Pine River V (Florence County)

That’s the long view. In this stretch the river drops approximately 120′. Since this is a longer than normal trip, at 16 miles and change, the average gradient works out to about 7.5 feet per mile – nothing to sneeze at, but nothing to get overly excited by either. I mention it for two reasons: 1) more than 20% of the Pine’s total descent does lie in these 16 miles; and 2) there are long swaths of flat quietwater on this trip, so “average” in this sense does not correlate well to the experiential reality of paddling this trip – meaning, the real feel of the gradient will fluctuate between 10+ fpm where it’s thrilling runs of Class I-II rapids and 2 fpm where it saunters lackadaisically through soggy bogs and wetlands. There are no big drops or falls here. Instead, there are numerous sequences of exhilarating boulder gardens and little ledges in narrow confines – surrounded and swaddled by national forest with only a dozen or so cabins seen from the river over the course of 16 miles.

This year, 2025, marks the 60^th anniversary of the Wild Rivers Act, the landmark legislation that was passed unanimously and recognized the Pike, Pine, and Popple rivers for the outstanding natural bodies of water that they are, protected them from development, and promoted their tourism value. Beginning in Forest County, the Pine and Popple flow somewhat parallel to one another before the latter merges with the former a few miles upstream of a total 150′ drop in elevation over the course of 2.5 miles in the heart of the Wild Rivers area in Florence County. The Pike flows through neighboring Marinette County to the south and likewise contributes to the Menominee River.

Of the three “OG” wild rivers (segments of the Totogatic and Brunsweiler have since been added), the Pine is like Beethoven’s 9^th: its composition is perfectly poised in various movements/ segments; there are moments of thrills, moments of calm, and careening screams in a few choice pitches in between; it shows this, flaunts that, and features everything including the kitchen sink. It’s audacious, it’s laudable, it’s the real deal.

And I have wanted to paddle it for a very long time. But it is a 4-hr drive from home, not to mention a 16-mile trip. Furthermore, it has the least reliable water levels of any segment of the Pine. We first came up this way in the fateful, tumultuous summer of 2020 to paddle the Popple and Pine. While low, they were awesome, memorable trips. The hook was set; I fell in love with the area and knew I’d return as soon as I could. I did so a year later, in September, but found the Pine at Highway 55 too low to paddle. Fortunately, there’s a consolation prize called the Brule River a mere 8 miles away to the north (which, coincidentally, has accesses on the very same two highways as this documented trip). Since then, I’ve been pining to paddle this segment.

At long last, that opportunity availed itself in June of 2025, courtesy of the River Alliance of Wisconsin celebrating the 60^th anniversary of the Wild Rivers Act at the Interpretive Center in Florence. 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. Fittingly, on the day of the commemoration I paddled the Pine’s final miles, from below the dam to a mile above its confluence at the Menominee River. The following day I padded the Pine’s first miles, half a mile after its north and south branches converge to where we began in July of 2020. Taken together, they make a whole, a narrative arc. Separately, they’re like two different rivers. If you can ever do this, do this: paddle one end of a river’s spectrum one day and its opposite end the next. It’s a heady experience, both mystical and mischievous.

This trip feels wild as soon as you leave the banks! Each side of the river is lined with tallgrass and flanked with conifers behind them. Don’t get me wrong – you’ll see a few cabins in the first quarter-mile, but they’re unobtrusive and pass quickly. Half a mile later the first of many boulder gardens appears. And with scant exception, these will continue for the next three miles, ranging from Class I-II. The river is very narrow here, about 35′ wide on average, but sometimes only 10′ through alder thickets around small islands or even beaver dams. It’s super fun, super fast, but not appropriate for beginner paddlers. To give an example, there’s a 0.75-mile stretch of continuous riffles and Class I-II rapids – depending on water levels.

After you pass an A-frame, metal-roofed chalet with a cantilevered balcony overlooking the river on the right, the current will slow down considerably for the next three miles. Here, the river courses through boreal bogs very much invoking that other, better known Brule River – the Bois Brule in northwestern Wisconsin. It’s a dramatic change in scenery and sensation, and it’s awfully pretty. Plus you might want to catch your breath anyway, after three miles of frissoned riffles and light rapids!

The river here also begins its many meanders, some of them quite dramatic… and disorienting. If the sun is out, you more or less know where south and west are. If it’s windy and you know its direction, that will help, too. But if nothing else, the entrance of little Pine Creek and the easy-to-miss but unmistakable access off of Lotto Road – both on the right – will put you on the map: you’re at the southernmost point on this trip after which the river flows east/northeast. One could certainly end a trip here for six total miles or even begin one.

