Appleton -- Green Bay, WI

July 16-17, 2022

The stretch of this paddling trip that went through the Fox Cities had me most worried. Industrialized river, questionable overnights, stowing my bike, overnight parking, locking through dams, boat traffic, contaminated water, and algal blooms all held areas of concern for me. On a couple fronts, this was the best and worst leg of the trip. After portaging around four dams on the last leg that got me to the heart of Appleton, I knew I could portage the rest if absolutely need be. But because Anje of River Tyme Tours was so diligently communicative, I was able to call the head lockmaster directly to get schedules and updates on locking conditions. After that variable, most all others could be overcome.

I left Nelsonville at 5:30 am on Saturday, 7/16, to head toward the Fox Cities. I stopped at the put-in in Appleton to dock my kayak (Endeavor) and all my paddling gear. I then Bee-lined it for Green Bay where I’d park my truck at my parents’ house. After hanging a bit with some family, I hopped on the bike and pedaled my tail off for Appleton- 33 miles upstream but down south, as the Fox River is one of just a couple rivers in the Northern Hemisphere that flows north. This begs the question: Did I peddle “down” or “up” to Appleton? No wind and steadily lifting fog made for a breeze of a ride.

Once I got to Kauakauna, the northernmost of the cluster of municipalities, I traced my way along the river by brail, being unfamiliar with the streets and not caring enough to check a route. I found some great bike paths and made zero wrong turns. That was miracle number one.

At the put-in, I stopped in at Tempest Coffee and asked about a place to secure my bike. The

barista introduced me to Tyler, the owner, who suggested I keep my bike in his office area, as he’s an avid cyclist too. It’s people like that who bring magic to these trips. Just incredible. Miracle 2. I changed out of my bicycling costume and headed for Endeavor to begin the main course of the day. As I did, who do I run into but Anje, prepping for a day on the water at a festival just down stream. We departed after catching up a bit, and she immediately texted an old family friend who was working with her at the festival, so we could meet up.

With that all set, I got underway for a couple miles when I saw two people paddling kayaks which I could tell from a distance were not typical roll-molded plastic. I paddled over and struck up a conversation with Bob Olson, who has a number of ultra fast boats. The two he and his wife were paddling were Kevlar and carbon fiber construction. Lighter and faster than mine, but with perhaps a touch less character. A few minutes after leaving them, I ran into my friend Keri who Anje had put me in touch with. Again, great people. So, within two hours of starting the trip, I ran into 5 new and old friends. This was off to a good start.

Then the locks started. Everyone running the locks was friendly and interested in the route I was doing. Turns out most of them knew I was coming before I even arrived at each successive lock. I was able to pass through easily, with no waiting. I came to find out later that Anje talked to the director of the riverway navigation system and he called a couple lock masters to have them prep for my arrival. At the second lock, I met Bill, who I’d been in touch with a couple times about conditions and scheduling. As the locking chambers drain or fill, there’s time to trade stories and wittiness, keeping things fun. It did take me about 5 hours to get the 11 miles through 8 locks, though.

The lock at Combined Locks was the most interesting. Two locking chambers sit adjacent to

one another, so you lock from the first chamber directly into the second. Just as the name of the village suggests. Each chamber rises or drops about 12.5 feet, for a total of 25’ up or down.

As I paddled into the chamber, I could tell there was a horizon beyond the gate. It looked foreboding. I paddled up to it, and it felt like I was at the edge of a cliff! Incidentally, the lockmaster here is an old rugger, and after talking we figured out he was a referee for a couple years at a tournament, Arctic Fest, that my old team hosted annually. (what number of miracle are we on?)

It was almost 5:00 when I finally left Kaukauna's fifth lock and the last one of the urban stretch of the Fox Cities. I could at last go to shore to pee. I’d only covered 11 miles, with an estimated 17 to go. Would I make it to De Pere before the lock closed for the day at 8:00? It’d be about 12 miles, with a portage, a food stop, and a lock to go through in just over 3 hours. Time to kick it in gear. I eyed my charts (given me by Captain Dave of River Tyme-yet another miracle-after my misadventures on the previous section) and started paddling. Half hour to the next lock where I needed to portage, another half hour to Wrightstown, and two hours and two locks beyond that.

