Village Park to N. Shore Bay Drive:
A small stream that gurgles through a remarkable diversity of landscapes with a wide breadth of wildlife, on face value there’s a lot to admire on Six Mile Creek. Unfortunately, there’s also a lot of obstructions and rarely ever enough water to float comfortably without scraping or just giving up and taking your boat for lots of walks. But if you can catch it at a paddleable level and don’t mind some bush-whacking and portaging, Six Mile is a scenic treat for Madison-area paddlers.
Rating: ☆ ☆ ☆
Trip Report Date: September 8, 2026
Skill Level: Beginner/Intermediate at low water levels. Intermediate/Advanced at higher levels
Class Difficulty: Quietwater with riffles, Class I rapids, and flatwater marsh paddling
Gradient:
≈ 8′ feet per mile from Waunakee to Woodland Drive
≈ 3′ feet per mile from Woodland to Lake Mendota
Gauge Recorded on this Trip:
Waunakee: ht/ft: 3 | cfs: 7
Recommended Levels:
This is too low – way too low.
What’s a good level? Good question. But let’s say when the rocks at Village Park are covered. Despite the fact that the actual USGS gauge is only a mile or two upstream from Village Park, its data doesn’t correlate well to paddling. For example, on April 5, 2026, the gauge read 3.3′ | 35 cfs, and the creek was high and fast (as well as dirty and dangerous). Three months later, on July 4, 2026, the gauge again read 3.3′ but had a velocity of only 11 cfs – and the actual creek itself looked skimpy.
To determine if there’s sufficient flow to run this section of Six Mile Creek instead of walking, first verify that the cfs is above 20. Then personally eyeball the rocks/riffles in Village Park. If you can’t run those without getting hung up, expect a lot of scraping in the first half of this trip.
Put-In:
Waunakee Village Park, East Main Street/Highway 19, Waunakee, Wisconsin
GPS: 43.1913, -89.44795
Take-Out:
N. Shore Bay Drive
GPS: 43.14106, -89.43761
Time: Put in at 2:45p. Out at 6:45p.
Total Time: 4h
Miles Paddled: 7.25
Alternate Trip Ideas:
Village Park to Woodland Drive (4.75 Miles)
Lower Six Mile Creek (5.5 Miles)
Wildlife:
Great blue herons, green herons, sandhill cranes, a flock of turkeys, songbirds galore, one hawk (maybe an owl), wood ducks, mallards, kingfishers, muskrat, frogs, turtles, lots of fish, and several deer.
Shuttle Information:
4.5 miles. Very bicycle-friendly, as most of this is lies along dedicated trails.
Background:
Six Mile begins in the Waunakee Marsh Wildlife Area, an important wetland complex sandwiched between Highways 12 and 19 north of Middleton. From there it flows east towards downtown Waunakee for about 8 miles, and then another 8 miles and change southeast > southwest > southeast until it reaches Lake Mendota. (Maybe it should be called Sixteen Mile Creek…) Interestingly from the geological side of things, the mouth of Six Mile Creek is only 3/4 of a mile away from where the Yahara River enters, aka the tippety-toppety of the big lake on Madison’s Northside – where the chain of four lakes (Dejope in Ho-Chunk) begins after its dress rehearsal at Cherokee Marsh.
Catching any stream shorter than 20 miles with enough water to float a boat will be tricky. Add to that thin margin a very narrow stream surrounded by trees – trees that will inevitably fall and create spectacular blockages. Now you can understand the vexing conundrum of paddling Six Mile Creek.
Barry first did this trip in 2014 – at least most of it. (Poor man rightfully capitulated before reaching the end, after so much portaging. I attempted the same trip as well a couple years later and gave up after 2.5 miles.) Twelve years later, the good news is there are no longer two-dozen-plus portages! Woo-hoo! The bad news is there were still nine on my trip. Boo! (And I’m a portage only if I must kind of paddler). But hey, that’s a huge difference and a big-time boon we Madison-area paddlers should celebrate and be thankful for.
Earlier this year, in winter, I walked along and above the creek at the Waakikižu Natural Resource Area run by Dane County Parks. For me, this was entirely new, a stretch I’d never seen, let alone paddled. It’s a cool nook, a veritable no-man’s land 2 miles-long where the creek meanders between a 20′-tall upland to the west and set of railroad tracks to the east with no private development in between. And precisely in this stretch lies the steepest gradient anywhere on Six Mile Creek. Here, it cascades down gravel and small boulders with a pitch scratching at 11 fpm! Needless to say, it made an impression. But it was still too icy to paddle, and there was a gauntlet of downed trees around hairpin turns – adding to the danger of such a steep gradient on such a narrow stream.
