Theilman to Kruger:
A wider and slightly slower segment than those upstream, the salient premium on this trip is scenery and isolation through a huge swath of public land, not to mention the visible change in landscape as the big bluffs recede and the mighty Zumbro bottoms out as it meanders closer to the Mississippi River.
Rating: ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Trip Report Date: November 2, 2023
Skill Level: Beginner
Class Difficulty: Riffles
Gradient:
≈ 2.5′ per mile
Gauge Recorded on this Trip:
Zumbro Falls: ht/ft: 5.5 | cfs: n/a
Recommended Levels:
This is the lowest recommended level. Another great resource for correlating water levels is Minnesota’s DNR Water Level page. The data is different but much more user-friendly. Using this map for reference, 12′ is high. 7-9′ is recommended.
Put-In:
Theilman access, off Highway 4, Theilman, Minnesota
GPS: 44.28675, -92.1867
Take-Out:
Kruger access, off Highway 81, Kruger, Minnesota
GPS: 44.33728, -92.07724
Time: Put in at 1:15p. Out at 4:00p.
Total Time: 2h 45m
Miles Paddled: 10.75
Wildlife:
Bald eagles, ducks, deer, great blue herons, and even trumpeter swans
Shuttle Information:
9.5 miles by motor vehicle. From the takeout it’s west on Highway 81, then west on Highway 60, then south and west and south and southwest on Highway 86, and finally a hair east on Highway 4. Note: portions of Highway 86 are dirt-gravel, but it’s the most direct route – plus it’s very scenic and fun. For paved asphalt sticklers, stay on Highway 60 and then take Highway 4.
Feeling bi-cycle curious? Add two miles for an especially scenic but arduous adventure through the heart of the Zumbro Bottoms/Richard J. Dorer Memorial State Forest. Admittedly, most of this route is sharing the road with vehicles, but a unique alternative awaits via Zumbro Bottoms Road, a spur off Highway 86 (where it veers west after its arrow-straight directive south). Cue the Blood, Sweat, and Tears’ song “Spinning Wheel” – we are talking about bicycling after all – just in reverse: what goes down, must come up (at least with respect to accessing rivers in the Driftless Area). The going down is very fun, of course! Caveat: it is all unpaved. A little more than a mile down is the fabulously named Funk Ford bridge. It’s intended for horseback riders and hikers and barricaded against cars or trucks (though an ATV or snowmobile would be able to squeeze through). Many trails in this large swath of public land are closed off to bicyclists, but not the main path that is totally flat…at first. That said, I don’t recommend careening through this like a jaybird during hunting season. (Like the law, ignorance of hunting seasons excuses no one, especially peace-loving paddlers doing a bike shuttle while saddled with paddle-clad panniers.) After 2ish miles of this sylvan tranquility, the path (now a road – 235th St) goes up. And up. And still up more. And still all dirt-gravel. It’s an unmerciful ascent – and I say that as an avid bicyclist. Eventually, you’ll arrive at the top of the ridge; turn right (624th St). After a few miles this will go down (a fun descent!) to Highway 4. Turn right, cross the river (the first bridge is over a small creek), then turn left onto the Theilman access/dirt-gravel dead-end road.
Or just stick to the conventional shuttle route the whole time.
Background:
This trip marked a bittersweet finale to a semi-Cinderella Story of autumn paddling (October Madness?) in select sections of the Driftless Area while I took a leave of absence from work to take care of business (up to an including some much neglected self-care). Bitter in that my paddling sabbatical (aka “sapaddical”) was coming to its end, sweet in that I was returning to where I’d left the Zumbro one full month earlier, now to complete the final linkages. In between, all the leaves had fallen off all but the oak trees, songbirds and the like had swung their wings to southern climes, a shawl of snow clung to north-facing hills and hollows, it had gotten colder and darker, and the Arizona Diamondbacks almost were that Cinderella Story in the World Series (but alas succumbed to the Rangers 4 games to 1).
