Central Iowa Paddlers
Volume 7 Issue 1March 2003
This newsletter is a publication of the Central Iowa Paddlers, an informal group of paddlesport enthusiasts. The mission of the club is to share information, promote recreation opportunities and paddlesport safety, and encourage care of our aquatic resources. The group includes new and experienced paddlers with canoes and kayaks of all kinds. Pass the word!
MEANDERINGS
Wow, what a full winter we paddlers have had!
The weather was mild and water was open into January, so we had an extended paddling season. More of you are getting suitable clothes for cold weather paddling, so it isn’t just Gerry Rowland out there with the icebergs anymore! I hope you enjoy the winter paddling stories included in this issue.
The Armchair Paddlers Series has been lots of fun. Many thanks to Canoesport Outfitters for hosting the sessions and to our speakers for providing fascinating programs: Nate Hoogeveen on his upcoming Paddling Iowa book, Jim Dodd on building wood strip canoes, Karl DeLong on paddling safety, and Ray Harden on paddling beyond Iowa and the U.S.
Nate Hoogeveen initiated the Iowa Whitewater Coalition to respond to an opportunity presented by the Principal Financial’s proposed Des Moines Riverwalk. The group has been working diligently to provide information to Principal and the City on creatively managing the Center and Scott Street Dams.
The Skunk River Paddlers and Iowa State Canoe & Kayak Club hosted a well-attended 6-hour paddling film fest on February 23, thanks to efforts by Rick Dietz, Greg Vitale and Carolyn Komar. Hope it becomes a tradition!
The season planning party on January 26 was very successful. My little house was packed with paddlers, great food and big plans. We offer hearty thanks to Greg Vitale and Dave Kraemer of Ames for facilitating the planning session and to all of you who agreed to serve as 2003 trip coordinators. Check out the 2003 calendar included in this issue.
Paddle on and be safe out there!
Robin Fortney, Editor
2003 NEWSLETTER SUBSCRIPTION
Central Iowa Paddlers stay connected in several ways: through this newsletter, our email list, web site, and showing up for paddling trips and other events.
Our Subscriber List is another tool you can use to connect with paddling friends and find others who share your paddling interests.
Enclosed with this March newsletter is the latest edition of the Subscriber List. Please do the following:
- Review the information about you – is it complete and accurate?
- Check the last column – it will tell you if you have paid your 2003 newsletter subscription fee of $10 per family for the year.
- To continue receiving CIP news, send your check and any corrections to:
Robin Fortney
688 Polk Boulevard
Des Moines, IA50312
- Questions? Call Robin at 515-277-1763
e-CONNECTIONS
Paul Cartwright, our volunteer web master, has upgraded Central Iowa Paddlers web site and renamed it .
If you want to post information on the web site or you find useful links for paddlers, let Paul know. Thanks for this great service to the group, Paul!
TRIP REPORTS
Canoeing and kayaking are potentially life-threatening sports. Participants on trips promoted by the club must accept responsibility and liability for their own preparedness and safety.
Winter Wildlife Viewing From the River
By John Washburn
This winter I have had the advantage of available time, good clothing, and a paddling attitude to get out on the rivers over twenty times in December and January. One of the advantages of paddling in these months is that most of the vegetation has disappeared and viewing birds is easier. On one Saturday in December I paddled with Robin Fortney. We launched the trip from the Harriet Street ramp just off of East 14th Street at 9:30 and paddled up near the Scott Street dam. On the way we saw at least a dozen eagles looking for a lunch of cold fish. We then headed towards our destination of YellowBanksPark. It was a bird watchers day. We saw at least eighty eagles by the time we arrived at Yellow Banks at 1:30. We also saw kingfishers, crows, herons, and more geese than can estimate.
On the next Saturday I made the same trip with Gerry Rowland. This time we saw between fifty and sixty eagles including a golden eagle. This week we scared up hundreds of geese. The sight and sound makes giggles and smiles for miles.
On December 18, Mollie McCollum and I started at Sycamore Access, below Saylorville Dam, and paddled to SecondStreetBridge. On the way, I pointed out beaver dining evidence, plus a tree four feet in diameter that appears to be a future food source. We saw hundreds of crows on the way. Also on the way I frequently saw some white pipes along the shore. At one point I decided to see what they were. When I got near one I spotted a heron that appeared to be stuck in the mud. On closer inspection, I saw that it was caught in a trap located next to the pipe. I got out of the boat, approached the pipe, and saw that there were two traps anchored near it. In one trap was a dead raccoon, and the heron was caught in the other one. I reached down to grab the wire leading to the chain and the trap. As I started to pull it out of the water the heron gave me a good whack on the head with its long pointed beak. I did not want to stop so I finally reached the trap. When I grabbed it, the heron made another stab and got my hand. It held on strongly until the trap had been released. The whack to my head made a small hole in the hat and my skin. During the whole process, I kept my head down to protect my eyes. After release, the heron upstream on the riverbank to contemplate the encounter. I wonder what that bird told its friends at the bar that night. Surely it had never encountered an old goat like me.
