- Today we are pleased to

introduce, Lynne Diebel,

as part of the Wisconsin

Historical Museum's

History Sandwiched In

lecture series.

The opinions expressed today,

are those of the presenters,

and are not necessarily

those of the Wisconsin

Historical Society,

or the museum's employees.

Lynne Diebel grew up

in southern Minnesota,

and has lived in Stoughton,

Wisconsin since 1974,

with her husband, Bob,

and their four children.

Her many books, are

centered on the landscapes,

and natural world of

Wisconsin and Minnesota.

Lynne has been canoeing

lakes since childhood,

and as an adult she learned

to canoe whitewater

rivers with Bob.

Together, they've peddled almost

3,000 miles on the

rivers of Minnesota,

while researching

their two guide books.

Here today to discuss her book,

"Crossing the Driftless"

please join me in

welcoming Lynne Diebel.

(audience applause)

- Well, hi everybody,

and thanks so much

for being here.

I'm honored to be

part of this program,

it's a really cool program.

As Katie mentioned,

I did grow up in

southeastern Minnesota,

and...

then living most of my

adult life near Madison,

I always spent a lot

of time traveling,

back to visit my very

large extended family,

who stayed in

southeastern Minnesota.

Which means that, we

traveled occasionally

by train or bus, but

nearly always by car.

285 miles, four point

five hours to Faribault.

(audience laughs)

220 miles, three point

three hours to Rochester.

And then there was

that one bike trip.

(laughs)

The land that lies between

these two homes of mine,

is known as The Driftless Area.

And...

This gives you a visual

of what The Driftless,

is composed of.

Now, some people say

that the Driftless

is partly in,

southeastern Minnesota,

but officially, according

to Carrie Jennings,

who's the, Wisconsin,

or Minnesota

glacial geologist, that

area was glaciated.

So we're gonna

confine The Driftless

to southwestern Wisconsin,

a teeny bit of

northwestern Illinois.

But you can,

You'll note, you can

see that you are here,

and all the lakes

that extend above

the, you are here,

and then look at

the Driftless Area,

the rugged land there.

No lakes. Just rivers.

So...

That's a geological reality

that, comes from the fact

that, all of this land,

was an ancient

Paleozoic Plateau.

That's how it was formed.

Layers of limestone

and sandstone

that were once a vast sea bed,

covering much of

the Upper Midwest.

And since that time,

the rivers have,

in the Driftless Area, only,

dissected the landscape,

creating those deep valleys,

and those coulée's

that are so beautiful

in that land.

They've had

millennia to do that,

in the glaciated

area, by contrast,

you find lakes,

marshes, drumlands,

eskers and post glacial rivers.

So, we have the contrast

between those landscapes.

Now I'll show you

where we traveled,

and why we traveled.

How many times has an adventure

been launched by a map?

It was in small history

center in Minnesota,

that we first thought

of traveling back

to our Wisconsin home by canoe.

The center stands near

Traverse des Sioux,

a shallow river crossing

on the lower Minnesota river.

And it was a Frenchman

who drew the map

that so intrigued us

on that hot summer day

that we visited the center.

From 1836 to 1840,

commissioned by

the newly created

U.S. Army Corps of

Topographical Engineers,

astronomer and cartographer,

Joseph N. Nicollet,

traveled the rivers

and prairies by canoe,

and ox cart to survey the land

that would become

Minnesota territory.

Wisconsin territory was surveyed

in the early 1830's, and thus,

Nicollet used that data as well

to create this map,

which the war department

published in 1843.

This map became somewhat

of a real estate map,

for settlers who were looking

to move into the

Minnesota territory.

Because he had not

only done the map,

but he did notes on

fertility of soil,

on existence of arable land.

There's a ton of praire

in southwestern Minnesota.

So he observed all of that.

And...

He...

This map, there's a digital

copy I got from here

at the Historical Society.

It was seeing this map

that made us decide

to paddle from

Faribault, Minnesota,

where my family has a

house on Cedar Lake,

and the house is a settler cabin

that my great grandparents

bought in 1883,

back to our Stoughton,

Wisconsin home.

There are no roads

on Nicollet's map,

as you can see, just rivers.

And the Madison

Lakes are perched

on the very eastern

edge of the map.

You can see these

little dots along

the very eastern edge,

at the, you are here.

