Elgin to Elkader:
A pleasant but by no means spectacular section of the Turkey River in between the towns of Elgin and Elkader, paddlers can expect good wildlife, gravel bars galore, and a mix of meadows with cornfields in a wide valley where bluffs are generally in the background and rock outcrops are modest at best.
Rating: ☆ ☆ ☆
Trip Report Date: September 30-October 1, 2024
Skill Level: Beginner
Class Difficulty: Quietwater
Gradient:
≈ 4′ per mile
Gauge Recorded on this Trip:
French Hollow Creek at Elkader: ht/ft: 5.25 | cfs: 220
Recommended Levels:
We recommend this level for the Big Spring to Elkader segment. From Elgin to Big Spring, look for 5.5 or 250+ cfs on the above gauge; 5.25 | 220 cfs is very shallow.
Trip 1 Put-In:
Highway B64 bridge upstream of the pedestrian bridge, on river-right, Elgin, Iowa
GPS: 42.95817, -91.62423
Trip 1 Take-Out:
Big Spring Campground
GPS: 42.91229, -91.483
Time: Put in at 11:40a. Out at 4:00p.
Total Time: 4h 20m
Miles Paddled: 12.25
Trip note: Yes, this is a sluggish time for a river with a 4 fpm gradient! It was very shallow, and we bottomed out routinely. Plus, we were in no hurry to hot-foot it; it was 84 degrees and sunny on the last day of September (aka the second month of August in 2024).
Trip 2 Put-In:
Big Spring Campground
GPS: 42.91229, -91.483
Trip 2 Take-Out:
Access 39A, off Sandpit Road, Elkader, Iowa
GPS: 42.8618, -91.40877
Time: Put in at 12:15p. Out at 2:40p.
Total Time: 2h 25m
Miles Paddled: 7.25
Wildlife:
Bald eagles, turkeys, great blue herons, muskrats, beaver, deer, and my oh my, so many fish!
Shuttle Information:
It’s Iowa, so buckle up for a long ride along dust clouds on gravel roads. If you break this segment of river in two, as we did, the shuttle from Big Spring to Elgin is 14.25 miles, and 9.5 miles from Elkader to Big Spring. However, from Elkader to Elgin is only 17 miles – and all paved. Per usual in northeastern Iowa, we do not recommend bike shuttling, if you have an alternate option.
Background:
Many of our life rituals are handed down from past generations, sometimes for reasons we shrug at understanding or explaining in the present day. (Does anyone actually like gefilte fish or lutefisk? Show of hands, please.) Others are imposed upon us from societal pressure. (Why do we evacuate turkeys and then stuff them with bread products? What aspiring chef who failed food science thought this was a bacteria-free good idea?) But wherever they come from, customs matter; they shape the otherwise mundane orbit of our lives and give them punctuated meaning. Rituals give us purpose (even if they’re a little silly or seem arbitrary).
My favorite kind of tradition is the one that begins with no known origin that happens organically, without intention or contrivance. A decade ago, there was a happy trend of Labor Day weekend paddling trips with a group of friends. More recently, Scotty and I started getting together in autumn for little paddling getaways. Autumn is my favorite time of the year – even though (or precisely because) its gorgeous agony is bittersweet. Leaving aside the always tricky business of fickle water levels or obnoxious wind, the obvious boons for paddlers are beautiful foliage, better views of bluffs and rock outcrops, and wildlife set in a tizzy of pre-migration or hibernation. Plus there are no bugs, crowds, or sunburn.
It’s a great time to be alive and be outside – especially for introverts.
Lots of paddlers stow away their gear this time of year, the paddles and PFDs eclipsed by boxes of Halloween decorations, then Thanksgiving, then December holidays, by which time only a handful of intrepid (or insensible) folks still think about finding open water anymore. Thus, October for many paddlers is both a homecoming and a retirement.
But as with so many things, nothing truly ends. To paraphrase Robert Frost, life can be summed up in three words: “it goes on.” Like it or not, for better or worse, richer or poorer, life goes on. To be sure, a year is a loop, a cycle come full circle (well, oval). It’s not for nothing that the Jewish New Year begins in autumn – harvest time – or why our adorable gourd-headed kiddos go back to school or start kindergarten then. It’s no coincidence either that the Latin word for “ring” is annulus. Like annual, there is no real beginning or end.
But the good stuff does come around but once a year.
