Elba to Highway 74:
A very pretty and intimate little stream, this creek-like river courses through large swaths of public land corridors and is surrounded by tall, attractive hills. Water levels are usually reliable, but this stream is more appropriate for experienced paddlers, due to its narrowness, constant twists, and deadfall obstructions on a lively current.
Rating: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Trip Report Date: October 4, 2023
Skill Level: Intermediate
Class Difficulty: Riffles
Gradient:
≈4.8′ per mile
Gauge Recorded on this Trip:
Beaver: ht/ft: 693′
Recommended Levels:
Medium levels are between 692′-697′. Water levels are usually reliable, but below 690′ will be Scrape City.
Put-In:
Highway 26/Center Street, Elba, Minnesota
GPS: 44.09185, -92.01381
Take-Out:
Highway 74
GPS: 44.14973, -92.00558
Time: Put in at 11:30a. Out at 1:45p.
Total Time: 2h 15m
Miles Paddled: 6.25
Wildlife:
Hawks, muskrat, some unidentified fish, but otherwise surprisingly unremarkable – which was surprising in that two totally unrelated guidebooks rave about the wildlife on the Whitewater.
Shuttle Information:
4.75 miles by four wheels or two. Super easy, flat, up and down Highway 74 (some of which is unpaved – at least as of October 2023)
Background:
Located smack dab in the breadbasket of Minnesota’s Blufflands, the catch-all name for the countryside in southeastern Minnesota that was not glaciated in the last Ice Age (and for all intents and purposes is considered “Driftless”), the little Whitewater River is eclipsed by the Zumbro River to the north and the Root River to the south. If it weren’t for the eponymous state park located here in the valley, there’s a good chance that the Whitewater would be on nobody’s radar. The nearest town, Elba, supports a population of 150 people; even Napoleon, poor exile, would be lonely here.
The Whitewater is formed Voltron-like at the confluence of its various forks, past which the river flows only 17 skimpy miles until it meets the Mississippi River in between Wabasha and Winona. Don’t let its name fool you, there is no whitewater on the Whitewater River – it’s the anglicized version of a Sioux word meaning “clear”; it’s a sandy bottom. And averaging at best 40′ wide, this is unequivocally a creek, not a river. Except for short-lived periods of high water, the three individual forks that comprise the main branch cannot be viably paddled in ordinary conditions (and even then, these would be dicey – see below).
With all the respect in the world due to Lynne and Bob Diebel, the dynamic duo behind the indispensable Paddling Southern Minnesota guidebook, their entry on the Whitewater River is nearly as short as the river itself. Plus, there are some updates since the presumed time of their paddle. To be sure, they lay out a clear 10.5-mile trip that begins at the Highway 26 bridge in Elba and goes down to “a sloping sandy spot” at the edge of Highway 74. Fair enough, but what about the last half-dozen miles to the Mississippi? At the time of the Diebels’ writing, they warned that obstructions become so numerous as to render that segment unenjoyable. That said, here is a video from an undaunted paddler going all the way down to the Big Muddy in August 2022, and it doesn’t look all that bad. Moreover, this segment of the river is surrounded by the Whitewater Wildlife Management Area, a sprawling public lands nearly 28,000 acres large. I can vouch that it’s a weird and spooky place, with dikes slit into the landscape and seemingly random pools like liquid craters. In the foreground, everything is super flat. But then it’s enclosed within steep hills, some rising 500′ high.
But, how much of that is appreciated from the perspective of the river is another whole matter.
At the time of our trip, Scotty and I were high on the heels of a Zumbro River recon the previous two days and bivouacked in Rochester. This was the last day of our junket, a driving day back to Wisconsin, so we sided with shortening our trip to sixish miles, not ten and change. This turned out to be a smart reckoning, as it’s not very clear where one could leave the river further downstream. I have personally eyeballed the so-called “sloping sandy spot” mentioned above, which today, in 2024, is little more than rough erosion from fishing boots and no direct parking other than an off-road pull-out spot a quarter-mile west. Hardly a deal-breaker, but why not just park at an actual parking area only 50′ away instead?