Sometimes a paddling prospect is not unlike a building. There are houses that need a ton of work at first, but one can look past their present blemishes – seeing their intrinsic value with eyes on the prize – and make the necessary investments. Six Mile Creek, in Waunakee, is still in its renovation stage. On the one hand, a truly commendable amount of sweat equity has been dedicated to clearing up its decades of neglect. On the other, there’s an extraordinary amount of clutter that remains and will continue to pester the narrow, delicate creek.
Since winter, I’ve returned a couple times with a sawzall, chainsaw, and clippers, since I live fewer miles away than are in the creek’s very name. But it’s all been Boy Scout stuff, like scissoring a couple split ends when a whole wild mane of a haircut is needed. Little did I know until recently that there’s an official Friends of Six Mile Creek organization, 501(c)3 and all, that has been diligently cleaning up and clearing out for years now. Ditto not knowing that Capitol Water Trails also has Six Mile on their radar.
But downed trees are only half of the Six Mile hang-up. The other half is just that – getting hung up. Six Mile Creek’s entire watershed is only 43 acres, and it’s been subjugated by the whims of agriculture and urbanization for a long while. Where tony subdivisions dubbed Castle this and Tuscany that don’t encroach the creek, farmland does. (Waunakee grew by 25% in just five years, from 1995 to 2000 alone, and it continues to sprawl.) Drain tiles, alterations, water demand, and wastewater treatment, not to mention there being virtually zero streams that add volume to Six Mile, have all taken a toll on the little creek. There’s also an impressively steep gradient through town, where the creek cascades 45′ in 5.5 miles, resulting in very short windows of time to catch it with adequate volume.
Fast forward to Labor Day weekend. Thanks to my odd brain’s hardwiring, I couldn’t resist knowing that paddling Six Mile would be a lot of work. Besides, only two days earlier I’d seen John Stofflet reprise his inspiring presentation about traveling less to paddle more (from Canoecopia earlier this year, and again at Bagafest). I knew that water levels would be low and that the likelihood of downed trees would be high. But the desire to simply be outdoors on such a beautiful day with hardly any cares in the world (except for caring about the world) overrode any practical misgivings. Sure, it took four hours to paddle 7.5 miles, and a day later I was sore all over from the workout – but not at all sorry for having done it.
That said, a trip like this comes with a lot of caveats. It will be slow-going due to bottoming out again and again, and getting out of your boat over and over to walk it through shallows and/or to portage around, over, or under deadfall. There are no dedicated accesses, and there’s no parking at the two main bridges (Mill Rd and Woodland Dr) in between the put-in and takeout. And, at least in summer/early autumn, the final half-mile is practically an impenetrable carpet of flatwater paddling courtesy of so much duckweed and green ooze. Expect to get wet and dirty and probably fatigued.
But it’s not without its charm and not to be categorically disregarded. The variety of landscape types and the copious wildlife opportunities alone are compelling. In this short trip you’ll course through town and county parks, conservancies, suburban backyards, industrial corridors, and a very tranquil, mostly undeveloped marsh. And if the creek is high enough, all those zippy riffles, rips, and Class I rapids are zany good fun!
Overview:
There is no dedicated access at Village Park, although there are many “good enough” places to guerilla-launch a boat. To minimize the schlepping from your vehicle, the easiest location is the southeastern corner of the small parking lot off Main St. This spot also doubles as a good vantage point to determine how much water there is (re: isn’t) and how much scraping one can anticipate (aka a lot).
In the first mile the creek meanders in brisk fashion under attractive pedestrian bridges in Village Park, a couple road bridges, and a handsome railroad bridge that features the much appreciated spray-painted message “Escape Society.” I don’t often take well to being told what to do, particularly by anonymous strangers, but this directive resonates personally. Escape society? Yes, please – early and often. (Incidentally, “Escape Society” would be a fine name for a garage band, as it cleverly works as a command but also a noun. Who are we? We’re the Escape Society. Who the hell are you?) The setting has all the hallmarks for an awesome hangout, whether as a 10-year-old casting a fishing line or teenager smoking stolen cigarettes. Not offering advice; just saying. On one side is a 5-acre pond, an industrial zone on the other. Your own imagination lies in between…
Riffles skate across rocks’ tops towards the next bridge at Division Ave, followed by a quaint pedestrian bridge in strangely named but alliteration-loving Castle Creek Conservancy. After this, Six Mile twists and turns erratically and dramatically through a marshy stretch punctuated by transmission lines above. It’s likely that the natural channel has been altered here, but the environment is pleasant all the same. Occasional boulder gardens the size of bowling balls adds a dash of excitement.