Scotty and I selected northeastern Iowa for this year’s getaway, in part because it’s a good compromise, driving-wise, for us both. (We did entertain the idea of heading north for a hot minute, but whenever the windshield time exceeds the time on the water, it’s a good moment to think twice. So, rather than drive 3-5 hours to maximal prettiness for minimal paddling, we cut the former in half to capitalize on what’s most important: reconnecting with friends and communing with the water.) We purposefully situated ourselves in between the Turkey, Upper Iowa, Volga, and Yellow River watersheds to hedge our bets – why start at the beginning of the alphabet?
Alas, the Volga and Yellow both were much too shallow. No surprise there; we’ve hardly had a drop of cloud-gold since mid-July. What cruel twist of fate has it that the prettiest rivers have the most difficult levels? The Upper Iowa is hardly a runner-up, so on our very first day we picked up where we’d left off from last year’s junket by paddling from Bluffton to Malanaphy Springs. But then we doubled down on gobble-town for the rest of our time together, two day trip paddles in consecutive sections.
In Paddling Iowa, the seminal guidebook to which we owe virtually everything for, well, paddling in Iowa, author Nate Hoogeveen lays out six individual trips down the Turkey River, from Eldorado to Garber, a distance of 60 miles, in three 20-mile segments. While the first stretch (Eldorado to Elgin) has several accesses to individually tailor your time on the water, the rest (Elgin to Garber) do not, resulting in very uneven trips (like choosing between six miles or sixteen). Water levels and wind also will be factors to consider. In the end, we opted for the Elgin to Elkader segment, a distance of 20 miles that we sensibly split in two separate but consecutive day trips: the first our “house money” day to do with as we pleased, the second our driving back home day.
Overview:
Paddlers have two options for launching their boats in Elgin – on the left or right banks of the river on the upstream sides of both Highway B64 and the pedestrian bridge preceding it. River-left is more official, as it’s a part of Gilbertson Park, but river-right is where we took out last year, so we began there. There are no facilities on the right/south side of the river, but it’s plenty spacious. The other visual double-take are the two bridges, for the pedestrian bridge is in much better shape structurally than the actual vehicle bridge. Perhaps the Hawkeye state cast a blind eye to the bipartisan infrastructure bill…
Below the road bridge, on river-right, is an attractive side stream named Otter Creek and then a modest wall of limestone outcrops for about 1000′. Unless the river is especially turbid, you’ll notice that the bottom is composed of huge slabs of smashed limestone. It’s also worth noting here that there will not be another bridge for eight miles, at Cable Ave – aka the only bridge between Elgin and Elkader, a distance of 20 river miles. Welcome to Iowa, folks!
The river here is over 100′ wide, and shallow. Throughout this trip the substrate will alternate between lush sand and golf ball-sized rocks.
Fun riffles will soon whisk past a rough undercut bank flanked by a buzz of corn on the right as you slip away from town and into the deep, wide valley. Where the banks aren’t lined by corn as close to the edge as you can get before falling off, there are attractive woods and gentle hills. An official access lies on the left bank where the river bends right. It’s a funny thing – excluding the accesses in Elgin and Elkader themselves, there are two official accesses in the 20 miles between them: this one here, only a mile from Elgin (why?), and then at the Big Spring campground, eleven miles downriver. Not exactly spaced out well.
A series of LONG straightaways follows; what’s left out for the imagination is made up for in paddling two or more abreast and catching up on life with friends. But there’s subtle meandering here and there in concert with spirited riffles to keep the feeling lively.
You’ll begin seeing piles of sand damn near everywhere – sandbars, sandy banks, sandy bottoms. For those keen on canoe-kayak camping, this section on the Turkey River is considered a “meandered stream.” While that may sound redundant, it’s worth pointing out that “meandered” in this sense does not refer to the wavering orientation of a river. In Iowa, “meandered” is a legal term that goes back to the 19th Century, when the state was still a wink in the Louisiana Purchase’s eye. Surveyors as ill-equipped as they were paid ventured across what would become the 29th state, applying “meander lines” to streams that more or less measured their navigability (i.e., commercial potential). The process itself was a far cry from scientific, yet the results carry legal clout still to this day.
The upshot is so-called meandered streams are held in the public trust up to the ordinary high-water mark, so islands made of sand or gravel are considered public and thus open for camping. Not counting the Big Sioux, Missouri and Mississippi Rivers – the state’s west and east borders – there are only eleven total meandered streams in Iowa’s 120+ rivers and creeks. But wait, there’s less! Only segments of these eleven streams are considered meandered, not the entire stream – some of them pathetically dinky, like the final 2.5 miles of the Upper Iowa River before its mouth of the Mississippi River, or the Little Maquoketa River’s final mile before its confluence.
