Shell Rock River Paddle
Nora Springs to Rockford, Floyd County,
IA
December 6th, 2015
December in Iowa is not traditionally
canoe season, but December in Iowa is also not traditionally 45°
and sunny. But even before we knew the forecast, we had planned this
trip, hoping the date would afford us some isolation and unique views
of the riverside and valley. We, here, is myself and Steve, one of
the few people I know with the affinity and willingness to enjoy the
outdoors as I do in the part of the country, and my frequent travel
companion.
We
had gotten a good amount of precipitation, both rain and snow, in the
weeks before our trip, and so the river was high without being too
aggressive or unpredictable. We launched, conveniently, from Steve's
backyard in the middle of town, but because of the soaring bluffs
that started almost immediately down stream, and then flood plain
beyond that, we saw few buildings. Our trip was on the Shell Rock
River, a tributary of the Cedar River that flows from Albert Lea Lake
in southern Minnesota and joins the Cedar near Janesville, IA. Our
trip today would be about 10 miles in the middle of the river, from
below the dam in Nora Springs to just above the confluence with the
Winnebago River in Rockford.
Shortly
after departure, we approach two bridges in sequence. The new, modern
highway bridge that was maybe 40 feet above the water, sterile but
safe from regular floods, and then a block later the older, lower,
arched concrete bridge. I can only think that the trend of small,
rural towns turning their main streets into highway like roads,
eschewing any concern for visual appeal or pedestrian comfort, is a
band-aide to declining traffic, and not a way to reverse it. Though,
on a river that floods like the Shell Rock does, the new elevated
bridge will do much less to constrain and focus the river during a
flood and instead gives unmitigated access to the flood plain the
river needs.
We
pass under the second, ornate concrete arch bridge and pass two
fishermen, like us enjoying the unseasonable weather, say a quick
hello and drift on. A doe is on the bank too, sheltering in town no
doubt on this opening day of deer hunting season. A sign of
wilderness to many who grew up in the nearly deer-free mid-century
Iowa, these animals now exist in such numbers they are more pest than
joy to many others because of a lack of wilderness. The have no
competition from other large herbivore like elk (native to Iowa)
which cause more crop damage than deer and are eradicated when they
do show up; nor predators, as wolves are generally unheard of in Iowa
and can still be shot when seen. In an interesting sign that nature
will find a way to bring balance, coyotes have started to display
more wolf like behavior to take advantage of the food opportunity and
are packing up and attempting to take down the larger deer.
Deer
are symptoms of a lack of wilderness, but also harmful to what
remains. Deer do amazing damage to woodland under-stories, making
recovery from flood or fire much more difficult as they graze on
seedlings. They are even sometimes more at home in town than the
country and I personally feel they don't deserve the high esteem many
give them.
Past
the deer, we pass under and old steel pass-through bridge, where the
truss is above rather than below the deck you drive on. Steve tells
me it is closed to vehicles and remains just for bikes and
pedestrians. I take this as a sign that towns are starting to
recognize the value of recreation and active transportation, and save
assets like this bridge to be developed some day.
Below
the bridge are some very minor rapids, shoals really, but as my hands
were on my hot chocolate and not my paddle, a good reminder that it
was December, and tipping would be more dangerous than in July. At
40° water temperature, we'd have maybe 30 minutes before losing
consciousness. We will be avoiding that today.
Past
the water treatment plan, we had one last visage of town. A once
grand brick estate on 10 or so acres of pasture right along the
river, now a shell of itself. Apparently the owners have no desire to
restore or sell it, and so Nora Springs will probably eventually lose
this little piece of cultural history like so many grand homes in so
many small towns.
