Power Dam Road to Town Road DD:
The long version of the last segment of the Pine River – from below the Powerhouse of the WE Energies dam to a mere mile above its confluence at the Menominee River – this trip begins on lively current surrounded by hills, coincides with the unique “Oxbow” section, and finally subsides languidly in long straightaways ensconced in a primitive landscape surrounded by wildness that is quintessential northwoods.
Rating: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Paddle Report Date: June 28, 2025
Skill Level: Beginner
Class Difficulty: Class I rapids in the first mile, quietwater thereafter.
Gradient:
≈ 2′ per mile
Gauge Recorded on this Trip:
Pine River Powerplant: ht/ft: 4.3 | cfs: 1100
Recommended Levels:
We recommend this level. But this segment of the Pine can be paddled as low as 2′.
Put-In:
Below Powerhouse, Power Dam Road, Florence, Wisconsin
GPS: 45.82692, -88.24799
Take-Out:
Town Road DD
GPS: 45.83963, -88.14054
Time: Put in at 2:00p. Out at 4:30p.
Total Time: 2h 30m
Miles Paddled: 11.5
Wildlife:
Mergansers, hawks, turtles, great blue herons, and lots of humans.
Shuttle Information:
15.5 miles, all paved but for the first and last mile.
Background:
Of the three original “wild rivers” in the landmark legislation in 1965 that recognized and protected the Pike, Pine, and Popple rivers from development while promoting their tourism draw, the Pine is arguably the valedictorian. It’s the longest and brawniest of the three, a geological jewel in its own right, and one of the premier paddling streams in all of Wisconsin. All three streams are textbook northwoods rivers enveloped within national and county forests composed of “hummocky” splendor – hilly uplands as well as deep ravines and hollows, courtesy of the most recent glaciers – that is juxtaposed with ancient metamorphic bedrock forged nearly two billion years ago. And each features a rich mix of quietwater interludes in between wide-eyed and sometimes riotous rapids ranging from Class I-IV.
But the Pine does something the other two could only imagine: it drops roughly 150’ in 2.5 miles, from the top of LaSalle Falls, through a small gorge, slowed by a flowage, penned by a dam, and then descend again over three drops at Breakwater Falls, through another small gorge, before winding down near the Powerhouse below the dam. To put this in perspective, that averages to a gradient of 60 fpm! Radical in its own right, but particularly remarkable since one mile of that stubby distance is flatwater flowage. The River Alliance of Wisconsin describes this section of the Pine as “the single most dramatic stretch of river topography in the entire Midwest.” Amen.
Before moving on, I feel duty-bound to say something about Breakwater Falls. And while it’s not my tale to tell, the story (and history) is too interesting to skip over.
For all intents and purposes, Breakwater Falls had fallen off the radar of, well, nearly everyone, for three-quarters of a century! At 60ish feet, it’s Wisconsin’s 6th tallest waterfall. So how did the state’s 6th tallest waterfall become unknown for so long? The answer is both simple and complicated. When the dam began operating in 1922, it diverted the flow through Breakwater in order to harness as much hydroelectric juice as possible. Dewatered, Breakwater became a rocky gorge. It was parched thereafter and remained parched when the Pine was adopted and dedicated as “wild” in 1965. It stayed parched until 1995 – 30 years after the landmark legislation was passed and 70+ years after the dam was built – when relicensing agreements stipulated that a minimal flow had to be released daily through Breakwater, what had become known as “the bypass,” since no one was around anymore who could remember the original waterfall.
There was no conspiracy (although one could say there was piracy in stealing Breakwater’s water…). Rather, this was circumstantial: no one had living memory of a waterfall, and the basic logistics of the dam, portage trail, connecting roads, and powerhouse – all had circumvented the Breakwater gorge (in effect bypassing the “bypass”). In other words, it’s just how it was and what one did, decade after decade. Old habits…
Until sometime after the 50th anniversary of the Wild Rivers Act (2015) and the drawdown of the flowage to repair/maintain the dam itself (2018), when avid paddler and wild rivers advocate John Roberts followed his curiosity to see what was on the other side of the portage trail. And there he found 65’ of roaring whitewater tumbling down three drops. An old survey map from the early 1900s provided the original name – Breakwater. This all rightfully made quite a splash in July of 2020, during the heat of that tumultuous summer and the lockdown of the pandemic, when John would be the featured guest on Wisconsin Public Radio telling this tale and rolling out a terrific documentary about rediscovering and now establishing Breakwater Falls.
