Iron Mushroom 2013
Instructions for this event are on the Verlen Kruger Memorial association website:
Start at the Mushroom Bar and Grill in downtown Mesick @ 2pm
Portage 1 mile on M-115 to the Manistee River
Put in and head down stream over and down 2 hydro dams to Manistee Lake
South to the Little Manistee RiverUp river to Johnson Bridge
Portage north on Brooks Rd. 3 miles to Irons
Finish at Jackie's Place by September 30 @ noon
According to the Kruger Canoe Adventures blog, Jack Murgittroyd and Mark Predwojewski are the only ones to have completed the route. In 2011 several boats started, no one made it all the way to the end, and Mark said he doubted he would do it again. Mark and Jack were the only two to attempt it in 2012, and completed it in 51 hours. Jack said it was one of the hardest events he has yet completed. We asked for advice on the Little Manistee portion on the Team Kruger Canoe Facebook page, and Mark advised, " Most times when doing this both paddlers will need to jump out quick to keep the boat from being swept downstream! The stretch between 6 and 9 mile bridges is a bear, pack extra SPIZ!!!!"
We were not sure we really wanted to paddle up the Little Manistee, since all reports indicated it would be a grueling slog, and we thought a relaxing trip might be in order after the Au Sable run. We inquired on the Facebook page what people's plans were, and Jack invited us to do the Iron Mushroom route with him. We agreed right away, knowing that a trip with Jack would be great fun. We also had some trepidation, knowing that this would be an extremely difficult physical challenge, and also knowing that Jack loves to push hard and sleep little.
Mark dropped us off at the Mushroom Bar in Mesick at 7 am on Saturday. We loaded up the boats on wheels and started the one-mile portage to the big Manistee.
We put in at the slackwater of Hodenpyl Dam pond. It was the start of a beautiful fall day. The low sun made the first fall colors glow. We hoped to make it all the way down the big Manistee, through Manistee Lake, and start up the Little Manistee before camping, so we kept it moving.
Hodenpyle Dam was a short portage, but tall and steep. We dragged the canoe down a steep grassy slope, wheeled it across a parking lot, then down a long set of wooden stairs.
The reach between Hodenpyle Dam and Tippy Dam pond was Jack's favorite part of the big Manistee. It was fast and fun with riffles and small standing waves.
Jack told us about how he designed this route for its difficulty, and paddled it in memory of his brother on the anniversary of his death. His brother was an accomplished athlete. Jack was so happy to have someone who wanted to paddle this route with him.
The portage at Tippy Dam followed a gravel road for a quarter mile or so.
The salmon were running, and the river below Tippy Dam was lined with fishermen standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the stream. We paddled through the gauntlet of lures flying all around us. The fishermen were not looking up to see canoes coming down river.
The clear water was full of salmon.
"I saw one that was this big!"
"I saw one that was this big!"
After a few miles, there were fewer fishermen. We had the river mostly to ourselves, but some very large powerboats occasionally zoomed up and down the river.
There were too many bald eagles to count, feasting on the dead salmon. It was like a scene from Alaska.
Jack fixed the hole in his boat with some blue duct tape, so he didn't have to stop and bail as he did in the Au Sable run.
The lower big Manistee was wide and flat. The sun was getting low as we approached the Insta Launch around 8 pm. We stopped in at the store to refill our water. I was hoping for an ice cream sandwich, but the store was nearly empty. They must have been drawing down their stock for the end of the season. The water from the tap smelled like rotten eggs, but we didn't have to smell it sucking it out of a Camel Back. It was a somewhat disappointing stop, but at least Jack got a big cup of coffee.
We prepared for the night, and set off to the south on Lake Manistee. There was a stiff headwind as we crossed the open water. Jack sipped his coffee from the cup holder on his "dashboard".
There are several industrial sites on the shores of Lake Manistee. Bright lights and the sounds of machinery came at us from both sides. It reminded me of science fiction films where cyborgs rule the Earth.
The GPS route that I had plotted on Google Earth guided us across the dark lake into the delta of the Little Manistee. When we came to the culvert under Huer-Hill road, we knew we were on the right path.
Last night (three days after the trip) Lauren woke up in the middle of the night, insisting that we were stuck in a culvert. I reassured her that it was just the bedroom ceiling. She reluctantly accepted the fact and went back to sleep.