Some portages required

for the trip, of course,

but, people had been traveling

paddle-ported style

for millennia,

and this had long intrigued us.

Bob and I like paddling rivers.

We wanted to, know what paddling

upstream would be like.

(Lynne and audience laugh)

It's one thing to go downstream,

quite another to go up.

So he's looking at the

map, and he's saying,

"Well, look if we

went down the canon,

and then we went

down the Mississipi,

the Wyalusing, then we

went up the Wisconsin

to Arena, and then up

cross the Black Earth Creek

to Cross Plains, portage over

into the Madison Lakes,

we could get home."

We live in Stoughton,

which is right on

the Yahara River.

So, I said, so what

are you suggesting?

(Lynne and audience laugh)

And he said,

"We can do this! Come on!

This is an adventure".

And we had always gone

for adventures.

The trip in the end,

totaled 359 miles,

that took us 12 days,

and it didn't come out

exactly as we had planned,

but, trips on rivers rarely do.

So those are the

guidebooks that we did

for Paddling Minnesota,

there's a series also

for Paddling Wisconsin

done by a fellow named,

Mike Svob, published

by Trails Books.

So here's our route,

on the Nicollet map.

You can see the...

...wide part that's Lake Pepin,

that was an exciting

part of the trip.

And here's one of

the first of the maps

that Bob drew, for the book.

And these are very precise,

he's an engineer, by profession.

But he also is kind of playful,

so he's got all

these interesting

little details on the maps.

And each, little

drawing tells a story

about that particular episode.

So Faribault to Stoughton.

And this is the first,

day of the trip,

we went down the canon,

just about the Mississippi.

To back track just

a bit to Cedar Lake,

where we had planned to start,

we didn't end up starting

exactly at Cedar Lake;

we started in the

town of Faribault

about five miles away.

This is my grandmother in 1898,

and that's an Ojibwa

canoe, a birch bark canoe.

And here's the same canoe,

in 2012, Bob renovated it

with the help of fellow

up in Woodruff, Ferdie Goode,

who's an expert at these things,

and how to dig the spruce roots

out of the marshes.

This is the canoe we took.

We did not paddle my

grandmother's canoe.

(Lynne and audience laugh)

This is a Wenonah

Jensen hull, Kevlar,

light weight, not very

much freeboard though,

so, that's why Lake

Pepin got exciting.

And, that's all of our stuff,

please note the portage wheels,

they're important.

(audience member laughs)

Here's a cropped

version of the map,

this is following the canon,

this is Nicollet's research.

He also called it

the Lahontan River.

The word canon comes from

bastardization of the French,

which was, riviere de cano,

and that's, or o cano.

It's river of canoes,

because there a lot of

canoes on the river.

And, it got changed to

canon and lots of people

think that it has

to do with warfare,

but it doesn't.

On our way down the canon,

the portage wheels are

in the front there.

If you look at the

bluff along the canon,

you see a cross section

of the Paleozoic Plateau.

At the bottom, St.

Peter Sandstone,

and then a thin layer

of Glendwood's Shale,

topped off with Platteville

Limestone at this point.

There are other

layers in other areas,

but this is what was left there.

During settlement times,

a southern Minnesota

wheat boom led to numerous

water powered mills

to grind the grain.

Local historians say that

at least 17 gristmill's

operated on the canon

in the 19th century.

It's not that long a river.

Leaving behind ruins

like the Archibald Mill

at Dundas, which is a really

cool looking old building.

Nothing's being done to it.

Here's a little cross

section of history.

At the sight of Scotts Mill,

does anybody recognize

what that's the shape of?

- That Goddess,

I can't remember...

- Shiva.

- [Lynne] Shiva! Thank you!

Thank you, yea.

Nearby are the remains

of a dry laid, of

bridge abutments.

But, In the 1970's,

a St. Olaf College,

art student carved

this carving of Shiva

on the bluff face,

merging several layers

of prehistory and history,

the Paleozoic era stone,

that was his material,

Glacial era erosion,

19th century industry,

and ancient eastern

religious iconography.

So, it's also a great

sight for young people

to try to deface.

Early 20th century bridges,

add another layer of history,

I'm very fond of these bridges,

these truss bridges, because,

my childhood was spent

driving over those.

The waters of the canon river,

flowing over a dam at the site

in Northfield

Minnesota once powered

the 1856 Ames Mill.