I first hiked up and marveled at Breakwater Falls during that time and then returned half a year later, in the dead of winter to amble about the area – Spread Eagle Barrens especially (there’s something about sand barrens I’m drawn to). Mentioned only briefly in a sidebar in Paddling Northern Wisconsin, the final segment of the Pine – from the dam to its mouth at the Menominee – is showcased by Wisconsin Trail Guide as well as Paddling Wisconsin. But no source starts their trip below the Powerhouse; instead, they begin two miles downriver at County N. And no source goes past Town Road DD, a mile up from the Menominee. The reason for this is, unlike the Pike River, there is no landing at the confluence. To earn the bragging rights of paddling down to the very end of the Pine, one has three options: 1) paddle down to the mouth and then upstream a mile back to Town Road DD; 2) turn right at the confluence and slip into Cowboy Lake alongside the Kingsford Dam about 3 miles from the confluence; or 3) portage around the dam and take out at a public boat launch another 3 miles down from the dam.
I ruled out Option 1, as paddling a full mile against even a subtle current is a real slog, especially after paddling 12 miles already. Option 2 seemed anticlimactic since it would mean mostly flowage paddling with motorboats on the huge Menominee. And I didn’t even know about Option 3 until it was too late. (Incidentally, it’s located here: 45°46’57.9″N 88°04’40.2″W. I did scout a prospect on the river-right upstream side of the bridge that spans the Menominee from Wisconsin to Michigan that had potential via satellite map, but in reality this is private and inaccessible. Once again irl > url.) The funny/weird thing about continuing to Option 3, for the record, is even though it would add 6 miles onto a 12-mile trip, it would cut the shuttling distance by a third, thanks to the direction of the rivers and the layout of the roads. Thus, the dilemma: one could paddle 11 miles but then shuttle 15.5 miles or paddle 18 miles but only shuttle 10 miles.
(For reasons I won’t bore anyone with, I opted for the shorter paddle but longer pedal. It ended up being a really nice bike shuttle, by the way – long, sure, but mostly paved, very scenic, and surprisingly diverse.)
Regardless, I wouldn’t make it back to this neck of the northwoods for another 4.5 years. But what better way to coincide paddling the Pine than celebrating the 60th anniversary of the Wild Rivers Act up in Florence at the Interpretive Center, courtesy of the River Alliance of Wisconsin? It was a special occasion recognizing a laudable achievement. For more on that and then some, see here. To commemorate in our own way, we created “one big, beautiful” overview to the Wild Rivers, into which you can deep-dive here.
Overview:
Approaching the Powerhouse below the dam, park on the right nearest the portage trail stairway that snakes down to the river. At the water’s edge you’ll see the tail-end of Class I rapids coming down the small gorge that only moments earlier had crashed and thrashed down Breakwater Falls. You could try to paddle upstream for a better look-see, but it would be tough sledding against that current. From here to the first and only bridge on this 11-mile trip, at County N, two miles downstream, you’re likely to have the river all to yourself. I mention this because after County N you’re likely to have zero solitude for the next 3.5 miles, so carpe your paddling diem. Also, but for one brief blip of a Class I rapids in the Oxbow segment, the only rapids/riffles on this trip otherwise are here in the first mile.
The river here is wide, ranging from 80′-130′. The banks are an exquisite mix of ancient bedrock, conifers, and deciduous trees. Now and again there’ll be a small space between trees to best appreciate the impressive height of the banks, ranging from 50′-100′ tall.
After nudging northeastward for two miles, the Pine slips under County N and drops south before veering northwest to such a degree that it nearly returns to the same place at County N. This is “the Oxbow” segment, a unique 3.5 miles of river less than half a mile from end to start along County N. And this is where you will share the river with folks floating in tubes or paddling rental kayaks. To be sure (tube sure?), the usual suspects can be expected – the latest corporate country-rap hits playing on someone’s phone, more chitchat than a royal court of kingfishers, flip-flops up while cans of White Claw and Twisted Tea go down, as folks lounging in inflatable recliners bob along the gentle current. I feel obliged to say that of all the river segments that coincide with inner tubes – the Apple River in Somerset, the Cannon in Welch, the Little Wolf outside of New London, just to name a few – the Pine’s Oxbow has been the quietest and least obnoxious in my experiences. For more detail on this specific section, see here.