The Little Manistee has a strong current, and it was difficult to find the eddies in the dark. Not far up the river, Jack suggested we camp on a sandy bank. I was surprised, thinking that he might want to paddle well into the night, but I was happy at the prospect of a good night's sleep. We fixed some quick meals and crawled into our tents around 10 pm. We had paddled 57 miles in about 14 hours.
The rain that was forecast to start around 8 pm started shortly after we went to bed and lasted much of the night. Wind and rain thrashed our tents and interrupted our sleep off and on through the night. The rain was done by morning, leaving us with a second perfect fall day. We were thankful for good timing that the rain should fall while we were in our tents.
We hit the water around 7 am before first light. The sky was full of stars and little fluffy clouds. We could see Orion in the early morning; winter is coming.
Jack gambled on a cut, and had to pull over some logs.
The early morning on the lower Little Manistee was spectacular: low light, fog, fall colors, big white pines. The deep clear pools were full of salmon, making their way upstream as we were. There was no sign of humans. It seemed positively Jurassic to me.
There was a short portage around the fish weir. This is where salmon are collected to provide eggs and milt for fish hatcheries to stock salmon and steelhead throughout Michigan, Ohio, and Indiana. There were still many salmon above the weir, so they must let some through.
Above the weir, the current was stronger, and the river became narrow and winding with many obstacles. A portent of things to come. I began using the pushpole in the stern, pushing against the sandy bottom. I did not have much experience pushing upriver with a pole, so I worked on developing an efficient stroke and rhythm. Placement of the pole as far forward as possible, and as close to the centerline of the canoe as possible is important to getting a good push.
Enter the dragon: Nine-mile bridge at 10:45 am. Now we would see what the river had in store for us in this section that we had heard so much about. The gradient in this reach of the river is 14 feet per mile. In comparison, the gradient on the big Manistee is 4 feet per mile.
The river meandered in tight turns. The sand and gravel bottom was textured into deep pools and shallow riffles. The current was fast. I used a push-pole in the stern on the inside of the turn, while Lauren paddled in the deeper water on the outside. We tried to find water that was just deep enough for a full paddle blade, to minimize the current while still having water deep enough to paddle. In the riffles, it was difficult to find water deep enough to avoid running aground. Sometimes we had to jump out and line the boat through a riffle. We didn't take many pictures in this section, as any hesitation meant moving backwards. Often I had to push as hard as I could on the push pole to gain one foot at a time. The deep water was usually along the banks, which meant struggling against overhanging branches and logs.
We ran the boat up onto a salmon carcass and took a break to take in some calories and rehydrate.
After five hours of clawing our way upriver one foot at a time, we made it to nine-mile bridge around 4 pm.
The gradient of the river decreased. Paddling and poling was much easier for a while. We were past the part we had heard so much about, six mile to nine mile bridge, so we had a feeling of accomplishment. It seemed early in the day. At nine mile bridge, our takeout at Johnson Road Bridge was only 10 miles away as the crow flies. I did not measure the river miles in advance, so we didn't know exactly how many river miles we had to go. We optimistically estimated 2 miles and hour, and began to think that we could finish, possibly before midnight. However, the river still had a few tricks up its sleeve...
There were still plenty of fast, shallow riffles after Nine Mile Bridge. We would round each bend and see a new set of obstacles. Jack was usually ahead. We were amazed at how quickly and efficiently he found the good water and worked his way through the obstacles. Jack just loves to push hard on a river. He was excited about the good pace we were keeping.
We reached the bridge at 11-mile road at dusk, around 8 pm. It had been a perfect fall day, clear and sunny with temperatures in the 70s. The temperature started to drop after dark and got down into the 40s. We pulled on some more clothes and turned on our headlights. Jack put on some dry socks, optimistically thinking that he would not have to get out of the boat again. I was jealous, with my soggy cold feet in my neoprene booties, but I knew there was no way I would keep a pair of socks dry.
The dark sky was full of stars. The milky way was framed between the dark trees. An occasional shooting star raced across the sky. The river became narrower and vegetation reached much of the way across at times.
We reached 10-Mile Road bridge at 10 pm. Jack put a red headlamp on backwards to help show us the way. He was very skilled at finding deep water through the riffles in the dark.
Jack and Lauren kept asking me how far we had to go. It seemed that the GPS said 3 miles to go forever. The temperature continued to drop, and steamy fog began to rise from the river, making it more difficult to see with the headlights. The gradient of the river continued to be steep. I continued to push as hard as I could on the push pole just to keep from being washed backwards in the riffles.
