Straight River

Krogh’s Landing to Two Rivers Landing:
A surprisingly diverse river with natural features that continue to change over the course of ten miles, with countless riffles and easy and fun Class I rapids, weeping seeps and natural springs, eye-popping rock outcrops in places you’d never expect them, and the largest glacial erratic in the middle of a stream you’re likely ever to see – this trip on the Straight River is fantastic!

Rating: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Trip Report Date: August 19, 2024

Skill Level: Beginner-Intermediate
Class Difficulty: Nearly nonstop riffles and Class I rapids for miles on end.

Gradient:
≈6′ per mile

Gauge Recorded on this Trip:
Faribault: ht/ft: 4.8 | cfs: 400

Recommended Levels:
We recommend this level.

The Minnesota DNR water levels website states that “medium” levels are between 4.5 to 6.5, which correlate to an eye-popping range of 220 cfs to 1,370 cfs. With all true due respect, that enormous range is rather like saying a “medium” size for men’s pants waistlines is 32 to 46. Regardless, I can vouch first-hand that 240 cfs is too low. While you can paddle the quietwater parts that low, all the riffles and rapids will be Scrape City. And since most of this trip is swift and shallow, we recommend paddling it only when the gauge is between 4.6 and 6.

Put-In:
Krogh’s Landing
GPS: 44.24285, -93.24006
Take-Out:
Two Rivers Landing/Park, Faribault, Minnesota
GPS: 44.31065, -93.27092

Time: Put in at 10:30a. Out at 1:20p.
Total Time: 2h 50m
Miles Paddled: 10

Wildlife:
Bald eagles, lots of great blue herons, and songbirds.

Shuttle Information:
On four wheels it’s 5.75 miles from the take-out going south through Faribault and then southeast on Highway 19 to Krogh’s Landing. Bicyclists can/should take advantage of the delightful Straight River Trail that hugs the river itself for the first three miles, until Willow St, and then share the road on Highway 19 to Krogh’s Landing for another three miles. There is no fee or pass needed for the trail.

Background:
Once this piece goes to press, it will be exactly eight years (and close to the day) since I first learned of the Straight River. There was no grand lecture or tutorial, and this was before the explosive over-saturation of podcasts flooding every miniscule moment of quiet in the endless din of our technocratic lives. I was in a small lake cabin outside of Oxford, WI, with no wifi. Just myself, my dog, some books, and a whole lot of maps, right after Labor Day in 2016.

My grand idea was to begin the very intimidating but exciting prospect of paddling and researching all the rivers in southeastern Minnesota that were unaffected by the glaciers of the last Ice Age. Generally speaking, from the Iowa border to the confluence of the St. Croix and Mississippi Rivers (aka Hastings), those river systems are the Root, Zumbro, Whitewater, and Cannon. That may not seem like a lot, compared to Iowa or Wisconsin, but both the Root and Zumbro are complex watersheds that subsume several individual branches and forks – with some branches having their own forks and some forks their own branches. For reasons I won’t try to comprehend, the Cannon does not follow this trend. Here, the Straight River is called just that – the Straight River. In other words, it’s not the “South Fork of the Cannon” or the “East Branch of the Cannon.” I like that; it’s nice to be your own thing and not derivative of something else.

(No offense to all the men with a Jr. or Roman numeral following their names.)

Speaking of names, now’s as good a time and place to address a different kind of ambiguity. I am not purposefully sounding baroque or clumsy when referring to these streams as “the rivers in southeastern Minnesota that were unaffected by the glaciers of the last Ice Age.” Why not just refer to them as the Driftless rivers in Minnesota? Because strictly speaking that would be a misnomer; there are no rivers without glacial drift in Minnesota. No rivers, certainly not lakes, or prairies. None. Sorry to be a killjoy.

(Spoiler alert: the same can be said about Iowa. Sorry, Ginny, but there ain’t no Santa either…)

Unlike southwestern Wisconsin and a splinter of northwestern Illinois, all of Minnesota and Iowa were glaciated at one time or another. It’s just that southeastern Minnesota and northeastern Iowa were only lightly glaciated – and a very long time ago (about 2.5 million years). While the rest of Minnesota and Iowa would be impacted by subsequent Ice Ages, the southeastern and northeastern pockets, respectively, would be left unscathed by the moving mountains of ice and thus able to rebound. Two million years is an unimaginably long time for the processes of natural erosion to wipe off all the glacial makeup from the face of this landscape, which is why it looks today so similar to the actual drift-less area on the opposite side of the Mississippi.