(Alternatively, there’s another pull-out off of Highway 74 that is 1.4 miles north of the parking area where we took out. But how accessible that is from the water itself will need to be verified individually. If you’re curious, the GPS coordinates are 44.16758, -92.00127. And if indeed you’re curious, allow me to anticipate the question and reply that taking out here would add 2.25 miles, for a neat and tidy 8.5 miles from Elba. That said, it would be best to bridle one’s giddiness for the “two tricky Class I rapids” below the Highway 30 bridge, as mentioned by the good Diebels. What rock weir was there in 2007, when their guidebook was published, is not there anymore – likely demolished by one of several major floods since then. But 2¼ miles of lagniappe paddling in a beautiful valley is nothing to sneeze at – it’s one more beverage, after all!)
The Whitewater is a squiggly little stream, although it doesn’t meander in swooping loops due to its diminutive stature. This is classic creek paddling, comparable to the Mecan River in south-central Wisconsin or Black Earth Creek in western Dane County (WI). On account of the narrow corridor, the meandering nature of the stream, and its never-ending obstacle course, a trip like this could frustrate beginner paddlers. The payoff, however, is it’s very pretty. The water itself is truly clear, there’s virtually zero development on this trip, and the views of the adjacent bluffs are quite engaging. On the downside, there are no rock outcrops (at least without squinting and looking up several hundred feet), and while Highway 74 is a very lightly treaded road, it is on your left side the whole time (meaning there’s a median between the water and the steep hills).
Overview:
The access at the Highway 26 bridge is pretty tidy and straightforward, and there’s good parking on the downstream side, river-right. The only rapid on this trip is here below the bridge – providing that you schlep to the upstream side to run it, where there’s a trampled path. Otherwise, just launch on the downstream side. (It’s frisky riffles, nothing to get jazzed about.) On the left, you’ll pass a small private campground (think RVs). A small but impassable logjam appears shortly below, but it’s a very easy portage around it on the right. Also on the right, right around here, the South Fork comes in, after which water volume should be sufficient. Despite the narrowness of the stream, there are small islands here and there. As such, this will mean choosing an even narrower channel around the island. Along with the regular meandering and copious snags to avoid above and below the water-line, you’ll be on-guard the whole time. In other words, this is not a relaxing float! But it is worth it, as will be appreciated in the latter 2/3 of this trip.
If you’re the kind of paddler who likes/needs to have occasional landmarks to know where you are, then this trip will be good exposure therapy to wean you off that pacifier: there are none. None! You start at one bridge and take out before the next. Beyond that, there’s nothing. But what I mean by nothing is the priceless premium of a landscape unburdened by development. That’s not to say that this is a wilderness paddle – far from it. But it does have a “wilder”-ness feeling to it. There’s a palpable, though spooky sense of isolation here.
If you’re wondering where everything is, the answer is… gone. Gone? Yup, gone. Up and left. In between Elba and the Mississippi River there once was a community called Beaver. But decades of poor land use led to epic erosion following routine flooding events. In 1938 alone, the river flooded 28 times. (What do you expect when you name a town after an animal that intentionally floods free-flowing rivers?) When wooded bluffs are clear-cut, not only do they look kind of freakish like a hairless cat, there are no natural speed bumps or sewers to soak up heavy rains, resulting in violent flash-flooding in the valley below. After runoff from eroded hills backfilled the town in 15′ of landslide sediment, the residents of Beaver high-tailed it to higher ground in 1940. Think of it as “To Beaver, leave it.” (See here for more on this, along with some cool archival photos.)
