Uncategorized - Debra Frasier

#3 Minnehaha Creek, Minneapolis, MN

March 9, 2022June 15, 2003 by Debra Frasier

June 15, 2003—Our expedition left our house with three canoes atop three cars, enough for neighbors, kids of neighbors, friend of neighbors, and my daughter. We headed to Minnehaha Creek, the meandering, tree canopied, narrow stream that runs through south Minneapolis. We had a picnic packed and were delighted to be joined by Nat and Dan, two expert paddlers who have made many trips to the wilderness Boundary Waters bordering Canada, including a forty-five day canoe and portage trip from the Back River (Northwest Territory, Canada) to within 150 miles of the Arctic Circle.

This time our ribbon of water offered human sights — we paddled passed a gorgeous white-gowned bride having her picture made beside the creek. We passed houses and tennis courts tucked among the trees. We scooted under numerous stone bridges and came to a sudden and unexpected “Portage Here” sign. (When a canoe is carried on land it is called “portaging.”) We debated ignoring the sign and paddling past it

before deciding to obey the directions. Nat lifted our 68 pound canoe on his shoulders like it was no more than a sack of potatoes. (He says there is a method to getting a heavy canoe onto your own shoulders: First, make a ledge with your knees and slide the boat up, then flip the canoe over, ducking under it as it comes over. Push up with your knees. Be sure your shoulders are padded.) This portage took us out of the quiet steam and into the busy traffic of Penn Avenue. As it turned out, the portage was due to construction work on the bridge and a bulwark of steel would have met us had we tried to ignore the sign! (Lesson: Portage when told to do so!)

A couple of hours into the trip starvation struck and we had an emergency exchange of the potato chip bag, mid-stream. Our lunch stop finally arrived and we scrambled out for a picnic. At the last minute Jerry had remembered to bring a book (found in a furious search of his car trunk). Over lunch he read from JEWISH HUMOR and made us all laugh.

Back in the canoes we followed the twisting creek through a small spillway, then past the esteemed Hiawatha golf course where the sign actually tells canoeists to watch out for whizzing golf balls. The water was high throughout the

paddle and we had to lay low to slip under all the bridges. The boys took a quick dip in Lake Nokomis, easing in and out of the canoe without even as much as a wobble. (This is NOT easy to do!) At Highway 55 we hauled our canoes up the reedy bank to where our car was stashed for the shuttle back to the put-in. (One lucky person gets to stay back with the canoes, reading and daydreaming, while the others drive for the cars.) This creek is lovely and a wonderful afternoon paddle right in the heart of a big city.

#2 Cannon River, Minnesota

March 9, 2022June 10, 2003 by Debra Frasier

For River #2 Ian and I headed south to the Cannon River, a mutation of the words “River of Canoes.” Long ago this river was used by Indians and the French to reach the buffalo fields of the plains. They would travel upstream from the Mississippi and often along our trip we imagined the light, empty canoes headed inland and the heavy buffalo-filled canoes riding the return current downstream…But. Before we could imagine the Indians silently passing us I had to get us lost coming out of the Twin Cities, AND THEN, having finally found the tiny, winding dirt farm road where we would stash our second car for the take-out-THEN — I realized I had forgotten to bring our second and third paddle!

Ian calmed me down and we drove to the put-in at Cannon Falls in the hopes of
salvaging- the trip by finding a paddle to rent or buy. There, in a dusty old hardware store we found, high on a shelf, a long thin wooden paddle for $15.99 and the trip was saved.

We put in at a small park and found ourselves catching a few rapids, passing under a railway bridge, and then sailing down a swift current between wild river banks. Early in the paddle a giant bald eagle few right over us. It was being chased by a tiny black bird who seemed to be teasing it from behind. The eagle swept down the river and landed on a high branch where it joined another eagle. It was astonishing to see the two giant birds peer down at us as we paddled under them. I have never seen such a sight.