After the marsh come subdivisions, but from the water all you’ll really see are the backyards of a dozen or so larger-than-average houses. On this trip, a family was gathered round enjoying the holiday and warm weather. I waved hello and was met by a guy my age who was interested in seeing whether I’d be able to get through a bit of a tangle just downstream. Turns out he’s one of the fine folks who’ve been cleaning up the creek. (In the off chance that you’re reading this, sir, we salute you and your crew for the fine work y’all have done!) I saw what he was alluding to and was able to scoot through it just fine, but shortly afterwards I would have to portage for my first time. It was a simple and easy affair in low water – and possibly not an issue in normal-to-high water by merely riding over the small downed tree and its modest cluster collecting on the upstream side. Alternatively, this would be an easy tree to saw through and winch out.
Alas, the next one down, a honking cottonwood, would not be so simple or easy. (While I’m saying thanks, it’s only fair to say “sorry” to the landowners of the ginormous property on river-left upstream of Mill Road on whose grounds I had to more “dry foot” than “wet foot” it to get around the thick torso of a tree.) I feel obliged also to point out that they (or whoever mows their very large yard) dumped mounds of grass clippings along the bank right up to the edge. Probably not what you’re supposed to do living along a public body of water…
Below Mill Road lies the stretch of the creek I was most excited but also apprehensive about, where I had first been earlier in the year, during winter – the veritable no man’s land between upland and railroad teeming with boulder gardens, zippy Class I rapids, and a whole lot of downed trees along constricted twists. This is what inspired that inner vision to see the Badfish-esque potential beyond what lies in front of you (a hot-ass mess). Sort of the difference between “super fun!” and superfund.
It’s also where Barry came across 16+ portages…
The first half-mile is kinky and sexy! Hilly it is not. Even saying there’s a hill would be a stretch. But the right bank does slope upward some 20′; and since the county park confines here are just so dang cozy and undeveloped, the slope seems steeper. A postcard from glacial runoff, rocky rabble is splattered all about, resulting in what would be genuinely exhilarating Class I rapids when there’s enough water – or a whole lot of scraping, scooching, and inevitably giving up and getting out of your boat to walk it through the shallows. I realize that “exhilarating” might likewise sound like a stretch when referring to Class I rapids, but let me explain. The creek here is no wider than 15′ at times, and small boulders are strewn everywhere. In conjunction with its abrupt bends left and right, a paddler kind of becomes a pinball with no forgiving bumpers. And that’s when there are no fallen trees to worry about crashing into – an exception to the rule. “He’s a pinball wizard/there has to be a twist…”
I didn’t have 16+ portages, but I did face at least seven. With more water, some of these would be negotiable. Conversely, more water means stronger current. Formidable velocity + tight bends with lots of immovable objects you won’t see until they suddenly appear = high risk (or at least paddling vigilance). That said, there are some straightaways here where the creek had to have been artificially straightened for who knows what purpose however long ago. Typically in marshy swaths where tree canopy disappears, it lets you catch your breath and gather your wits.
Eventually, the “park slope” disappears altogether, and while there may well be additional downed trees to reconcile, the current will slow down as you approach a totally random A-framed footbridge straddling the creek in a woodsy patch. Presumably private, it appears out of nowhere. And while its more youthful years are in the rearview, it’s nonetheless quaint and kind of cool. Soon, the gravelly rabble yields to sand, the current hits the brakes, and grand weeping willows announce a pond whose sudden appearance seems as implausible as the rickety footbridge. Note: there is no dam here to create the pond (coincidentally, its circumference also is about 5 acres), but it strains credulity that this a natural body of water. And while it is surrounded by houses, you’ll be grateful for having water deep enough to actually paddle without scraping.
And just like that, the pond tapers before the twin culverts beneath Woodland Dr. From here, for me, it was sailing as smooth as a scotch on the rocks. Again, there was conspicuous evidence of cleaning up and clearing out – not the case for Barry back in the day, nor for me as recently as 2021. The creek is still narrow and shallow, but all of my portaging would be behind me from here on. Moreover, I’m happy to say that the inexplicable steel bridge that broke the deal for Barry (and his proverbial camel’s back) is no longer an issue. You never paddle the same river twice…
The next two miles should be a delight – the more so in late afternoon to bathe in the glow of setting sun filtering through the leafy skein of the marsh. (It’s very woodsy at first, but then you will be awash in big sky sunshine.) Or if there are no leaves, you’ll be rewarded with attractive views of a definitive hill/ moraine in the backdrop. A natural spring or two adds to the uplift in spirit. A designated state fishing area lies along the left bank, so the land on this side is public and undeveloped. The creek simply saunters left and right about a billion times, and since the meanders are on a dime, the odds of spooking up some wildlife are very good – herons and turtles for sure, probably a beaver, deer, and muskrat as well. Regardless, you’ll definitely come upon a humble wooden footbridge that is part of the Carriage Ridge Conservancy comprising the right bank. While not technically public land, it’s entirely undeveloped but for a handsome horse stable and pasture.