Consider this… Civilization as we more or less define it more or less began some 10,000 years ago. Surely, you remember the Fertile Crescent and the advent of agriculture, right? Right. Well, while all that was going down in Mesopotamia, the Upper Midwest would begin recovering from the onslaught of 2+ million years of rough, dumb ice bulldozing the land and leaving a whole lot of debris and puddles in their wake. The evidence of that surrounds us today – and is why the last Ice Age is named after Wisconsin. But this paper-thin sliver of time from the Tigris-Euphrates to the Phoenicians, agriculture to the alphabet, to the Greeks and Romans, democracy and dictators, Charlemagne, Columbus, Andy Kaufman landing on the moon, and Donald Trump winning the White House – all of that time is merely four one-thousandth (0.004) of one percent of the time that the so-called “driftless” rivers in Minnesota and Iowa have been recovering from glaciation.

It’s confusing because in Minnesota the area is officially referred to as “Blufflands,” while in Iowa it’s been given the accurate but totally uncatchy moniker of “Paleozoic Plateau.” In Wisconsin we call it “Driftless.” (I have no idea what Illinois calls it, if they call it anything other than “Galena.”) Yet it all essentially looks the same and possesses features like underground caves and soaring cliffs, gushing natural springs and trout streams, with exoskeleton-like exposed bedrock such as sandstone and limestone surrounding and bounding through the area, that is a refuge to flora and fauna found nowhere else in any of these four states.

Strictly speaking, it would be inaccurate to call them all “driftless” (lower-case d), but they’re kind of grandfathered in, nonetheless. A keen eye could discern that the whole area within these four states is not at all monolithic. But for those of us in boats looking up, it’s all Driftless (upper-case D). And when one allows for the ongoing proliferation of small businesses in each of the four states that all have “Driftless” in their names – from acupuncture to apothecaries, bakeries and breweries, bowling alleys and bookstores, cafes, florists, and fly-fishing shops – there’s a regional branding that pays no mind to borders defined by geography.

I myself have no background in geology, and this is a paddling blog that aspires to no pretense of science. Ergo, I oughta stay in my lane. But I respectfully contend that “the Driftless” is as much a state of mind as it is an area larger in size than the states of Vermont and New Hampshire combined. For example, the lower Pecatonica River in southwestern Wisconsin and northeastern Illinois is definitively within the Driftless Area, but it’s a pretty boring stream to paddle (unless you’re into surveying row-crop erosion). By contrast, the exquisite trifecta of creek paddling in Jackson County (Halls, Morrison, and Robinson) is on the margin of the Driftless purlieu (as is the East Fork of the Black River, an outlet for Glacial Lake Wisconsin, which while obviously affected by glaciers, covered a large area that was not itself glaciated…at least during the last Ice Age). But these streams are gorgeous, engaging, geographically approximate, and endowed with comparable features. Similarly, the Kinnickinnic River on the far south side of northwestern WI can’t be considered “Driftless” scientifically, but it sure quacks like a duck and waddles like no other.

As with trans identity, hormones, and gonads, taint so “straightforward” as drawing an imaginary line for shirts to go on one side, skins the other. Nothing is that simple, everything is more complicated and nuanced. Even rivers.

But even the whimsical zeitgeist maps of the Driftless (such as this) do not include Rice or Steele Counties in southeastern Minnesota, where the Straight River starts and ends. So. Did I need to paddle the Straight as part of the Driftless R&D? Arguably not – though it too is on the margin. And aren’t borderlands doubly rich with a pinch of this and that (as opposed to one or the other)? Regardless, it still took me eight years to get out there, even though I gave myself two months in 2016.

Now that our banks are full with stewy ambiguity, how and why would a stream with so many twists and kinks to it be named “Straight”? Excellent question. In this case, “straight” has nothing to do with geometry, but rather captures a colloquial notion of being upfront and honest – as in “give it to me straight.” It comes from the Dakota Indian word “Owatonna,” which uncoincidentally is the name of a town through which the river flows and where the first of two total trips on the Straight is detailed in Paddling Southern Minnesota.