As for me, I washed my hand wound with clean water and finished the paddle
with the recent adventure running around in my brain. I have started carrying a first aid kit more consistently since then.
When I showed Mollie some evidence of extensive beaver dining, we were surprised by a large beaver coming out of a den about fifteen feet from my position. My camera was not ready when the beaver spotted us and took a dive. About twenty seconds later, another big beaver came out and I was able to get a fun, blurred picture before it submerged.
As the ice has grown, my most dependable paddling spot has been Sycamore Access. If I am in fitness mode I can paddle up to the dam and back in about an hour. I always see at least two eagles and I have seen as many as twelve on the short run. I am amazed to see kingfishers through the winter and hear their great chatter.
Last Saturday I paddled with Gerry Rowland on the Sycamore to dam circuit and we stopped to view a handful of beaver dens. On the way up to the dam we spooked a lot of geese enjoying the open water and sand bars. When we neared the end of the journey we watched a mature eagle in a nearby branch and just marveled at its powerful, graceful flight from a close vantage point.
Again it is my great advantage to get out and enjoy this time of year. A lot of smiles bloom along the way. Good for me.
Have Wet Suit, Will Paddle
By Gerry Rowland
December 1, 2002 was a good day for paddling in Des Moines. I did a little picking up at Harriet Street boat ramp and then paddled up to Scott Avenue dam. There was some ice along the shore and chunks of ice in the river, and the water was very clear. It was about a half hour upstream against a strong wind and some fast running water. I had to walk upstream through the clear rapids by the railroad bridge, which I dearly love to do. The gulls were in the hundreds and there were several eagles and a hawk to keep me company. The run downstream was fast, although I had to walk across some shallow spots. Harriet Street is pretty well picked up, and several cars pulled up to spot for eagles and gulls and thanked me for keeping things cleaned up. The city was in with a street sweeper several days ago and is picking up trash bags after I clean up.
I see the October CIP newsletter is on the web. Good going, Paul.
Arctic Moment
By Steve Parrish
While Gerry Rowland was fighting the river on December 2, I took the easy way out. I went to Gray's Lake, put in, and had the time of my life ramming into thin ice flows! Even though the air temperature was downright balmy, the lake was about one quarter ice covered, with thin ice flows primarily on the windward and lee places near shore. I got a kick out of pile driving into 100-yard ice plates and watching them turn into slush cones. You have to be a little careful to make sure the ice doesn't tip your craft and you don't want to get too far into flows that are on the windward side (lest you can't escape the flow), but other than that it was harmless fun. Add to that about 200 Canada geese honking at you and you have a downright nice paddling experience.
Red Rock Reverie
By John Pearson
October 21, 2001- I kayaked on Red Rock Reservoir this morning. Yesterday's winds had died down and the temperature was mild. Even though the sky was overcast and somewhat gloomy as I loaded the kayak onto the car, the sun was breaking through openings in the clouds by the time I arrived at the lakeshore. I drove to Whitebreast Creek east of Knoxville instead of my usual put-in spot by the Mile-LongBridge. Whitebreast Creek is farther away from home (33 miles instead of 21), but I visit the Mile-LongBridge area so often that I worry about losing appreciation of its beauty through habituation.
As usual, the 19,000-acre reservoir was deserted on a Sunday morning. The still-rising sun was hidden behind a bank of low clouds at 9AM but its light illuminated the landscape of calm, blue water and forested bluffs splashed
with fall colors. I pushed off from shore and paddled east until the sun rose above the clouds and dazzled my vision with its blinding spotlight and myriad of eye-piercing reflections. I swung west and retraced my route (stopping briefly at the car to fetch my sunglasses and visored cap). Continuing westward with the sun at my back, the view ahead was brightly lit and colorful.
A black line on the horizon between blue lake and variegated land became a raft of about 500 milling coots, their white bills contrasting sharply with their black bodies. Although the nearest ones skittered nervously at my approach, the majority of the flock stayed calm as I veered course and passed to one side. I passed two more flocks of this size, making a total of about
1500 birds. At one point, one flock behind me panicked at some unseen disturbance and splashed noisily as they ran horizontally across the water surface prior to taking flight. It sounded like a crowd of people erupting in applause at the entrance onto the stage of an awaited emcee.
Now in the open lake away from shore, I soaked in the expanse of space uncluttered with houses, trees, power lines, and cars. Distant cliffs beckoned. Placid water waited. Time paused.