This current structure,

which is almost 100 years old,

now serves no practical purpose,

except to block the

passage of fish.

Today the Multi Mill company,

which has owned Ames

Mill since 1927,

produces cereals like

Chocolate Malt-O-Meal,

and Coco Roos, in the

vintage mill building,

the original, vintage

mill building,

but not with water power.

Post Holdings recently

bought the company

for 1.15 billion.

So, it may change.

They may tear it down.

Now this is a

hyro-dam on the canon,

a 60 foot high, hydro-dam,

that was quite a portage,

'cause you go straight down.

It impounds a lake

called, Lake Byllesby.

And this is the beginning

of the portage wheel story.

At the downstream

end of Byllesby,

we float quietly for a

moment to watch laughing,

shouting teenagers

jump from a bluff

into the water far below.

And then we land a portage.

Once again the canoe

makes the overland

journey on it's wheels,

which wobble ominously

across the parking lot,

and stubbornly refused to roll

when reached the grass.

A few years ago,

Bob tried to sell

these portage wheels

on Craigslist,

(audience laughs)

He was asking 15 dollars.

A young man drove 25

miles to look at them,

and offered 10 dollars.

(audience laughs)

Bob was adamant about his price.

The young man

wouldn't budge either,

and he drove away

without buying.

Which is why we

don't have a better

set of portage wheels today.

(Lynne and audience laugh)

So, moving on to Lake Pepin!

And you'll have

to read the book,

if you want to know the

story that's associated

with this particular drawing.

This is a bird's eye-view,

well sorta bird's eye,

it's from, Great River

Bluff State Park,

of the Mississippi.

And it gives you a sense of how

the Mississippi has

changed since the 1930's

when it was, they

attempted to corral it

with the lock and dam system.

So, what you see

in the foreground

is the, channel,

the main channel,

that's officially called

the 9-Foot Channel,

but is also dredged to

twelve feet in some areas.

And behind that, the backwaters,

and that gives you a sense

of what the river

looked like before

it was impounded and

before it was dredged.

It was a very complex system

and it got really confusing

for early explorers.

This one's another story.

You can see in the

foreground we have a truck.

That one we won't

go into either.

(Lynne and audience laugh)

So we had, this was in 2009,

that we did the trip.

And, we had a cellphone,

it wasn't a smart phone,

we didn't have internet access,

and we decided that

on the Mississippi,

that we had traveled

so many times by road,

it would be fun to stay

at some of the little

places along the way,

that were right in

the river towns.

But we were able to

reach our son, Greg,

who was dubbed our

river concierge,

and he would check, we'd say,

"Ah, we're gonna get

to Alma tonight",

and he'd call back and say,

well the Alma Hotel,

can put you up,

and I made a

reservation for you.

And so, we went to Alma.

And, this is the second chapter

of the portage wheel story.

Half way down mainstreet

to our night's lodging,

and soon after we

dropped the canoe rig

over a steep curb cut,

our portage wheels

being wobbling

in a dramatically new fashion,

not a good thing.

At the Alma Hotel,

we park the canoe

on the sidewalk.

Still wearing his lifejacket,

Bob walks up to the bar,

where five patrons

in various stages

of Sunday afternoon inebriation

are seated on barstools.

"Our son called about us

getting a room tonight",

Bob says to the barkeep,

"You don't need a

lifejacket in here,"

offers one of the patrons.

(Lynn and audience laugh)

"I don't know about that,

our canoe's right

outside on the sidewalk."

"Oh!"

Everyone including the barkeep,

hurries out the door

to see the canoe.

(audience laughing)

"You ought to get a motor,"

suggests one thoughtfully...

(Lynne and audience laugh)

...adding that he works

on a dredging rig.

We chat for a bit

about the hazards

of canoeing the big river.

"So, about the room?"

Bob asks the barkeep.

"You should probably

see it first."

Up the stairs from the bar,

we see why she said that,

as the place is being renovated.

There's no light in

the upstairs hall,

paint is peeling from the walls,

and there's one shared bathroom.

But the room and bed are

clean and comfortable.

We say yes and follow her

downstairs to the bar.

"How much do we owe you

for the room?" I ask.

"Oh, it's very expensive,

about 297 dollars,"

interjects the dredger.

