Endeavor's Inauguration

6/3-4/22 Fremont-Appleton, WI

Last year I initiated a section-paddle from my woodshop in Nelsonville to Green Bay and hopefully beyond. I paddled much of those initial sections in Ripple, the first boat I built. It was a meager start, only making it to Fremont on the Wolf River over the course of several weekends. Once there, I knew I’d want a boat that could handle bigger water for the successive legs of this trip. And that is why I built a kayak.

Having christened Endeavor three weeks ago only paddled it a few times, I was still getting to know this boat. I am also out of shape and have been so busy with kids and other events that I hadn’t given this trip much anticipation. My unpreparedness for this trip was ubiquitous, but I’ve got enough experience to have a pretty good idea what I was getting myself into and took necessary precautions.

So the first thing was to organize a shuttle. I’d drop my boat and gear at a public dock in Fremont, drive to Kaukauna (my hopeful takeout), and after parking my truck bike back to Fremont to get on the water. Easy Peasy, about a 33 mile ride. I had water for the ride but didn’t bother with food because it would be under two hours with places to grab a bar along the way, if needed. I boosted myself with a cup of coffee and a scone fro

m Kaukauna Coffee & Tea and hit the road. I knew there would be a headwind, but I wasn’t expecting 20 mph with gusts up to 40… I bonked about 7 miles out of Fremont and limped my way in. Yikes, this was going to be quite a day, since I had many miles of river/lake to cover and I was already exhausted! But at least the shuttle was run and I got so see some new territory on the bike.

Now to secure my bike. I knocked on the door of Anchor Point Rentals & Retail in Fremont, and Allie helped me out by introducing me to Bob (with one O). BobwithoneO is in his mid sixties, one of the owners of the riverfront property he’s developing, and was working by himself cutting and laying paving brick for an outdoor patio. Kinda rare to see an owner at that level engaging so heartily in such an extensive project. BobwithoneO and I got to talking, and we wound up trading Jimmy Buffett stories, of all things. He let me keep my bike in his building, secure under lock and key. Awesome guy.

After grabbing lunch at a riverfront bar and rehydrating a bit, I finally took to the water at about 2:00 pm. A couple hours later than expected, but what the heck-I’m on River Time. Sunny skies, strong current, and a tail wind. These conditions are unprecedented. I couldn’t believe the speed I was able to maintain! An hour in, I had to make a pit stop, and discovered the Anchor Point Marina. The guys there were interested in the boat and my trip. We traded a few stories, and I asked about a strap for my glasses in case they got dropped in the water. I was also looking for a strap for my hat in case it got blown off on the bigger waters of the lakes downstream. No

lanyard for the hat, but I was offered a strap for my glasses. We talked about my route-they confirmed my doubt of making it to Oshkosh yet that day. I was given a more detailed map and shown a cut onto Lake Poygan that would take about 4-5 miles off my trip. I made a contribution to their party fund before getting back on the water. Again, great people.

As the river descended into the flats of Lake Poygan, Winneconne, and Butte des Mortes, the land opened up to grassland and big skies. I passed a few fishermen and saw the landmark cottages that sat adjacent to the cuts off the river. I pulled into the second one and made my way a half mile or so along a rock bar out onto Lake Poygan. And there I was glad to have a kayak.