Eventually, a private house precedes County Highway M and its big bridge (which you’d have heard already). Past this bridge is a new(ish) bridge that is part of the North Mendota Trail that connects Governor Nelson State Park to the aforementioned fishing area as well as a Yahara Heights County Park. Lake Mendoata itself lies less than a mile away, but it’s all a watery sprawl from here to there. In summer, this will be a veritable shag carpet of lily pads and duckweed – a bonanza of aquatic botany. It’ll be slow-going and messy; lava lamps optional. About 1/3 mile ahead (straight south), on the right and attracting no attention to itself other than a break in the phalanx of cattails, is the confluence of Dorn Creek as it enters Six Mile (about half a mile before Six Mile enters the lake). Gathering of waters indeed. As Scott Spoolman states in his delightful book, Wisconsin Waters: The Ancient History of Lakes, Rivers, and Waterfalls, the name “Mendota” comes from the Sioux/Dakota language for “confluence of rivers.” Rather apt here.
Turn right (west) into Dorn Creek. There’s virtually no current, so the couple hundred yards of paddling upstream to the bridge at North Shore Bay Drive is easy-peasy. But expect it to be shallow and slushy. There’s good access at the bridge on the right, and it’s a short schlep from here to the road.
What we liked:
A three-star trip that required no fewer than nine portages and a ton of walking might elicit more yuck than yum, but I did actually like this trip. It helps that my expectations were as low as the creek itself. I went into this with a mindset of someone for whom paddling is a novelty, not an obsession. As such, a scrape here and a portage there was just par for the course. A scrape and portage everywhere? Just part of the experience.
I loved the bounty and diversity of wildlife, not to mention the changing substrate in intervals from gravel to sand to sludgy muck and back to gravel. I loved paddling a “new” prospect so close to home – one with a sense of adventure and beckoning boulder gardens, swaths of undeveloped land and a wealth of wildlife. I loved seeing how much work has been done to clean up this long-neglected creek. And I loved finally reaching the takeout and being done – because it was a long day.
What we didn’t like:
Not counting the portaging around, over, or under downed trees, I had to have gotten out of my boat at least 20 times to walk over impassable gravel bars and severely shallow areas. Even in a canoe – which is much easier to get out of and back in than a kayak – this unwelcome calisthenics gets surprisingly tiresome, both physically and mentally. Not to mention wet and messy. I can easily attribute 20 minutes of this 4-hour odyssey simply to sponging water out of the boat – not from rapids, but from getting out and back in so many times, water sandals being little vectors of dribbling spills.
For the record, I am not uncomfortable with being disheveled. Most of my clothes are second-hand, probably bearing a stain or two and a torn tatter here or there. So, I don’t mind the small storm’s worth of broken branches, leaves, twigs, and assorted arboreal debris from snapping, snipping, and sawing my way through the maze and obstacles. It’s hardly my best side, but I can grin and bear it.
But what I do mind is the amount of rogue spiders now having fallen into my boat (what is a canoe if not an open basin for arachnids to descend into and scuttle creepily about?). And once in the boat, inevitably onto my body. I take no pleasure whatsoever in pinching a couple dozen sinister and unsightly spiders to chuck them the hell out of my boat, no doubt crippling one or two of their eight legs in doing so without meaning to. A little exposure therapy is not a bad thing, but how much is too much?
Perhaps tangentially related to this is the amount of trash still in the creek. Barry alluded to this in 2014, and it’s still a prevalent issue twelve years later – all the usual suspects: aluminum cans, plastic bottles, flip-flops, the random basketball or soccer ball, the stray plastic tin of fishing bait and nylon line, etc. The creek is definitely better, but there’s still a ways to go to being good.
If we did this trip again:
I’d definitely do this trip again – but only with more water. The chattering riffles throughout Village Park and especially the pinball game along the Waakikižu Natural Resource Area deserve running this again but without scraping, butt-scooting, or forfeiting altogether by walking. At least to do once, to know firsthand whether Six Mile is a keeper to invest in or take one’s losses and move on. That said, the stretch along Waakikižu will be genuinely dangerous at the very levels needed to run these rips and light rapids in the first place. The in situ nature of the many rocks, tree stumps, stray limbs, and sunken trunks, together with very fast current and hairpin turns, pose many serious obstacles not to be taken lightly or to be attempted by novice paddlers. If that ain’t your thing, then stick to the languorous section through the state fishery or state park documented in our trip from 2021.