Per uze, I knew about this trip thanks to Lynne and Bob Diebel’s masterful guidebook, Paddling Southern Minnesota, a must-have resource when plying the waters of the Gopher State next door.
Overview:
The river access in Theilman (pronounced “tile man”) is at the end of an unpaved road (more like a path) off Highway 4 about 700′ south of the bridge itself. (It’s worth noting that there will not be another road bridge crossing over the river until Highway 61, in Kellogg, over 20 miles downstream.) At the end of the road-path is a beach-like sandbank that makes access a cinch. Depending on the water level and time of the year, the river might be crystal clear with washboard effects in the sand. Rolling bluffs abound. While you’re initially surrounded by crops, the bank steepness and adjacent trees generously camouflage the agrarian surroundings. Long ridgelines flank both sides of the river; indeed, they truly are the stars of this trip.
But the Zumbro landscape does change after Theilman, slowly, subtly. It’s still quintessential Minnesota Blufflands, but they begin to recede from the river. Simply put, the valley widens out. This marks a notable transition from the Zumbro upstream, and the effect from Kruger to Kellogg in particular is almost beside the point. With only a few exceptions, bluffs will be on one side of the river or another, not both.
For only a third of a mile, Highway 86 parallels the river on the left. An enormous ridge rises above and lords over the road. After this the road and river make like bananas and split in opposite directions. With river widths between 150-200′, the Zumbro feels like a steady boulevard in its broad straightaways. (While I did have a light breeze at my back, I was in no hurry; yet I arrived at the Funk Ford access/midway point, 6ish miles downstream, in 70 minutes.) Case in point, there’s a 0.75-mile straight shot leading into the Zumbro Bottoms proper before it bends to the right due to a dramatic thumb-like bluff from the north that dips a little south. I didn’t see it – I wasn’t looking for it either – but there’s supposed to be a riverside campsite on the right in this southbound jog, across from which is an enormous bluff.
This segment of the river has a particularly rugged and pleasantly unkempt appearance. I remember seeing only one rock outcrop on this trip – from a distance and atop a 300′-tall bluff – but it’s a beauty that brought together all the wildly derelict features of this stretch. There’s no sign announcing that you’ve entered into the Zumbro Bottoms, but neither do you immediately know once you’ve started to fall in love with someone; it just finally hits you suddenly after being there quietly waiting for you to catch up.
As you make your way up and around the thumb-like bluff jut, the river makes a beeline toward a steep bank composed of loose soil and sand that is nearly a 90-degree angle relative the water. After this the landscape is modest for a minute, where the banks are low and scrubby on both sides and the river flows in a straightaway for half a mile to the Funk Ford bridge and access, marking the approximate halfway point of the trip.
About this access. First off, it sucks. Just flat-out sucks. Unless you like pawing through mud on all fours. I have to say, Minnesota is just interestingly inconsistent about its accesses; some are superb, while others are abysmal – and often this happens on the same river (sometimes the same segment of river). Changing of the parks & rec guard? Budget cuts? Flood damage? You do essentially have two choices here: the “official” one is some 300′ upstream of the pedestrian/equestrian bridge, on the left; the unofficial one (it’s technically for horse access – never thought I’d say that in a trip write-up…) is immediately downstream from the bridge on the right. Both are muddy and would require some element of schlepping. The “official” one is unreasonably steep, whereas the horse one is gradual. Also, since the time of the Diebels’ book, the Funk Ford bridge is no longer “a spindly old truss bridge,” but rather a modern one of concrete and iron made. I can’t in good conscience recommend picnicking here, given the mud (and pungent probability of horse droppings). But, technically speaking, this spot (“access” is too generous) could shorten this trip in half by either ending or starting here.
But don’t end here, please; it gets uniquely cool in the next couple miles.