The heavy winds kicked up waves, the largest ones almost 3 feet. It was a bit unnerving at first, but I got used to the water washing over the deck and riding the bubbling foam of this following sea. My bearing was almost perfectly straight downwind, and I got a hell of a ride out of it. I battled the tendency of my hull to self-correct when waves came askew, but it was all manageable. A combination of rolling with the waves and steady strokes kept me solid in the water. I’d still consider myself a novice in a kayak, but this was totally doable, given my experiences in a canoe. I made for the slot that welcomed me into Lake Winneconne, and then entered the lee of a grassy shoal. The waves slowed a bit there, and I was able to feel them catch the hull and drive me along—I was surfing!! The waves on the open water had been too fast and my hull too slender to grab much of a free ride. After consulting my chart and shaking the cramps out of my hands (apparently I was still dehydrated a bit from that ride) I set my heading for a point on the far horizon. Fatigue was creeping in, but the exhilaration of the ride bolstered my energy. These open water jaunts get long, and there isn’t much for perspective in gauging distance. The charts and my phone are all I get, and they’re stowed as I’m making these passages (another lesson in packing-clear bags for charts that can strap to my deck). I finally rounded Harper’s Point and more protected waters where the lake narrows back into the Wolf River, and the city of Winneconne. Just in time, because I was spent. I tied up to the pier at the Feather and Fin, took a moment to spill my gear upon the dock, and layed back on the boards still in my life jacket and spray skirt, exhausted.

A band had started and the patio was filling up with people just past middle age who were there to take in the music of their (our) generation. I grabbed my pack (wallet, phone, snacks, etc) and headed for the outdoor bar. Ryan there hooked me up with water and a menu. Sawyer found an outlet for me to charge my phone, and we were able to talk a bit between their clearing tables and mixing drinks. Ryan paddles quite regularly and offered some tips for the rest of my run to Oshkosh.

“Have a headlamp handy, mind the wind since Butte Des Mortes can get pretty choppy, and if needed, stay close to shore. If your energy holds out, you’ll make it.”

After finishing my Ruben and Fries, I made my way through the crowd of guys recalling tales of their glory years and back to my boat. The wind had dropped a bit by the time I made Butte Des Mortes. This run would be as long as my treks on Poygan and Winneconne combined. Waves were just off my stern quarter, so I had to muscle things to maintain my heading, at least till I made it round the rock wall that directs the Fox River as it joins the mix. And upon rounding that rock barrier, I was now in the waters of the Fox River System. My third watershed of this sectional voyage.

The Highway 41 bridge marked my entrance to Oshkosh and was visible from way too far away, appearing tauntingly close. The sun dropped from sight behind me, the wind died, moths hatched, and I paddled on away from the sunset. It was dark by the time I made it under that bridge. Sometime when you’re heading south through Oshkosh on a windy day, look out at that water and see how rough it gets. Pretty gnarly! Glad it had tamed itself down for me. I was too tired to care where I slept that night. I found a pier, tied up, threw down a yoga mat and mattress pad, and crashed out in a wet sleeping bag (next time, sleeping bag gets it’s own dry bag, even when stowed with a hatch well-secured).

I was up at 5:30 and on the water with everything stowed at about 6:30. Apparently that’s when the fishermen get out too, because I was escorted by a fleet of fishing boats heading out to Winnebago for the day. No wake allowed, so the I was able to keep up with the boats doing about 5 mph. Gorgeous weather-calm, with a cloudy front overhead, splitting the sky into two halves and the sun rising along the margin.

I referenced my map, and the run on Lake Winnebago from Oshkosh to Menasha was as long as yesterday’s runs of Lakes Poygan, Winneconne, and Butte Des Mortes combined. How boring would it get, paddling for hours along the same shoreline, staring at the same landscape when I’m accustomed to the intimacy and diversity of trout streams and rapids? Hell, I wondered what that northern shore of Winnebago would look like from so far south.

I approached the open waters of Winnebago, the far shore roughly ten miles away. I bobbed on the boat wakes as I rounded Brays Point and beheld the horizon of my destination—all water. Man, that was beautiful. And maybe a bit daunting. It also held an allure, to capture the land beyond it, which was precisely my mission. The words of Captain Jack Sparrow popped in my head, “Fetch me that Horizon.”

The water was calm, but for the boat wakes. Its surface smooth and iridescently metallic with the reflection of the newborn sun. I bobbed around and paddled on, away from the fishermen

clustered at the mouth of the river. I passed houses, some modest, some ridiculous, and my mind settled into the long trip ahead. I jumped the mouth of South and North Asylum Bays, heading for Island Park. I took a break there, and resumed the soft water at about 9:30.

