The Daily Smorgasbord JUN 2014 | Page 7

River  Rats  of  the  Mississippi  River  Bluffs:   Kayaking  Exploit  from  the  Flooded  Isles.     Recreational   use   of   kayaks   dominates   rivers,   streams,   oceans,   and   lakes.     But   few   people,   if   any,  think   to   paddle   on  the  flooded   lowland   islands   of  the   Mississippi.     For   a   few   short   weeks   after   the   spring   thaw,   these   islands,   full   of   trails   and   designated   as   a   wildlife   reserve,  become   flooded  with  several   feet  of  water,  transforming  the  peaceful  Iowan   vibe   into   a   Central   American   swamp.     Along   with   my   father,   my  brother,   and  his   girlfriend,   we   made   a   day   out   of   this   dark   and   mysterious  temporary  swamp.     We  started  the  day  pulling  out  onto  the   small   parking   lot   on   the   bridge   between   Marquet   and   Prarie   Du   Chien.     After   some   nosing   around,   we   discovered   an   old   steel   staircase   that   plunged   down   into   the   muddy   abyss.     It   was   quite   a   battle   squeezing   our   kayaks  down   into   water.     From  their  we  were   free   to   roam   through   the   upper   level   of   the   forest,   kayaking   through   the   branches   of   trees.    Sunlight   streamed   through   the  canopy   as  the  sounds  of  highway  18  slowly  gave  way   to  chattering  birds  and  croaking  frogs.         We   weaved   through   the   flooded   forest,   silently   gliding   across   the   glassy   surface   of   the   water   that   brilliantly   reflected   the   golden-­‐green   canopy   of   trees   above.     I   could   have   stayed   right   there   in   the  first  grove  for  days,  but  we  paddled   to   the  edge  near  the  main  channel.     As  we  left  the  cover  of  the  trees,  we   instantly   felt   like   helpless   ants   as   we   bobbed   turbulently   in   the   strong   current.     In   the   distance  we  could  see  a   freight  barge   travelling  our  way,  and  fenced  shore  of  the   Prarie   Du   Chien   park   was   visible   on   the   other   end   of   the   channel.       We   all   exchanged   glances   at   each   other,   and   then   collectively   looked   back   at   the   distant   shore.     With   one   mind,   we   began   a   frantic   paddle   across   the  canal,  having   to   redirect   our  rout  as  the  current  pushed  us  towards   Mcgregor.     With   luck   and   a   lot   of   elbow   grease,   we   scraped   land   on   the   boat   landing   next   to   the   recently   restored   old   hotel.    Continued  on  page  8