To be blunt, of the nearly 72,000 miles of rivers and streams lacing all of Iowa, only 1,600 miles (or 2.25%) are considered meandered – and that is counting the Big Sioux, Missouri and Mississippi Rivers. Thus, the reality is not even half of one percent of Iowa’s streams can be camped on. That’s not surprising for a state where less than 3% of its total land is public.
And here’s where the Illinois readers think to themselves, “Wow, 3%?!? That’s awesome!”
A pleasant meadowy section of low-lying poplars comes next. Large piles of deadfall tend to accumulate on the outskirts of Scrape City, impressive and intimidating in their stature, but the river’s width should allow for plenty of safe passage past them. You might detect a quiet natural spring leaking into the river as well. After a couple miles headed east, the river makes an unusual couple loops north before dropping south and running east again cheek by jowl to a handsome wooded ridge on the right. More piles of limestone smithereens lie strewn along the banks as well as in the middle of the river as gravel bars – some large enough to split the mainstream into zippy side channels.
The one and only bridge between Elgin and Elkader appears, at Cable Ave. There is a perfectly feasible though unofficial access on the downstream side of the bridge, river-right. Cable Ave is a quiet road, so loading/unloading a vehicle here would be easy. But to be perfectly clear, there’s room only for two vehicles.
It’s another 4.25 miles to Big Spring. Here, the river continues to fluctuate between sand and rocky gravel. But wooded ridges prevail for a spell, especially in a tight right-hand bend below the Cable Ave bridge, where a small rock outcrop will be found on the left. Another long straightaway south follows past an unassuming swath of meadows, shallows, natural springs, and playful riffles. Two bends to the left divert the river to the northeast. A river-wide riffle precedes the concrete-lined access on the left at the small but scenic campground at Big Spring. (By small I mean like six sites, and, true to Iowa, zero privacy between sites by way of a hedge or tree or boulder).
Riffles continue past the access, and a gentle hill rises above the left bank. There is another small campground on the right, at Frieden Park, and you might even see the sign for an official access, though by all appearances it’s neglected and unused. Opposite it is the large-scale fish hatchery operation at Big Spring. Due to the steepness of the left bank, none of it is really visible vis-à-vis the river. Comprising some 11 acres, Iowa’s largest natural spring supplies cold, clean(ish) water for twelve long concrete-lined pools.
Fun Fact #1: Big Spring flows at an astonishing 20,000 to 30,000 gallons of water per minute. Just try to imagine how long it would take to dump even 10,000 gallons of water into a river, much less in one minute. And Big Spring is two to three times that amount!
Fun Fact #2: Some 150,000 rainbow trout are raised at Big Spring and then released into 15 separate coldwater streams.
All very cool, for sure. But from the paddler’s perspective the whole thing is rather humdrum and subdued, since the awesome phenomenon of such a wild cataract of water is first captured for human enterprise. Today, what’s left of the “royal flush” is a torrent of water gushing out of culverts and trickling down an attractive but artificial waterfall composed of chunky blocks of limestone. That said, water levels should be reliably good from this point down, given the influx. From here it’s only six miles or so to Elkader. The river here mostly flows southeast – a boon if the wind is out of the northwest, as it was for us (and why we selected this stretch).
In a relative sense, there’s a wilder feel to the river from Big Springs down to Elkader. Plus the hills here are closer to the river than upstream. Gravel bars will appear now and again, and even some unabashed encounters of exposed bedrock along the banks like a slip of shoulder beneath a dress. Less attractive by far are a couple abandoned cars in the river. Why, Iowa, why?
The Turkey will make a couple swooping loops in the last two miles of this trip, hugging especially close to the ridge on the right. The current will die altogether at some point, on account of the dam in Elkader. The serenity is brief; houses will line the right bank for a quarter-mile. Speaking of brief, what is arguably the prettiest scene on this 20-mile slice of Turkey reveals itself just before the take-out: a small bluff on river-left capped with limestone outcrops on top (crop top?) and at its base. Depending on the foliage, you might even espy a handsome red-brick building behind the leaves. It’s too late here to have one last beverage, but the scenery itself is enough to sip.
In the first edition of Paddling Iowa, the take-out is stated as being behind a baseball diamond on river-right approximately 700′ upstream of the dam. Not anymore! Today, the official landing is on river-left, off Sandpit Road (fire lane marker 428), just after the pretty bluff and outcrops. There’s plenty of parking here as well as room to turn a trailer around, and it’s well-marked from both the road and the river. Alas, because this newer access is A) half a mile up from the dam and B) located on the left bank before the river makes a subtle bend to the right, one gets out now before seeing the courthouse or keystone bridge – icons of Elkader.