The water was higher than usual in the Cannon River and the full-water current made our paddling this gentle stretch of river nearly effortless. This river runs through what is called “the driftless area” of Minnesota. The glaciers missed this
slightly higher area of ground 10,000 years ago so rather than the flat, glacier-ground plains to the west, this region retained its limestone cliffs. The river now cuts deeply through the bluffs. We stopped on a rocky island for a late lunch. (Menu: tabouli, humus, pita bread, apples, and a Snickers Bar.) Ian found a dragonfly, papery and dry. The bottom side of the river’s rocks were covered with the tiny, gooey eggs of flies, the same flies we supposed were swerving all over the river’s surface as the sun moved deeply west. Fish were beginning to rise for their evening meal and the river felt alive when we shoved off.

My favorite moment on this river was coming up to a bend where a giant heron rose off ‑the bank and passed us on the left. The river turned right, then left, and the wind picked up and, in the shimmering of late sun, the air was suddenly filled with
the airy white puffs of milkweed and cottonwood. We sailed around the blue water bend with the fluff of summer snow spinning around us.

The trip ended too soon as Ian’s old Trooper appeared beside the river. We hauled the canoe up to the road and stopped to watch the trout rising just off the junction of Trout Creek and the Cannon River. We promised that next time we would bring our fly rods.

The ride back to my car in Cannon Falls seemed short, the summer sun still lighting the farms. When I’m off the river, the blue ribbon of water, I miss it immediately. The land seemed so still. But every canoe ride deserves celebrating. Which we did, at the Dairy Inn.

#1 Rice Creek, Minnesota

March 9, 2022May 25, 2003 by Debra Frasier

Ian and I joined our neighbors, Margy and Jerry, for a paddle down Rice Creek. We looked up the route in the book, Paddling Minnesota, and the map looked like this.

Note all the twists and turns! Margy and Jerry decided to bring along Harriet, their Black Labrador dog, for her first canoe trip. The creek was gorgeous and the afternoon sun filtered through the trees making the whole world seem to shimmer in an arch over our canoes. And that’s when Harriet spied something interesting and quickly turned for it! In an instant the canoe went over, spilling our neighbors and their dog into the chilly creek. We paddled up, helped get the canoe back to shore and turned to watch Harriet swim with glee around a downed tree. Next thing we knew, she had climbed out of the creek and up the downed tree. It was so astonishing to see a big black dog up a tree that I quickly snapped this picture. After that, Margy and Jerry headed for home with the wet Harriet and we continued down the creek.

Unknown to us, the spring rains had made the creek much higher than usual and our paddle turned out to be very adventurous as we had to skirt downed trees by the dozens amid a rushing current. We both lost and found things…Ian found a soccer ball trapped in the limbs of a fallen tree. (It is signed by Cassman, Tyler, and TC. If it’s yours, please write me.) We lost our ice chest once on a spill, but we paddled up to it later and found that the chocolate bar was still inside, dry and delicious! We had some scary moments when the swift current drove us into branches and when we had to shoot through the culverts under the many bridges. Ian is a good paddler and I am learning and together we managed to arrive home safely.

Along the twisting creek we saw a pair of deer, too many mallards to count, several giant blue herons, white herons, blue jays, and one tiny new bird making its very first flight. It frantically fluttered out over the creek ahead of us and then took a swift dive, landing head first in the water. We paddled over to it as quickly as we could but the wet wings were too much for the young bird to lift. By the time we scooped it up on the tip of our paddle it was no longer struggling. We paddled to shore and Ian carefully put it on the ground next to a tree.

I have thought about this tiny struggling bird often. I know that something probably ate the bird before nightfall and that is just a part of the circle of life — but still — I wish the bird had flown over land, or caught the wind and just made it back to safety. It’s hard to be a tiny bird in the big world. It has made me congratulate every single bird I see flying about the busy city. How did they all make it through that first dangerous flight?

#3 Minnehaha Creek, Minneapolis, MN

#2 Cannon River, Minnesota

#1 Rice Creek, Minnesota

PAGES

Stay in touch!

Online Classes