U Avenue to Eldorado:
A trifecta paddle that comprises three separate but interrelated rivers in one long day trip, this mini odyssey begins with unabashed grandeur, but soon fizzles and never matches its initial enchantment. Alternate accesses allow paddlers to shorten this trip and reap the benefits of its best section.
Rating: ☆ ☆ ☆
Trip Report Date: April 22, 2024
Skill Level: Intermediate (on account of potential wires and fences)
Class Difficulty: Riffles + occasional Class I rapids
Gradient:
≈6′ per mile
Gauge Recorded on this Trip:
Eldorado: ht/ft: 6.6 | cfs: 680
Recommended Levels:
We recommend this level. Below 6′ will invite occasional scraping. For what it’s worth, 680 cfs is more than double the velocity recommended “to run this section without much scraping,” according to the official guidebook. I didn’t scrape once in nearly 17 miles, but I was surprised by how shallow Crane Creek in particular was at this level.
Put-In:
U Avenue (on Crane Creek)
GPS: 42.99885, -92.00298
Take-Out:
Highway 150/ 292nd Street, Eldorado, Iowa (on the Turkey River)
GPS: 43.0513, -91.83966
Time: Put in at 10:25a. Out at 2:40p.
Total Time: 3h 15m
Miles Paddled: 16.5
Wildlife:
Bald eagles, kingfishers, green heron, turkey, muskrats, deer, woodchuck, and wood ducks.
Shuttle Information:
14 miles by four wheels or two using the most direct route that combines unpaved and paved roads. Utilizing more/only paved roads would make the shuttle distance several miles longer, and hillier, and thus would be appealing more to motor vehicles (or bicycling masochists).
Background:
As ever, the cue for this trip came from Nate Hoogeveen and his excellent guidebook, Paddling Iowa. It’s a trip that had been a glowing coal in my back pocket for many years now. We first had a taste of the Turkey River in September 2022 and then returned a year later for some extra stuffing and sides. It stood to reason that a tributary of the Turkey might well be even prettier and more intimate than its mainstream namesake. With that logic in mind, what could be more enticing than a tributary of that tributary, doubling down on the margins?
Hoogeveen’s trip begins on Crane Creek and concludes upstream of the confluence of the Turkey River (via the Little Turkey River). I had all day and nothing else to do, so I tripled down by adding 4.5 miles to his trip in order to take out on the mainstream Turkey, in effect paddling three different rivers on one trip. However, the trifecta is more affect than effect. For one, it feels like you’re on Crane Creek the whole time, and that both the Little Turkey and mainstream Turkey are its tributaries. And because the access in Eldorado listed in my copy of Paddling Iowa (first edition) is now closed to the public, paddlers are redirected 0.3 mile upstream, to Highway 150, which is only 800′ away from the Turkey River confluence. Technically three rivers, but really two for all intents and purposes, since you’re on the third river for a skinny minute at best.
So what’s going on here? As Hoogeveen points out, “If stream size alone determined river names, Crane Creek would be named the Turkey River.” That’s because Crane Creek is both bigger and longer than the Little Turkey where they meet, and this hybrid is bigger than the Turkey River where they all meet. Leaving aside the way too easy “that’s what she said,” instead let’s reiterate something we’ve mentioned many times on Miles Paddled: there ain’t rhyme or reason why some streams are called rivers and others creeks, or why one is “little” or a “branch” or a “fork.” Grad students in search of a thesis could have a field day about place names and naming rights – Indigenous appellations compared to European settlement/colonization, crude surveying methods in the 19th Century, wars and water rights, etc. For example, what makes the Bad River “bad” – particularly considering that the Chippewa have no such word in their language? Whence the “devil” in Devil’s Lake?
You’re welcome.
Overview:
The access at U Avenue for Crane Creek is totally doable, but a bit on the bubble. It’s on the downstream side of the old bridge, river-right. There’s a feint path that leads to the river from the road, but it’s a little steep. There are no Private Property or No Trespassing signs, but there’s marginal room for parking even just one car, due to a field located here. Be sure not to block any access to the field and park as far off the road as you can. The sketchy access will be worth it once you’re on the water, with an attractive swath of woods looming directly ahead of you, followed by swift riffles whisking you past a curving ridge on the right. On the left you’ll paddle past the first of several cedar thickets and what appears to be a veritable hermitage ensconced in the woods.