What we liked:
Farmland surrounds you for nearly this entire trip, but it hardly ever feels obnoxious or in-your-face. You know it’s there, but from the perspective of the river its footprint feels relatively gentle. The riffles are always fun, and the mix of sandy bottoms and pebbly gravel is quite pretty.
On a more personal note, getting to spend dedicated time together with a close friend makes even the frumpiest of rivers a meaningful experience. Getting a taste of autumn in the air and leaves made the tradition as sweet as a cider donut.
What we didn’t like:
I think there are two points of contention on this 20-mile section of the Turkey River. The first is purely philosophical, as it’s no fault of the river: there’s plenty of pretty, but not much that stands out as remarkable. It’s Iowa, so King Corn plays a lead role here, not a mere cameo appearance. By and by, there’s nearly no public land along this long stretch, but for the fish hatchery (which is an operational facility – not exactly what comes to mind when one thinks of public land). What’s also missing are boulders and rock outcrops from which they’ve calved off and fallen from, with the exception of the very beginning of trip one and very end of trip two; otherwise, it’s just a lot of woodsy bluffs – most of them in the backdrop of the wide valley here.
Of the three 20-mile Turkey River segments, this one ranks last. Elkader to Garber is by far the prettiest, followed by Eldorado to Clermont.
The second criticism we have is the Elkader access. The two most prominent displays of architecture and civic pride in Elkader are the beautiful Italianate courthouse and clock tower along the left bank and the 340’-long Keystone Bridge spanning across the river, but you won’t see either on the water. Sure, you see them during the shuttle, but it feels cheated to miss these sights while paddling toward town.
Moreover, now it’s a one-mile portage along and across a couple fairly busy streets to access the river again below the dam. That’s totally unreasonable, especially for a deadbeat dam that has questionable-at-best recreational value and produces no hydro juice. Also surprising: while there’s a concrete-lined ramp leading to the river at the Big Spring access – which is a little over-the-top odd since no motor boat can ply these shallow waters – here in Elkader it’s just a skinny sand-mud path up the steep bank. It’s an official access, but it’s not the most user-friendly egress.
Finally, there’s the section of the shuttle route in between Highway B60 (aka Gunder Road) that, depending on which trip you do, is either 3.5 or 4 miles along unpaved gravel roads. Ordinarily, I love the charm of a gravel road (cue Lucinda!). But the chalky dustbowls devilishly stirred up by the vehicle in front of you and/or the one that passes you is too much. Seriously. And here the roads are winding and hilly, too. I had to stop the car altogether on two occasions, because the clouds of dust were absolutely blinding. I mean, do air filter lobbyists just have a chokehold on Iowa state legislators and their DOT purse strings?
One final grumble that is totally unrelated to paddling… I’ve been to charming Elkader now four times in the last two years – not bad for a town in Iowa that’s 2.5 hours from my home in Madison. On every occasion I’ve tried to go to Schera’s restaurant, but it’s been closed, lunch or dinner, weekend or midweek I first heard about this joint ten years ago and have eagerly wanted to check it out ever since. If nothing else, what is the likelihood of an Algerian restaurant serving Belgian beer in a town of 1200 in rural Iowa?!? But apparently it’s easier for a rich man to get to heaven than try a camel burger washed down with a pint of Trappist Ale, as I’m 0-4. “Scheherazade’s” might be more apropos…
If we did this trip again:
While this is not the most scenic section of the Turkey River, it’s certainly worth doing. This 20-mile segment would make for an excellent canoe-camping river, and that’s how I would paddle it again in the future. Indeed, I’d add four more miles and start below the dam in Clermont and take out in Elkader, above the dam, of course, for “wall to wall” adventuring.
Alternatively, one could reasonably launch from Cable Ave – the only bridge along this 20-mile neck of Turkey – and paddle down to Elkader for an 11.5-mile trip.
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Related Information:
Turkey River I: Elkader to Garber
Turkey River II: Tessmer Canoe Access to Gilbertson Park
Turkey River III: Millville to Cassville Ferry Landing
Camp: Big Spring Campground
Camp: Gilbertson Conservation Education Area
General: Turkey River Watershed
Map + Guide: Turkey River Water Trail
Outfitter: Turkey River Rentals
Wikipedia: Turkey River
Photo Gallery:
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