Last week I took the expressway through Mankato. I never had before, and I suspect 99-plus percent of area residents have never used it either. Any idea which one I’m talking about?
Trick question; it’s not a paved road. I’m talking about the Minnesota River, long used for travel until the railroad era arrived (over 98% of time since the last glaciation). That includes use by the Dakota people, of course, but also fur traders and explorers.
My solo journey—four days by canoe—was but a taste of a bygone era. All the same, it was the closest I’ll probably ever come to seeing the valley the way our forebears did. It was also a whole new way to see an area I’ve known my entire life.
I began in New Ulm and finished in Le Sueur. The idea was that there should be enough flow this time of year to carry me, but no mosquitoes or excessive heat. “Watercraft campsites,” as shown on the map I obtained from the DNR, would provide a place to camp, fish, and make daily blog entries. For the most part, that’s how it worked out.
Days were filled with good weather and lots of wildlife, mostly birds. I believe the spring migration worked in my favor there, as ducks and geese accompanied me most of the time.
Bald eagle nests were also common. There was almost always an adult perched at or near each nest. As I passed one of them, an adult swooped in with something in its talons, causing the eaglets to screech wildly. A treat for eaglets and paddler alike.
Aside from observing fauna, this was also a chance to see and contemplate the region’s history.
We might have learned in school about Joseph Nicollet’s 1838 expedition, accompanied by Chief Sleepy Eyes (as Nicollet called him in his journal); I don’t remember. But now I’ll never forget seeing a couple specific sites he mentioned and described in his journal, including the mouths of the Cottonwood and Blue Earth rivers. My last campsite happened to be at the Traverse des Sioux site, where the company stayed several days on two different occasions.
I must mention the book, Joseph N. Nicollet on the Plains and Prairies, recommended to me by a friend just before my trip. I didn’t have much time to dig in and digest it beforehand. However, there was much to glean about the expedition, condition of the area at the time, and more, which colored my journey richly. I was especially struck by the relationship between Nicollet and Sleepy Eyes, and how extensively Nicollet used the Dakota names for places and plants.
At any rate, my firsthand history lesson has already proved to be the impetus for further learning.
Appearing near the top of my not-so-great list are the watercraft campsites. Of the three I hoped to pitch my tent in, I only got one and it was not ideal.
The first was supposed to be up an oxbow, off the main river. I feared it would be inaccessible if the water wasn’t high enough. That’s exactly what happened.
The second was at Minneopa. At first, I believed there could be a designated site at the river’s edge, not far from the campground. There wasn’t.
That left me to hoof it up the bluff with my gear, in several trips. Once I got up there, I learned the A loop was still closed for the season, and I’d have to move farther down into the B loop.
I wished then I’d continued on to Land of Memories. After further consideration, however, I fear that might have turned out the way things did the third night.
The third campsite I hoped for was in the municipal campground in St. Peter. Would have been a beautiful setting, and easy to access. I dreamed of walking a block or so to eat pizza for supper, then getting a non-instant coffee in the morning before I departed. No such luck.
When I called to ask how to make a reservation, I was informed the campground was closed until May first. My insistence that I was tent camping and didn’t need amenities like electric hookup was met only with awkward silence.
The silver lining was the abundant and soothing silence I got downstream at Traverse des Sioux (another designated campsite). And enjoying a few hours on the sandbar there—knowing I was probably within sight of the traverse itself—was more than adequate compensation for crummy coffee.
What I knew beforehand was that these watercraft campsites are kind of a loosey-goosey deal. I just didn’t realize to what extent that would be true. They are marked on the maps, but nobody seems to administer or maintain them. There is little to no information available about any. Let my experience stand as your fair warning.
The only worst thing that happened to me was the constant reminder of human impacts to the river. Chiefly, garbage.
I did what I could to pick some up. Most of the time it was too dangerous to approach the things I could see, since it was hung up in snags and sweepers and logjams. The most notable was a big LP tank, visible from hundreds of yards away like a giant silver pill.
Other than that, the trip was everything I hoped it would be. Plus, the sense of solitude was unparalleled (not a single other person on the water in over 60 river miles).
Certain moments will stick with me a long time, like riding the invigorated current at the confluence with the Blue Earth. Or looking up to my childhood bedroom window, where I’d looked down at the river countless times.
The sound of the current gurgling through the night. Wood duck pairs tracing rollercoaster flight paths over the river corridor. More eagle nests than you can shake a piece of driftwood at.
If you don’t believe me, see for yourself. Maybe we’ll meet down on the expressway.
Roy Heilman is an outdoorsman, writer, and ethnic Minnesotan. His adventures take him all over the map, but he’s always home at neveragoosechase.com.