" 22 dollars and and 16 cents;

that includes the tax,"

the barkeep concludes

with a grin.

"It's just a sleeping room."

When we lock the canoe

to the dumpster

behind the hotel,

Bob inspects the

recalcitrant portage wheels.

One metal support

has buckled so much

that another bounce down a curb

will render the wheels useless

and the other

support is twisted.

"So what'll we do

about the portage

from Black Earth Creek?" I ask.

"We'll figure that

out when we get there.

Let's get dinner."

(audience laughing)

On our evening

walking tour of Alma,

we have a tasty meal

at Kate and Gracie's restaurant,

which is no longer there, sadly.

A session at the laundromat,

and a trip to the

pier downstream

to scout tomorrow's exit route.

As an afterthought,

we carry the wheels to

a municipal trash can

and drop them in.

(audience laughs)

He should have taken

the 10 dollars.

(Lynn and audience laugh)

Ah, yes!

Alright, so, this

is a dredging rig.

And this is what they

used to scoop out,

and then they have

an adjoining barge

that they pile the sand,

and then they move it to other

places on the river.

And they pile it in huge mounds

in various places.

They build islands with it,

they do all sorts of stuff,

because the sand is

always moving downstream,

and refilling the channel.

So this is where our dredger

was bound to be working.

Just on that note, on the river

there's a continual

tension between nature

and man's works.

The river's power,

reminds us that the things

we build in it's floodplain,

the towns, the levees,

the farms, etcetera,

are there only as long

as the river permits.

Congress built the

lock and dam system

for commercial

navigation in the 1930's,

not for flood control,

but the Army Corp of

Enginners River Commission,

has been messing with

the Mississippi's flow

and floodplains for much longer,

building levees and wing dams.

In 1883, Mark Twain wrote,

"One who knows the Mississippi,

will promptly aver, not

aloud but to himself,

that if thousand

River Commissions,

with all the mines of

the world at their back,

cannot tame that lawless stream,

cannot curb it, or confine it,

cannot say to it, go

here, or go there,

and make it obey;

cannot save a shore

which it has sentenced;

cannot bar its path

with an obstruction

which it will not tear down,

dance over, and laugh at."

That was from, Life

on the Mississippi.

Fortunately there were those,

who understood this truth.

And in 1924, under

heavy pressure,

from the newly formed,

Izaak Walton League,

Congress had established

the upper Mississippi,

National Wildlife

and Fish refuge.

And that's 261 miles of river,

between the foot of Lake Pepin

and Rock Island, Illinois.

No new levees there from now on.

The flood of 1965, however,

crusted at about 20 feet,

mocking most existing

levees anyway.

Our fourth day,

was a four dam day,

Alma, Whitman, Winona

and Trempealeau.

We portaged two of them,

locked through two.

We passed the confluences

of the Zumbro,

and the White

Water, those are two

lovely paddling

streams in Minnesota,

and the quirky boat houses

on Winona's, Latsch Island.

We...

(Lynn and audience laugh)

Bob likes to take

a nap in the canoe.

And he'll have me paddle

so that he can kind

of stretch out.

That's him napping.

So we ended the

next day, at Genoa,

taking us past the mouth

of the Trempealeau,

the Black, the La Cross,

the Root and Coon Creek,

as well as visiting

glorious flocks of Pelicans,

to spend the night at Genoa,

in another riverside in.

We were getting

spoiled at this point.

And at Genoa, this was

the sweetest thing,

the innkeeper, whose name was,

Ann Zebolio Meerhead,

was standing on the

side of the river,

on the riprapped river bank,

where, just below

where the train tracks

go along the river there.

She was waving a

dishtowel, to signal,

where we should go

under the tracks.

We could see her

from really far away,

she's standing there

waving the dishtowel,

and saying, "Ok, you

go through there."

And then she and

her husband met us

at the landing

that was underneath

the railroad tracks,

and helped us carry

our stuff to the motel.

And that was one of the pluses

of having a river concierge.

(audience laughing)

Next day we passed the

Bad Axe, the Upper Iowa,

and the elegant

Black Hawk Bridge

at Lansing, Iowa.

And camped on an

island, number--

We're going through

the barge traffic,

which I don't recommend

hanging out with.

Camped on island number 166,

just upstream of Prairie

Dasheen, Wisconsin.

Just to back up for a moment.