The river makes an abrupt bend to the right to head south. Ridges on the left and right lined by limestone at water’s edge lend to the beautiful views. The frisky riffles lend a hand of good cheer, too. Before bending to the left and veering northeast, Hoogeveen warns of a “1-foot drop with an electrified wire across it” where there’s pasture. I was keenly on the lookout for this, but encountered nothing. That said, it was still early in the year when I paddled this; farmers often remove such wires and/or fencing in winter and reinstall them in late spring – the bucolic equivalent of removing docks on a lake. Paddlers should anticipate a wire here, just in case (marked on the map). Half a mile downstream, a gravel bar on the right constricts the water as it flumes towards a 20′-tall wall of limestone at the base of a small bluff. Soon, this will lead to even steeper, statelier limestone walls on the left as well as crumbled blocks the likes of shipping containers on the right. This spectacular section concludes with dazzling rock outcrops and boulders on river-left just upstream of the Spruce Road bridge. All in all, it’s 1.5 miles of gorgeous geology and swift riffles.
Below the bridge a unique set change occurs in real time before your eyes. As the river bends to the left around a bluff on the right, you’ll see a scene that looks lifted from Door County – say, Peninsula State Park or Ellison Bluff. I realize how preposterous it sounds to compare northeastern Iowa with Door County, but hear me out: a myriad of limestone slabs like an old city’s cobblestone street line the lip of the river up to a bluff shrouded by cedar trees. The exchange is brief, but the experience itself is positively haunting and will stick with you long after the trip. Every chance in a while, northeastern Iowa winks at you in such a way as to glimpse into is vestigial past, before corn, soy, and hogs finished where the glaciers had left off. This is one of those moments, and it feels primitive, almost primeval.
Fueled by riffles, the river will then whip to the right past a wrap-around ridget. The Little Turkey River comes in stage-left about a 1000′ later, after which confluence Gouldsburg Park appears. Comprising both banks of the river, there is an official access and campground here. While the access is official, there’s no dedicated landing and the location itself is ambiguous. To find it on dry land, look for campsite #26. Honestly, complications abound past this point. For starters, the next access is 7.5 miles downriver, and the shuttling becomes convoluted and indirect. Then there’s the likelihood of fences and wires to contend with. Lastly, farms and roads and houses become more frequent, and, frankly, the landscape payoff is not as spooky or spectacular as along Crane Creek. Caveat lector.
Speaking of caveats, Hoogeveen offers the following one: “At the [Gouldsburg] park bridge in warm seasons, a barbed-wire fence crosses the river at the entrance to a riffle. You may want to portage.” He’s referring to the Sunset Road bridge, the entrance to the park itself, where there’s a dilapidated fence on the downstream side. At the time of my paddle, the fence was up from the left bank to the center of the river, but pushed down and submerged on the right-hand side, meaning it was smooth sailing. But later in the year and at lower water levels, paddlers should be vigilant. A short distance downstream I saw two strands of wires; likewise, these were attached to the left bank but tapered towards the middle of the river and then submerged, such that getting through on the right-hand side was effortless and intuitive. Nonetheless, what’s the deal? I wondered. So, I reached out to park staff afterwards and was offered this: “[T]he fences you are referring to are seasonal in nature and installed by the private landowner from time to time.” I don’t live in Iowa and don’t believe I ever will (sorry, Decorah), so I didn’t see fit to pursue the matter further other than a polite thanks for fielding my inquiry. But why in the [expletive deleted] world would there be a dangerous fence in fast current only 1200′ from an official boat access on a dedicated paddle trail?
Iowa, that’s why.
Anyway, Rose Road/Highway W14 runs close to the river here on the right and eventually crosses over it. The mile or so between Sunset and Rose roads is pell-mell: the banks are low and scrubby, there are some pastures (hence the wires), and junk cars or auto parts lie here and there. Below Rose Road things improve. Riffles and light rapids resume along a small ridge on the right. The occasional giant boulder and massive slab of calved limestone lying in the river are easy on the eye as well. Embedded in the hills, most of the boulders are moss-strewn, as if teams of pachyderms were outfitted in emerald on holiday. Woods come into the foreground, then recede to the limelight. Riffles and gravel bars are nearly continuous, however. Passing a steep ridge on the left, the river sneaks between two roads on each side of the banks before crossing under Otter Road. The 2+ miles in between Rose and Otter roads are some of the nicest on this section of the river, where bluffs abound left and right.