After
the estate, the river became wooded on both sides. On the left, the
western bank rose up a wooded slope that was a county conservation
area, then downstream turned private, any home that was up there was
hidden for the most part though. The right, east bank was a more
typical bottom land floodplain forest, full of strong trees like
White Oak, Bitternut Hickory and Willow. Trees that withstand the
occasional flooding and frequently saturated soil. On the left we
scare up a deer. As I noted before, this is deer hunting opener, and
she has a pretty severe wound on her rump, though it looks like a
coyote attack more than a bad shot based on how focused and bloody
the wound was. She hobbled off deeper into the woods. Moments later a
shape in the water caught my eye. A deer carcass? Steve was confident
it was just a boulder, as we had been tapping the river bottom with
our boat and dodging some rocks. But to satisfy a gentlemanly bet, we
paddled up to it, and it was indeed a young spike buck. He had no
signs of injury, and may have fallen in when there was a thin sheet
of ice. The lack of decay indicated it was probably a recent death,
though also that the imbalance of predator and prey was such that a
scavenger wouldn't even stand in ankle deep water for a free meal.
As
we approached the dull roar of the US-18 bridge, homes were closer to
the river and more visible. An impressive set of stonework and
concrete appeared to the the remains of an old saw or grain mill, a
reminder of a more independent and industrial time in North Iowa. We
pass under the bridge imagining the passing motorists, if they even
notice us, to be calling us crazy fools, braver than them. But I
really do doubt many would even notice. South of the bridge are again
more homes down near the water, I suppose to balance out having to
live next to an interstate highway. Apart from one, they are modest
homes, set on a short bluff to avoid flooding. Fortunately, after
this development we will only see one or two more homes before
landing.
Around
the bend from the homes, the banks generally open up and we can see
cornfield stubble and grassy pastures. Occasional silos or windmills
dot the horizon. With the surroundings being flatter here and having
more loose topsoil than in the woods, the river starts to braid and
meander more, developing small islands. We see one off to our left
that appears to come back to the main channel in a hundred yards or
so, and decide we have enough time to explore. The fact the water
seemed to be flowing out of the inlet rather than with the river
should have been a sign, but no, it must have been an illusion,
right?
40
feet up what was of course the mouth of a tributary stream we knew
that no, this did not connect back to the river. And of course we
could not turn around by the time we realized this, and moving
backwards shifted the weight in such a way we struck bottom and
couldn't move. So we paddled another 15 feet up until we could get
the bow against the bank that was not a four foot embankment, and I
could climb out followed by Steve. 400 lbs lighter, the craft spun
effortlessly, and save a single boot getting a little damp, we
launched back into the Shell Rock without fanfare.
Shortly
thereafter a monstrosity of a “log cabin”, still actively being
landscaped, arises on our left. If it weren't so grandiose, it's
position high above with a gentle slope to the river would make it a
perfect place for a river rat to live, but I'm pretty positive
whomever owns this house would not use the term river rat on
themselves. Luckily, there is an island here, and we paddle to the
far side, quickly hiding the house. In fact, were it not for that
house, the island, a sort of savannah mixture of grass and trees,
would have made a great lunch spot or even overnight stop. The
surroundings on this stretch of river are almost entirely grassland,
and threes would offer a good windbreak and place to hang a hammock.
Of course, it's private property, so maybe not.
Just
below where the river comes back together around the island is a
small bridge, the only one for 5 miles in either direction. We had
considered this as a stopping point during our planning, not knowing
the stretch of river we were going to be on or how tolerant we would
be of the cold. Now slipping under the bridge I was very glad we
opted for the longer challenge of Rockford for a stopping point.
Past
the bridge was the expansive Nagle Wildlife Management Area,
providing us with uninterrupted grassland on both banks for over a
mile. Only in the far distance could we see even a tall silo, and
when we beached the canoe to look around, we could see even less
signs of development. Sturdy evergreens popped bright and loud
against the brown, monochromatic tallgrass that ran off to the
gray-blue horizon, rolling over the sort of hills that while
significant up close, fade quickly into a flat prairie background.
The grasses, too, were so much more different up close than when
viewed en masse. A dozen or more species every square foot, stalks of
varying height, girth and shape. Blades of grass, seed head striped
bare. Even some scattered flowers, petals still clinging but turned
brown again, almost like they just want to belong.