We had some strange encounters with wildlife in the night. We found two mink swimming across the river, one was white, perhaps an albino. Jack spooked a heron that was resting in a tree. It flew back and landed next to us. It seemed to be as groggy as we were and took off again, crashing into Lauren as it went. We came to a place where the river was blocked by logs. Out of the dark brush to our left came a loud yowling sound, like a cat but with a much deeper voice than a housecat. This happened just as we were thinking we would have to portage around the log jam. Fortunately, the GPS showed we were in a cut; we could backtrack around and avoid having to go into the bushes with the wildcat. The headlights cast a pale light, and make everything look gray or white. Out of the fog on the river came a pair of eyes and large ears closing on us quickly in the current. After a bit of confusion, we realized it was a fawn swimming in the river. It stumbled and washed over shoals and rolled into pools as it passed us, seemingly unaware of our presence a few feet away. We hoped it would not freak out and jump on us like the heron did. Off in the distance there were eerie calls, like tormented souls, or possibly coyotes.
After Granger Road bridge we had less than three miles to go, according to the GPS. We continued to struggle against fast riffles and overhanging vegetation. Jack was getting chilled and pulled ahead. We did not see him any more. Now we truly appreciated how helpful it had been to have him ahead to find the deep water through the riffles. A brighter headlight might have helped. A typical sequence of events was like this; paddle through a deep pool, and come around a bend to the next riffle; quickly search for the deep water; fail to find it and run aground on a gravel bar; stow the paddles, grab the poles, pull up the rudder and push back; quickly stow the poles, drop the rudder, and grab the paddles as the current turned us sideways and swept us backwards, pull with all our strength to turn the canoe; fail and crash into the bank or a logjam; sigh and figure out how to extricate the canoe, pinned against the obstacle by the current; repeat again and again. We were exhausted, sleepy, and every muscle was extremely sore, but casual paddling was impossible. The river demanded that we pull and push with all our strength to keep from going backwards.
The days on this trip were filled with spectacular scenery, but this is the image that stays in my mind; gravelly shoals, overhanging branches, and fog in the pale glow of the headlight.
Finally, we arrived at Johnson Bridge at 3:30 am. I had been fantasizing about this moment for hours, but I was too tired to celebrate. Jack had heated some water and gave us a hot toddy. Amazingly, he had managed to keep his socks dry.
There is a picture of Bob and Janet Bradford strangling Jack after he led them on a particularly log-strewn route on the Muskegon River, and it seemed appropriate to reenact at this moment. Jack kept saying how much he loves this route because it is so difficult, and how happy he was that we did it with him.
We loaded the canoes onto the wheels and began the three mile portage to Jackie's Place in Irons. There was no traffic on the road. Orion was rising in the east, and a crescent moon was in the sky. As we walked, Jack told me how proud he was of us for finishing the route in less time than he and Mark had done before, and how much he loved doing this kind of thing. I thought back to 5 pm, 12 hours previous, when we felt that we were close to the end and estimated that we could be done by midnight. My fantasy of having a beer at Jackie's was not realized.
We arrived at Jackie's Place at 5 am, 46 hours after we left the Mushroom Bar in Mesick. It seems somewhat cruel to design a route that goes from one bar to another, but to make the route so difficult and demanding that having a beer is pretty much impossible.
Stats from the GPS:
95.9 miles
Max speed 8.4 mi/hr
Moving avg. 3.1 mi/hr
Overall avg. 2.7 mi/hr
Moving time 30 hr 42 min.
Stopped time 5 hr 6 min.
In addition, we camped for about 10 hours. We did not take a lot of breaks, so the stopped time was probably from being stuck on shoals and log jams, and moving too slowly upstream for the GPS to register. The total mileage on the Little Manistee was 36 miles, and it took us 22 hours, so we averaged about 1.6 mi/hr. For future reference, the tortuosity factor of the Little Manistee is 1.7 (river miles / straight-line miles)
Overall, we had a great time. The scenery and wildlife were absolutely spectacular, especially on the Little Manistee. It was a huge physical challenge. I'm still quite sore as I write three days later, but I don't think I injured anything. I took a few chunks out of my paddle blade, in spite of being careful to use the pole whenever it was shallow, and our rudder is a bit bent from being forced back on it by the current, but no major damage. Next time I would consider camping the second night, which would have made the last several miles much more enjoyable, but it was also good to push hard and finish.
Wow, what a trip. All night up-river, etc.
ReplyDeleteMarcy