116 3rd St SE
Cedar Rapids, Iowa 52401
Splishing and splashing on Wapsi
The Nature Call: Wapsipinicon River white-water course is a wish come true
John Lawrence Hanson - correspondent
Jul. 26, 2023 12:23 pm, Updated: Jul. 27, 2023 7:59 am
Our great spinning wheel demands “what goes up, must come down.”
For rivers, passion drives the fight of life — the substance — to go upstream. While the ceaseless force of gravity drags the water — the medium — downstream. Only gravity is guaranteed.
Passion or not, “the spinnin’ wheel spins.”
The Wapsipinicon River is reborn. The deathly roller dam at Central City is no more. In its place is a rock-arch and a five-drops white-water feature. All steps up and down the river.
The Wapsi isn’t as long as you may think. The United States Geological Survey noted its main stem length as 218 miles. But each dam on a river is a barrier to life. The urges of fish and other species to move upstream to spawn or winter is stopped.
Gravity pulls them down and down, impoverishing the segments.
The first dam on the Wapsi upstream of the great Mississippi is at Anamosa. There is the only segment I consider the true Wapsi. The journey of sea-born eels, native mussels and fish like bass and walleye end there.
The damned sections upstream are but segments, their vitality correlating to each portion’s length.
Central City lay at two small segments: downstream to Anamosa and upstream formally to Troy Mills. For about a decade, the deconstructed barriers at Quasqueton and Troy Mills liberated more of the river life.
Now, the next upstream dam lies at Independence. Today, Central City strides a river segment of about 52 miles as one drives instead of 35 and 17 miles.
A river is a complex web equating to a living thing far in excess of the sum of its parts. The water is easy to appreciate, but it's the turtles, catfish and plankton that make it alive — the substance. A river without wildlife has more in common with a sewer pipe, just conveying a liquid medium by gravity to a low point.
The first full day of summer rose clear and augured another hot and dry day, one more of too many. With a borrowed kayak, christened Boat 2, we parked near the river and just enjoyed the senses: a shimmering cascading in the morning’s sun and that lovely sound of water over rocks.
was accompanied by a boy. While as generous as any father, I did reserve the first run down the rapids for myself. I’d been dreaming of this dam’s demise longer than he’s been alive, and then some.
We walked the paved path past the plunge pools, each had a separate paved entrance. The path all the way to plunge number five wasn’t necessary but then why go to all the effort to only shoot four of the five?
The water at the topmost path entrance confirmed the dry spell. It was low. The river gauge at Independence was 4.72 feet, the gauge at Anamosa was 4.82 feet. Somewhere in between was Central City’s depth, allowing for a little fuzzy math.
I shoved off. A cloud of non-biting river flies orbited my head — think mayflies but ugly. Approaching a dam in any watercraft is a recipe for doom. I knew the plunge features were built for Boat 2, but with a lifetime of warnings about dams and a quarter century of fishing around the dam, there was a part of my brain that didn’t want to believe this was a good idea.
I took Boat 2 to the lip of the fall line. A weathered mark on the old dam’s sidewall showed about 18 inches of height was removed before the plunge features and rock-arch spread downstream for the length of about two football fields.
Satisfied I was not crazy, I paddled back upstream a little to center myself for the run and to build a little speed. Maybe if I was lucky I could lose the flies.
Short, choppy strokes moved the kayak. The lip grew in size until there was no turning back and then down the slide I went. I was accompanied by the flies and some grinding. The sound and feel of the kayak pressing against the slide was unwelcome but not unexpected as the water was so low.
Plunge number five delivered a good splash nevertheless. I felt a smirk of satisfaction and steadied the nose of Boat 2 for the next plunge. It was a repeat of the flies, grind and joy.
I didn’t imagine this day 25 years ago. But here I was, coursing a little white-water in Iowa farm country.
Plunges three, two and then one brought me to the take out ramp. I dragged out the kayak and my cloud of flies. I hauled a great deal of satisfaction that an environmental negative since 1967 had been turned into a positive.
I also carried out hope that when the rains come I can come back and enjoy its full glory.
It was the boy’s turn. I wondered who was going to carry the boat? My generosity returned and I carried Boat 2 to the top of the park.
He showed less enthusiasm than I. The flies really bothered him and he hadn't pined years for this. He shot the rapids and we met at the take out.
We agreed the water level was just too low for repeated runs. And the flies weren't going anywhere anyway. So Boat 2 went back to the truck.
Our medium for fun was flowing downstream. But I for one took a lot of pleasure in knowing the substance of the river could go upstream.
“(The Wapsi) is waiting just for you
“Spinnin’ wheel, spinning’ true
“Drop all your troubles by the riverside
“Catch (some white-water) on the spinning wheel ride”
Looking up, looking ahead, and keeping my pencil sharp.
John Lawrence Hanson, Ed.D., of Marion, teaches U.S. history with an emphasis on environmental issues at Linn-Mar High School and is past president of the Linn County Conservation Board