MONTEVIDEO — If there is one highly noticeable change to the Minnesota River since our canoe trip down it 10 years ago, it is the rapid erosion of the banks.

In 1998, we had noted that banks had eroded some following the massive flooding of a year earlier. Today, thousands and thousands of trees along the Minnesota have recently, or will soon fall into the river as banks are quickly being eaten away.

Many of the trees, including basswood, giant cottonwoods, maple and oak have just fallen in this spring as evidenced by the green leaves still on the branches.

In one dramatic example, a large tree that had been on the shoreline was now standing upright in the river, but some 10 feet from the bank, which had apparently been recently washed away.

Rivers naturally want to widen themselves by steadily eroding away what they can from the banks.

But many who live along the river have said increased development and more farm drainage systems have caused the river in recent years to rise rapidly with runoff water, causing the undercutting of the banks that destabilizes them until they fall into the river.

The river takes shape

We finished heading across Lac Qui Parle lake Monday morning and after portaging the dam, got on to a real river channel.

The banks of the river are lush green and still filled with wildlife. The bald eagles are thriving — we’ve seen several adult and immature eagles perched along the way. Deer, often with fawns, watch curiously until dashing into the thick underbrush. Great horned owls, ducks, giant snapping turtles, beaver and songbirds — from gold finch to orioles — thrive here.

We passed over our first rapids just before Montevideo, but it was not as exciting as the rapids 10 years ago when the river was more than two feet lower than now. The high water covers the rocks that make the whitewater boil in rapids and we simply glided over a fast moving spot in the river.

There are about five rapids in the upper stretches of the river — all are Class 1, the lowest risk class for rapids.

We smelled the cattle before we saw them. We rounded a bend and a herd of cattle eyed us curiously from the eroded river bank that served as a fence — and presumably a toilet.



It seemed like a good idea

When John Cross and I decided we should do the same canoe trip down the length of the Minnesota River that we did in 1998, it seemed to make sense. The first trip was well received, it raised awareness of the river and we had fond memories of it.

The thing about memory is that our minds block out bad events — like what it was like the first two days of our trip in 1998, hitting countless tree snags, carrying a lot of gear around and over dams, paddling across some 25 miles of open water on the two big lakes that are held back by dams at the start of the river.

All those bad memories have returned these past two days. After a long, exhausting day Sunday, we began Monday morning by paddling the second half of Lac Qui Parle lake. A stiff wind, causing just the start of whitecaps, came straight at us through the slow paddle across the lake. While we could make five miles per hour on the current of the river channel, John’s GPS unit showed us making barely two miles per hour across the lake.

When we finally got to the end and over the dam into the river channel, the pace picked up but we were already tired. We had more than four hours to go to get to our evening camping site. The last two hours were a rhythmic but quiet paddle — weariness and determination to move ahead trumped the observations and conversations we normally have.

We’ve had two long days, pushing ourselves further than we should, but hoping the days ahead will consist of somewhat shorter paddles on a moving river current.

In the past 10 years the river has appeared to hold up pretty well. The verdict is still out on John and me. We’re sore and tired, but so far a night’s sleep has done the trick.

A splendid campsite

The best part of the end of a long Monday was pulling the canoe up to the yard of Del and Shirley Wehrspann just below Montevideo. Del is a long-time river activist who was one of the founders of the CURE river preservation group in Montevideo.

They graciously offered their lawn for a campsite and — most importantly to John and me — use of a shower in one of their outbuildings. Neither of us had been appreciating the other depending on who was sitting downwind in the canoe.

This morning, we head to Granite Falls.