Resisting the temptation to strike out across the water for the opposite shore
(and committing myself to a many-hour outing in conflict with the start of my son's soccer game), I angled into a nearby bay and paddled toward bluffs made picturesque by slanting sunlight. Sandstone, shale, coal, gravel, and loess formed layers that spoke of geological history written by streams, swamps, wind, water, gravity, and limitless time.
Rounding a point to rejoin the big lake, I encountered a gentle east wind that had cropped up during my side trip in the bay. Flocks of coots scooted out of my path as I glided through shallow water, where a view of sunken rocks gave me a sense of flying. A man stood on the shore, admiring the view. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he called to me as I passed. The final mile back to the car passed smoothly. After loading the kayak, I scanned the azimuth one more time, then drove home through an October landscape.
November 3, 2001- another clear, calm, mild day for kayaking on Red Rock Reservoir. Temperate days in November like this one are like the last grains of sand disappearing down the narrows of the seasonal hourglass. Winter will soon fill the void. Today is a grain of time that I will spend on the lake.
I put in at the Coal Bank landing in the Whitebreast Recreation Area. The entrance sign said to pay $2.00 to launch here, but the fee box at the boat ramp was sealed with plastic for the approaching winter. Free pass. Once in the water, the choice lay between heading out into the big lake or up the narrowing bay of Whitebreast Creek. I had always declined to go up the bay on previous trips because of I expected to see only dull scenery of muddy banks and the "bathtub ring" of dead vegetation from annual summertime drowning with water held back by the Army Corps dam. Today I paddled up the bay on impulse and, upon rounding a low mud bank, was rewarded with the sight of a distant sandstone bluff that I had never visited before.
Targeted on this destination, I paddled through calm water past extensive mud banks vegetated mostly with cocklebur and a few wooded tracts on low bluffs. A few grebes watched me warily as I passed. Sounds reaching me from the shoreline included the nasal jeering of blue jays and the rattle of an
agitated kingfisher. At one point, I passed an oncoming duck-hunter's boat, camouflaged with shrub cuttings strapped onto the gunwales. It may fool the ducks when parked silently in a marsh, but it looked ridiculous motoring quickly along the shoreline, throwing a wake as it wove in and out of side bays in a vain search for huntable waterfowl. They ignored the hundreds of coots that they spooked away from the shoreline. I figured that they had already given up hunting and were just taking a scenic route back to the boat ramp.
The bluff I was approaching finally drew near enough to see its details. It was an oval pad of bare sandstone, capped with oak forest, at the tip of a narrow peninsula. About 50 feet in height, pale tan in color, extensively cross-bedded and pockmarked, this was the lithified remains of an ancient sandbar laid down in a Pennsylvanian stream some 300 million years ago.
Gentle waves sloshing against the base of the bluff gurgled in small alcoves and undercut ledges as I approached. A smear of russet color at the top of the bluff announced the presence of little bluestem and hinted that other prairie plants also lived there. Marcesant oaks amid the otherwise bare forest canopy confirmed that autumn had all but ended.
I determined to go ashore, but the bluff was so sheer that I had to paddle toward the neck of the peninsula to find a landing. Even then, I had to drag the kayak up atop a narrow ledge. I wedged it unstably between two boulders and stood back dubiously, watching for gravity to pull it back into the lake.
After a minute, I concluded it would stay put long enough for a quick visit to the bluff top. Nonetheless, I kept glancing back frequently as I scrambled up the rock face, just in case I needed to rush back to the shoreline to keep from being marooned.
The climb over the steep, sleek rock was exhilarating. Each step upward revealed an ever-widening perspective of upper bay landscape, full of sparkling water, clear sky, and long views of the opposite shore. The top of the cliff was a flat, narrow, natural sidewalk. I sauntered along this sandstone pathway with a sudden drop-off to the lake to my right and a woodland edge to my left. At the outermost tip of the peninsula, I stopped and enjoyed the full vista. It is moments like this....
Turning my attention to the plants on the bluff top, I easily found the little bluestem grass that I had seen from below. Leadplant, too. A stunted tree growing on the cliff edge turned out to be Bush oak (Quercus bushii), a hybrid
between black oak (Q. velutina) and blackjack oak (Q. marilandica, which is common in Missouri but rare in Iowa). I collected a small herb that I had never seen below, pressing it in my wallet. I'll identify it later.
On my walk back to the kayak, I was startled by 5-foot long, freshly molted bull snake slinking along a ledge. It was so large that dry oak leaves crackled as it slid over them. After a short standoff, I assured the snake I meant no harm and passed on. I failed to find its skin cast, although the snake's bright color meant it must have just finished shedding nearby.