In the next couple miles, after everyone but you peels off to the Oxbow landing exit stage left, the river heads north, east, and then drops south. While the current is imperceptible, the surrounding landscape is very pretty. Featuring steeps banks and stout trees whose sole hint at anything other than primitive is a small wooden fence and placard at an overlook along Johnson Creek Road. Fun fact: whereas upriver from this trip the Pine tumbles with froth and fisticuffs in a scuffle with igneous and basalt rocks that are nearly 2 billion years old, here it slowly flows over soft “metasedimentary” bedrock called “Michigamme Slate.” The result is a deeper river with a low gradient.
Long, broad straightaways dominate the last few miles. Arguably monotonous – it’s a lot of wide, slow water surrounded on both sides by a continuous frieze of shades of green trees – it’s no less wild. After all, what constitutes “wild”? Is a segment of meaty rapids crashing against fabulous slabs of bedrock more wild than a serene scene of gentleness? You’ll see only one clearing in a low-lying area on the left where there is a cabin or two. Add those to the initial Powerhouse building and the bridge over the river at County N – altogether that’s the only infrastructure you’ll encounter in 11 miles of paddling. To me, that’s pretty wild.
By several accounts, there is an alleged landing on the left via Johnson Creek Road, but I couldn’t find it. If you pass the aforementioned clearing and cabins, you missed the inconspicuous landing. Should you wish to end your trip here, there are a couple things to keep in mind: 1) you’d do well to mark the “landing” with surveyor’s tape or a balloon or something eye-catching; and 2) Johnson Creek Road is a slow-going, unpaved road made of rough, loose gravel. It is a pretty drive through the forest, however. (Mind you, I said drive, not ride; bicyclists will find the road punishing.)
It’s another three miles and change to the established landing at Town Road DD. Here, the Pine lives up to its name: the river itself is straight and wide, and it’s surrounded by eponymous trees (but also spruce and popple and birch). To the untrained eye (like mine), it all seems the same – nature’s equivalent of an extremely long mural displaying nothing more than subtle shades of green. But the reality is so much richer and more diverse, of course. Among other things, here you’re in the heart of the Spread Eagle Barrens, a large but isolated ecology, one of only a handful throughout the whole state. (If you really want to play in the sandbox, see here.) To be fair, you won’t see the barrens or really anything past the trunks, leaves, and needles of trees along the banks – so thick is their swath. But simply knowing that beyond their periphery lie miles of gently rolling hills, open spaces, and an almost crater-of-the-moon-like landscape (with a desert feel) is plenty for this wanderlust soul.
Depending on water levels, you may well share the river here with motorboats put-putting upstream from the Menominee. Or you may share it with fishing kayaks. I encountered both on a warm and sunny Saturday in late June.
Suddenly, a small clearing on the left will mark the access at Town Road DD. Finding it from the road is none too intuitive and not unlike the Batcave. But there are signs here and there. When in doubt, go south. The setting is picturesque: before you, root beer hued water, a sand-gravel bottom, and luscious green trees everywhere; behind you, a wild and windswept pine barrens as far as the eye can see…
What we liked:
The first two miles are especially memorable – witnessing the Pine River “begin” its final chapter after the dam and before its end at the Menominee River, seeing it transition geologically, and simply being there amidst mile after mile in its wild, undeveloped landscape.
The phrase “in the middle of nowhere” has become so cliché that challenging it would be Sisyphean in nature (pun intended). It’s always derogatory or at least condescending. It implies that a space is less than or lacking because it has no place. It implies that a busy street in downtown Chicago has more there there than a quiet lagoon on the outskirts of the city. It implies that so-called emptiness is dispossessed and desolate because it’s not brim-full of stuff – things, sounds, sights. In a word, distractions. It displays our bias towards development, that a building is something and that an “empty” field is just that – empty.