That is a lock.

And you can see

that they will lock

through any one canoe,

if the one canoe is the only one

that wants to get in.

One canoe gets to lock through.

It's big enough to

hold an enormous barge.

And so we're sitting

there, you know,

you just hold on to the rope,

you don't tie up

because you drop,

(laughs) as you're going down.

And so you just let the rope

slide through your hands.

So there's all the barge traffic

and there was plenty of it.

Here we are, at

island number 166.

And on the seventh day,

and that sounds a

little biblical,

(Lynne and audience laugh)

it wasn't.

After floating past

Praire Dasheen,

we turned left and

head up to Wisconsin.

Now, has anyone here heard

of the Wyalusing River?

Yes.

- Yea, we camp at

Wyalusing State Park.

- Wyalusing State Park.

Well there's a made

up Wyalusing River,

it's actually a historic river.

What direction does the

Wisconsin River flow?

- Southwest.

- Southwest. Right.

Has it always?

This is a trick question.

(audience chattering

and laughing)

That's the right answer is no!

(Lynne and audience laugh)

Go back almost a million years

before the most

recent glaciación,

which ended about

12,000 years ago.

The evidence lies along

Wisconsin highway 16,

near Bridgeport.

And you can see

Bridgeport on this map.

Where the highway rides

the high bedrock bench

called the Bridgeport Terrace.

And this is once place

where there is glaciación

in the Driftless Area.

Evidence of it.

According to Wisconsin

geologist, Eric Seacarson,

the eastward tilt of

that Bridgeport Terrace,

plus the narrowing

of the river valley,

as it nears it's confluence

with the Mississippi,

and the shape of the valley wall

at the confluence, suggests

that as recently as

800,000 year ago,

the Wisconsin flowed

east, probably all the way

to the Gulf of Saint Lawrence.

And, there's a lot of

geological research

being done on that right now.

Finding the markers,

the geological markers

of Wisconsin's path east.

Paddling upstream around

the sinuous sandbars

of the lower Wisconsin

took some learning.

And, this our route on

the next day between

that sandbar near the Kickapoo,

the mouth of the Kickapoo

in Coumbe island.

This is one of the techniques

we used for going upstream.

(Lynne and audience laugh)

And it was actually

a nice thing,

because, you

probably also notice

that I wear the same

thing, in every picture,

and that is true,

I wore the same

clothes for 12 days.

But going upstream

is quite possible,

we were able to go

about two miles an hour,

upstream, against

about a two to three

mile an hour current.

And, yea we got

tired of sitting,

because we'd be

paddling 12 hours a day.

And so, we periodically

towed the thing,

in the shallow.

The water was kinda

low that year.

This is the bridge

near Lone Rock.

And, that, it's a steel

through truss bridge.

And that means that,

the trusses form a box

through which the

traffic drives.

It's another one of those shapes

that I find so appealing,

and I think it echoes the shapes

of the hill of The Driftless.

And all of those bridges

have that lovely

curved arch on top.

This is the route between

Coumbe Island and Lone Rock.

Notice the drawing because

you'll see that again.

(audience member laughs)

Okay not everyone

floats in canoes

down on the Wisconsin.

(Lynne and audience laugh)

It was the fourth

of July weekend,

and we noted that all the way

down the Mississippi,

we hadn't seen a

single other canoe.

Everybody we met

and talked with,

and that was a lot of people,

they were all on dry land.

But in the four days it took us

to reach the Arena

landing, we met hundreds

of people floating

down the Wisconsin

on the July fourth weekend.

And most told us,

we were going the wrong way.

(audience laughing)

Be a lot easier people!

(Lynne and audience laugh)

So here's where that

sketch came from.

(Lynne and audience laugh)

They weren't given any advice,

they were just

having a great time.

They had actually built

that raft in the morning.

(Lynne and audience laugh)

So we paddled in

place for awhile

chatting with them

and they were just,

they were great kids.

They were really funny.

I know, the couch

is a great touch.

(audience laughing)

So, day four on the Wisconsin

took us to just down

stream of Arena.

And...

That was...

Passing the highway 23 bridge

over to Spring Green.

and, this is Frank

Lloyd Wright territory,

as many of you, I'm sure know.

