Canoe of Destruction

There were two eagle sightings, two different kinds of woodpeckers, and multiple unidentified bird calls and unintended mallard-scarings. Winter canoeing can be a quiet sort of adventure, good for unexpected birding– except, perhaps, when there is ice-chopping required. It takes a certain kind of person – or really, a certain kind of attitude – to want to launch a canoe in the middle of winter. It’s something in between a desire for adventure, willingness to don many layers of clothing, and curiosity. Plenty of people float the river in the summer and fall, but who does it in the snow? When my friend Peter suggested this idea two years ago, I thought he was a little bit bonkers – but I went along for the ride, and I have to admit, I’m hooked. The river is peaceful in the snow, and has a character distinct from its summer form. And there’s something about enjoying an activity that makes people go “huh?” that makes me feel a little bit hard core.

Whether or not my friends Rosa and Nick were as skeptical as I was that first year, I’m glad they came along for the ride – and not only because the journey hinged on Nick’s father’s radical three-person canoe. I like people who are up for a little adventure, and, like the crew in Kalamazoo, I felt totally confident in our abilities to take care of each other in case of mishap.

Getting the canoe from Lake DuBay was a small adventure in itself – mostly because the canoe was about as long as my car. But my ratchet straps did their duty, and it drove like a breeze despite its comical look. Between the canoe haul and our previous scouting of the Plover River to determine its winter navigability, we had used up half of northern Wisconsin’s daily winter light allotment, and planned to rendezvous at Rosa and Nick’s the next morning.

We dropped a car at Iverson Park, and piled into the canoe-loaded Camry to put in underneath the footbridge at Jordan Park. Both Rosa and I had canoed this stretch of river in warmer months, and anticipated a number of obstacles in the form of brush, branches, and trunks across the river. Conveniently, Nick’s three-person canoe came complete with a set of oars. We figured if we became frustrated with endless portages due to ice or debris, we would just turn ourselves around on the meandering current and row and paddle ourselves back where we came from.

 The oars were not used for retreat, but they did do their fair share of ice-chopping. There’s a certain point after which you don’t want to turn back. Where the river bent round sharp curves, the edge ice reached out and kissed the center of the river. We plowed through with out giant canoe, and where that wasn’t enough, paddles and oars were engaged in voracious ice-slamming. Eventually, thanks mostly to Nick’s persistence, the “Northwest Passage” of the Plover was achieved.

Edge ice makes it tricky to pull over, but we found a spot – after a bit more ice-chopping- to extract our canoe, and feasted on pita bread, popcorn, and cheese. Scouting the coming ice, we decided on a portage, and slid our canoe, sled-like, over snow and branches to a place where the water was open and clear.

Finishing it’s frigid voyage at Iverson Park – victoriously, having arrived before dark with no wet or frozen passengers – the Canoe of Destruction re-claimed its seat of honor on my ever-faithful Camry roof, and headed home.

For the canoers – happy enough that the “Fun Til Death” canoeing mantra had erred on the side of “fun” on this adventure – warm beverages, a good tuck-in, and a peaceful winter night’s rest were in order.