Also, do yourself a “flavor” and head over to Athens Grill or Lone Girl Brewing Co. for an après-paddle drink or bite to eat. Both offer really good food and beverages.
***************
Related Information:
Good People: Friends of Six Mile Creek
Map: Capitol Water Trails
Photo Gallery:
Alternate Trip Report: Shorter Paddle (4.75 Miles)
Village Park to Woodland Drive
June 7, 2014
☆
If you love to portage, (I mean, really love to portage) this creek is for you, otherwise Six Mile Creek is a dud of a paddle.
Gauge Recorded on this Trip:
Waunakee: ht/ft: 2.65 | cfs: 7.2
Recommended Levels:
This is a paddle we simply don’t recommend regardless of levels. It’s got huge potential but is also big on portages.
Put-In:
Waunakee Village Park, East Main Street/Highway 19, Waunakee, Wisconsin
GPS: 43.19156, -89.44754
Take-Out:
South Woodland Drive
GPS: 43.15989, -89.43214
Time: Put in at 11:10a. Out at 1:45p.
Total Time: 2h 35m
Miles Paddled: 4.75
Wildlife:
One otter, two heron, three giant turtles, carp, snake skin (yeesh) and a leech (thanks for hanging on and sucking the blood from one of my numerous portaging-leg wounds).
Background:
This trip’s been on my agenda since the first year we started this little ol’ kayaking thing. It’s had two things going for it; it’s close to home and it’s a creek (something we love). Yet, it’s always hit the back-burner due to its generally low water level and I’ve always had a creeping suspicion that it might be a drag.
Six Mile creek starts small and eventually gets wider and slower as it opens into Marsh and then, eventually, into Lake Mendota. Now, I normally don’t care much for lake paddling but this seemed like a “complete and tidy stretch” and good mileage for an afternoon trip.
I first heard about this creek via a Meetup group. The organizer of the paddle said there was only one portage on that meetup (again, this was years ago) – something I sorely misread – the group was actually starting in Lake Mendota and paddling up through Six Mile instead of down it.
Well, it was storming on my intended destination further north, so I opted to stay closer to home and finally knock this one off the list.
I’d actually scouted this creek earlier in the week after a massive thunderstorm swept through the area. I didn’t paddle it that day but perhaps I should’ve (this creek could benefit from more water than when I paddled it). Last Monday it was 3.5” and 21 cfs, triple what it was this day.
Well, the day started good. I headed to Governor Nelson State Park to drop off my bike at the intended boat landing take-out. Coincidentally, I also planned on finally buying a State Park sticker but low and behold, it was Free State Park Weekend (hooray!). Bonus! #freeparking
So, with my shuttle in place, I headed back to Waunakee Village Park, an attractive little park on the Eastern edge of Waunakee. There’s no actual designated put-in at the park but it’s mowed close to the edge and easily accessible so I chose to put in just up-creek of the riffles.
What we liked:
I saw the best of Six Mile and the worst of Six Mile.
The best is the 2.5 miles (approx.) from the Park to a 1/2 mile past Mill road. It’s actually surprisingly eventful, twisting its way through backyards, under numerous bridges and tree-covered canopy. And it’s really riffly and rocky. It kind of reminded me of the how the Waupaca and Little Wolf River are dotted with stones and boulders at times (a very unexpected feature, considering the locale that added to the charm of this creek). In fact, this run was starting to have all the makings of a really special creek with huge potential, with it being so close to home but probably even more so in higher water (I was scraping my fair share on this first section).
And then there was the wildlife, astonishing really considering this is what I consider city-paddling. Almost immediately, I was greeted by an otter who swam right by my boat. There were even a couple herons and a few giant turtles who were sunning themselves on the banks. But after Castle Creek Conservancy and just past Mill Road, there wasn’t much but a whole lot of lumber.
Oh, but there was also the delight of a bikini-clad lady laying poolside in her backyard who gave a rousing hoot and holler and thumbs up that I was paddling by. I wasn’t sure if that was a “Godspeed” kind of thumbs up or what. I took it as a good sign (I should’ve known).
What we didn’t like:
The worst of six Mile starts about a 1/2 mile after Mill Road. There were somewhere around two-dozen portages.
I’m pretty go with the flow (no pun intended) and I can put up with my fair share of portages but I lost count after 16 non-negotiable portages. It was frustrating, draining and it took a lot of creative climbing and ducking and boat tossing, and I’m sorry but nothing is worth this amount of fuss when you’re looking to find the next great paddle.