Riffles, ridges, big boulders, attractive woods, and islands braiding the main channel lie below Otter Road. So does the first of three tall clay banks on river left. Now, the river makes an unusual 3-mile-long arc first north then south. You’ll pass by a beach, a stately manor-like house at the brow of a hill on the left, and an iconic truss bridge. The handsome bridge is no longer used, superseded by its modern replacement immediately downstream, at Neon Road. My original copy of Paddling Iowa tells you to take out at the older of the two bridges, but I can tell you unequivocally after scouting and then paddling the river that this is not possible without trespassing. Perhaps subsequent editions of the guidebook have updated this. Today, paddlers must press on for another 1.5 miles until the official, public access. A zesty sweep of riffles lead you along the second clay bank on the left, past which is the closest thing to a “neighborhood” you’ll see on this trip, on the left at the township of Douglas. The river makes a hairpin turn to the left to head north again. The next official access is on river-right on the upstream side of the next bridge (Nature Road aka Highway B44), via Nest Road.
From here to the take-out are 4.5 miles of meh. To be fair, atop a steep bank on the left, below the bridge, lies a dream house that looks like an architect owns it. A couple small islands separate it from a painful juxtaposition half a mile downstream: 1000’ of broken concrete slab riprap along the right bank adjacent a road and farm. I’ve seen this in countless places along northeastern Iowa rivers. It’s a considerable amount of work for little more than an eyesore. The third and final clay bank (again on the left) lies downstream from here. So do welcome riffles and at least one modest holler of fissured limestone on the right. In the final two miles, Maple Road runs parallel the river on the right the entire time. Both river and road head north by northeast in long straightaways. A small ridge lies on the right, above the road, but the left-hand side is flat and stampeded by tractors and farm equipment. One last unused truss bridge and modern replacement combo cross the river at Major Road, after which the Turkey River proper enters stage-left. Right at the confluence lies a large island of deposited sand, which splits the mainstream in two side channels, thus giving the big river an appearance of a diminutive stature. Each river is about 70’ wide, so it’s a horse bird apiece.
The takeout is a measly 800′ downstream from the confluence, impossible to miss since it’s at the huge bridge at Highway 150. Located on the upstream side of the bridge, on river-left, there’s a path that connects a parking area to the water.
What we liked:
Crane Creek is a real treasure. I don’t know why, but paddling it felt a little clandestine. Unfortunately, it’s only four miles of hidden beauty and terrific “sneakery” (sneaking + scenery) before merging with the Little Turkey River. The limestone walls preceding Spruce Road and the Door County-esque sweep past smashed limestone blocks and spooky looking cedars are especially pretty. To be fair, there are several moments along the Little Turkey River that are undeniably tender, engaging, and quite pretty, too, particularly between Rose and Neon roads – lots of fun riffles and ginormous boulders here and there. While it’s less private or delicate than Crane Creek, it’s understandable why Hoogeveen included it in his official trip.
What we didn’t like:
Simply put, the juice isn’t worth the squeeze – not for me, at least. I’m glad I did it, but I’ll not be doing it again anytime soon. The footprint of farms is heavy on this trip, and the landscape geology doesn’t adequately offset the agrarian tread to make it a fair exchange. After the confluence of the Little Turkey, the paddling still has plenty of pleasant riffles, but no spectacular bluffs or outcrops or undeveloped stretches to elicit that wonderstruck thrill in one’s soul that comes only from the vantage of sitting in a boat. I knew ahead of time that this trip would be a lot of work and a long day, since I was alone, and it was – but it really wasn’t worth it. At least I didn’t think so – and that pains me to say.
