the 8-9’ tall corn in rows oriented east-west in the field below me to the north, I wondered how I would navigate this sea of stalks to zero out. I arrived at the irrigation canal on the western edge and saw the old truck that previous confluence hunters had noted, likely used to pump water. From my vantage, I could see that on the western side of the field abutting the irrigation canal was a single tractor-width stripe of corn rows oriented north-south. I had to do it – a football field length of corn stood between me and the point.

I ducked headlong into the dripping wet stalks, arms and ball cap shielding my face, and my camera in the only dry part on my body: the butt pocket of my shorts. I watched the GPS as my latitude ticked closer, finally reaching 40°N but still dozens of feet too far to the west. Fortunately, just to my right was where the east-west rows of corn began. What a happy accident, an optimal approach that I honestly should have anticipated based on satellite imagery of this crop configuration. I turned right (east) and arrived at 95°W a minute later.

I was sopping wet. Cakes of muck clung to my tennis shoes. I expected a longer confluence dance, but I achieved zeroes within seconds. My directional photos are rather mundane, but they give an idea of the claustrophobia and disorientation one is apt to feel within the impersonal grasp of a sprawling corn crop in late July. This was one of the more bizarre things I’d ever done, and the reason I love confluence hunting. Why else would one do this? Monotony collapses time; novelty unfolds it. My life is longer, and I will always remember this particular day because of this particular corn.

Back at my car at 10:30 am, half an hour after I’d left it, the rain had somewhat abated and I was able to change into dry shoes and put a clean towel down on my leather seat. I continued south to Amazonia, Missouri, which I was curious to visit due to my love of all things Brazil. Ten minutes into this drive I felt an insect bite the back of my knee. I swatted it dead, and later determined it to be a tick. The price we pay.