All curves have a come-hither allure to them, and the right-left meander of the river below the bridge around the base of a ridge that gently descends to the water’s edge is no exception. Indeed, it is that ribbon flicker that no kitten can resist. Or canoe. The next three miles of the Zumbro are unlike anywhere else on the big river. First, it’s all public land for as far as the eye can see. Secondly, everything left of the river is flat floodplains, while everything on the right is wooded ridges, big hills, and several sequences of astonishingly tall sand cliffs. We’ll get to the latter in a minute, but for now let’s just savor the tasty contrast between the two opposites that strangely complement one another so well.
The next riverside campsite appears on the right bank about a mile downriver from the Funk Ford bridge. Just past it, following a gentle bend to the left lies the first of two magnificent sand cliffs. It’s not terribly long (approximately 250′), but it’s at least 100′ tall with a smattering of trees incongruously rooted to the sandy soil. The surroundings flatten out for a moment as the river passes the third and final campsite again on the right (they’re all on the right) and then makes a horseshoe-shaped loop to the north before venturing east. Another sand bank appears on the right, this one less tall or stately. It’s soon replaced by an attractive stand of woods and a huge sandbar that would make for a great picnic stop. It’s maybe not a bad idea, too, as one of the most aesthetic stretches anywhere on the Zumbro lie just downstream from here.
You can see it from upstream, a hint of things to come. The land curves upward, and there’s a whole lot of sand. As you approach closer, it looks like the hand of God cleaved the hillside with an axe and left the bank bare and naked, bleeding a clean prayer of ancient sand to the heavens. It truly looks like a dissection of geology, as if a cross-section of a riverine bluff were in a gross anatomy textbook. While not as steep as the first one, this is sinuous and mimics a wave pattern of its own. It’s superseded by a very sweet ridge with a continuous sweep of evergreens mixed with just a hint of oaks (for texture’s sake). It’s an unusual frieze on the Zumbro and a moment to savor.
‘Cause it’s the last hurrah, and after this it’s all different.
I don’t mean to sound melodramatic or imply that past this point the rest of the trip is a wash. But the Zumbro does transition from one zone to another – its last, by and by – after the pine relict ridge. To quote the lilting language from the Diebels, “the bluffs beat a steady retreat” away from the river. They’re still there, as before, as ever, but now in the background, no longer in the fore. In the next and final two miles of this trip the river makes several sinuous twists around large swaths of sand- and gravel bars, where low-lying banks make no effort to hide the wide, flat floodplains beyond. But the whole feeling in this segment itself does not plateau, as big, buxom bluffs gird the surrounding background.
Other than knowing that it’s all denouement at this point in the trip, the final two miles are still rather pretty and engaging. The hallmark snags, strainers, and debris piles of deadfall for which the Zumbro is known (and named after) do dot the riverbed with increasing frequency. But it’s also the case that the river broadens out (and will continue to do so as it meanders in huge loops towards the Mississippi). This has the effect of blessing and curse – blessing because it’s so wide that navigating around the obstructions poses no difficulty; curse because the added width means the river gets shallower (thinly stretched now from bank to bank). Do keep this in mind if entertaining thoughts of paddling past Kruger down to Kellogg or even to the mouth at the Mississippi; you’ll need higher water levels to keep from scraping aground.
Alas, crops do reappear, and with them, farms. And since even the most clandestine poppy or pot field must connect to some grid somehow to get product to market, where there’s a farm, there’s a road. (Needless to say, I’m not insinuating anything about anyone growing poppies for opium production in Minnesota. Or marijuana. The views and opinions in this piece are strictly my own and do not reflect those of Miles Paddled.com nor its board of directors, the provost, or its shareholders.) You’ll likely see one farm operation in particular – a big white trailer, a silver silo and complementary cribs, all on river-left. Behind it is an enormous bluff, at which crest runs Highway 60 (see recommendation below). Give yourself the permission here to stop paddling and just drift with the current. Don’t let the appellation “driftless” fool you; we’d all do well to go with the flow more. Besides, heed the good word of the great Bard, Walt Whitman himself, gleaned through the lens of Bob Dylan:
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself.