There were times where the portages were two and three deep, meaning, I knew that once I got over one, I had more work to do (which was more than a little deflating). After a dozen or so, I just gave up and jumped in the water every time, which wasn’t the easiest because it was surprisingly deep in some areas. Shallow water was generally the norm but in high water, a few of these could be incredibly difficult especially on the downriver side of them where the water was already waist-deep. The current was strong around corners, where most of the portages reside (again, in multiples) which made some of these maneuvers all the more exhausting.
So I paddled past Woodland Drive where I was hoping things would get better. I got five more portages into it and to this long-forgotten and broken down steel bridge when I decided to call it. I couldn’t fathom another mile of portaging just to get to some uneventful marsh and then a lake paddle. And who knows how many portages stood between that spot and the marsh? (Hindsight tells me I had about another mile or so to go full of portages until it appears (according to Google Maps) like it got clearer until eventually, the swamp and then finally Mendota).
So I turned around, portaged those five and took out at Woodland. The take-out is just the skirt of a bridge, not an actual take-out and it was pretty bad (steep, next to culverts on a busy road). The intended take-out at the State Park Boat Landing would’ve been fantastic but at this point, it didn’t matter.
Six mile got the best of me and sometimes you got to know when to fold ‘em.
I don’t take bailing on a paddle lightly. In fact, there’s only one other time I can remember that it’s happened. Not only do we invest a lot of time in planning but the feeling of not completing a challenge bruises the ego a bit. The last section is the part I was least looking forward to but still, it was a bummer to not finish it. So I hiked it back to the State Park, head hung low, paddle entow, got on my bike and shuttled my muddy-self all the way back.
The absolute astonishing thing about this trip was the time it took me to paddle 4.75 miles. Nearly 3 hours! That’s nothing short of crazy. It took me 50 minutes to paddle the Park to Mill Road section and nearly twice as long to paddle the Mill Road to South Woodland Drive section (1 hour, 45 minutes), thereby emphasizing the amount of portages.
Lastly, common to city-paddles, there was garbage everywhere. Countless bottles and cans and lost basketballs, soccer balls, tennis balls and other floatable items. A shame.
If we did this trip again:
Initially, Six Mile had all the makings of something unique (the upper section was great) and it would’ve been awesome to finish this paddle the way I intended but it was literally and figuratively, a drag.
In theory and in higher water, I’d try to take-out at the Mill Road bridge, however that may not be a realistic (or level-headed) option since it too, is not a real take-out and the creek and Mill Road converge at a busy intersection. But that section (and the 1/2 mile just past Mill road) was a lot of fun until hitting portage-city.
If someday, some good souls choose to clear and maintain the creek, I’ll give it another go but until that day happens, my curious Six Mile itch has been overly-scratched (and I’m sore as hell).
Miles Paddled Video:
Photo Gallery:
Alternate Trip Report: Shorter Paddle (5.5 Miles)
Touring Lower Six Mile Creek
August 22, 2021
☆ ☆ ☆
A delightful little jaunt in the Madison area, the lower half of Sixmile Creek offers a pleasant respite without the commitment of a long drive or shuttling (it’s a there-and-back outing), plus a wide array of wildlife and undeveloped surroundings.
Gradient:
≈ 1′ per mile
Gauge Recorded on this Trip:
Waunakee: ht/ft: 2.77 | cfs: 6.5
Recommended Levels:
There is always enough water to paddle this trip.
Put-In + Take-Out:
N. Shore Bay Drive, Waunakee, Wisconsin
GPS: 43.14093, -89.43756
Time: Put in at 4:30p. Out at 7:00p.
Total Time: 2h 30m
Miles Paddled: 5.5 (there and back)
Wildlife:
Great blue herons, green herons, songbirds, muskrat and deer.
What we liked:
Sometimes you just need to be on the water, doesn’t really matter where or for how long. That might sound tautological for a paddling blog, so let me clearer. Sometimes you just need to be in a boat, on a body of water, surrounded by nature, away from everything else. That could be ten hours away or ten minutes. (In this case, for me, it was literally less than 10 minutes.) For me, whose mantra is my favorite place to go is somewhere new, it’s easy to be “farsighted” about paddling, my eyes typically on a prize that’s a way’s away. But all that takes time and rarely packs conveniently into schedules of work, weather, dog-sittting, etc. Still, that’s generally how I roll. Yet, for all that outbound wanderlust coursing through my veins, even I can rein it in sometimes and pleasantly settle on paddling Badfish Creek for the 50th time or a similar nearby stream. Or, in this case a virtually current-free marsh-area stream with no need to shuttle.