Wrightson Taliesin

is in the hills

just south of the river here,

and it's architectural

style deeply rooted

in the landscape

of The Driftless,

echoes the shapes and

forms of these bluff faces,

their outcroppings, and

the low rounded hills

that rise above them.

An organic expression

of this land

where the architect grew up.

The materials and shapes derived

from the landscape,

and at times from

the riverscape,

Wright built with

Cambrian sandstones,

and dolomites quarried

from the hills

of the Driftless and he

mixed Wisconsin River

sand into his plaster.

Which is a nice connection.

This photograph was

taken from Bobs,

it used to be called

Bob's Riverside,

now it's just Riverside Landing,

which is a, they have

really great burgers,

so we stopped for a burger there

and went up on the deck

and I love this view

of the Wisconsin.

It is my favorite river.

Another view of the Wisconsin,

it's taken from Ferry

Bluff and Cactus Bluff,

so that you can see

off in the distance,

the highest point

in the Driftless,

which is Blue Mound.

Can you see it on

the horizon?

Ok.

This is a...

A point that's about

six miles upstream

of where we took out at Arena.

So, which brings us

to the final chapter

of the portage wheel story.

And, at this point

we had reached

the Arena landing, but

we were trying to find,

there are about three

different outlets

for Blue Mound Creek,

which Black Earth feeds.

And we were trying to find

the mouth of that creek.

It wasn't easy

the water was low.

Today it isn't easy

to find the mouth

of that cold creek again.

The chameleon shape of

the Wisconsin sandbar

may be the reason,

as the sandbar

is always, always changing.

So instead of searching

for the confluence,

we look for a proper

place to camp,

choosing a spot

on a high sandbar,

facing the back channel

with scattered thickets

of willow on vast

expanses of open sand,

so hot in the afternoon

sun that it is hard

to walk barefoot.

That we cannot see the

main channel from here

makes our camp feel

secluded, somehow wilder

than our wide-open

tenting grounds

of the last few days.

On the wet mud flats

that abut the sandbar

on the shore side,

trails of sandhill crane tracks,

each footprint shaped

like the letter T,

form intricate patterns

of line and curves,

and loops, frequently punctuated

by dried droppings.

As it turns out, we

are indeed camped

at the confluence, or

perhaps more accurately,

at one of several points

where Blue Mounds Creek

drains into the Wisconsin.

By studying the

shoreline, Bob concludes,

that one branch of

Blue Mounds Creek

flows into Wisconsin,

under a tangle

of undergrowth

that is just across

the back channel from our camp.

To confirm this,

we paddle across

the narrow channel, and

step out of the canoe

into the water.

It is clear and icy.

We have discovered

Blue Mounds Creek.

Back in camp, we bathed

in the Wisconsin,

lying full length on our backs

on the sandy bottom

of the shallows.

My hair floats on the

surface, Medusa-like,

I had longer hair then,

as I slowly cool off and relax.

Later we dine on oranges,

bananas, gouda cheese

and Wasabrod and

toast our arrival

at the confluence

with cups of ice water

from the bottom of the cooler

and the last of the Oreos.

(audience laughing)

Bob suggests that when we

get back to the Madison

in two days, that we

spend the night at

at the Edgewater Hotel

on Lake Mendota.(laughs)

(audience laughs)

"We can paddle right up to

the dock," he says.(laughs)

I agree, delighted with

his somewhat outrageous

idea of staying at a posh

hotel on a canoe trip.

Two sandhill cranes cross

the mouth of the creek

pausing to look our way,

a few quick running

steps and their launched.

They depart over the trees,

bodies glowing softly golden

in the evening light,

long wings silhouetted

against the sky,

and that distinctive

wingbeat tempo, slow on

the downstroke, quick up,

then another long, slow

roll and quick snap,

and then they're gone.

Sun drops behind the

bluffs and the world

slowly cools.

I listen to the distant

cranes call to each other

intermittently

through the evening,

not thinking of

anything in particular.

Then out of the blue,

I recall our long -ago

abandoned portage

wheels and feel

a mild sense of dread.

(audience laughing)

It was justified.

(Lynne and audience laugh)

We made it only two miles

up Blue Mounds Creek

before turning around

and back tracking

to the Wisconsin.

The water was too low.

Too many deadfalls

cross the narrow stream.

Too many sick blankets,

they were this thick,

of filamentous algae

blocked our passage.

We became crabby paddlers.