I’m a man of many moods. I contain multitudes.
The takeout is close, but this last moment is simply too sweet to do anything but savor soulfully. Please do so.
Following one last left-right meander, a short straightaway, and a dogleg left, the takeout lies inconspicuously on the left bank. Look for the wooden kiosk sign and/or the cutaway in the grass leading to the parking area from the river. It’s an excellent access that’s easy, tidy, and provides ample parking for vehicles and trailers.
What we liked:
Oh man, everything! This trip is a veritable experience from bow to stern and start to finish. There is something truly enchanting about quietly slipping into a state forest. The restless mind may be forgiven taking for granted that it’s heard no four-letter words from tires on a road or seen wires stretched forever over head; neither guardrails nor fences, lawnmowers or tractors. Just the dueling DJs of birdsong (the original twitter), wind through boughs, and a scurrying critter through crisp leaves. Maybe it’s the flash mob of honking geese and their berserk hysterics. Or the branch-snap of a careless deer that sends its herd up a ravine faster than scattershot. Or that fat bass that jumps clean out of the water just for the hell of it the way we do when cannonballing into a pool. All these moments (and myriad more) await like an undone ribbon wrapped around a gift when paddling through forest.
But then I was awoken from that reverie a couple paddle strokes past the Ford Funk bridge and seeing on the bottom of the river a sign that read “BRIDGE CLOSED.” I mean, what?!? Did floodwater cause that? Was it part of the old bridge that some underpaid and seldom-thanked LTE with the DNR forgot to affix to the new bridge? That sign is likely to be so interred for a good long while and was barely discernible even at these low water levels. I love those moments.
The steep and mighty eroded sand cliffs in the second half of the trip are truly really cool! I’ve seen features like that before – for instance, the Red Cedar, Eau Claire, Chippewa, and Black rivers in Wisconsin – but never in Minnesota, at least to that scale.
Again, to transition from the relatively tight confines of the river upstream of the Funk Ford bridge to the sprawling expanse of bottomlands below it is a veritable lesson in geology right before your eyes. I don’t know who did what when, or how, but it’s quite obvious that something happened a long time ago – and really, that’s all I need to feel awed.
Lastly, do yourself a favor and drive up Highway 60 from Wabasha (technically speaking south). It’s a truly spectacular experience that feels more mountainous than Midwest. It just goes up and up and up, and the views of the valley below as well as the Mississippi are simply marvelous. Also, spend a minute in Wabasha itself. Not only is it the oldest town in Minnesota and home of Grumpy Old Men, it’s a unique little gem with several cool shops, galleries, restaurants, and what’s gotta be the quaintest nano brewery taproom I’ve ever been to.
What we didn’t like:
The boot camp bike shuttle, but that A) was entirely self-induced and B) has nothing to do with river paddling itself. I loved-loved-loved this trip.
If we did this trip again:
I wouldn’t bike shuttle. And I wouldn’t paddle this during whatever the hell hunting season was going on. Otherwise, there’s nothing I’d do differently.
I do feel obliged to offer the same warning of the Diebels – that motorcycles are permitted to ride the trails in the Zumbro Bottoms on the weekends before Memorial Day and after Labor Day. Unless clashing silent sports with monster truck rallies is your thing, it behooves you to avoid paddling this trip during those times.
***************
Related Information:
Zumbro River I: County Road 7 to Zumbro Falls
Zumbro River II: Zumbro Falls to Millville
Zumbro River III: Millville to Thielman
Zumbro River V: Kruger to Mississippi River
Zumbro River: South Fork: 90th Street to Zumbro River County Park
Article: PostBulletin
Outfitter: Zumbro River Ratz
Outfitter: Zumbro Valley Canoe Rental
Overview: Minnesota Department of Natural Resources
Wikipedia: Zumbro River
Photo Gallery:
No Comments