We’ve been on the upper half of Six Mile before (technically, it’s the mid-section of the creek, but trying to paddle the headwaters of Six Mile into Waunakee is a fool’s errand full of downfall and low-clearance bridges), and this is a distinctly different experience. It’s one of two streams that feed Lake Mendota at the same exact spot (the other is Dorn Creek) in between Cherokee Marsh and Governor Nelson State Park.
Before I knew much about paddling, I was in a long aluminum canoe with my then girlfriend and her best friend back in 2009 and we went up Six Mile Creek for about as long as we could until portaging became too problematic; and so we turned around and floated downstream back to the car. That’s likely what everyone does. The question that remains is this: how far up do you venture before calling it quits and heading back? For me, now in 2021 – a dozen years later and about as many girlfriends, too, not to mention becoming a part of a paddling blog and eventually writing a paddling guidebook – a lot has changed. But mainly I wanted to brave as far up as Woodland Drive before turning back around. I got close, but the amount of deadfall and general tree debris got to be too formidable and ridiculous, the banks too mucky and gross to get in and out a lot, and the spiders way too numerous.
But I was delighted to see a total of seven kayakers during my outing – in groups of three and two, plus two soloists fishing. So, whether it’s the ongoing pandemic inspiring people to paddle anywhere and everywhere or what, I don’t know. But the secret’s out about Six Mile Creek.
Overview:
There’s good access to the water at the bridge (downstream side, river-left) that serves as both put-in and take-out since this a there-and-back paddle trip. For only a hundred yards or so you’ll comb through lily pads, cattails, and marsh grass before the scene blows wide open in a lake-like setting. Essentially, this is where Dorn Creek and Six Mile Creek merge before emptying into Lake Mendota (off to the right/east). Here, you turn left, however, and paddle upstream and north. The current is next to nonexistent, so this poses no difficulty or particular hardship. The settings are still quite wide here and will remain as much until the bridge at County M, preceded first by a brand new handsome pedestrian bridge that is mostly used by bicyclists. On the other side of the road bridge the creek will bend to the left, and then right through a quintessential marsh and prairie environment, now only a narrow stream that is 20′ wide at best.
I learned once, somewhere, that the difference between a marsh and a swamp is this: trees. A swamp has trees, a marsh doesn’t – or at least not as many and mainly on the perimeters. Depending on your druthers for venturing upstream, you’ll likely be in a predominantly marshy landscape, and on a sunny day your skin will just bask (or be braised).
There are occasional straightaways, but it’s mostly a lot of meandering – a couple times the creek will even make jackknife-like tight turns fully 180 degrees. The signature feature here is abandoned nature of the landscape. Hardly a wilderness, it still feels wild thanks to the lack of development. To be sure, civilization surrounds the marshy environs, but you don’t really see any of it while on the water. Indeed, once you get past County M the only building you’ll see is part of a horse…farm? ranch? stables?
I remembered the horses from that first paddle trip a hundred years ago. This time around when I passed one party of two paddlers in kayaks I asked them how far up they were able to go, and they answered “you can go up quite a ways. You’ll see where we turned around.” I’ll see about that, I thought privately, although my Taurean obstinacy had to be tempered by the reality of sitting high up in a long boat, a 15′ canoe. (It’s funny to me that the only times I’ve paddled this narrow-ass creek full of deadfall have both been in canoes). I liked the challenge of that as well as the ambiguity; for each and every time I encountered an obstacle – and there are plenty! – I kept wondering Is this where they turned around or is this where turned around…? The first was a low-clearance tree you have to lean all the way forward for or limbo all the way back – or when in a canoe lie down inside and hope the gunwales clear. This tree presumably lies on private land as it was a few feet away from two patio chairs, at least at the time of this writing. If my canoe can get under it, a kayaker should have no trouble.
This whole trip is a kind of choose your own adventure insofar as how far up you paddle. In other words, how willing you are to paddle upstream and into/onto tree debris. Again, the current isn’t really an issue, but in late summer – especially a hot one like this year – there’s an explosion of aquatic plants and weeds, which, together with low water levels, slow you down considerably.
