Lower Dam to Iverson Bridge Road:
A veritable journey into the very heart and soul of the Upper Iowa River, this long day trip can be shortened by using one of several alternative accesses. I can’t promise that you’ll see as many eagles or fish as we did, or feel a similar epiphany, but I can guarantee that, if you’re wearing socks, they’ll be knocked the heck off by the spectacular grandeur of the landscape. Steep ridges, deep ravines, magnificent, steep bluffs, boulders, riffles, light rapids, and a palpable sense of wondrous abandonment abound. The water’s already there; just add you.
Rating: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Trip Report Date: October 17, 2023
Skill Level: Beginner
Class Difficulty: Class I
Gradient:
≈4.5′ per mile
Gauge Recorded on this Trip:
Dorchester: ht/ft: n/a | cfs: 245
Current Levels:
Dorchester: ht/ft: n/a | cfs: 619
Recommended Levels:
We recommend this level, although it corresponded to occasional scraping. You’ll want ideally around 300-400 cfs for a smooth ride.
Put-In:
Lower Dam, Decorah, Iowa
GPS: 43.33998, -91.64203
Take-Out:
Iverson Bridge Road Access
GPS: 43.41256, -91.5769
Time: Put in at 11:45a. Out at 5:45p.
Total Time: 6h
Miles Paddled: 15.75
Wildlife:
More bald eagles than we’ve ever seen – I mean over a hundred – and easily ten times that in schools of fish. Plus the usual suspects – great blue herons, hawks, deer, ducks, and geese.
Shuttle Information:
9.75 miles by vehicle or bicycle. Doable on two wheels, but it’s a long and steep ride on country roads, some of which are unpaved, all of which are more accustomed to tractors than derailleurs. Note: The road to the Lower Dam is primitive and wide enough only for one-way traffic. We did this with a trailer and were fine – but that was mid-week in mid-October, hardly peak times for paddling or fishing.
Background:
With a pinch of imagination and the vantage of a 10,000′ view (or just an atlas), the entirety of the Upper Iowa River resembles a bird in flight. Out of respect for Decorah, let’s go with an eagle. Way out west past Lime Springs is one wing, more or less at mile 150 (and technically in Minnesota, but let’s not split hairs). It then dips southeast down to Decorah, where one might say the eagle’s head is. From there the opposite wing now stretches northeast to the Mississippi River, at mile 0. As such, there are three parts of the river: upstream, midstream, and downstream. Upstream is what draws the crowds, where the famous palisades in the Bluffton area capture much attention and inspire much rapture. Type “Upper Iowa River” in your search engine, and chances are the image(s) you’ll see are from this section; it’s the darling of social media. As wary as we are of crowds and trends, this stretch of the river is undeniably beguiling. The middle section is the overlooked underdog, an odd hodgepodge of farms, suburbia, and some industry juxtaposed with beautiful bluffs, rock outcrops, riffles, natural springs, and two historic dams. And finally there’s the third section, past the last dam down to the Mississippi, where the river lets its freak flag fly through stunning country unlike anywhere else up to that point.
From the Lower Dam there’s another 40 miles down to the Upper Iowa’s mouth at the Mississippi River. In other words, on one side of the concrete wall that is the dam, aquatic species have had free passage from the Big Muddy. Think pike and channel catfish. Theoretically, the converse is applicable as well: aquatic species from the headwaters to the dams in the Decorah area will shelter in place. Looking at you trout and smallies. Either way, by the time the river spills over the bombarded concrete of the Lower Dam, those waters have traveled over 100 miles in the mainstream alone, not to mention the catchment of all tributaries and natural springs in the watershed. Kind of cool to think about, even though I’d just as soon see the dams’ cold, lifeless lips kissed by Gillian Welch’s disarming voice like a wrecking ball. But I digress.
River connoisseur and author Nate Hoogeveen lays out two consecutive trips comprising some 25 miles total in his indispensable guidebook, Paddling Iowa. About this stretch of the river he proclaims unequivocally “It’s just fine by locals that most outside paddlers congregate at the Kendallville-Bluffton section. That way, paddling along the highest bluffs remains blissfully uncrowded.” He goes on to extol, “It’s not just pretty – the scenery is grand, and completely unique in the Midwest.” It’s certainly distinct from the upstream trips. For starters, the river itself is wider, averaging 125′. The flow is a little slower, too. And whereas the upstream trips have you seated near the orchestra – the unabashed bluffs with their stunning outcrops brazen and brassy – here it’s a little more mezzanine…although the hills are indeed bigger (and alive with the sound of music, duh!). By bigger I mean 400-450′ high.
All the same, it’s still the Upper Iowa River, and so this trip is hardly lacking in outcrops, boulders, or zesty riffles. What makes the lower Upper Iowa River distinct – again borrowing from Hoogeveen here – is its “big-sky scenery,” which really does swoop with an almost cinematic scope.
