Most of the rivers that I have paddled would be called “flat water” rivers. Once I had mentioned that I would like to learn how to be more comfortable in the face of rocky turns, unexpected sweepers, and quick water — that I would like to learn to enjoy a lush rock garden instead of dreading it!
We gathered for lunch at the old Trempealeau Hotel in Trempealeau, Wisconsin. The hotel was opened in 1871 and sits a stone’s throw from the Mississippi River, the railroad, and Lock and Dam #6. People, trains, and barges are constantly moving past the windows of the hotel and it is not hard to imagine the French trappers who settled the area striding up to the original bar and ordering a stout drink.
Trouble finding the put-in and take-out had us making sandwiches late in the day while pondering the shining small stream. We ate and watched it curve under a canopy of golden leaves on the most gorgeous of Indian summer days. We shoved off with our map in hand and immediately found our strokes scraping sand. We hoped it would deepen soon.
I promised myself that when I finished the pictures for The Incredible Water Show I would head to the Bois Brule River. Immediately after driving the boxed pictures to Fed‑X (for the second time) I headed north, meeting Amy, Steve, and Ian in the tiny town of Brule, Wisconsin. Rain was predicted for the next day but we decided to prepare for any weather and stick to our plan.
Jim and I set off for our first paddle together on Wisconsin’s Red Cedar River. We couldn’t find the put-in on our map and had to find a new starting place, adding an extra four miles to the trip. Our late departure worried me. Could we paddle the fifteen miles before dark? We then shuttled our own cars back and forth three times before eating a quick lunch and shoving off into the clear river.
Ian and I set off to find Jack’s Canoe Rental hidden somewhere beside the Namekagon River in Wisconsin. Jack himself had promised to shuttle us from put-in to take-out and back again. We found this tiny cabin serving as his office. It was surrounded by dozens of canoes and a line of people waiting to be shuttled to various points on this well-known canoeing river.
At the last minute Ian and I moved from the waiting list to a spot on the Friends of the Mississippi’s group paddle down a twelve mile stretch just north of the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul, Minnesota. Early Sunday morning we joined fifty-three other paddlers at a roadside park in Elk River where we dropped our canoes and supplies.
After visiting the Browns on Madeline Island, (off the northern tip of Wisconsin, accessible only by ferry), Ian and I steered the canoe-topped car toward Gunflint Trail on the “Arrowhead,” seven hours away on the northern tip of Minnesota (and shaped like an arrowhead). We skirted Lake Superior, with lunch in Duluth, and arrived just in time to see a skyscraper-sized tanker sail right through the narrow channel under the old lift bridge.
Again we headed back to the “driftless area,” the southeastern corner of Minnesota that the glacier missed. The map showed an outfitter outside of the Mississippi river town of Wabasha but that outfitter proved to be long gone, so the river trip began with a very early morning study of the canoe map to find another outfitter who could run our shuttle.
In the southeastern corner of Minnesota the Root River cuts a deep gorge through more of the “driftless” region, that higher ground that the last retreating glacier did not grind down to flat plains. Ian and I selected the section of river that runs between Chatsfield and Lanesboro, a stretch of water that is well known for the clear trout streams that flow into the Root River.
Most of the rivers that I have paddled would be called “flat water” rivers. Once I had mentioned that I would like to learn how to be more comfortable in the face of rocky turns, unexpected sweepers, and quick water — that I would like to learn to enjoy a lush rock garden instead of dreading it!
We gathered for lunch at the old Trempealeau Hotel in Trempealeau, Wisconsin. The hotel was opened in 1871 and sits a stone’s throw from the Mississippi River, the railroad, and Lock and Dam #6. People, trains, and barges are constantly moving past the windows of the hotel and it is not hard to imagine the French trappers who settled the area striding up to the original bar and ordering a stout drink.
Trouble finding the put-in and take-out had us making sandwiches late in the day while pondering the shining small stream. We ate and watched it curve under a canopy of golden leaves on the most gorgeous of Indian summer days. We shoved off with our map in hand and immediately found our strokes scraping sand. We hoped it would deepen soon.
I promised myself that when I finished the pictures for The Incredible Water Show I would head to the Bois Brule River. Immediately after driving the boxed pictures to Fed‑X (for the second time) I headed north, meeting Amy, Steve, and Ian in the tiny town of Brule, Wisconsin. Rain was predicted for the next day but we decided to prepare for any weather and stick to our plan.
Jim and I set off for our first paddle together on Wisconsin’s Red Cedar River. We couldn’t find the put-in on our map and had to find a new starting place, adding an extra four miles to the trip. Our late departure worried me. Could we paddle the fifteen miles before dark? We then shuttled our own cars back and forth three times before eating a quick lunch and shoving off into the clear river.
Ian and I set off to find Jack’s Canoe Rental hidden somewhere beside the Namekagon River in Wisconsin. Jack himself had promised to shuttle us from put-in to take-out and back again. We found this tiny cabin serving as his office. It was surrounded by dozens of canoes and a line of people waiting to be shuttled to various points on this well-known canoeing river.
At the last minute Ian and I moved from the waiting list to a spot on the Friends of the Mississippi’s group paddle down a twelve mile stretch just north of the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul, Minnesota. Early Sunday morning we joined fifty-three other paddlers at a roadside park in Elk River where we dropped our canoes and supplies.
After visiting the Browns on Madeline Island, (off the northern tip of Wisconsin, accessible only by ferry), Ian and I steered the canoe-topped car toward Gunflint Trail on the “Arrowhead,” seven hours away on the northern tip of Minnesota (and shaped like an arrowhead). We skirted Lake Superior, with lunch in Duluth, and arrived just in time to see a skyscraper-sized tanker sail right through the narrow channel under the old lift bridge.
Again we headed back to the “driftless area,” the southeastern corner of Minnesota that the glacier missed. The map showed an outfitter outside of the Mississippi river town of Wabasha but that outfitter proved to be long gone, so the river trip began with a very early morning study of the canoe map to find another outfitter who could run our shuttle.
In the southeastern corner of Minnesota the Root River cuts a deep gorge through more of the “driftless” region, that higher ground that the last retreating glacier did not grind down to flat plains. Ian and I selected the section of river that runs between Chatsfield and Lanesboro, a stretch of water that is well known for the clear trout streams that flow into the Root River.