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Iowa, a Place to Row (submitted to the Des Moines Register, didn't hear back) 

For the past two summers, I've enjoyed kayaking on the rivers and lakes of 
central Iowa.  Gray's Lake, Easter Lake, Coralville Lake, Lake of the Three Fires, and the 
Des Moines River from Boone to Red Rock have been my destinations of choice. 
My kayak is 15 feet long, yellow recycled plastic, and very stable (it's not 
meant to flip over, and it doesn't).  It's called an ocean kayak, and you 
sit on top of it to paddle, rather than inside. 

I  thoroughly enjoy the beauty of the countryside, the variety of the 
scenery, the peacefulness of the river, and the abundance of wildlife. 
Along with the common creatures, I've seen deer, blue herons and egrets, and 
a fox.  I also find it most enjoyable to chat with other people who are 
enjoying Iowa's recreational experiences.  Several weeks ago, I had a good 
long talk with Beaverdale neighbors at a boat ramp west of Madrid.  I also 
enjoy the delight of children when they see a person in a Cat in the Hat hat 
in a yellow kayak. 

Recently, I've taken to a "biathalon" event, which involves paddling down 
the river, then bicycling back to my car (or vice versa).  In recent weeks 
I've done a "biathalon" from Sycamore Access (North of Des Moines) to 
Birdland Marina (about 8 miles each way), and from Hwy. 30 (west of Boone) 
to Madrid (about 16 miles each way).  So, this past Sunday I felt I was 
ready (at age 49) to make the ultimate central Iowa river trip, down the Des 
Moines River and into Lake Red Rock, over to Elk Rock State Park, a trip of 
about 20 miles. 

So, I got up at 5 am.  I'd scouted some good access points south of Des 
Moines.  I left the boat, fully loaded, locked to a tree at the ramp just 
north of Hartford (off  Rt. 5, about 20 miles southeast of Des Moines).  I 
drove south to Lake Red Rock, parked the van, and got started north on my 
bike by 7:30.  The access area is right next to the Rte. 14 bridge that 
crosses over on the North end of Lake Red Rock.  The first mile was uphill 
and gravel...that was a pretty good test of whether or not I was up to this. 

The country roads are a little tough with a bike, especially the hills on 
gravel roads.  I wear a helmet, and I have a mountain bike, so I made good 
time safely.  It was just about 3 hours back to Hartford.  Along the way I 
was thinking how nice it would be to have a bike trail along the highway, 
like they have in Vermont.  I took G-40, one of my favorite stretches. 
There are lots of pretty farms, even one with llamas.  At Pleasantville, I 
went North on Rt. 5, which is much more heavily traveled.  Most everyone was 
very nice.  The last 2 miles to the water were pretty hard, much uphill.  I 
got off the bike and walked a couple of times, but at my age, you're 
allowed.  The access is right where the Middle River comes into the Des 
Moines River.  There were several boats on the river or coming in, so I had 
lots of company.  I unlocked the kayak and slid it into the water, then 
locked the bike to the tree by the river bank. 

I was in the water by about 10:45.  Blue herons escorted me all the way down 
river.  I rowed about 20 miles in 7 hours.  At about the 15 mile mark, 2 
egrets appeared.  At Boxcar Bend, I saw a flock of  egrets. 
This trip was the payoff to two summers of exploring.  I have spent many 
happy afternoons driving the back roads, stopping at the access ramps, and 
reading my Iowa Fishing Atlas, visualizing the perfect river trip.  Now, I 
could float and paddle along one of the prettiest wild stretches I've ever seen. 

Iowa is called the Land Between Two Rivers.  The Des Moines River is a River 
Between Two Lands, Eastern and Western Iowa.  To the East, the older, more 
sophisticated Iowa.  To the West, the frontier, wild west Iowa.  And on the 
river, the cool, shimmering, green/brown/silver water, with an occasional 
leaping bass.  The river winds back and forth for miles.  The river banks go 
from flowering bushes to tree-lined bluffs, and then to red-rock hills.  For 
most of the trip, the river is a series of pools and rapids, sometimes very 
calm, at other times a fast current that babbles against the fallen tree trunks. 

I averaged about 4 miles per hour with the running current.  At times the 
river would bend to the north and I would have to row hard against wind and 
waves.  Sometimes the river was only 100 feet wide, then it would widen out 
to several hundred feet. 

I had previously visited most of the access points along the river.  At 
about 5 miles from Hartford, a bridge crosses the river on Rt. 316.  I found 
a concrete ramp there, and I know how to get back to it now.  Another 5 
miles downstream, the Bennington Bridge access ramp was waiting.  A family 
with a camper and a pontoon boat were very helpful, giving me the lay of the 
land for the next part of the trip.  They said that it would be another 7 
miles to Boxcar Bend (where there are several sunken boxcars that serve as 
fish habitats), and then 3 miles to the Lake entrance. 

At this point I was quite tired.  I had some lunch, drank some cold water, 
turned on my radio, and headed out.  It was about 1:30, and I hoped to get 
to the boxcars by 3:00.  The river was quite beautiful, the weather was cool 
and overcast, but one piece of the information I had was wrong, as it turned 
out.  As I got several miles downstream, the turns in the river became more 
pronounced, the wind blew stronger, and there were side channels that led 
off into marshland.  I was looking for the boxcars, which were in an area 
with lots of dead trees, several wide inlets, and a pronounced bend in the 
river.  At about 2:30 I saw what looked like the place, but it was not. 
With each bend in the river, I was more disappointed and more tired.  3:00 
came and went, and the rain came down fairly hard.  I tucked my little radio 
in my life vest and felt sad.  But, the blue herons flew along with me, and 
I was comforted.  I had seen those boxcars on my last scouting trip, and I 
knew I'd get there.  At 4:00, I saw a welcome sight, as the Boxcar Bend 
access ramp came into view.  Along with the boxcars, I was treated to a 
marsh full of herons, a cinnamon bagel, and a cold drink of water. 

At that point I thought I had another 7 miles to cover, 3 to the lake and 4 
to the van.  But when I pulled away from the boxcars, with all gear stowed 
and all snacks consumed, I could see the Rt. 14 bridge, and miles of marsh 
land in every direction.  I followed the current to a large sand island, and 
then...complete confusion.  The river was everywhere and nowhere...I ran 
aground.  I was thinking, "oh no, I'll have to walk 9-10 miles to get the 
van".  Then a  flight of herons went past, and I thought, "I'll follow them". 

The river had come to an abrupt end in miles of marshes, but I followed the 
herons to a hidden channel and found my way out onto the lake.  No wonder 
the map makers have not a clue how to place the river on a map. The wind 
came up, and I had some ocean type rowing for about 5 miles.  Once out on 
Red Rock, I could see where my Bennington Bridge friends had seen things 
differently.  The river widens out to a mile or more, but it is shallow, 
with tree trunks coming out of the water.  This configuration goes on for 
several miles, until the lake widens out to several miles across.  By that 
time, I could barely see the sand island, and I had a 10-15 knot wind out of 
the Northeast, with waves 1-2 feet high and whitecaps.  I had a wonderful 
ride, with my role being to stay away from tree stumps and stay pointed 
downstream.  Then I began to wonder if I had passed the van.  To go further 
up the lake, I had to head back into the wind and the waves, so it took me 
more than an hour to go the last mile.  Finally, around a promontory, was 
the van.  I was one tired and happy kayaker. 

The van was waiting.  I popped it into 4WD and backed down a gravel bank to 
recover the boat.  Then back to the ramp at Hartford to recover the bike, 
and home by 8 PM.