We had nothing but all day to soak in nearly sixteen miles of exquisite river – and we leaned into that indulgence with delicious and simple permission – but there are several accesses to shorten this trip, all of them much easier and friendlier than at the dam, FYI. Relative the Lower Dam, they come in at 2 miles (Lundy Bridge Drive), 4.5 miles (Ferris Mill Road), and 9.5 miles (Red Bud Drive). Whatever you do, don’t skimp on the take-out; the two miles of river leading to the Iverson Bridge access are something holy and will leave you speechless.
Overview:
From a historical perspective and a place today of neglect and abandonment – we’ve mentioned elsewhere our fondness for neglected development a la The World Without Us – the area comprising Lower Dam is pretty cool. But in terms of accessing the river – which is why we’re here in the first place – it’s a bit of a pain, not to mention ambiguous. A pain in that you’ll need to schlep your boat and gear from the parking area down a hill to the water’s edge; ambiguous because there’s no signage telling you where to go (or not go). As such, the schlep could be anywhere from 300’ to 600’. Being mid-October, we were in boots and pants, but in the “normal” paddling season, traipsing on a path pretending to be a trail could present issues with scratchy brush (or worse). For historical photos of the dam as well as a diagram explaining the different sections – which is both instructive and interesting – see here.
I chose to launch as close to the dam itself in order to appreciate this dilapidated but hardly insignificant beast, whereas Scotty opted for a choose-your-own-adventure path about 50 yards downstream. In between us is a flash-in-the-pan Class I+ rapids that looked too irresistible to skip. It’s worth noting that the original southbound meander of the river below the dam, a 0.75-mile horseshoe-shaped loop (actually, more like a croquet hoop), has been intentionally choked off like a sloughed mortal coil. Instead, the river today makes an NBA-style pivot east for 900′ along the steep banks studded with riprap (presumably for erosion abatement) where it meets up with the old channel. That’s where the small rapids are.
At the time of this writing, an enormous eagle nest is at the top of a tall pine tree on the left, just past the rapids. Rock outcrops, boulders, and very shallow water follow. So does a very attractive arcing ridge on the left. Here, as everywhere else on the Upper Iowa, the pool-riffle-pool pattern is prominent. Approaching the iconic truss bridge at Lundy Bridge Road, a balcony-like outcrop protrudes from the top of a bluff on the right. There’s a convenient access below the bridge on the right. The next couple miles offer a pleasant mix of frisky riffles, big boulders, steep ridges, and small islands that split the stream into spirited side channels. There’s no access at the next bridge, after which the first of several long straightaways stretches along a wooded ridge. There is an access, however, at the confluence of Canoe Creek, which is accessible via Ferris Mill Road.
One of the few lackluster sections comes next, where a house appears, a very questionable teepee (think the worst of cultural appropriation – but with thoughtless stereotyping), and seemingly endless rows of corn planted right up to the eroded edge, all on the left. Indeed, if the bank could be seen as a forehead, then the corn looks like the classic flattop haircut you could land a helicopter on. But it all passes soon enough, and bluffs are always in the background. (Maybe “mullet landscape” best captures it: business up front, party in the back.) Before the river makes a big bend to the left you’ll see a foreshadowing of an actual landscape feature appear that is rare and quite pretty. Called a “glade,” they are open areas typically at higher elevations with thin soil, exposed rocks, and few trees. Here, they’re like prairies on a slope, and because they face west or south, they get very hot and are quite dry. Another big bend, now to the right, allows for an especially scenic stretch and view of these prairie slopes. These appear initially as undulating mounds that reminded me of western Dane County, the indistinct demarcation of the Driftless Area. But after another right-hand bend, the river is beautifully flanked for 0.75-mile by a veritable mural of gorgeous glade. Rising several hundred feet above the river, it’s all steep slope and sun-scorched grass until the brow of the bluff, crowned by a limestone escarpment and a frieze of trees. The grandeur of this vista resists adequate description.
Yet an even more dramatic display of this awaits another sixish miles downstream…
The river catches its breath again – less from its smooth-current pace than the slack jawed seduction of the environs – and quietly slips under the bridge at Ellingson Bridge Drive before snapping out of its spell and getting riffly again. A farm is on the left, as are its crops. Behind the crops, however, are bluffs with increasing conifers mixed with the deciduous, yew betcha! Also, a new public landing is on the left as well, on Red Bud Drive, courtesy of Allamakee County, excellent and accessible. Big bluffs and light rapids prevail followed by a huge ridge on the right and almost motionless current. You’re deep in a valley here, and while it’s a far cry from wilderness, there’s precious little development within sight, but for an obvious piece of property on the right, where the banks are flat. The current gets peppy again as the river heads for a steep bluff before caroming to the right. It’s worth mentioning that this bluff is the very same as the aforementioned one upstream of the previous bridge. The notable difference here is this side of the bluff is east-facing, so there is no glade environment. Indeed, it is wooded from head to toe.