Speaking of erosion, many of the banks here are well-scoured. Roughly 10-12′ tall, they do shelter you from wind, though they invoke a tunnel-like feeling while paddling, as described by the Diebels. But this will open up, and soon enough you’ll be treated to toothsome views of the big hills in the near background. (Get it, toothsome…beavers? I’ll stop.) Alternately, there are flat but pretty swaths of oak savannas. We paddled this in early October, well before leaves even turned color, much less fell. It’s entirely likely that the all-around views of the environs will be more revealing in late autumn and early spring.
The most remarkable landscape feature is a huge bluff on the left that is mostly denuded of trees and hovers above the river a good 300′ tall. At first I thought this was loess soil (blown in from wind). Then I thought maybe it was a goat prairie, a unique feature in the Driftless meaning slope prairies so steep only sure-footed (hooved?) goats can saunter around. But now I think it’s just a butchered hill still recovering. Either way, it’s actually quite stunning. Again, the road lies in between, but you can’t see it.
A couple more meanders follow, together with a sand terrace or two. At the same time, you’ll see the Highway 30 bridge ahead of you and a large wooden sign on the left. The latter is your cue to look for a little sliver of cut ground to take out at, river-left, behind the sign, and a short skip up the bank. Admittedly, it’s nondescript, but it’s totally intuitive. Also, it’s an intentional parking area, making it an excellent access.
What we liked:
This trip is pretty much all about the bluffs; the views are exemplary at times. The clarity of the water and its peppy step are no small potatoes either. Add those to the abandoned ghost town-like surroundings, there’s a veritable wild west (re: Midwest) feel to this trip.
While paddling down this stream I had the sense of being in a gallery: at each half-mile interval a huge mural would come into view, and then further down, another. Every geology tableau is genuinely impressive – at times awe-inspiring. Except for the big bluff near the take-out, all of them are in the background. Near but still a way’s away. Maybe this is why the Whitewater River is dwarfed by the Root and Zumbro rivers. There, you make direct contact with the spectacular displays up close and personal. In this sense, if paddling in the Driftless Area of Minnesota is like a friend you’d call, the Whitewater feels like getting their voicemail, whereas the Root and Zumbro are hearing their voice say hello. There’s a moment, at the end, where the Whitewater picks up, and it’s positively soothing, but then the signal drops.
What we didn’t like:
The first mile or two – the aforementioned “tunnel effect” – doesn’t stir much in the paddler’s heart. I don’t know if I “didn’t like” all the obstructions, but it’s hardly ideal. I can respect the DNR’s leaving this river to its natural state, and I do enjoy the challenge of steering clear of clutter (especially in a 14′ canoe). But do I want to drive two-plus hours one-way to paddle six miles on a narrow river with no actual whitewater but a whole lot of downed trees? In a word, nope.
If we did this trip again:
If I lived in southeastern Minnesota, then I’d definitely return to this river. Outside of that, I’m not sure why anyone would go out of their way to paddle this skimpy trip – unless to prove a point, scratch an itch, or add another stream on the old “I did this” list.
Alternatively, I’d entertain doing one of the tributary forks, upstream of this trip, but that derring-do always comes down to the following paddler’s paradox: some streams can be paddled only during high water events due to their steep gradient and small watershed, but they become unsafe precisely at these times on account of their “flashy” nature (to say nothing of the strewn obstacles and obstructions, since they’re hardly ever paddled in the first place). On paper, the North, Middle, and South Forks of the Whitewater River all look like gorgeous prospects – riffles galore, rock outcrops like no tomorrow, steep bluffs in canyon-esque settings. But these are trout streams, by and by, fit for waders and tied flies, not kayaks and canoes. Is the appeal worth the peril? Only guerilla paddlers can decide that for themselves. (For instance, here is a wonderful video of an adventure down the North Fork from our intrepid pal and correspondent, Melissa.) But for most folks, the three forks should be left to the fish and those casting lines for them.
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Related Information:
Camp: Whitewater State Park
Map: Minnesota State Water Trails
Wikipedia: Whitewater River
Photo Gallery:
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