The portage wheels were

back in that trash can

in Alma, or we

could have portaged

the three miles from

the Arena landing

to where the Black Earth

is relatively open.

But with no wheels

we sure weren't

going to be able to do

the ten mile portage

from Cross Plains to

Middleton as we had planned.

Luckily, we were

voyagers with cellphones.

Our son Matt, this

is a different son,

drove to the Arena landing,

and gave his crabby

parents a ride

to Lake Mendota in Middleton.

(audience laughing)

It was a role reversal.

(audience laughing)

This is Black Earth Creek,

beloved of trout fisherman.

It runs through

agricultural land

and thus has it's

share of obstacles

for the paddler.

Fenced in cattle

crossing, low bridges,

and deadfalls abound.

But the good news

is, it's the only dam

that impounded the

creek for 150 years,

to create Lake Marion

was recently removed.

And a mile of stream bed,

banks, and floodplain

restored to their

former contours.

Floodplain restoration

is going on all over

the Driftless.

Mile by mile, stream

banks are being reshaped

into their natural contours.

On the east branch

of the Pecatonica,

timber cooly, Sees

Branch, the north fork

of the bed acts warm and cooly,

with thousands of stream

miles in the Driftless,

it's slow but important work,

the best hope for

Driftless streams.

Just to show you in contrast,

if you look at this one,

see how the floodplain

goes level with the water.

And here we have the banks,

sediment from agricultural

fields upstream

is deposited as steep,

highly erodible banks

in the canon river bottoms,

eliminating the floodplain.

And so, instead of spreading

into the floodplain,

when the water rises,

the water rips off

more and more soil

and carries it down

to the Gulf of Mexico.

Home again!

Alright, leaving

Black Earth Creek,

we left the Driftless.

The lakes of Madison

strung together

by the Yahara

River lie just over

the Johnstown moraine

into the glaciated landscape,

the land that isn't

the Driftless.

Almost home.

Ok, glacial lake, Yahara.

When the last glacier moved in,

it covered the land

that is now Madison

in the Yahara River valley

with ice more than

1,000 feet deep.

Imagine that. We'd be under it.

As the ice melted off the land

where the lakes of

Madison now lie,

glacial lake, Yahara

took its place,

draining first of the

southwest and west

through the Sugar River

and Black Earth Creek.

Glacial lake Yahara

shrank until it filled

only a basin bounded

by the moraine

that now divides

the Yahara River

and Black Earth water

sheds to the west,

and by the retreating

glacier to the northeast.

The lake then found a

new outlet to the south,

through the glacial

debris covering

what is now the River Valley.

As the water moved downstream,

and the lake level dropped,

a chain of smaller river

linked lakes appeared,

the Yahara lakes.

So this is a place

that has been formed

in large part by

the glacier, I mean,

it was the Paleozoic Plateau,

but that's long gone.

Our last day on the water,

deeply familiar lakes and river,

we landed the canoe

at Stoughton's

Division Street Park,

and walked up the

hill to our home.

(chattering)

I have just one last

paragraph to read.

And...

This is kind of a

retrospective on it.

"Sifting through the

many mental images

"I gathered over

the past 12 days,

"I'm surprised by some

that linger vividly

"in my mind's eye.

"The long, low line of

a lock and dam ahead,

"slowly coming into focus

as we close the distance.

"The flash of a goldfinch

in a riverside willow thicket.

"The bleakness of a bermed,

and rock-clad river bank.

"The startling beauty of

a white steeple rising

"from the greenrey of a

Mississippi River town.

"The intimidating stoney

hulk of burned bluff,

"Frontenac and Wyalusing,

"Our first glimpse

of each secretive

"wooded confluence,

the wild overwhelming

"tumult that is a train roaring

down the River Valley.

"There are about

ten of them a day.

"The ominous power

of a barge tow.

"I recall with lasting fineness

the riffles of the canon,

"the flight of the Pelicans,

"the grand movie that is

the Mississippi River

"Valley Bluffs, and the golden

soft sand of the Wisconsin.

"In the end I realized that I

felt, rather than observed.

"The sudden absence

of the Driftless

"following our departure

from that compellingly

"rugged landscape,

"a passage we had so many

times over the years,

"but which I had never

experienced with such clarity,

"and such a powerful

sense of connection."

And, thank you very

much for being here.

(audience applause)