If the middle of nowhere means the woods or barrens, a river meandering through forest past ancient blocks of rocks and scraggly cedars whose rope-like bark has been rubbed and chafed by antlers, whose cavities make perfect abodes for chipmunks or owls, then there is nowhere I’d rather be than plumb in the middle of all that wonder. What’s the opposite – the margins of everywhere? Suburbia? Exurbia? White picket fences? Chain-linked fences? Overpass bridges and billboards at the end of the inner city block? No thanks. I’ll take “nowhere” and “nothing” in a heartbeat. The vital heartbeat of the wild, not the artificial pacemaker of civilization.
This trip begins wild and ends wild. What is wild? Many things. Wild is collision, splitting an atom or chopping wood. Wild is a fire. Wild is low tide. Wild is the flood and a flock of geese. Wild is hunger and wild is feast. Wild is chaos and calm. Wild is whitewater’s yang to quietwater’s yin. Wild is a seed dropped by a bird that cracks apart concrete by way of delicate petal.
But don’t take my word for it. Instead, let me share John Roberts’ “wildness of a river,” courtesy of the River Alliance.
What we didn’t like:
The blessing and curse about paddling heavily forested, remote rivers is there are relatively few roads, and a lack of roads corresponds to few to no buildings. But it also means few to no bridges or convenient accesses. This bodes well for paddling in mostly undisturbed environments unburdened by development. But it makes for long shuttle distances – especially relevant if one is bike-shuttling…especially when said bicycle is the “acoustic” version unassisted by a power-propelled battery.
But bike-shuttling is a choice (albeit a self-imposed one). It is a part of but ultimately apart from the experience of paddling a river, not to be conflated.
What I will say about this trip is it felt a little like that bass guitar solo during a classic rock concert that at first is slick and cool but then just goes on too long. But that still underscores my own bias – that I want/expect “more” than “mere.” It’s like failing to appreciate a really good loaf of bread, in and of itself, because there’s no accompanying slice of cheese or meat or veggies or condiment. Each time I felt myself getting a little restless or worse, bored, I kept reminding myself to just be here now. That may sound simplistic or sentimental, but it’s an apt antidote to wondering constantly “what’s next?” How about “what’s now?” instead? Trees, a forest, unending, the likes of which just don’t exist where I live and paddle most often, where it’s roads and row-crops, cattle pastures and tractors, leaf blowers and lawn mowers.
So be here now, on this amazing river, on this its final sequence after such a long journey upstream – from the headwaters wildernesson the other side of a continental divide, from its north and south branches in Forest County forging together, from too many Class I-II rapids to name after sneaking underneath Highway 55, to Chipmunk Rapids and Snaketail Rapids, to Meyers Falls to LaSalle Falls to Breakwater Falls, to here now, before entering the Menominee River and venturing down to Lake Michigan… Here, now. Not nowhere.
If we did this trip again:
This trip was a mash-up of various sensibilities that don’t quite complement one another. As such, here’s what I’d do differently… First, I’d commando launch from the banks below the last big drop on Breakwater Falls and run the brief but thrilling Class II-III rapids that start tapering off below the Powerhouse and take out either at County N where the Oxbow section begins or the other end of N where the Oxbow section ends. Secondly, I’d definitely do the Oxbow trip again since it’s such an easy novelty. Finally, I’d consider beginning at the end of the Oxbow and taking out at Town Road DD, especially in autumn or even after a snow-dusting in winter, but only if I didn’t have to bike shuttle again. As I mentioned above, it’s very scenic and uniquely delicate in an undeveloped way – I’m decidedly glad that I got to paddle it finally and am grateful for the opportunity. But it is a LONG bike shuttle for long, straight corridors of somewhat monotonous surroundings. If I scratch this itch only once, I’d be OK with that. But I’d definitely do it again. And I hope you experience it sometime, too!
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Related Information:
Pine River I (Florence County): Highway 139 to Chipmunk Rapids Campground
Pine River II (Florence County): Chipmunk Rapids Campground to Goodman Grade Road
Pine River III (Florence County): County Road N to Oxbow Take Out
Pine River V (Florence County): Highway 55 to Highway 139
Brochure: Canoeing the Wild Rivers of Florence County Guide
Brochure: Pine and Popple Wild Rivers
Camp: Pine and Popple Wild Rivers
General: Florence County
Map: Wisconsin Trail Guide
Overview: Miles Paddled’s Wild Rivers of Wisconsin
Wikipedia: Pine River
Photo Gallery:
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