My friend Steve and I had been planning a spring kayaking trip for weeks but every time we picked a day, there would be freezing cold or howling wind. Finally, last week, the forecast looked perfect—77 degrees and a light breeze. Our two favorite places to go have been on the Cedar from Palisades Park to Sutliff or to Lake George in Rock Island County, Illinois.
“Well, which one is it?” Steve asked. The two places offer much different experiences. I grew up next to the Cedar River in Ivanhoe. The swampy smell of the river, thickly lined with wild woods is still in my blood. The old Ivanhoe Bridge had been the principal landmark that connected the southern part where we lived and the northern part that led to Mount Vernon and civilization as I understood it as a child.
On the northern side was Art Meyer’s small engine garage and, more importantly, a tiny store that sold RC Cola and marvelous ice cream sandwiches. The walkway on the bridge was perilously narrow and the blast of wind from speeding semis felt like it could sweep my sister and me over the railing into the swirling, murky water below. But that never stopped us. The flood of 2008 took out the ancient bridge along with a rental house I had finished remodeling only weeks earlier.
But last week, the Cedar seemed barely a trickle. It looked like you could walk across it—very unusual for spring. I doubted that, in places, there would be enough water to float our kayaks and we might be obliged to get out and portage. “Let’s try Lake George,” I suggested to Steve.
While it might not be as interesting as the trip from the Pal to Sutliff, Lake George has its attractions. It is a 167-acre lake that does not allow gasoline-powered boats and as a result, the place is teeming with wildlife. There are cranes and eagles and kingfishers diving for small-mouth bass. There is an astonish number of box turtles that bask unafraid of humans on the numerous logs sticking out of the water. Once we were baffled at the sight of a single leaf skimming rapidly across the quiet surface only to discover it was being propelled by a muskrat in the process of constructing its den. If you know where to look, there is a place on the lake we call “Frog Island” inhabited by thousands of frogs—some with soprano voices, others bass or tenor, making up a well-balanced choir. And if you remain very still, they will eventually grow bold and begin to sing until the entire lake pulses with the sound.
But imagine my surprise when I got to Davenport and found, in spite of Iowa’s drought, the Mississippi was flooded and streets closed. After I picked up Steve, we had to take detours just to get out of town and were eventually blocked from the road to Lake George. But our GPS confidently routed us down miles of sketchy single-lane gravel roads until, much to our amazement, we arrived at the lake. As we floated on the mirror-like water, listening to the frogs tuning up, we congratulated ourself on the wise choice of locations. The next time it will be Sutliff for sure.