The portage I encountered was not easy. The take-out was rocky, but not too bad. The put-in was not marked, so I went down a muddy path (Fox Valley Clay makes mud like you may never encounter elsewhere) and bushwhacked through some buckthorn that choked out all other life on this shore to get to the rocky shoreline whose stagnant water was irredescent green with algae and more akin to sludge than a river. And I had to make it through half submerged

branches of boxelder once I got all my gear together and stowed once more. That was truly a test.

Back on the river, I was in company again with herons, eagles, kingfishers, and an osprey. This stretch was big and quiet-little boat traffic. Houses/mansions were smattered here and there along the shore, and the broad stretch of river left room to view a bit of the ridges and landscape beyond. This was no longer the intimate water of the Tomorrow River, upon whose waters I was still paddling. This river, a culmination of the Embarrass, Wolf, Fox, and all their tributaries, is different and beautiful in its collective character. Soon Wrightstown came into view and I docked there. Whew, I was getting tired, and quite sore. The foam seat I'd carved out of my son's foam bow n arrow target wasn't as precisely molded to my backside as I might have hoped. I stretched as I strolled downtown to grab fries and a wrap at the Nauti River Inn—decent food and more friendly people-and headed on my way.

Still about an hour to De Pere, as best as I could estimate, and one more lock to go through. The lockmaster at Rapid Croche was too friendly and we talked for longer than I should have. My steam was running out and paddling form suffering (I have bad posture to begin with) as I shot downstream through ever-broadening river bends. More civilization cropped up along the banks, and soon it was one huge house after another, complete with lawns, docks, and seawall--the sterilization of the shoreline. I found myself counting the lots to successive landmarks, a sign that I wasn’t tuned in to the moment. At this point, I just wanted to make it to Green Bay. The De Pere bridge came into view, but still probably 3 miles downstream. I paddled for what seemed to be about 2 days to get to it, and snapped some pics of the dam immediately on the other side.

Then I noticed the time: 8:01. I was late? Would I have to portage by foot? Would I have the energy for that? Maybe I stop my route here? I raced for the lock, a couple hundred yards down a canal, and the lock master was just taking in the flag for the night. He emerged from his hut and I asked if I could lock through. “Uh, yeah, we don’t close till 9:00”. Whew-what a relief! It’s hilarious how many of the tragedies we suffer that never come to fruition.

A few people gathered on a pedestrian bridge to watch the lock do its work, all by gravity and human power. It’s notable that the Fox River locking system is one of the last in the country

to run by human power. People pull levers, wrestle wheels, and turn cranks to get water levels equalized and then the gates to open and close.

I exited the lock, heading toward a setting sun, and phoned my mom to start making arrangements for a rendezvous in Green Bay. That last stretch, about 1.5 hours, was the most brutal, apart from the portage. My shoulders were in knots, legs antsy, and back getting sore. And there was one part of that foam seat that bulged up just enough that it facilitated a knot in my kiester that would demand sitting on my fist on some of my longer sits in a vehicle. But, I digress.

I stopped at Voyager Park to put on my navigation lights, stretch just a

touch, and get back at it. I passed familiar haunts from my childhood. The trail between Green Bay and Voyager Park in De Pere that my dad and I rode when it was still railroad tracks, different fishing holes and areas where we used to hang out, a bench I helped install in memory of a neighbor boy who passed away entirely too early, and at last, the railroad trestle where I spent countless hours fishing and staring at the Fort Howard paper mill directly across the river. That activity, I think, is what imprinted upon me a strong sense of cynicism and a sizeable chip on my shoulder toward industry and the way we treat our natural resources. Were it still light, I would have stopped and checked in on the spot. But I kept paddling, more memories of my childhood springing up as I went. From there, more piers, more industrialized shoreline, and at last the lights of downtown. I passed the City Pier and under Main Street, and after emerging from under the bridge was immediately met by the flashlight of my mom scanning the water and then resting, somewhat blindingly, upon my eyes. We picked that spot to meet because there was parking and I remembered from years previous boat docks along the shore. Except the docks were gone! So, I had to do the final take-out on course rocks, in the dark. But whatever. I resembled the Hunch Back of Notre Dame as I exited the boat and tossed gear onto the shore. I was unsteady in hauling Endeavor from her watery birth and stumbling over rocks to get up the bank. Once the boat was on the truck, I started to relax into the evening and my accomplishment for the day.