The water on Winnebago had cleared from the turbid river I had grown accustomed to. It was refreshing to see the bottom and watch it race by as I entered the shoals along the points. The wind was picking up, waves too. I still had no problem jumping from point to point, across Cowling Bay and the broader Mansur Bay. At Wheeler Point, though, I pulled ashore and donned my spray skirt. The final jump to Menasha was the longest, and most exposed.

Wind was south at about 10 mph now, sun overhead, and rollers building. Again, I am so used to a headwind on the Mississippi River that it feels like cheating to be able to ride it for a change. Waves tickled Endeavor’s hull as they washed beneath us, encouraging us toward our destination… well, Menasha. The waves were not quite as big as the previous day, and I was able to ride them longer. As the entrance to Menasha drew near, the waves were big enough to douse my bow and wash over the deck again. I gave an effort with the paddle and picked up speed, when suddenly the boat was moving itself and I had to merely steer for a moment as the hull caught the surf. Whew, a bigger wave too-that was probably the fastest I ever went in a boat I was paddling. Sheer exhilaration!

I paddled into Menasha, expectant of the urban development, channelization, contamination, and exploitation of the river. I’ve long held that at society can be judged by its treatment of women and rivers. Let’s just say we don’t always stack up very well by that metric.

There are a dozen or so dams on the Fox River between Menasha and Kaukauna. 15 locks have been built for c

argo and recreational vessels to navigate by. The first at Menasha is closed permanently in order to stop the spread of invasive species into Lake Winnebago. The zebra mussel and several others have already made the jump. Not finding anyone at this or any of the other locks as I approached them, I portaged. 5 arduous portages in total got me to College Avenue in Appleton, but it came at a cost. Endeavor had a few scratches. My nerves were frayed from several near falls on the loose rocks of the portages. And here I’d

expected to lock through all these barriers. I had been hoping to have my mom meet me somewhere about this time so I could take her out to dinner. Instead, we rendezvoused and picked up my truck. 5 portages on top of all the paddling and the previous day’s ride had me bushed. It was time to reconnoiter and pick up this trip again in the future.

But there is still a bit more to the story. As I was tying Endeavor off at the takeout, a woman walked by with refreshments for a riverboat cruise. She stopped and asked if she could snap a pic. Sure. I was a bit more abrupt than I would have been, but I was exhausted and quite frustrated that I hadn’t been able to lock through. On top of the fatigue, shortened trip, and treacherous portages, I found a number of new scratches on my boat (but that’s what I built it for).

We talked for a bit, Anje is the woman’s name, with River Tyme Tours. She felt bad about the ambiguous lock scheduling and lack of correspondence from the people managing the locks. She said there was a book of charts put together for navigating the riverway, and they were trying to draw more people to doing this sort of trip. She had to get ready for her tour, and Captain Dave was ready to welcome passengers aboard. And my mom and I went our separate way, to get my truck. After that shuttle, I said good-bye (and mega thanks!!) to my mom and loaded Endeavor and all my gear onto my truck. There were some notes I wanted to make while still fresh in my head, so I went next door to a brew pub for an Arnold Palmer and refill of water. When I returned to my truck, there was a book of charts for the Fox River on my seat. Apparently, Captain Dave recognized my boat and slipped me the charts. That’s pretty incredible for a man I never met!

Everyone I met on this trip was interested in it and helpful in some way. I was pretty well prepared, with regard to most aspects, but there were some things left up to chance either intentionally, inability to control, or by the nature of my hasty planning/prep. It did occur to me that travelling this way, with a loose schedule, leaves room for a bit of magic (or catastrophy). The trick is being intentional and at least preparing against the worst that might befall. In this case, the variables I left open became some of the best parts of the trip--new friends, lessons learned, and a valuable experience. I count myself as extremely fortunate.