We
linger at Nagle only five minutes or so, making a loop on foot and
commenting it could be a fun place to camp in the summer when being
earth bound (i.e. not in a hammock) wouldn't be so cold. Back in our
boat, the banks of the river slowly take on an almost Northwoods feel
as bedrock is again exposed and pine and other evergreens become more
dominant. The river briefly winds north, and we are buffeted by a
wind that had hitherto had kept us moving at a brisk pace, and really
was still unseasonably warm, but as the river turned south, we were
quickly disrupted by something much better than cold.
A
large trumpeter swan entered the water from the bank at sight of us
and began paddling ahead. It's a little redundant to say a “large”
swan. With five foot wingspans and large bodies, they are some of the
heaviest birds in North American skies. Our swan, an uncommon but no
longer rare sight since being reintroduced to Iowa in the mid-1990s,
stayed a few yards in front of us for several minutes, allowing us to
get as close as we felt appropriate (which was not very). As we
rounded another bend around a floodplain grassland, this swan turned
to face us. But before we could get a good picture, a hawk swooped
from a long tree, catching out eye. Either scared itself or sensing
us to be distracted, the swan began it's long take off, running and
flapping, slapping the water loudly on its way upstream and back
around the bend. We sat for a moment in awe of our experience with
this more exotic charismatic megafauna.
The
next mile or so we were quiet, and while there were more quiet, and
while there were no obvious houses, someone had flooded a pasture
right up to the water, the barbed wire removed any false hope of
wilderness, and though the opposite bank was more rustic, there were
signs of habitation as well, like a (vacant?) deer blind. But the
steep slope did at least hide the cornfield beyond, more than we
could say for most of the final stretch of our trip. The river has a
decent bugger strip of grasses, but for the most part, corn stalks or
a barren field were always just a few yards beyond.
But
we did have one last reminder that wilderness once ruled here. As we
passed another rocky outcropping, Steve spotted a bald eagle making
slow circles above the river, occasionally disappearing beyond the
trees. Then, it landed in the barren crown of an oak tree, just on
the bank. As I attempted to catch it in my binoculars, I suddenly
noticed another eagle in the same tree, and they started screeching,
or really a loud chirp. Eagles do not make as impressive a sounds as
TV would have you believe. And then, the nest. It was not as a
grandiose as the other nest I know of locally, but still massive. As
the nest does not appear in any satellite imagery, and breeding
season is right around New Years, I believe this was, so to speak, a
pair of newly weds preparing to be yet another boost to the
recovering Bald Eagle population in the Midwest.
We
left the lovebirds and rounded a corner again surrounded by two
columns of flood and fertilizer buffering grass strips with cropland
beyond. Soon, houses start to line the banks, marking the outskirts
of our destination town of Rockford. There is, oddly, a jet ski
parked behind one, and I'm glad it's too cold for that person to be
out ruining my quietude. There was a serious of small rapids leading
into town, making the last half mile of our trip someone more
exciting. Helping, too, were the several hundred geese that took off
as we arrived at our park, the thunder of wings making it almost
impossible to hear my shipmate.
With
the water at a winter low, we had to take a few steps in the river
pulling the canoe out, but with the truck a few steps away, we
weren't concerned. In the same park, last spring, a black bear was
spotted and tracks were cast, one of at least two, and as many as six
bears that were roaming the northeast corner of the state at the
time. I am anxiously waiting now to see if any return this year.
When
we depart, we check out a recently removed low head dam father
downstream in Rockford, a restorative effort for the river which we
appreciate, and we talk about how we could pass here via canoe if and
when we paddle the last few miles of the Shell Rock.
This
would end up being my last trip of the year, and the weather combined
with the relatively undeveloped portion of the river combined to reinforce my belief there is wilderness to be found, and even more
areas that should be protected and restored. There are animals big
and small, beautiful vistas of grass and water, and quiet.
We
drove the canoe home to Steve's house and I returned home. I decided
I would buy my own life vest and paddle, and begin planning my 2016
adventures, because to me, half the fun of travels outdoors is the
planning, when time off from work and endurance are unlimited, and
anything can be conquered.