Pressing on, you’ll soon come upon a seemingly totally random wooden bridge that is part of Carriage Ridge Conservancy surrounding the creek here. A half-dozen zigs and zags follow on the other side of the bridge, and then a long straightaway. After that the landscape changes on a dime, ditching its marsh and prairie airs and adopting a new attitude that is 100 percent swampy bottomlands and woodlots. Even the streambed changes from sandy gravel to muddy muck. And all that former golden sunlight of infinite summer, it’s gone, shrouded now by portentous trees lending an atmosphere of spooky gloom. Is this where they turned around…? Not surprisingly, there’s a lot of downed trees here – strainers, stray branches, akimbo limbs. I cut through a fair amount of the truly impenetrable stuff with my trusty Cindy Loppers, but passing through still is akin to threading a needle in some places (especially in a canoe). But don’t let the mud or obstacle course or darkness mislead you; this part of the trip is actually pretty cool and even pretty in its own way, especially with a couple of modest weeping seeps and natural springs.
But I did give up after a time before getting to my arbitrary ideal of Woodland Drive (aptly named, come to think of it). I could hear vehicles and traffic, so I knew I was near, but it seemed silly at best and indisputably impractical at worst to keep pressing on…for what? That said, wherever I was when I decided to turn around I was quite certain it was farther than the two kayakers had gone, believe you me, by golly! There’s stubbornly negotiating some blockages and impediments without having to get out of your boat, but then there are some clusters you can’t avoid without portaging. Either way, everything you do once will have to be done twice on a trip like this, since it’s there-and-back. Hence turning around before the impractical became ludicrous and laughable.
That’s basically the first half of the trip; everything else is just played in reverse, the only difference being now you’re marginally going with the flow and replaying scenes from your memory, be they from an hour before or a decade.
What we liked:
When you need a quick booster shot of “vitamin P” but don’t have all day, this little number is quite efficacious! It helps that the landscape is quite lovely and mostly undeveloped, despite being on the fringe of the second largest city in all of Wisconsin. I loved the mere simplicity of this trip – how close it is to my driveway as well as the voided necessity of shuttling (and all those jazzy logistics).
What we didn’t like:
Don’t get me wrong – this is still predominantly a marsh environment (with the unruly woods upstream as a kind of “bonus feature” if this were a DVD, which does not necessarily strike of chord of resounding extraordinariness for most paddlers (myself included).And, to be fair, paddling upstream still makes me flinch and snicker with nonplussed reservation. Furthermore, if you do venture far enough to get into those unruly woods where “paddling” has been superseded by a kind of crossfit-equivalent of extreme landscaping, well, that can quickly get tiring and dispiriting. Oh – and messy. I’m not so fastidious as to be flustered by a small storm’s worth of broken branches, leaves, twigs, and assorted arboreal debris from snapping, snipping, and sawing my way through the maze and obstacles. No, sir. But what I do mind is the amount of rogue spiders now having fallen into my boat (a hopelessly wide open canoe at that) and onto my body. After a dozen or so – and big, ugly ones at that, not the mindlessly harmless daddy longlegs variety at that – I started debating in my head on a scale of 1 to 10 how much of an overreaction or hypercorrection it would be if I just lit the canoe on fire and ran screaming out of the woods. Of course, all of that was my own doing – it was I who disturbed them; I get that. Still could’ve done without it, though.
If we did this trip again:
I’d definitely do this trip again, as is. The only difference would be A) taking a sawzall or chainsaw with me and B) do it either earlier in the year or even later, to avoid all the weeds and aquatic plants.
This little junket was just what the doctor ordered: a quick escape for the sake of being on the water on a day when something more ambitious wasn’t in my cards. It’s easy to get to and be at. The wildlife was delightful and the overall wild-esque landscape with hardly any development – despite being surrounded by such – lent the whole experience a unique feel.
The one thing I rue about paddling in general (at least rivers) is all the work it takes – loading a boat on a vehicle, getting all the gear, driving to the destination, doing a shuttle, etc. (And let’s not even get into the whole smorgasbord of weather and water levels.) It’s entirely different from road or mountain biking, or skiing, or running. For instance, let’s say your destination is 45-60 minutes away and maybe 7 miles long, which is a pretty good average. That all sounds neat and tidy in and of itself and none too formidable, but the reality is that’s gonna be the better part of your day: the driving time alone, round-trip, is 90 minutes to two hours + half an hour realistically for shuttling + 2-4 hours on the water (depending on your pace and size of your party). Totally worth it – and something I do damn near every single weekend from April to November (and at least once a month from December to March) – but it is a time commitment, no two ways about it.
Perhaps that it explains the explosive popularity of SUPs and lake paddling…? That and social media.
Thus the appeal of a trip like this: slipping on and off the water as you please, only minutes away, and no worries of leaving a car somewhere and how many boats can it take and the headache of getting back to the put-in, etc. I love me an adventure like nobody’s business, the more recluse and obscure the better. But sometimes there are too many chores to do and not enough time for somewhere sexy. A trip like this is a perfect compromise.
Miles Paddled Video:
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