3.5 hours of shut-eye the night before (was too excited to sleep)

33 miles riding

29 miles paddling

10 locks

1 portage

11 hours in the boat

I’d planned on camping, but as the day approached, I felt good about getting it done in a day. I still had camping gear along but didn’t need it. Man, I was bushed. What a great day. People were amazing, lots of trail karma, perfect weather with no wind, and minimal surprises. Now it was time to get to my mom’s place and sleep. Would I paddle the last three miles to the Bay of Green Bay in the morning? I’d play that one by ear. I really was tired.

7/17/22

Of course I paddled that last three miles the next day! I awoke at about 6:00, too excited to get on the water to sleep. I drove downtown and dropped my paddling gear at City Pier. Then I drove to the South Bay Marina at the mouth of the Fox River. I hopped on my bike and time trialed it back to the pier. I lucked out with no red lights, and held a 20 mph average for those couple miles. And this on an old Bianci that my dad used to ride. (My bike was still secured at Tempest Coffee in Appleton).

My bike lock left with my own bike, I used a logging chain to secure the Bianci. No worries bout

anyone stealing that thing! I left my shoes with the bike too and approached Endeavor, docked and waiting patiently. There was algae in the cove formed by the floating dock and corrugated iron sea wall, reminding me of the condition of the river (not that algae is necessarily human caused, but we create lots of conditions for it to thrive with nutrification and stagnation of currents). I paddled out into the river, under Main Street Bridge and past the hotel where I took out the night previously.

The riverbank is industrial or commercial as far as the eye can see, with rock rip wrap as the closest thing one can find to natural shoreline. Scraggly box elders scrape out a living and lean over the water at the margins of the commercial lots. Inlets near bridge abutments create eddies in the current where garbage, Styrofoam bb’s, and dead reeds form a mat on the water’s surface. A giant pile of road salt-or something, on the west bank, and the old James River paper plant (now owned by some foreign entity) on the other, marking the point where the East River enters the Fox-the river’s last tributary.

I paddle on, and a cargo ship is docked at river left. I marvel at the immensity of it’s endless wall of steel. Beyond, the Tower Drive Bridge looms over the water, the hum of traffic mingling and getting lost in the buzz of the city. I paddle farther, under the hulking mass of concrete and steel. From directly below the archways of concrete, they seem to make a cathedra-lesque tunnel that spans the river and the landscape beyond. Reminds me of the Great and Powerful, not to mention egomaniacal, Oz.

At last beyond the last bridge, the Bay is evident in a watery horizon beyond the river’s mouth. I glance to my right and see a sliver of water extending inland. Like the last Truffula Tree, a single crevasse of wild in an otherwise impenetrable landscape of iron and concrete. I see multiple species of waterfowl in this inlet, and although curious to explore it, I am anxious to make it to the entry of the big water.

I paddle on under a warming sun, past the boat launch and finally the opening to the marina. I stick my nose out into the Bay, paddling perhaps a couple hundred yards into it. It is tantalizingly tempting. As I dabbled at its threshold, a tease beckoned me to plunge deeper toward is horizon-to explore the lands and islands beyond what I can see. My aquatic nerve was thus tickled, not massaged to satiation.

I lingered a moment at its grand entryway, captivated by what was before me, longing to indulge my urge to go further. I turned back toward the marina and my truck. The broad horizons would have to wait for another day.