Seventeen miles and four hours of paddling – not to mention fourteen miles and two hours of bike shuttling (see below) – makes for a long day, which in turn poses a challenge when summarizing the experience. First of all, so much of paddling is personal and subjective: what I love might only be likable to another, and vice versa. Some paddlers will kvell over a drippy day of light rain or fog casting the landscape in lugubrious droop, while others insist on sunshine and sweat. One canoeist’s just-right water level could well be just an inch too low for kayakers. On and on. These are givens. What is yet more nuanced are sub-surface subtleties the likes of being alone, being in one’s head, having a bad day, etc. Or maybe the wind is menacing. Or maybe you got dumped in a nasty strainer because you were distracted, thinking about something else. Any one little thing could be the thing that flips the switch to a trip being good or bad – a river itself being good or bad. To be sure, a recreational experience ought not be so binary, but we’re human after all – bipedal sentimentalists who are geared and goaded more by emotion than reason.
This probably won’t make the news bulletin, but northeastern Iowa is just awful for bike shuttling. What few roads there are in the first place come in two forms only: 1) state highways that are paved but may not have a dedicated shoulder – and are often frequented by semis and other trucks unaccustomed to sharing the rare asphalt bicyclists; or 2) unpaved dirt-gravel roads that run the gamut from dime-sized nuggets to silver dollar rocks, compact and crushed or loose and sandy. Either way, they’re all hilly, however, and they’re all indirect. And it’s always windy in Iowa. Always.
Is it because all the trees were cut down to make the whole state just one giant farm? Or is it because Nebraska blows and Illinois sucks? Either way, Iowa is Aeolan.
This was, hands down, the single-worst bike shuttle I’ve ever endured – and I’ve taken a lot of doozies on the chin. For starters, the shuttle is 14 miles long – only 2.75 miles shorter than the paddling itself. Half of this is on Iowa’s infamous unpaved roads, but I chose the most direct route from the end to the beginning. It’s also hilly, but that’s to be expected (and usually a zero sum gain/loss in terms of ups and downs). What made this a path of perdition was the wind – 20-25 mph with 40 mph gusts from the southwest. Spoiler alert: every foot of this 14-mile saga is either west or south. I easily walked for one-third of this death march, which explains why the shuttle alone took two hours. Yup, two. I was cranky, exhausted, and looked like what’s left of a cat toy after a week of play between three feisty kittens.
The simple reason for this is there are few roads here that run west-east, as the river does. As such, one is continually going too far south or north to catch the next west/east road, which is almost always unpaved, and hilly. In the case of forests, this is to be expected and is a countenanced tradeoff for the premium of primitive landscape paddling; few roads make for a wild paddling experience, even if post-paddle the shuttle is atypically long. But this is Iowa, not a national or state forest. Instead of untouched swaths of pine trees and seepage lakes and maybe an old logging road that leads to a wolf den hollow or barn owl nest in a tree cavity, here it’s just a rectilinear quilt of corn like an invasive species run amok. The only green is that of John Deere equipment.
#Friendsdon’tletfriendsbikeshuttleinIowa
If we did this trip again:
This was a one and done and never to do again. Crane Creek is very pretty and definitely worth doing in its own right. But it’s only 4.5 miles from U Ave to Gouldsburg Park. If you’re local, then that’s a neat and tidy paddle after work or weekend chores. But coming from any distance away, you’d likely not bother. Adventurous paddlers can double that distance and try their luck by launching upstream of U Ave at the corner of Xray and Xavier Roads, past which Crane Creek runs through a pretty wild though relatively flat stretch. But adequate water levels will be tricky and fickle, and obstacles can all but be guaranteed. Alternatively, paddling the Little Turkey from Gouldsburg Park to the access at Nest and Nature roads would make for a pleasant 7.5-mile trip; just be mindful of fences and wires below Rose Road.
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Related Information:
Camp: Goeken Park
Camp: Gouldsburg Park
Map: Turkey River Water Trail
Outfitter: Skipaway Resort
Outfitter: Turkey River Rentals*
Wikipedia: Turkey River
* This stretch is a way’s away from either outfitter and possibly-probably outside of their jurisdiction. Chances are if you’re reading this, you’re already a dedicated paddler with your own boat(s). But if you’re in a bind, you can always reach out to the outfitter; the worst that can happen is they say no.
Photo Gallery:
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