In their wonderful guidebook, authors Lynne and Bob Diebel lay out the Straight from Owatonna to Medford (11 miles) and Medford to Faribault (16 miles). For my sake, I skipped ahead and started at the halfway point of their second trip, at Krogh’s Landing. For starters (or, closers), I wanted my trip to end where our first trip on the Cannon began back in 2015, to complete the link. But that would’ve meant two more miles, for an 18-mile paddle total, if I’d launched from Medford. Not a deal-breaker, but a long and rather undesirable bike shuttle afterwards, since I was alone. Moreover, the Medford to midway segment of their second trip sounded unremarkable except for a short set of Class I-II rapids (that are only 700′ upstream from Krogh’s). What finally sealed the deal was an alert on the Minnesota DNR page about a large logjam blocking the entire river in between Medford and Krogh’s. So it was that I’d start at Krogh’s.

Overview:
The access at Krogh’s is excellent – with plenty of room for vehicles, a turnaround for trailers, and a gravel path to the river. Here, the river is riffly (why I opted not to paddle 700′ against this current to the Class I-II rapids upstream), but that pep quickly putters out past the bridge. Incidentally, these little rapids mark the spot where there used to be a mill – one of many along the Straight and Cannon Rivers (some of which are still extant, albeit serving no purpose).

Trees line both banks, and the setting is pretty and peaceful. About 70′ wide, the river is intimate but can accommodate a group of paddlers without having to be single-file most of the time. The left bank is relatively flat, since it makes the grade (so to speak) of the railroad, while the right bank rises (which is welcome, since there’s a golf course beyond it). The first of many boulders that punctuate the river appears. Called a “glacial erratic” because there are no similar rock formations anywhere nearby, such rocks were carried and later deposited by glaciers – and why it would be a tough sell to list the Straight as a Driftless river. But it is cool.

The surroundings remain pretty and protected, even though you’re surrounded by development (farms and such). But this sense feels even more augmented after the next bridge (227^th St), where the USGS station happens to be, thus providing for on-point river levels. A swift stretch of riffles dotted with small boulders awaits, followed by a small island on the left and a pitch of spirited Class I rapids. Scrubby banks eroded in wave patterns hint at the wild rodeo ride the river becomes in high water. Shortly before the next bridge (220^th St) you’ll pass the foundation footing of a former bridge. Keep your eyes and ears out for weeping seeps on both the left and right. There are oodles of them all along this trip.

A lively boulder garden greets you past the bridge; while subtle, there’s a distinct “staircase” appearance/pattern to them. After this fun stretch you’ll see brick-like outcrops along the banks, modest but attractive. A gorgeous mini-waterfall “slinkies” down the right bank. Before the river makes an atypical right-left meander to head west and south before resuming its northbound course, you’ll encounter one of the unique highlights of trip especially, but anywhere on the Straight River: a glacial erratic as big as a “small garage,” to borrow from the Diebels (at the 4:00 mark in this video). On my trip, the upstream side of it was obstructed by so much downed trees and debris uprooted from all the storms earlier this year. I’ve seen big rocks in the middle of a river before, but this gentle giant is truly momentous; like a postcard from the Canadian Shield, its presence here is a genuine juxtaposition – and a real marvel to behold.

But this trip’s best has yet to come.

Intermittent riffles and Class I rapids zip you along more striated rock outcrops, still modest, but now featuring calved-off slabs. To the right, a stunning small waterfall and pool lie behind a leafy-green veil of cool shade. Another small island precedes a set of riffles that whisk you past a pretty relief of sandstone outcrops now on the left; here, the broken slabs are large and look like a colossal toddler had thrown a conniption fit with uncoordinated fists. More riffles await and guide you past more outcrops (now on the right), together with more weeping seeps like a faucet someone forgot to shut off from 15’ on high. In this section, it’s all more – more riffles, more rapids, more outcrops; more jaw-gaping, soul-amused amazement. This may not be a Driftless river, but man oh man, is it gorgeous and grand!