After this, it’s déjà vu all over again as riffles resume, in turn followed by a deep, slow pool, past a steep ridge riding side-saddle first on the left, then on the right. Soon a sign on the left bank announces the Iverson Bottoms Wildlife Unit, a designated Important Bird Area, which will comprise the left bank from here to the take-out (approximately one mile downstream). After the briefest of bebops, suddenly there’s an enormous ridge straight ahead but still a mile downriver. As though reading your very mind, riffles accelerate the pace and shorten the distance to this ridge, but then slow down to a crawl to allow you to just rest and marvel as its spectacular majesty.
This ridge, well, there’s simply nothing like it. Even taller than the earlier one, it’s also nearer the water so that the full effect is up close and personal. To be fair, there is an unassuming dirt road in between the river and ridge, but rather than compromise the scene, it actually complements the countryside. Here, too, is a marvelous example of a glade. For half a mile, it lies tongue and groove with the river. (Following the crescent-shaped bowl of the ridge, it goes on for another mile behind you to the southeast.) I am not a religious person by any stretch of the imagination, and I’m at best spiritually tepid. But I think this stretch is what people mean when they invoke the terminology of being in God’s country. Regardless, I did experience a kind of quiet ecstasy, as did Scotty. (This would be irreverently inverted soon enough by blasting U2’s “Joshua Tree” during the shuttle, since it seemed apropos, particularly and obviously this.) While I do believe that some experiences truly elude the little cages we call language, I think there is one word for this – and that is awe.
But at some point you need to let it go. Mercifully, the river isn’t done yet. The small mouth of Paint Creek lies on the left, but you’ll be forgiven if you miss it (we did!). But surely a natural spring will catch your attention, also on the left, percolating from the ground itself, seemingly without source. As the river subtly bends to the right, the Iverson Road bridge comes into view with a stately bluff behind it looming at least a few hundred feet above. An abandoned bridge abutment lies on the left, across a tilled field on the right. The easy access is on the upstream side of the bridge on river-left, where there is plenty of room for parking and a turn-around for trailers.
What we liked:
Throughout the years, careful readers of the site may have noticed one of two things: 1) we don’t do half-stars when rating our trips and 2) there are very few five-star trips. Barry and I have our personal reasons (or reasoning) for this, which in the interest of insider trading info, we’ve never shared with ourselves. Suffice it to say, a five-star trip must be pretty magnificent. This one is. This one – and, hand on my heart, I am not being hyperbolic or irreverent when I say this – this one was a spiritual experience, something I have felt only once or twice before in the 15 years and many miles paddled since I first wed myself to water. Some of that is bound to be subjective and personal, but I can promise you this: you will feel something hard to define deep in your soul on this stretch of the river – especially the second half.
Speaking of which, I can honestly state that I have never seen as many eagles in a single day trip. Ever. It got comical after awhile, the way seeing so many shooting stars in a single setting is. That said, the fish were even more stupendous. We were literally giddy and felt like we were on a Jacques Cousteau expedition. Maybe we’d stumbled upon the perfect pitch of water level and time of the year, such that the river was nearly translucent and the fish were running like a marathon of children doped up on sugar and promised a puppy or pony at the finish line. But our heads bobbed up and then down, up and then down. Wow, would’ya just look at those eagles, and holy cow, look at all those fish! Over and over for sixteen miles and five hours. As above, so below…
Also, and at the risk of sounding like a total jackass, we saw something neither of us had ever seen before – something I never thought I could see – and that was a family of Mennonites kayaking. To be clear, they were all fishing (and the young’uns were in a tandem canoe). But all were dressed in…hell, I just said that I don’t want to sound like a dipshit. You see your plumber at the Supper Club with an Old Fashioned and fish fry Friday night, not surprising. You espy your kid’s science teacher in the lane next to yours at the bowling alley, no big deal. Mennonites in Wilderness kayaks? Not so much. But what a great way to fish! Or do damn darn near anything on a sunny afternoon in October in God’s country.
What we didn’t like:
The craptastic access at the Lower Dam. Otherwise, this trip is stupendous.
If we did this trip again:
Nearly sixteen miles is a robust ambition for a day trip – especially when there’s just so much to see and savor. Now that we’ve experienced the Lower Dam, there’s really no compelling reason to revisit it. This trip can be shortened to eleven miles easily by putting in at the Canoe Creek access off of Ferris Mill Road instead. By and by, you’d not miss much by doing this – nothing at least that you haven’t already seen on the river. But there is nothing anywhere on the Upper Iowa like what awaits downstream from the Canoe Creek confluence!
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Related Information:
Upper Iowa River I: Kendallville to Bluffton
Upper Iowa River II: Chimney Rock Road to Malanaphy Springs
Upper Iowa River III: Malanaphy Springs to Trout Run Park
Upper Iowa River IV: Trout Run Park to Lower Dam
Upper Iowa River VI: Iverson Bridge Road to Kumpf Access
General: Decorah Tourism
General: Iowa Natural Heritage Foundation
General: Upper Iowa River Watershed Project
Guide: Paddling Iowa by Nate Hoogeveen
Guide: Upper Iowa River Paddling
Outfitter: Chimney Rock
Outfitter: Hruska’s Canoe Livery
Wikipedia: Upper Iowa River
Photo Gallery:
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