About half a mile downstream the current wakes up again – and does so as though having something to prove – featuring a mile of nearly nonstop Class I-II rapids. In Paddling Northern Wisconsin, Mike Svob writes “for the next few miles there are many riffles and Class I-II rapids, interspersed with slow-moving pools of water.” Spot on, but his corresponding map indicates no rapids. In fact, his map shows rapids only in three locations on this whole trip, beginning at the 10-mile mark. Those rapids certainly deserve being there, as each rates Class II, but the unadorned furnishing of the map otherwise is misleading. In other words, there’s a plethora of splashy wonder for ten miles leading to the first set of rapids marked on his map.

On your way to an unusual hairpin diversion that looks like a peninsula of water surrounded by dry land, off to the left lies an outcrop cluster of bedrock that is atypical for this section of the Pine. A mix of riffles and quietwater follow after the “peninsula” and past the mouth of Kingstone Creek on the right. About a quarter-mile down the first of the solid Class II rapids will be heard before seen. Named “Dam Rapids” after an old log-driving operation in the lumber days, a small island splits the river in two. Svob recommends taking the right channel – which advice would be later corroborated by John Roberts. But I went left, not to be stubborn or contrarian, but because I didn’t see a right channel til I was already within sight of the small but formidable horizon line in the left channel. I ran the ledge with no incident, but John told me later on that there’s exposed rebar in the left channel. Woops! and Yikes! Either way, scouting this rapid is recommended.

The current will slow again before the river passes a couple attractive houses on the right. But you’ll dive right back into fun rapids shortly thereafter, accentuated by enormous boulders. Over and over, the river will squeeze and swell, squeeze and swell, like a bellows. With each squeeze, the constricted river flushes out riffles and rapids, while each swell allows you to exhale and relax. Meanwhile, little islands and big boulders dot the river everywhere. The next named rapids are called “CCC Camp Rapids,” about 1.5 miles down from Dam Rapids. These are easy and followed by mostly quietwater with a riffly hiccup here and there to the first bridge in 13 miles, at Stevens Lake Road/Forest Road 2169. There’s skinny access here on the upstream side, river-left, but I don’t recommend ending here; midway between this bridge and the takeout is one of the most fun, swift, and beautiful segments anywhere on the Pine. Alternatively, starting a trip here and combining it with the 7.5 miles from Highway 139 to Chipmunk Rapids Campground would make for a magnificent “lightwater” experience at a neat 10 miles.

Below the bridge you’ll briefly think you’re in suburbia, given the houses, yards, and even the deciduous trees. Quietwater continues for another 1.5 miles. But a refreshing run of Class I-II rapids begins near the mouth of Stevens Creek on the left (whose rapids are even louder than the Pine’s). Incidentally, Svob’s map indicates a campsite along the banks at the mouth, but I didn’t see it. Even though the mouth of Stevens Creek marks an invisible boundary into Florence County, the remaining mile-and-change is the most forested of this trip (ironic?). Regardless, the banks here are steep and tree-covered, the boulders are big, and the rapids are fabulous – pretty much nonstop for a full mile. It’s a fitting end to a wonderful trip! An S-curve leads to the bridge at Highway 139, where the access off the water is on the downstream side, river-left. Here there is a small parking area, not to mention a sign telling you that this is the mighty Pine River. You made it!

The shuttle was another matter. As the merganser flies, the distance between highways 55 and 139 is only 8 miles, but the river meanders double that. Usually, such a discrepancy corresponds to a short shuttle, but not in designated forests where a scarcity of roads offers only so many options. Logistically, the layout here is simple: the two highways run north-south. To travel from one to the other requires going east-west, and there are only two options: 1) going out of your way along Highway 70, which is paved but hilly; or 2) taking the more direct Long Lake Road Forest Road 2169, which is flat but unpaved – and not the kind of compact dirt or crushed gravel found on dedicated bike trails, but rather thick, loose gravel for eight long, unforgiving miles that would eat a bicycle for breakfast (and I have a gravel bike). I drove this in my car after leaving my bike at the take-out, and it was slow-going at 35 mph. There was no way I was going to ride (re: walk) this after paddling for 16 miles. But the alternative was riding 18 miles along Highway 70. And needless to say, not one vehicle slowed down or offered me a ride, despite the many open-bed pickup trucks and cars with actual bike racks on them all already going in the same direction as I. In case it’s not obvious: seeing someone riding in the northwoods without spandex or a fancy road bike but dressed like a fly-fisherman with canoe paddles poking out of a pannier is not doing so for the love of bicycling; I’m doing so out of duress or desperation.

My choice, to be sure – and one that should cast no shadow on the paddling itself, which was an overture of wonder and beauty. But 16 miles of paddling + 18 miles of pedaling on a sunny 85 degree day = pooped.