The small mouth of Falls Creek comes in on the right. Not a paddleable stream per se, it is surprisingly long and features a county park just north of here. It also marks the unofficial entrance into the

River Bend Nature Center, 743 protected acres of forest, wetlands, and prairies – not to mention zippy riffles and splashy rapids, natural springs, cliffs, and rock outcrops.

The river makes a hairpin bend to the right where the railroad tracks are at their closest on the left. Lush outwashes of gravel and sand braid the riffly river here before it cruises beneath the railroad bridge. Per usual, rapids and rock outcrops are found downstream. No pun intended (seriously), but a straightaway heading west leads to a steel footbridge. Past the footbridge, a wall of dreamy, creamy sandstone on the left lines the river in a Kickapoo-esque fashion. It’s worth mentioning that there used to be a canoe-kayak campsite near here on river-right. The Diebels mention it, and even Google Maps lists it. However, the River Bend Nature Center has assured me that there is no camping permitted. So, there.

Now the river is diverted to the north again as it passes huge swaths of gravel bars – perfect for a picnic, leg-stretch, or fossil find. To be fair, the take-out is only a few miles away – chances are you’ll have heard the sounds of town and seen the water tower by now. But why rush through it? A medium-sized island splits the river into channels, the main one on the right. At the time of my trip, the main channel was surprisingly barricaded by a logjam, such that I had to backtrack and take the smaller, left channel, which was unkempt but passable. Needless to say, this may not be the case after future high-water events…

In a gesture of déjà vu all over again, you’ll pass under another railroad bridge and steel footbridge. Now you’re in the quaint confines of Teepee Tonka Park, where stately cottonwoods prevail and tower above you. After you pass a picnic shelter on the left, a short dogleg reveals two bridges practically on top of one another: the first is merely an entrance to the park, the second is Highway 60 (aka 1^st St). There’s a very good access just before the first of these bridges, on the left. It’s small and easy to miss, unless you’re actively looking for it. Ending here would make for an absolutely fabulous trip a little over 8 miles.

But I ventured forward to the end of the Straight, where it merges with the Cannon. The Hwy 60 bridge is elegant, lovely, and really tall – like a viaduct. Two more bridges span the river downriver, after which a large dairy plant lines the right bank. An ancient outcrop of sandstone teases the eye past the plant, also on the right. On the left, modern apartments are set back across from the ubiquitous railroad tracks. For the last time you’ll pass under these tracks under a low-lying bridge. Fun and most welcome riffles quicken the pace past a set of power lines and railroad tracks that run parallel to the river on the right. The corridor is wooded and occasionally riffly until the next bridge at 14^th Street.

Depending on the wind and its direction, things might get foul in the final half-mile. Past the bridge is the wastewater treatment plant. Fortunately, for the sake of all things olfactory, the take-out is just past this. The Cannon River will appear on the left – smaller actually than the Straight. Not quite 300′ downstream lies the dinky and nondescript access on river(s)-left. From there, it’s a 200′ schlep to the parking area at Two Rivers Park, where there is no water or port-a-potties oddly enough, given that the wastewater plant is across the way. But there is a picnic shelter, a fishing pier, and the gateway to the Straight River Trail (for those of us hopping on a bike to pedal the shuttle).

What we liked:
Given the effusive description above, I loved this trip! The Straight River – well, at least this final leg of it – is one of the prettiest and most enjoyable paddles I’ve done in a long time. From the weeping seeps to the mini waterfalls, the innumerable riffles and easy rapids, the rock outcrops and discernible transition in geology from one mile to the next, this trip really packs a punch. Even if, strictly speaking, it’s not a Driftless river, it’s a terrific river that is rich in complexity and just really fun!

What we didn’t like:
Honestly, nothing – there wasn’t anything I didn’t like about this trip, other than the mundane ending. Two Rivers Park is less a city park than easement of grass and greenery off of the ginormous parking lot for the Health Center by the same name. It’s not the easiest place to find by map, but then again who goes by paper maps anymore in our golden age of GPS?

If we did this trip again:
I’d take out at Teepee Tonka Park instead of Two Rivers Park. There’s not much incentive in the two miles between, other than connecting to the Cannon and bike riding the trail.

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Related Information:
Brochure + Map: Cannon River State Water Trail
General: Minnesota DNR
Video: Don Schaub
Wikipedia: Straight River

Photo Gallery: