Originally published on May 6 2014. This post has been an Outside Adventure to the Max fan favorite.
The city of Fargo has been all the news this past year. It has a new hit TV series that shares its name. ESPN College GameDay came to town for a visit last fall, and it received rave reviews from the national media about its urban trendy downtown nightclubs, restaurants, and bars. It seems Fargo is cool. After living and raising a family there for quite a while it nice to see it get some positive attention. But, for me, the best part is its river.
Slicing through the communities of Fargo and it's next door neighbor, Moorhead, Minn, is the Red River of the North. This slow-motion friend doesn't seem to be in a hurry at all. It meanders 550 miles from its source in Breckenridge, Minn all the way to Lake Winnipeg in Canada. In one of the world's flattest places, the river can pick and chose its own way. There are not many straight lines in this waterway. In some places along the river, Minnesota is on the west bank, while North Dakota is to the east. Moving very slowly and sloping at just a half-foot per mile, any beginner can navigate this river easily.
Urban paddle through downtown Fargo and Moorhead
Sunset on the Red River.
Kayaking or canoeing has never been so easy. Along with the cities' parks departments, the Riverkeepers, a nonprofit organization established to protect and preserve the integrity and natural environment of the river in the Fargo-Moorhead area, have developed several access points along the river. Two favorites are located above and below the Midtown Dam in Dike East Park. The dam has been retrofitted with a rocky slope. Fishermen hang out here daily during the summer months.
From here one can paddle either north through the center of the cites to get views of the skylines and bridges, or go south towards Lindenwood park to escape the bustle.
It is hard to believe this is an urban paddle as one winds and weaves around with the stream. Willow, cottonwood and box elder trees cradle the river at each bend. In either direction don't be surprised to see beaver, river otters and white-tailed deer. It feels like a trip into the wilderness.
Of course in other places, one can tell they are in a city. The sounds of traffic and train horn echo off the water. The music of a jazz guitar floats down from a riverside venue or the Oak Grove High School Band plays its fight song at its football field near to the river. It is always good to remember pizza or a glass of wine are minutes away after the kayaks are loaded up.
Kayaking only stops when the Red River is frozen.
One of the more popular events on the river is the annual Race the Red kayak and canoe race sponsored by the Riverkeepers. Each year area paddlers come to challenge skills, raise money for Riverkeepers and have fun. The race features a 10-mile competitive race and a 2-mile fun paddle. The race begins at the Lindenwood Park bike bridge and ends downstream at the floating bridge above the Midtown Dam. For more information log on to Riverkeepers.org
Lining up for the race.
Debbie and Nick after placing in last year's race.
I'm now part of the Red River's history. I'm sure no one in recent times had paddled up and down it so much. It's muddy looking waters, ever-changing direction and rumble of its dams still call and always will. I have seen picturesque sunrises and sunsets, cool morning mists and tranquil snow falls at each bend. I have enjoyed time with family and friends floating on the river as well as solo trips of solitude. The river was a wonderful friend in my journey of life.
“Going up that river was like traveling back to the beginning of the world, when the plants ran wild and the trees were kings. We sailed up an empty river into a great and silent forest" --Joesph Conrad, Heart of Darkness...
In the past couple of weeks, I have been taking trips up the river and then back down. It is challenging in a way for me. All explorers went up the river from Lewis & Clark to Teddy Roosevelt. It's the drive to see what is around the next bend and the anticipation of not knowing what will be seen.
My kayak partner Erik Allen and I were for that challenge last month when we paddled up the North Fork of the American River from Upper Lake Clementine. We had traveled up another section of the river before at a place called Rattlesnake Bar and above Folsom Lake. There is a mixture of lake and river. Above Lake Clementine, it would be all river. Going up the North Fork follows an ever-rising gradient. The water comes in swift fashion. We would paddle pool to pool portaging through the rapids. Erik's longer sea kayak would help him muscle through the fast current a few times by vigorously paddling as hard as he could to pass over the ledge where the water was in a boil. Its nature's rowing machine.
"This is a marathon, not a sprint," Luke Kimmes told the Des Moines Register "Physically, it's very demanding to paddle nine to 12 hours a day, but a lot of it is up here (he points to his head). It's that mind over matter idea."
Kimmes and five others are on different odyssey this year. They are on the Adventure to Rediscover North America Expedition, canoeing from the Gulf of Mexico to the Arctic Ocean. The journey will take them through ten states, and five Canadian provinces traveling the most way the upstream on the Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers. It's well past 2,000 miles upstream before they are finally going downstream in the Red River Valley of the North and into Canada.
"This is the type of trip I dreamt about when I was a kid," said Kimmes, "It's a passion of mine to show others that getting outside and enjoying the environment is good for the soul. It's a lot better than sitting at a desk."
I compare it to climbing steps. On some rivers, you will feel a gentle tug or push. When a river turns, it forms a bend. The strongest and deepest current will usually be found on the outside of that curve. So while Erik tries to power paddle through, I take the easy way, finding where the rapids are the narrowest to the pools. Locking my boat against the eddies, a relative calm where the main current flows reverse, I climb out of my kayak and push it through the fast water. Leaning into the streaming and bracing against the boat.
I have waded before. In the Midwest, we could never really wade in many rivers. Their bottoms were made of mud and silt. You would quickly sink up to your ankles or knees in muck. Don't even think of wearing a pair of shoes. You would either leave them stuck in the mud or spend the next hours trying to scrape the sludge off them. There it's better to go barefoot with the mud oozing between your toes.
Water shoes are a must today. A couple of weeks ago this water was snow. It is still cold against my legs and feet. This water has enough power to knock me down and the rocks underneath are slippery and jagged. My neoprene boots hold in my warmth and also protect my feet in the rocky river bottom. In my mind, I think about to the explorers and gold miners who stood ankle deep in this cold stream searching for new lands and new treasure. Before long we are back flat water with a roar of the rapids behind us.
"Really, it speaks to what this trip means to me, which is if you have a passion, part of passion is struggling and sacrificing for what you want." said the mastermind Adventure to Rediscover North America Expedition, Winchell Delano in the same interview with Des Moines Register, "The feeling when you cross that divide and you're going downstream again, it's like delayed gratification through cathartic pain."
In the Midwest the slope is measured in inches. It's like pouring water on a pool table and watching it meander to the table's lean. In the foothills of California, if there is water, it comes cascading down the canyons offering scenic beauty and solitude. At one spot we are treated with the sight of a bald eagle. It pays us no mind as we paddle on in a quiet pool. When soaring, it could be on to the next canyon in the time it takes us to paddle around one bend. It's all new to us, even though it has been mapped, surveyed and Google earthed. When we are out here paddling up stream little matters. It's like we are the first to see it, hear it and touch it.
"Just one more bend," we say to each other. Or maybe even one further up. Lets see how far we can go, powered by trail mix and granola bar before turning back. Then we can turn around and ride the bouncy gentle rapids back to still waters.
My talented wife Debbie Klenzman Carlson owner of Progressive Portraits made some impressive images me kayaking Lake Natoma under the Rainbow Bridge in Folsom.
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Rivers are the primal highways of life. From the crack of time, they had borne men's dreams, and in their lovely rush to elsewhere, fed our wanderlust, mimicked our arteries, and charmed our imaginations in a way the static pond or vast and savage ocean never could. ---Tom Robbins
Sometimes I'm just at a loss for words to describe the joy I have for kayaking along on a lake, a river and now the ocean. I got into boating roughly five years ago this month and haven't looked back. Each day on the water fades into a dream only a picture can tell. Bright days, cloudy days and moonlit nights have been chronicled in my photographs of my paddling adventures. Here are a few of my favorite images from this year so far.
Lake Natoma
Paddle Pushers on Lake Natoma
Moonlight Paddle on Lake Natoma
Lower American River
Rollins Lake
Folsom Lake
Folsom lake
Folsom Lake
North of the American River
San Francisco Bay
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The strap. It is a simple thing. A strong canvas, leather, or woven fabric nylon webbing that offer strong results. Used in place of a rope, its fasteners or buckles hold things in place. A mere two-inch-wide strip nylon can tow a car or truck. They come in a variety of lengths and colors. And when it comes to boating, its overlooked and often forgotten both in our thoughts and literally at the boat access.
You will never see your favorite boater's magazines with headlines like these... New Straps for 2015... Boater's Guide for Straps 2016.... or What Your Strap Color Say About You. That would just be silly. Canoes and kayaks will always get the glory. Those sleek, majestic and noble crafts that put us on to the lake and stream filling our paddling dreams. But, we ought to realize we would never even get close to the water without our faithful strap.
It was invented before time. Our prehistoric ancestors lashed their supplies together while trekking through the snow across what is now Europe chasing the woolly mammoth.
Needing provisions all tied together all tied together would, of course, help then to inspire travois, dogsleds and then the wheel. If man would travel he would need a strap.
The buckle came later. The Romans would develop it for their soldier's helmets and body armor. Made out of bronze, these buckles were functional for their strength and durability for the centurion. The concept is still used today in our plastic helmets and buoyant PFDs. But it was the strap that helped conquer the world. To carry a sword, the soldier wore a belt and buckle diagonally over his right shoulder down to his waist at the left holding a scabbard. Therefore, the strap and its buckle became important an element to the campaigning Roman army.
Throughout the ages, the strap and the faster became tools of war, peace and taming the wilderness. When the voyagers were portaging from stream to stream carrying packs laden with pelts while pulling their canoes along through the shallow water, the strap was there of course. Rough work and back-breaking work to say the least. Furs were in 90-pound bundles. If they couldn't be transported by canoe they were carried the men through the shallow waters. The standard load for a voyageur on a portage was two strapped bundles or about 180 pounds. There are reports of some voyagers carrying more five or more bundles and legends of them carrying up to eight. A physically grueling lifestyle not nearly as glorious as folk tales make it out to be and there helping shoulder the load was the fearless the strap.
Sometime in the age of automobiles, someone thought instead of carrying our canoes over our heads lets carry them over the tops of our Ford. It was revolutionary! No need to rent a boat at the lake when we could take our own trip down river. Tie the canoe down in the truck bed and drop it off at the access. Boundary Waters, Grand Canyon, or the Allagash River. No trip was too big or small for our friend the strap. Since we began carrying our boats with our vehicles, much the gear has had some wholesale changes. Roof racks now come with saddles, rollers and load assist. Trailers equip outfitters to haul numerous stacked boats everywhere. However new technology of boat transport, the strap has stayed the same. You can't change perfection. Its job has been, what it has always been. Hold it and secure it tightly.
We will either carefully tie down our kayaks or yank down on the strap, binding them with all our might. We all do this while taking the strap for granted. We lend them, we toss them and never seem to have enough of them. At the access, we will gently lay our canoes into the water while wadding up our straps into balls spaghetti throwing them into the back of the truck. We pay little concern as they become faded and frayed under the strain of our use. When loading up, one is always invariable left behind to another boater who doesn't have enough of them. Saying to us, "Use me till you lose me. I'll make the sacrifices to get you near the water. I know my time is short."
As you can see the strap is an ageless wonder, however its only a matter of time before your helpful strap is either lost or worn out and left behind in the access dumpster. So I give this tribute to the strap. The guarding of our paddle sports world, forever embracing our wandering.
This Outside Adventure to the Max comes with an all new video blog. The accompanying story was first published September 19, 2014.
I've lost count on how many times I have passed under Folsom's
prominent Rainbow Bridge. The bridge is a historic landmark of the area.
Built in 1917, the bridge crosses over the upper end of Lake Natoma and
the American River. A 208 foot long concrete arch spans the rocky ledges
of the canyon to help give the bridge it's fabled name. Photographed
and painted time and time again the bridge is truly a magnificent
sight.
I can remember last year when it loomed before
me as I paddled up the lake. Before I had moved to California, I had
only seen it in pictures. As I paddled under it, I felt a thrill in
pushing against the
current and past the silent monument. It was my welcome to Californian
kayaking.
It is routine now. Lake Natoma
is my home lake. I have kayaked it so much and so often that I could
probably name the geese. Like all home lakes, I still find it beautiful
and fun to paddle around. I enjoy the quietness of its sloughs and the
loftiness of its high banks. I love that the water is just
minutes from my home. But that's where I have taken the lake for granted. I'm used to visiting it day after day.
Great days fade in to the next, when I'm out kayaking alone. Sure, I have soloing days that are special. But, the
lasting and great memories come from paddling with my wife. I love to
watch her glide across the water. As an artist, she delights in changing
colors of sky and water while making paintings in her mind. She will
frown and voice disgust when a loud radio vanquishes the peaceful
solitude of the lake. This is her moment to enjoy what God has painted before her eyes.
I paddle behind trying to keep up, while she reveals to me the wonders of the water. This
is the first place we kayaked
together when I came to visit her before we were married. We had rented a
bulky tandem
sit on top and paddled together across the lake through the sloughs. It
was a cool day and we had the lake to ourselves. We toured through the
marsh enjoying the trees, birds and each others company. Now, every time
I pass through those sloughs I remember that
day. Every time. It will always be one of my best memories of lake.
Debbie
and I shared a sunset paddle the other day. Nothing exemplary, we are
heading into fall and the sun is setting faster each night.
We had to race back now, before the sun slammed into the horizon. A
fleeting golden reflection illuminated the water and silhouetted Debbie
and her kayak. The rainbow bridge is close by beaming in the setting sun.
We
will leave no lasting imprint. Water has no memory. However, sharing it
with each other will always make each visit to the lake stand out.
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